Splintered Read online

  Noah pushed the rest of his food away, no longer hungry. He rested his elbow on the table and leaned his chin in his hand. “What’s the plan, then? You obviously can’t babysit me until he’s caught.”

  “Sure I can.”

  “The hell you can.” Noah sniffed. “You’ve got work to do. I’m counting on you to nab this guy so I can interview him for my thesis. I’ll be fine. Besides, I have work to do on the presentation I have to give tomorrow.”

  Hutch’s brow furrowed, and he stared at Noah unblinkingly for a moment before his eyes went wide. “What’s your presentation on?” Hutch asked excitedly.

  “Umm…. Psychopaths and how they view the world,” Noah responded.

  “Perfect, c’mon.”

  Noah stared in confusion at the back of Hutch’s head as he walked away.

  “Well?” he urged when he was standing next to Noah’s computer.

  “What the hell are we doing?” Noah asked as he joined Hutch.

  Hutch shoved Noah down into his chair and then leaned a hip against Noah’s desk. “We’re going to tweak your report,” Hutch announced with a sly smile.

  NOAH STOOD at the podium looking out over those who had come to hear his presentation. The crowd was larger than it had been the last time. He recognized a few of those in attendance, though he didn’t know them personally, but the majority were complete strangers. It was likely he’d passed them a hundred times or they had sat out in the audience for all of his presentations, but he wouldn’t know them. He rarely paid attention to those around him. His focus was usually on reports, data, death. Today, however, he wished he would have been more astute, paid better attention, then perhaps he could have spotted anyone who seemed out of place or didn’t belong. Yet would it have done any good? Whoever was torturing and mutilating the small, effeminate men of Chicago wouldn’t stand out; he’d blend in. It was how he’d been able to avoid detection all these years. Whether it was futile or not, Noah found himself looking at each face, trying to memorize each one, wishing he could see the people who sat at the back of the lecture hall better.

  Dr. Fritzwald—glasses perched on his nose, hands clasped—stood before the class, the noise instantly ceasing. He then nodded toward Noah and took his seat once again. Noah shifted his papers nervously, took a deep breath, and began. Hopefully, if he were watching, what Noah was about to say would piss him off, and yet at the same time, Noah dreaded that it would. He wiped a shaking hand over his brow and cleared his throat.

  “What would you do if you didn’t experience guilt or remorse no matter what you did? Would it alter the way you behaved if you had no concern for the well-being of others? Of course it would, as you no longer are burdened with such pesky problems such as shame, compassion, or love. You would also cease to be human, however, at least by civilized terms. You’d be nothing more than a selfish, lazy, harmful, immoral blight on society.

  “And what of responsibility? You’d have none. It would be a foreign concept to you. It’s not your fault, it’s theirs. They don’t understand what it’s like to be you, constantly surrounded by inferior beings. You are forced to exist in a world full of sheep, following the masses without question. Oh, but you are not one of them, you are no sheep, not you. You stand high above them and have nothing but contempt for the gullible fools. But they mustn’t know, not yet. So you conceal the fact that your psychological makeup is far more advanced. At least that is what you tell yourself. But we know, those who you look down on, we see you, we know what you are. A life-sucking parasite.

  “Without a conscience, without compassion for others, without feelings, you are not human, but a lowly animal. You may look the part, may even fool society for a while, but you can’t keep your façade intact forever. Eventually the cold-bloodedness that runs like ice water through your veins will begin to weaken the mask of normalcy as the ice creaks and shifts, cracks. Your convenient invisibility will be exposed to the world.

  “There are choices everyone must make, even those without conscience. You can choose to be good, build goals, and follow dreams or take the path of evilness that leads straight to hell. Some people—whether they have a conscience or not—are brilliant and talented, yet you are dull-witted, violent, and you are not in control, your bloodlust is.

  “You’ve made your choice. You can do anything at all.” Noah scanned the room, trying his best to make eye contact with as many people as he could, and then added, “That is until you are forcibly stopped and you will”—he slammed his hand down on the podium—“be stopped. Your disease eradicated.”

