AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ella remained as silent as she could, keeping close to the walls and checking the corners as she navigated her way through the downstairs area. She entered a living area, the temperature dropping a degree or two. She stopped and listened to her surroundings. She held her breath. She familiarized herself with the building’s pitches. Water running through rusted pipes. Rain hammering against the thatched roof. Heavy winds beating the single-glazed windows.
Then a floorboard creaked somewhere.
She kept herself in the moment. Sharpened her wits. She tried not to over-think, as she had done before. The families of the dead needed her focus to be laser sharp.
The same creak again.
It wasn’t beneath her feet. It was up above her, she realized. Then footsteps, all along the ceiling. Not rhythmic, but slow and methodical. She steadied her thoughts, but instead of keeping her position, she moved to the adjacent hallway where she saw a little more light seeping through. In the narrow hallway, there was a row of windows which let the light in from the outside streetlamps. It wasn’t much, but it was preferable to pitch blackness.
Her flashlight danced In orange circles across the walls and floors and homely trappings, finding every downstairs room completely empty. Phillip Colten – the original victim who died in this house – had been killed in the upstairs bedroom, so Ella had little doubt that was where she’d find her man.
Ella pushed forward up the stars, taking each step gently, keeping her weight above her knees. One or two steps creaked loudly, suggesting intrusion to anyone who might listening intently. At the top, she found one door to her left, one to her right and one straight ahead. All were ajar, giving no declarations of recent entry. She stopped and listened to the air, hearing nothing but the sound of her thumping heart.
When she came face-to-face with this man, what could she say to him that might make him stop and give her a chance to strike? She knew his outlook, his motivations, his past. But was there anything she could say that might force him to yield? He was a mission-oriented offender, hell-bent on exacting vengeance to liberate him from childhood trauma. He wanted the world to know his name, that he was more than just a creepy kid who stalked a family. Unsubs like this were the most dangerous of all. They’d already abandoned reality in favor of their murderous fantasy worlds, and therefore had no real awareness of consequences. Threatening death or imprisonment did nothing to deter them from carrying out their homicidal operations, not to mention that the Crawler was undoubtedly a psychopath of the purest form.
Four doors. By Ella’s recollection, Phillip Colten had been found in the master bedroom to the far right. She kept herself calm, organized, and focused. She clutched her Glock 22, finding comfort in its metallic touch. As far as she knew, Phillip Colten’s murder hadn’t involved guns, so she had a distinct advantage. But she couldn’t out-shoot a blitz attack.
Ella’s thoughts scrambled as an earsplitting scream pierced the air. The lack of visibility in the corridor heightened her other senses, and the sheer volume of the cry caused intense physical pain. In a split second, her calm composure all but vanished. Her fight response took over as her primary drive. She was at the master bedroom’s door less than a blink later, shouldering it open with brute force.
There was a large double bed with red satin sheets. A sleek dresser positioned in the corner. A wall-to-wall mirrored wardrobe. The centerpiece was a traditional brick fireplace, still burning.
And she was too late.
Because a lifeless body lay in the middle of the room.
“No!” she cried. Ella maneuvered throughout the room, checking every corner by the orange glow of the fire. Then she kneeled down beside the body. It was a middle-aged man, average build, short black hair. From her memory of the old crime scene photos, he was a dead ringer for the same man who died here 32 years ago.
Then a noise. Another creak. Ella thought of the piece of twisted metal lodged in the door lock. If this killer was so organized – and she was sure he was – he’d make sure to remove all evidence before leaving.
That meant he was still here.
She listened closer still, discarding the thud of her rapid-fire pulse. The wardrobe doors swayed and clicked in their frames, like a heavy wind was blowing from the other side. She clutched her pistol and rushed to the door, then grabbed the handle and counted to three.
One.
Two.
And pull.
She yanked the door open and found rows of clothing hanging from the ceiling to the ground, but the bottom row seemed to be in motion. Ella parted the sea of dress shirts to find a living soul bound to a chair. Tape over his mouth. Hands behind his back. His eyes were frozen wide in a look of hysteria.
This was the Colten copycat victim, she realized. The modus operandi was identical. But if that was the case then who was…
She didn’t have time to finish the thought, because a rush of footsteps surged from behind. Ella spun around in time to see the formerly dead man charging her, knife in hand. He’d played her. Lured her in. Ensured he could strike at the optimal time.
And he had. He plunged the knife towards her heart, but Ella managed to contort herself out of the way barely an inch before the blade connected. It missed her heart but caught her fingers – the same ones curled around her Glock 22. Her natural reflex was to spread them, separating the gun from her palm. She fell to one side and toppled towards the bed, now weapon-less. She leaped onto the bed for a better vantage point and to gain some distance between her and the man known as the Crawler. He was much faster than she expected. Maybe late-forties. He had that maniacal stare that she’d become familiar with, possessed by only the most hardened psychopaths.
The crazed madman began swiping at her legs. Ella sprang over his attacks and used her above-ground position to land her boot against his face. She felt the cartilage in his nose give way. Blood poured from his nostrils. He toppled back against the wall then begun swiping at thin air. Ella jumped down off the bed and readied her fighting stance. God knows where her gun had landed and she didn’t have time to find it. Her focal point now was the man’s wrist. Isolate the wrist, isolate the weapon. That was rule number one when dealing with an armed attacker.
He came at her first, thrusting his weapon in a maddened frenzy. Ella found herself retreating to escape the attacks, restricting herself, making herself more vulnerable with every step. She recalled some martial arts philosophies, the importance of open space, the awareness of your opponent’s intentions.
She waited for a moment of hesitation, right after one of his swings, then shouldered his mid-section, taking the wind from his lungs. She swept around to his back and tried to grip his wrist, but the Crawler shook himself away. He broke free of her grip, swung around, and caught her thigh with his gleaming steel knife. The pain took her breath away, dissolving all energy and sending her to the ground. The Crawler mounted her, bringing the blade closer to her neck. She clutched his wrist again, barely keeping the knife at bay.
But weakness consumed her. Blood poured from her leg with such force she could feel her veins pumping it out. She tried to control her breathing, maintain focus, but the Crawler was taking over, inching the knife closer to her jugular.
In what might be her final moments, Ella recalled another martial arts philosophy.
To win a hundred battles is not the highest skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the highest skill.
