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Seventeen
6 Days Until Mardi Gras
Life as we know it has irrevocably changed.
The city as a whole is living through the most gruesome serial killings any community has ever experienced. I’m sure every single person has been affected in some way. It’s like there’s a dark, heavy cloud blanketing New Orleans, and everyone is entrapped by it. There is no escaping it, it’s at every corner you turn, and in every face you see. The city was hit hard and is reeling because the most recent crime came immediately on the tail-end of the one before it.
I feel like I’ve been sucked into the hellish void of the center because I was targeted again last night. The message scrawled on the porch in the victim’s blood said it all. The location the severed head was placed was a pretty clear indicator the perp had been watching us. He couldn’t have been any more precise as to where Ignatius and I had been intimate than if we’d put a big X on the spot to guide him.
“Are you okay, Dominique?” Ignatius asks from the spot he’s been pacing since the emergency workers left. I’ve been glued to the sofa in the main parlor, my eyes scanning the window, searching, constantly looking.
I’m fantastic. A serial killer was here – most likely watched us having sex – and he seems to have some kind of fascination with me. I’m fucking great.
“I’m fine.” I have to be. “I need to get to the precinct.” I stand and start to shove my things into my satchel.
Ignatius is beside me instantly. With a grip on my arm, he spins me to face him and has me locked against his front. “You’re not fine. I’m not fine, nothing about this whole fucking thing is fine. But we’re going to get through this, you’re going to figure out whatever the fuck you’re supposed to. You’re going to stop this sick son-of-a-bitch.” He gently lifts my chin with a finger beneath it. My eyes are screwed shut, trying to hold back all the emotions that want to burst from me through the tears pushing their way forward. “Look at me,” his voice is firm but tender. I open my eyes and meet his. They’re a turbulent storm of fury and concern. And strength. That’s the place I want to drown in. “I’m not going to pretend there isn’t something happening with you, me, this house, and the killer.” My stomach drops. He’s just voiced the very same concerns I’ve been harboring. “I’m not leaving you alone, Dominique. We’ll get him.”
That’s the problem, that’s the very thing I’m afraid of.
I believe the only way we can catch the perp is if Ignatius and I lure him. That’s a situation that would leave a lot of room for error, so many opportunities for things to go wrong. Look at what’s happened so far.
“She was number five,” I whisper as I stare into his eyes, barely containing all that I’m feeling. With my hands on his chest, my fingers curl, bunching the fabric of his shirt in my grip.
It was horrible. I had to go inside the building. After seeing her head, I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, but I have a job to do. I didn’t stay, I couldn’t. Basically, I just stuck my head in, barely glimpsing the mutilated corpse. I’ll review the photos and the sketches the crime scene investigators recorded. However, I think the most pertinent piece of information was sitting on the front porch.
“I know,” Ignatius murmurs as he slides his arms around me and pulls me close.
“We’re not even sure it’s The Seven Deadly Sins,” I mutter with my cheek and palms pressed against his chest.
“I’m pretty certain it is, but the killer is the only one who can confirm it.”
“Which one do you think it was?”
Ignatius’ hold tightens around me. It’s both comforting and disturbing. Disturbing because it shows he’s rattled by this, and that scares me.
“Envy.” His tone is dark and menacing.
He’s right. God, it’s so obvious. The killer’s statement written in her blood. Mine! The way in which he killed her. “He was angry, Ignatius. So much so he deviated from his usual pattern.” Then a thought occurs to me. I push away from him and peer up into his face. “We’re affecting him too. He’s getting sloppy, he’s breaking with tradition and that might cause him to make mistakes. It might give us the one break we need.” A new rush of adrenaline courses through me, laced with excitement and topped off with hope.
Ignatius narrows his eyes at me. “You’d better not be talking about what I think you are. I’d shut that shit down so fast, your beautiful head would spin.”
I wiggle out of his hold. A plan is forming in my mind. “Come on, we need to get to the station, I want to talk to the sergeant.” I grab my bag as I walk toward the door. The back door. The front one is still a crime scene, and I still can’t stomach the idea of going that way.
He snatches my wrist and halts me. “Dominique, you are not doing this.”
I turn to look at him. “No, I’m not. We are. Each time he’s made some kind of contact, we’ve been together. There’s something relevant about that.”
He glares at me a long moment. “Goddamn it,” he growls as he releases me and runs a hand through his hair. He’s frustrated, I get it. I wouldn’t be happy either if someone told me the only way to catch a killer is to lure him in with me as bait.
I keep walking out of the house and straight to the car. With my hand ready to open the door, I spy the trail that leads from the tree line where the grass is flattened as if something was dragged through it. Her body. That must be where he came from with the victim. I follow the trail with my eyes, noticing there’s a point where he stopped, then started again, all the way to the outbuilding. Cold dread seeps through me, however, this time it’s followed with a strong chaser of determination.
Ignatius meets me at the car, his gaze following mine to the outbuilding.
“I know why you want to do this, Dominique, but it’s not a good idea,” Ignatius states firmly, still looking at the burnt-out building.
I yank the door open. “It’s the only way to get him.” I get in the car.
Ignatius gets behind the wheel and starts up the engine. “You can’t know that for sure.” He puts the car in gear and leaves the estate property.