  Breathing hard, Noah tucked his papers into his folder and, with a curt nod to a stunned-looking Dr. Fritzwald, walked out to a round of applause. Noah knew they would be disappointed that he wasn’t sticking around for questions, but as nervous as he was, he doubted he’d be able to answer them intelligently anyway. Besides, he was curious if Granite, who had blended in easily with the other students, had caught a glimpse of anyone being… well, not normal. Noah glanced one last time over his shoulder to where Granite stood among a group of guys, then hurried out of the hall.

  He did his best to look casual as he made his way across campus, but the urge to keep looking over his shoulder was too strong. He gave in to it a couple times and then immediately chastised himself. With the way his heart was hammering in his chest and his skin was prickling, he was amazed he could put one foot in front of the other without falling on his ass, but he managed. Only when he reached his apartment, slammed the door behind him, and leaned against it did he sigh in relief.

  “How’d it go?” Hutch asked as he looked up from the computer at Noah’s desk.

  “I made it through the lecture without puking, so I call that a success.” Noah smirked weakly and then pushed off the door. He headed to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, downing it in one large gulp. The nerves had caused his mouth to go dry. He refilled the glass and then took it to the kitchen table and slumped into the chair.

  “See anyone who looked out of place or suspicious?” Hutch asked as he joined Noah, taking the chair opposite him.

  “Everyone.” Noah blew out another heavy breath. “I like stalking killers, trying to get in their heads, but I’m not so sure I like the idea of one possibly following me.”

  Hutch hadn’t been too keen on being left behind, but knowing the killer was watching them, Granite felt it best if Hutch and Noah weren’t seen together. Hutch couldn’t argue with the facts when Granite pointed out they didn’t want it to seem obvious they were hunting him, and Hutch hanging with Noah in the classroom would have been a dead giveaway. It was more than likely that the killer probably knew who Granite was as well, but with a baseball cap covering his black hair and a college jock jacket and “normal” jeans, he could easily be mistaken for any other college student.

  “We won’t let anything happen to you,” Hutch said sincerely as he met Noah’s gaze.

  Noah could see the conviction in Hutch’s dark blue eyes and knew he’d do his damnedest to keep that promise, but Noah was still a little nervous about the whole thing. Being on this side of the hunt really freaked him out, and he didn’t like what was happening or the memories it was stirring up. Still, he’d follow it through to the end, do whatever the agents asked of him, in order to stop this sick fuck from killing any more men.

  “So what now?” he asked as he sipped on his water.

  “We wait.”

  Chapter 17

  RED AND blue lights flashing, gas pedal pushed to the floor, Hutch flew down the rural road toward the killer’s lair. A survivor? Someone actually escaped? It didn’t make any sense. He’d been chasing this bastard for weeks. Eighteen crime scenes, eighteen bodies, and not a single shred of evidence. No hair fibers, prints, witnesses, nothing that would lead the authorities to the murderer, and now a live victim? It was too sloppy, and the doubt was already churning around in Hutch’s gut.

  Granite flipped his phone shut and slammed it against the seat. “The sheriff
informed me of a witness account. Said they’d seen the young man running down the country road, completely naked, with a metal collar padlocked to his neck and dragging a length of chain behind him. The fucker swerved to avoid hitting him and took off,” Granite said angrily. “Their excuse was they thought it was some kind of ploy to get them to pull over so the guy could rob them.”

  “Yes, because naked men who are bloodied and tortured to within an inch of their lives are more concerned with the ten dollars in your fucking wallet than getting medical help,” Hutch responded with disgust.

  “The victim also reported that a woman in a minivan also sped by. I don’t know, Hutch,” Granite said with a shake of his head as he stared out the window. “I don’t have a whole lot of faith in humanity anymore. Poor bastard had just endured unimaginable torture, and then he has to run over a mile down a dirt road, stones digging in and cutting up the soles of his feet, to find help because these assholes just drove right on by.”

