Page 1 of Headless Hollow

One

Izzy

His hand slid up my leg, and I pushed up with my hips, wanting more of whatever he was offering. It was hot in my room, and the fire he ignited inside of me had me feeling like I was going to combust.

“That’s it, Pumpkin, spread your legs wider,” he growled, his breath fanning my cheek and making me shiver. It didn’t matter that it was pitch black, and I couldn’t see who it was. All I wanted was for him to keep touching me. I knew who I longed for, who I craved. It was Branson’s name that I whispered into the night whenever I touched myself.

I whimpered as his fingers brushed against me teasingly. My knees fell further apart, and I moaned and pleaded for more.

“So wet. You’re a bad girl, Pumpkin,” he said, and I nodded.

“Yes,” I said, my body pathetically begging to be set free and finally have what it secretly desired for years.

“You want me. Don’t you, Pumpkin? You want me to make you scream?” His finger swirled in little circles, and I grabbed a handful of the sheets.

“Yes. Please more. I want you,” I said, not caring that I sounded desperate. When you were denied what you wanted for so long, you’d say anything when it was this close, when he was this close.

His hand disappeared from my body, and I wanted to scream. “Mmmm, you taste so good. It’s always been you. Sleep sweet, Pumpkin. I’ll come for you. You will be mine.”

“Don’t go,” I said, grasping at the man in my dreams, not wanting this to be over. My body was burning up, and I ran my hands over my skin, but it wasn’t the same, and the need quickly fizzled just before my eyes fluttered open. Why did my dream guy have to leave me on the edge every time?

I stared at the dark ceiling until it was obvious that I wasn’t falling back asleep tonight, and instead grabbed my phone as it softly buzzed. The screen glowed with a text from Brianna.

B: Sorry to bug you on your night off, but I’m swamped. Two homicides, a fatal pile-up on Highway 42, and a drug overdose. Would you be able to come in early?

I: Well, isn’t that a crazy night? You’d think that Halloween was already here.

Halloween was always the worst for deaths, well, that and New Year’s Eve. There had to be some sort of psychological reason behind it, but regardless, it was always all hands on deck. Ashenbury Hollow was tiny compared to the larger towns and cities, with a boisterous eleven thousand people. The sign had changed only once while I was growing up from nine thousand to eleven when we had a boom of city people moving in. All of them were seeking a quieter life. Lately, there wasn’t much quiet about Ashenbury.

B: Tell me about it. I just got a call for two more bodies just outside of our limits, but no one else can take them. What do I tell them?

I: Tell them I’m coming.

B: I really am sorry.

I: Unless you’re the one dropping the bodies, you have nothing to be sorry for. Send me the address for the ones you need to clear. I’ll do those while you start autopsies, or we are going to have more people than places to put them.

Whipping the sheet back, I swung my legs out of bed and stretched before turning on the light. Maybe it was all the extra night shifts, stalker books, and coffee I was consuming before bed that were giving me insane dreams.

Standing, I turned to make my bed and froze. A scream lodged in my throat as I stared at the large red stain and the decapitated head of my ex-boyfriend that lay on the pillow beside mine. I blinked a few times, but the image never changed. My eyes bounced around the room, searching for the threat, but all was quiet. Was this why I couldn’t sleep? Had I instinctively known someone was in my room? I shivered, fear racing up my spine as my brain tried to figure out who hated me enough to do something like this.

I dealt with death every day and saw the most horrific things, but I never brought my work home with me. Well, I hadn’t until six months ago when decapitated bodies started showing up once every two weeks like clock work. Decapitations in car or other motorized vehicle accidents were common, but these were all people who had been staged. Laid out like they were holding their severed heads. It didn’t take long for the newspapers to dub the killer the Headless Horseman. Too intrigued to leave it alone, I started my own investigation, and I’d obviously struck a nerve, one big enough to go after someone I used to love. It was a warning like a shot taken at the bow of a ship. I was closing in on the killer and he didn’t like it.

Lifting the phone, I hit 911 and then put it on speaker as I tiptoed to my nightstand and pulled out the gun I kept hidden.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“This is medical examiner Izzy Van Tassel calling. I’m going to need the police. There has been a break-in,” I said, spotting a perfectly folded note on the nightstand.

“Is the intruder still in your home?”

“I don’t know, but he left a gift.” I walked around the bed, but kept my eyes on the door as I picked up the note.

“What kind of a gift?”

“The head of my ex-boyfriend,” I said, and there was silence on the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry. Can you please repeat that?”