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I finished the rest of my drink; my mouth was dry, and I forced myself to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat.
“I wasn’t that lucky, though. I guess he realized that I was dying too. That was the first time I saw any expression other than pure evil on his face. Instead of letting me die, he panicked and removed my restraints, carried me out of the dungeon, up some stairs, and into a bathroom. I would go in and out of consciousness, and I couldn’t say what he did. But when I woke, I was in a warm bath and hooked up to an IV of fluids and a blood bag. The sun shone through a window above the tub. He had removed my blindfold, but my eyes were crusted shut from his semen and my tears. I couldn’t see him, but he was there, comforting me. He told me I was his favorite, and he wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. He begged me to stay alive for him. He wanted more time with me. Even now, the fucker wouldn’t just let me die in peace. I pretended I couldn’t hear him because I hoped he would just leave. By the grace of God, a miracle came in the form of the doorbell ringing. I rubbed water over my eyes so I could see. My vision was blurry, but I was in this quaint, salmon-colored bathroom. Nothing like the torture dungeon I had been in. It was like I was in an entirely different house. These clamshell towels were hanging from the towel bar next to the toilet. And expensive-looking soaps and bubble baths lining the tub I was in. To this day, I can’t explain where the strength to get out of the tub came from. I had no way of knowing when he would come back, and I had to try and get away. I was terrified that he would hear me. But he never came. I listened to two sets of voices further away in the house. A woman and his. They were arguing, I think. She kept saying something likeyou promised. What am I going to tell him now?
I ripped out my IV and crawled out of the window above the bathtub. I chanted in my head to keep going. I would be safe if I could make it to a road or something. I kept running. I think I was running. I don’t know. I remember the twigs cutting my feet, and I kept getting hit by branches and leaves. I don’t know how long I was running. I just never stopped until I hit the cold pavement. There was a road, and someone was driving towards me. I was afraid it was him, so I grabbed a rock. It was an old lady. Her little dog kept barking at me. I don’t remember much of anything after getting intoher car. I begged her to drive and take me to the police station, but she took me to the hospital.”
I trailed off, “The police told me I had been missing for fifteen days. Twelve days more than the other victims.”Again, I poured a drink and gulped it down.
“Thank you for trusting me with your story. I know that this was not easy, and I am truly sorry for what you went through. The strength you have exhibited after going through this trauma is admirable. I promise that we are going to catch him this time.”
I meet his eyes, raising my eyebrows, “So the FBI believes that this is not a copycat, then?”
“It ismyposition that there are details consistent with the first murders. Details that a copycat would not have known unless Commons is communicating with them, which at this point, we have no evidence that suggests he is in communication with anyone. That said, I will admit I think it’s not a coincidence that the murders are happening here in Harborview, where you live. I don’t want to scare you, but I do want to be transparent with my thoughts on the case. I am concerned about how he found you and will coordinate with the agency to dig into this. Your file was sealed, and your location was kept secret.”
“I appreciate your honesty, Agent Buchanan.” I close my eyes, letting the weight of his words settle.
He touched my hand softly, and I flinched, not at him but at the simple gesture of human contact.
He gave me an apologetic look and removed his hand from mine and leaned back in his chair in an effort to give me space.I appreciate the gesture. I understand how people who did not go through what I had, had difficulty truly sympathizing with me. They may pretend to be empathetic, and I was sure they were sorry to hear what had happened, but when they left work and went home to their families, the horrific things they had heard were not thought about again. They did not wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweats clutching a knife under their pillow, seeing shadows of the killer coming to finish the job, or feeling the constant paranoia that they would never be safe. This kind of life is exhausting.
“Why don’t we stop for the night? I think I have the information I need,” he said, concern in his voice.
I nod in agreement, thankful for the break. “I am aware that this only ends with him dead or me dead.” I clear my throat and continue. “He kept me longer than the others, and he spent all these years looking for me. Why me?” I chuckled dryly. “I guess I should feel flattered that I’m worth all this trouble,” I say sarcastically. “But it’s unsettling to think about what makes me so special in his eyes. What does he want from me that he couldn’t find in anyone else?”