  He knew exactly how Granite felt, although Hutch had zero faith in humanity as a whole. He’d lost it years ago, and each day all he had to do was flip on the news to cement his feelings. And now with the possibility the CS—as Noah had dubbed him—had possibly struck again, he doubted his belief would be changing anytime soon.

  If it were CS who was behind this newest attack, it would explain why neither he nor Noah had heard from him. Hutch had been sure the speech Noah gave, basically calling the killer an uneducated coward and loser, would not have gone ignored by a narcissist like CS. His pride would never allow such an insult to go unpunished. Hutch wasn’t getting his hopes up that the sick bastard was behind this recent attack, however. Hutch never got this lucky.

  Hutch spotted at least a half dozen cruisers, lights flashing, surrounding what looked like an abandoned semi box trailer in the middle of a field. A few hundred yards behind it were a dilapidated shack, rusted truck, and defunct windmill. It didn’t look as if anyone had inhabited the place in a century.

  The scene around Hutch as he stepped out of the car was controlled chaos. Uniformed men and women scurried around with puzzled looks on their faces as if in shock. Hutch and Granite approached the trailer, and the door burst open, a female officer rushing out and falling to her knees, puking and sobbing.

  “Oh fuck,” Granite mumbled. “This doesn’t look good.”

  “No shit,” Hutch agreed. When there were puking cops, Hutch knew whatever they were about to witness was going to be bad.

  There were two officers near the trailer. One bent to console the anguished female, and the other faced Hutch with a grim expression. “You must be the Feds,” he remarked dismally as he swiped the back of his hand across his sweat-dampened brow.

  “Agent Hutchinson and this is Agent Green,” Hutch informed him. “What have we got?”

  “A house of horror,” the officer replied with a shake of his head. “Walls are covered with various torture devices. There’s a physician’s exam table equipped with shackles, but it’s the videos….” He shook his head again as his face contorted. “Sick bastard videotaped it.”

  That explained the expressions and the woman’s response to being inside. It was hard enough witnessing the aftermath of a madman, but to watch him actually inflicting his depravity would affect even the most seasoned cops.

  “You view the videos?” Hutch asked, already knowing the answer but needing it confirmed. The officer nodded and looked away.

  “Recognize any of the victims? Perhaps the men recently found mutilated?” Granite inquired.

  Again the officer shook his head. He continued to stare away from the trailer, unblinking, the effect of what he’d witnessed evident in his gaze. Finally he turned to Hutch and met his eyes. “There was only one other male victim besides the one who got away.”

  Hutch found himself disappointed he’d been right. A small part of him had held on to the small sliver of hope that it was the man he was hunting.

  “How’s the victim doing? Has he IDed the culprit?” Hutch asked.

  “Don’t know yet. We got an officer with him, but I haven’t heard if they’ve had a chance to talk to him or how he’s doing.”

  “What about the owner of the property?” Granite added.

  “No help. This place has been abandoned for about thirty years. Hell, with how remote this place is, I doubt anyone even knew the trailer was here, or if they did, they never paid attention or thought too much about it. I’m sure the locals will have some leads. At least I hope so,” the officer commented and wiped his brow again.

  “Me too. Guess we better have us a look,” Hutch said to Granite, who nodded without comment.

  From the look on Granite’s face, he wasn’t any more eager than Hutch was to enter the trailer. Another hellish nightmare to add to the already excessive pile of shit they’d accumulated over the years. Unfortunately, the majority of the scenes they came across were things that could never be unseen.

  “I’ll let the lead investigator know you’re here. Dr. Kimball is inside.”

  “Thanks,” Hutch muttered, already steeling himself before planting a boot on the steps. One last deep breath and he hoisted himself up and entered the trailer.

  The trailer had been turned into a homemade torture chamber. The walls and shelves were lined with sex toys, surgical instruments, common tools, chains, straps, gags, spreader bars, and even a cattle prod. Many, if not all, of the items were covered in blood. Numerous photographs were taped to the walls depicting women in various stages of torture, the wielder of the camera catching the victims with their mouths wide open in a silent scream. Hutch didn’t recognize any of the victims in the images, and he knew this wasn’t his case. While the newest victim was male, it was apparent the perp preferred women. The things that stuck with Hutch was the way that each item had been painstakingly labeled as well as the “rules” posted in large print on the wall.

