Tag Archives: Brenda

Chapter Fifty —One: A Mouse In The House

5 Oct
Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

The person in the black ninja suit sat contemplating the room, savoring the memories of their first kill. Savoring the tortures they had committed, the expressions of pain and dismay on the face of the victim. A victim the killer felt deserved every second of pain and misery they received.

This time there was a distinct thump. Not a scratch.

The ninja rose. Pulled out a thirty-eight Smith and Wesson five shot revolver. Quietly, on padded feet, the ninja went along the wall, following it until they found the handle to the closet.

Inside the closet L C did not hear a sound. She had no clue if anyone were within a thousand miles.

Quickly opened the door.

There was a strangled noise as a bundle fell out on the floor.

The ninja took out a flashlight wrapped in layers of black cheesecloth. Enough light shown for close up inspection, but was hard to see even a few feet away.

Right now it played across L C’s face.

The ninja had spent a lot of time practicing talking using all breath and no voice. A whisper, it carried no clue as to the sex or voice of the person using it. With practice a person can make the whisper carry without strain.
“And what have we here? All tied up and ready for … What are you ready for?”

L C lay on her side, tied to the chair, her face to the floor, unable to answer. Gagged and blindfolded, only aware that this could not be the person who put her in the closet in the first place.

The breathy voice continued. “I know who you are. You are the Davenport girl. The one the police say committed murder right here in this cabin.”

It was the first time L C knew where she was at. She tried to see who was in the room with her, but the darkness and the ninja suit did its job well. The complete breathyness of the voice did its job just as well. All L C could tell was there was a human being in the room with her.

The human being hauled the chair upright with no sign of gentleness. Reached over, grabbed the duct tape covering the gags in her mouth, and yanked hard. To L C it felt as though her skin was being ripped from her face. She tried to yell but gagged on the cloth that had been shoved into her mouth. Those also were pulled out without ceremony.

L C was crying and sobbing, largely incoherent.

The ninja did not hurry her. There were other things to think about. On the surface this was a pure gift. The woman accused of the murder the ninja had committed sitting here like a spitted goose just waiting to be cooked.

On the other hand who, besides the person who had committed the murder, would want to tie her up and have her at their mercy?

Who would bring her here?

Why?

Killing the Davenport woman and hiding her body would be the perfect answer. No trial, no questions, no one probing around. Everyone would believe she had skipped the country.

Except the person who put her here.

The person in the ninja suit slapped L C, hard. “Who did this to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“How did you get here?”

L C could not understand why the person was whispering. “In the trunk.”

The person in the ninja suit was certain there had been no cars in the vicinity when they entered the cabin. Nevertheless they left L C in the chair and went out the front door to look. There were no vehicles anywhere.

Once back L C had calmed down.

Remembering to speak with all breath and no voice, the person in the ninja suit asked, “Someone brought you here and just left you?”

“Yes.”

This was going to take some serious thought.

The expedient thing to do was to simply kill her and dispose of the body where it would not be found. The most pleasurable thing would be to get her somewhere where she could be tortured at leisure.

There was a problem with either plan.

There was no car. No vehicle. Ninja like, the murderer had hiked in. There was no way to get either her living body, or her dead body, away from here easily without detection. Dragging her body across the ground would leave marks that would be almost impossible to cover over. Wouldn’t even need a forensic team to find it. A dog or a sharp detective could unravel everything.

Plus the other thing. Someone had left her and was no doubt planing on coming back.

At the minute it seemed absolutely essential to know who that someone was and why they had tied her up and left her here. The only answer the ninja could think of was “There is another serial killer running around here.” The question was would this other killer be someone who would want to work together, or someone who would be an implacable enemy.

“I have to know.”

 
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Fifty: The Decision

7 Sep

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Lonnie pulled to the side of the road and waited for the cop car to catch up to him. He had a small hope it might be after someone else. It might pass him by. Leaving him shaken but still a free man.

No such luck.

Lonnie looked in his rearview mirror. The cop car pulled up behind him. The driver spoke into his radio. Sat. Waited. Did nothing.

Lonnie became more nervous by the minute. He knew the cop was waiting for backup. Somehow he had expected the cop to come up to him, tell him to get out of the car and lean up against the side of it. He expected to be frisked and put in the back of the squad car, taken down to the police station and booked.

None of that happened.

Nothing happened.

Again Lonnie looked in his rearview mirror at the cop sitting behind the wheel behind him. The cop did not move.
Lonnie began to fidget. He began to tap his finger on the steering wheel. He began to think. He began to tap his foot. He began to count the charges against him.

Car theft. He knew that. They knew that. There were drugs in the car. He knew that. They did not. But they would do a search and find them. Not as if he did anything special to hide them. Like an idiot he somehow assumed he would never get caught.

Lonnie began to rock back and forth. His eyes became fixed on the rearview mirror. On the cop sitting in the car behind him. The cop doing nothing. Nothing.

There were guns in the car. He knew that. They did not. Or did they? Was the cop behind him waiting for a damn swat team who would surround him, just waiting for him to make one single slip so they could blow him to hell?
What if the CIA was on to him? Would they use regular cops to catch him so they could take over?

