Saturday: Part Two

Saturday brought a day of rest. That's what I believed. Honestly.

When I woke up, the blizzard said, "Good morning! If you had nuts, I'd freeze them off!"

I looked out my kitchen window wondering how in the hell the forecaster missed a blizzard. My coffee was warm in my cupped hands, so when I contemplated shoveling later, I hoped it didn't stop snowing for a very long time. I mean, hello, cold out! Montana could have some ruthless weather!

Though I didn't want to go out, my paper was still outside. I snagged the paper from the Trib box; I probably looked odd running out in my flannel pj bottoms, boots untied and overcoat. Didn't care. Weather like that always reminded me I needed to move the paper box closer to the house. Doubt the neighbors could see me anyway for all the blowing snow.

The front page was covered with the story from the parking garage:
Local Businessman Brutally Slain
read the headline. Brutally? Was there a word worse than 'brutally'? I continued reading: 'Local entrepeneur, Kirby Johnson, was found murdered Friday morning in the parking garage on the corner of 4th St and 1st Ave N. Detective Michael Timothy wouldn't give any details except that the horrific murder seemed to fit the pattern of the other three victims. Another officer on scene was quoted as saying, "This is total chaos and carnage. I can't believe someone could do this to someone else. If we don't get a lead soon, well, I don't know what'll happen. This is scary."

I'm not sure which officer got quoted but for his sake I hope Mike didn't either. The article continued on with warnings not to go alone, tell people where you planned to be, etc. Same warnings as for weather watches mostly. Except the extra blanket and food people were normally cautioned to bring.

I got another cup of coffee, turned my laptop on, grabbed my forest Hart sent and started reading through the fax again looking for thoughts and clues rather than just scanning over the information. Everything Hart told me was in the pages. The lack of ties to people, the atrocity in the dismemberment and the pattern of coming on abruptly and ending just as quickly. As I read through the extensive file, dredging through terrifying horrific photos I wondered at what type of copycats we were dealing with. I said we because like I mentioned before, mysteries were a hobby, sometimes dangerous, but usually nothing I couldn't handle.

The wind beat and howled against the house as the snow continued to pile in giant drifts outside. The radio made it clear that all roads were shut down except for emergency only. Darkened, freezing skies and bitter winds pushed the temperature well below zero and I turned the heat up, wondering if I ought to start a fire in the basement furnace as well.

My house was one of the first in Great Falls. Moved from its original location to the lot it stood on in the early 20's. It consisted of a partially finished basement; a small kitchen (as was the fashion of the time), dining room, den/office, and living room were on the main floor. A miniature bathroom and two bedrooms, as well as a makeshift gym room on made up the second floor. All in all it was a well built, older home. Though with its age and my lack of time to add new amenities, I tended to worry about heat. Unlike my neighbors, though, I had an advantage...the basement woodstove which, when lit, could keep the main floor toasty and if need be I'd just sleep on the sofa.

When I was reading through the fifth homicide in about the twentieth case in the file I noticed that all of the bodies had a mark on their torso above the navel. It matched none of the multitude of puncture wounds found on the dismembered parts. The mark tended to be two inches long, made by a blade rather than the ice pick type wounds everywhere else. The earliest cases didn't note too well so I didn't catch it right away. Some of the tears looked as if an animal were involved also. I learned that once in a while the police would make an arrest but the murders would continue or start up again if they'd stopped and the suspect would have to be released. To me that showed two things: the culprits weren't afraid of getting caught and they didn't want anyone else getting credit for their "work". Really sick and egotistical.

I tried to avoid the photographs of the bodies as much as I could but I still needed to see positions and placement of the bodies. The victims all stared back, the ones that still had eyes or whose skulls weren't crushed, they stared in post mortem terror. I knew, without a doubt, that these people would haunt my nightmares for a very long time.

I started wondering, though, how Hart put it all together. Other than the wounds, the tears and the dismemberment, how did he piece it together? The murders took place all over the country, some in Canada and Mexico also.

Saturday: Part One

The news Friday night reminded me of how horrific Friday morning was. Detectives (Mike Timothy) were perplexed by the body's "placement" but due to other evidence were sure the death was related to the other three.

I listened to the news and sifted through the information Hart sent. Mike had already left about a dozen messages but luckily didn't show up. The case files showed patterns of homicides involving what Hart dubbed The Unwanted. All people that lived alone, no relatives really to speak of except the case Hart started with and random sprinklings throughout the century plus of brutal killings.

My nightmares were a stage of blood and darkness; the players included the Southern Belle, brain guy, arguing voices (intent on divulging information to A Descendent or leaving man to his demise. I blamed this on the heartburn), crying and a lot of sighs. May have been my own exasperation with Belle and the crying.

Ch.1: Friday: Part Two

After my meeting with some very perturbed upper management, I made it home, driving the whole way in my bare feet of course. I once heard that driving barefoot was illegal, didn't know for sure. Wonder if I could get out of the ticket if I explained to the cop I accidentally stood in someone's brain matter and threw the shoes away. I had to pull over and catch my breath. I was dizzy and on the verge of hoarking all over again.

Once home, my truck all locked away nice and safe in the garage, I sank into the sofa, my body and mind trying to let go of all I'd seen. Mike said the murder was consistent with the other three, but the dumping wasn't. I tried to erase the picture permanently scorched into my memory, I tried to convince it to wash itself away but without any luck.

My living room was silent. Like I like it. No sounds except for what was happening beyond my walls and my breathing; there was nothing to accost my hearing and make me jump. I began to relax further into the couch, letting my thoughts wander which I never should have done, no matter how tiring it was to block out the earlier event. I fought with my subconscious and I lost. I fell asleep with a waking nightmare in my mind.

*beep* *beep*

A car alarm being set. Breathing. Heavy breathing.

"What the hell?!"

Someone didn't sound too happy. I got closer, I felt really dizzy, nauseatingly dizzy. I didn't feel like I belonged there at all. I felt so out of place, I didn't even feel like myself. I reached down to touch my arm and it tingled, reverberated. What the holy hell? I held my hands up so I could see them and they were shimmery, they didn't look right. My examination of my situation was interrupted.

The man's car wasn't starting. I heard the door open and slam shut. The hood was popped open. I got closer, "Do you need some help?"

He didn't seem to hear me.

"Hey, guy! Everything ok? You need a jump?"

He pulled out a handful of wires. They looked like a rat made a meal of them.

"This is just effin great!" He slammed the hood and punched it. Why did guys always overreact to cars? Was it in their DNA? Since early man. A horsey got a limp and it got an uppercut?

"Howdy, mister, looks like you're havin a bad day. Whatcha got there?" She smelled different. She really wreaked. Her eyes flashed a brilliant red in place of the blue and her pupils were gone. That was so not right.

"Sir, she's ... there's something not right with her!"

He ignored me and laughed sheepishly, running his free hand through his hair. His hair. Oh shit! His hair!

My phone is ringing! I needed to tell the man to run, albeit from a happy lil southern belle, but he needs to run and my phone is ringing.

My phone was actually ringing outside the messed up dream. Shit. Mike. Obviously calling to discuss the fax. I send the call to my voicemail and sigh. He'd probably show up. The time on my cell says eight. Eight? PM? Crap.

I made my coffee, turned the television on and flipped through all hundred plus channels. Nothing. So, radio it was. At least until ten. That gave me time to check email, maybe find something that resembled food and start reading the entire forest that Detective Hart sent me. Well, he sent Mike and I accidentally may have given the wrong fax. Ohh! I should remember that for later I thought.