  The owner of the trailer was very specific on the code of conduct, the first item being that he was to be referred to as “Master” at all times. Other items were more chilling, such as number six: Screaming will be rewarded.

  At the end of the trailer, two uniformed officers and a man in scrubs, who Hutch assumed was Dr. Kimball, watched a small video screen, a look of horror spreading across their somber faces.

  Hutch could hear the screams coming from the recording and was thankful he wouldn’t have to watch. This wasn’t the work of CS. He and Granite had their own horrors to discover.

  He nudged Granite. “Let’s step out. We’ll call this in.”

  “Works for me,” Granite responded, sounding relieved.

  As soon as they were back outside, an officer approached Hutch with his hand held out. “I’m Detective Fletcher, lead investigator. You must be my Feds.”

  Hutch shook the offered hand. “Actually no. We’ve been working on another case and thought perhaps they might be tied.”

  Fletcher cocked his head, looking confused. “You just got here. How do you know they aren’t tied?”

  “Our perp prefers killing and mutilating men, whereas yours is mainly into torturing women from what we can tell.”

  “Oh, you must be working the serial killer case.” Hutch nodded. “I’ve been following it. Nasty case. I agree, though, this isn’t the work of your guy. I recognize a few of the victims, mainly prostitutes. We’ve gotten some complaints from a few girls, a john who likes extremely rough sex. He’s smart, though, he tends to prey on the girls who are strung out on drugs and homeless. He’s a sick bastard, and I have no idea how some of those women survived, but I don’t think he’s purposely a killer. I’ll still compare the photos and videos to any missing person cases and Jane Does to see if he does have any actual murders.”

  Hutch thanked Fletcher for his time, wished him luck, and then pulled out his phone and dialed the bureau, explaining what was going on. They assured him they’d send someone out, and Hutch ended the call and nodded to Granite. After making a few more inquiries and explanati
ons as to why they were calling in other agents, Hutch and Granite headed out.

  “What the hell is the chance that another sick fucker is working in the same area?” Granite asked in disbelief as soon as they were heading down the road.

  “Apparently pretty good, and considering the size of Chicago, it doesn’t surprise me. But you heard Andrews, he doesn’t think this guy is trying to be a killer. Hell, Granite, this Master might simply have run out of willing participants.”

  “Yeah, well, still, remind me to never buy real estate in this town,” Granite grumbled, staring out the side window.

  “I’m beginning to think there isn’t anywhere safe,” Hutch pointed out.

  “Wow, you sound as jaded as I feel.”

  “Ya think?” Hutch snapped. “I think we need a new job description.”

  “Ooh! Maybe we can start our own stripping service. Door-to-door hunks at your service.”

  When Hutch didn’t respond, Granite added, “C’mon, it would be fun.”

  “You just want to finally get a good look at my ass,” Hutch tossed back.

  “Maybe. And if it were fine enough, I’d fill you like a couponer fills her grocery cart.”

  “Boo,” Hutch hissed. “They just keep getting more and more lame. You better find another gig.”

  Granite laid his head back and looked over at Hutch with a lopsided grin. Hutch couldn’t help but return the smile. Granite’s gig actually worked perfectly, and neither of them dwelled on the torture chamber as they headed back to the city. They had no illusions about what would be facing them back at the hotel from their own case, but for the moment, Granite had made sure they had a bit of a reprieve.

  Chapter 18

  THE BOX containing unwanted memories had been reopened, and no matter how hard Noah tried to close and reseal it, he couldn’t. His demons had been set free, and they refused to be quieted once again. The only thing he had in his favor this time as he revisited his past was he was better prepared and able to handle the memories much better than when he was younger. In actuality, the memories had never really left him. They had shaped who and what he was, driven him to seek an answer for the unanswerable. It was something he was still seeking even if at some level he knew it was in vain.