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“What I believe is that the FBI believes they did their job in putting Commons behind bars. But I also believe that there are a lot of similarities that are at this time unexplainable between the murders ten years ago and the murders now. However, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what I believe. It matters what I can prove, and it matters that I do everything in my power to not only keep you safe but find whoever is killing these women before he gets the chance to murder someone else. The sooner we find him, the sooner you can return to the peaceful life you are living.”
“Peaceful?” She smirks but changes the subject. “I assume you have the crime scene photos and autopsy reports for the victims with you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
She gestures towards my briefcase, and I reach inside and pull them out. I lean forward and slide the files toward her but keep my hand on them.
“I would like to caution you that the images inside are quite difficult to look at, Miss Monroe.”
“There is nothing in those files that I have not seen or had nightmares about for ten years. I would still like to see them, please.” She waved her hand toward the files.
I nod and remove my hand. I sit quietly, watching her flip through the pages; her face never changing.
What horror did the killer put her through that the graphic images and descriptions of what the killer did to each of these women don’t phase her?
I would be remiss if I didn’t appreciate her beauty while I watched her. She is gorgeous. Her hair is dark brown and straight. She wears it parted on the right side and down to her waist, and when it falls in front of her face, she gently pushes it back behind her ear and continues reading. Her eyes are colored a luminescent gray that reminds me of the ethereal glow of the moon on a pitch-black night. I move my eyes down from her face, taking in her high cheekbones and her narrow nose above her full pink lips that she currently has pressed tightly together.
As I observe her, I notice a subtle dimple on her left cheek when she smiles, adding an endearing charm to her already captivating features. Her slender neck gracefully supports a delicate silver necklace, accentuating her beauty.
I can see why she stood out to the killer and why someone had spent the last ten years searching for her. The Skinner always picked pretty brunettes, but none of the girls compared to her. She was different from the others, not just in physical attractiveness, but in spirit. Everything that should have broken her hadn’t.
She was the girl who got away.
And I knew that this would only go two ways.
With the killer dead or with her dead.
And I would do everything I could to protect her.
I briefly catch the slightest change in her eyes, but if you were a normal person on the street, without the training I have, the chances of catching the shift would be almost nonexistent. I assume she has spent all these years hiding her emotions from the world. Putting on a brave face to hide the torment in her soul. To fit in somewhere and feel normal. A pillar of strength on the outside so no one could hurt her.The way she controlled her emotions was impressive, and I had a hard time taking my eyes off her.
NINE
AVA
The files he gave me contained chilling details of the torture and murders of the Harborview Five, the news had called the newest victims in my town. The second generation of innocent women tortured and killed for no reason.
Blunt-force trauma marred their heads, necks, stomachs, and chests. Multiple stab wounds riddle their bodies, violently tearing through skin and muscles. Signs of sexual assault, including anal penetration, likely carried out with objects like broom handles or baseball bats, were evident. The level of brutality inflicted upon the victims was truly horrifying. Although I was familiar with his level of sadism, the evidence showed that he had taken pleasure in causing physical harm but also sought to degrade and humiliate them in the most deplorable ways imaginable.
I scanned my eyes through each document, lingering on their faces. Though once beautiful, they are now distorted and grotesque. Reviewing the files, I saw what I sought—the brand. The tiny “S” burned into their flesh, matching my own. A chilling reminder of the painful past I shared with them, the mark that bound us all together.
I didn’t believe in coincidences.
As much as I wanted to believe this was the work of a copycat living out its perverted obsession with the original killer, the sick feeling in my stomach told me the truth.
Hewas close.
I hand the file back to Agent Buchanan and brace myself for the questions I know will follow. At the same time, the other agent, Agent Matthews, returns with a cute blonde female agent behind him, granting me a much-needed reprieve to collect my thoughts and settle my stomach.
“This is Agent Sarah Ryan.” Agent Matthews introduced her into the conversation. “She is available to speak if you would prefer a female.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Monroe. I am sorry we are intruding into your life like this again.” Sarah extended her hand.
“Ava, please.” I take her hand and do my best to give her a warm smile, even though I want to curl up in the fetal position and cry. “I am okay speaking to whomever I need to.” I choke out.
Sarah looks at me with concern, her eyes filled with empathy. “I know this is tough for you, but you’re strong,” she reassures me softly. “If you change your mind, I am here for you anytime you need me. You don’t have to face this alone.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I appreciate your kindness,” I add, trying to convey my gratitude. I hate the way everyone looks at me. It’s the same way they looked at me ten years ago. Their eyes are full of pity and fear, like they aren’t sure how to be around me.