I saw his mouth open like he was going to offer a response, but at this point, I was too tired to talk anymore.The heaviness in my chest was overwhelming, and I did my best to suppress the emotions that threatened to spill out. The room felt suddenly suffocating, and I knew I needed to be alone.I stand up, clear the table, and put my cups in the sink. “I am going to go to bed. You are all welcome to make yourselves at home.”
Agent Buchanan stood up and gave me an apologetic smile, but he didn’t press any further. “Yes, ma’am. Please let me know if you need anything.”
I grab the bottle of whiskey and practically run upstairs to my room. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to meet their gaze. Closing the door behind me, I finally allowed the tears to flow freely, seeking solace in the bottle of whiskey and the darkness of my own thoughts. And for the first time in years, I had one of my familiar nightmares.
When my shift was over, I did what I always do. I count my cash, put it in my purse, and walk to my car. Except I didn’t do what I always do.
This time, I walked out alone.
The bouncers always walk us out to our cars after our shifts. Chad, our regular bouncer, is in a meeting with the owner, and not wanting to wait, I walk out to my car alone. I unlock my car door, and there is a gloved hand on my mouth. The smell of leather hits my nose briefly before I feel a sharp pinch in my neck.As panic sets in, my vision blurs and I start to lose consciousness. Desperately, I try to fight back, but my body feels weak and unresponsive. The last thing I remember is the sound of scuffling footsteps approaching before everything fades into darkness.
I wake up chained to something. Everything is dark, but I can feel the cloth blindfold digging into my face. I rub my face against my arm, pushing the blindfold off my eyes. The chains dig into my wrists. I am lying on something soft. A bed, maybe? My hands are restrained above my head, and the chains clanking against the metal, mocking me. I pull at them, hoping to break free, but they don’t budge. I lay there for what seemed like hours before the sound of heavy footsteps walked over to me. My heart races as the footsteps draw closer, echoing ominously in the darkness. Panic sets in as I realize I am not alone. The anticipation of what awaits me intensifies with each passing second.
Was I alone the whole time, or had someone been in the room watching me struggle to get free?
“Whose there?” I ask, shaking in fear. The darkness in the room was depthless. Not a sliver of light gives me clues to where I am or who is approaching me. My heart pounds in my chest as I strain to hear any response, but the silence only amplifies my growing unease. The air feels heavy with a menacing presence.
The deep tone of a male voice breaks the eerie silence. His voice is deep, almost hypnotic, when he speaks, “I have been searching for someone like you for a long time.” His words hang in the air, sending shivers down my spine, and I try to comprehend their meaning.
Cold hands yanked my legs down flat and spread them roughly apart. Fear shivers through my spine, and I kick at him, but my efforts are in vain. So, I squeeze my thighs shut tight, and he laughs as his fingers dig into them and shove them open, tsking me mockingly. I desperately search for a way to escape his grasp. I summon the courage to scream for help, hoping that someone nearby will come to my rescue.
“Please let me go. Please.” I plead with him. He ignores me and wraps his icy hands around my ankles, pulling them further apart and securing the chain to keep me from closing them again. Fear grips my heart as I realize the gravity of my situation. Desperation fills my voice as I beg him to let me go before he does what I think he might do.
I cry and scream and lift my body up, trying to release my bonds, but it doesn’t matter.
He waited for me to fall flat against the bed, exhausted. As I gasp for breath, tears streaming down my face, I realize the futility of my efforts. The tight metal around my wrists and ankles holds firm, mocking my desperate struggle. With each passing moment, exhaustion seeps into my bones, weakening me further.
Then those unforgiving hands slide slowly from my ankles to my thighs. My efforts to clench them shut are useless. And as his hands continue their unwelcome advance, sheer terror and vulnerability wash over me, leaving me feeling helpless and exposed.
He’s too strong.
He is calm.
He is methodical in his movements.