Of course they would. They would stop at nothing. They killed Cody, didn’t they? They weren’t going to arrest him. They were going to kill him. And he was being stupid enough to sit here in the car and wait for them to do it.

Lonnie couldn’t take the suspense any more. He started the car. The cop in the car behind him looked up. Lonnie jammed the car into reverse. Floored the gas. The car snapped into motion with a jerk, as though it were a football being kicked toward a field goal. The tires spun. They took hold. Grabbed traction. The cop in the car behind him did not have time to start his car when the car Lonnie was driving slammed into it doing zero to sixty in one and one half seconds.

Not only did the trunk of Lonnie’s car do serious damage to the front end of the cop car, it swerved the nose of the cop car well over into the ditch on the side of the road.

Launching into drive Lonnie pressed full on the gas, tires spun and slid raising black burned rubber smoke, before shooting down the road in front of him. For the space of three miles he thought he was free. Then he heard sirens coming from in front of him.

If he were spotted they would give chase.

He had to disappear.

Lonnie aimed the car between two big trees. Killed the lights. Kept on going. The police car screamed down the road beside him. The car Lonnie was driving was scraped and scratched, but still managed to lumber out onto the road.
He no sooner did so than another cop car came toward him. This one did not have sirens wailing so he was not aware of it until it pulled around the corner towards him. The cop car shot out of a horseshoe turn. Straight passed him. As Lonnie entered the turn the cop car was spinning around to come back after him.

In panic Lonnie rounded the turn. He had to slow down. No choice. The cop would have to slow down too or go off the road.

Lonnie went back into the woods between the trees again. Remembered to douse his lights. The cop car turned on his sirens and flashed behind Lonnie. Then Lonnie lurched out onto asphalt again. Turned left.

Then he realised. He was headed back the way he had come.

By then it was too late. He was passing the car he had ruined, and another cop car beside it. They both stared at him as he passed. Soon he had sirens behind him.

Once again he made his own road into the woods. Kept going this time until he found a dirt road. It more or less paralleled the regular road, and headed him back toward the safe house.

If the CIA were after him there was only one possible out. That was to get ahold of that CIA agent and get to the bottom of this before the CIA got to him. It was a scary idea, but if he took the time he could convince himself he could do it. If he needed some fortification he had some mind sharpening drugs right on board. All he needed was a few minutes to get them inside.

He made the decision.

Now he knew what he was going to do.

That was when he heard the helicopter overhead.

 

 

(C) 2014 All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

Chapter Forty — Nine: Solitude

23 Aug

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Ever since the event. Why do I think of it as the event? Why not the day of revenge? The death? The day I found what pleasure really means? The torture. The murder. It doesn’t bother me to think of myself in those terms any more. What I am is no  longer important. What you can prove about me is all that is important. What anyone can prove about me. 

Ever since the event I have found solace, relaxation, satisfaction, and stimulation, in going back to the cabin where it happened. Sitting there, remembering every vivid detail. Maybe that old crock was right about the murderer always returning to the scene of the crime. I certainly did. Sometimes I embellished my imaginings with things I could have done but did not do. That is okay. It was my first time. Couldn’t think of everything. Next time. Next time I will remember them all. 

Tonight there was a mouse. I could hear it scratching somewhere. Wonder what it found to eat. 

Only visited the cabin at night. Didn’t want to get caught. To help I used a cheap, second hand lap top from a thrift store. It is amazing how anonymous you can be in a world without privacy. Went to the airport where thousands of people pass everyday. Ordered myself a ninja outfit using a prepaid credit card you can pick up in any store. Had it delivered to a house that was between renters. Intercept package.

Everything was wrapped in black. Only my eyes showed. In order to find me at night you would need a heat sensing device. 

Possible, but unlikely.

There was that rat again. Knawing on a wall or something. Over by the closet.

 

Chapter Forty — Eight: Caught

16 Aug

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

 

Lonnie figured out he needed money, a legal car he could drive, and he needed to get rid of this hot car. Not a problem. A forty-five minute drive to the chop shop and by morning he’d be all set.

He was still thirty minutes away from the chop shop when he saw the red light behind him. He was still in the same heavily wooded area. An area he would have never known existed had he not discovered the safe house used by the CIA. Now he knew the area well. He had been prowling around it since the day he discovered it.

That was when he took stock. That was when he wished he had continued to follow all of the advice Cody had given him.

That was when he wished he had applied it to this day, this trip, this car, if to no other.

Cody told him never to steal a car when he was high, stoned, or even had a drink. Right now Lonnie had enough crap in him to overdose any three people who hadn’t built up a tolerance to it.

Cody told him to never have drugs in a stolen car with him. And to search it as soon as possible. If the car had drugs in it to stash them. Right now Lonnie had enough drugs in the car to be legally called a dealer.

Cody told him never to be in a car longer than it took to get rid of it. An hour at the most. Right now Lonnie had been driving it around for almost eight hours.

Cody told him never to have a weapon of any kind in a stolen car. Not even a pocket knife. Lonnie not only had one in here he had gone back to his house to get it and had promptly forgotten it. Right now it was shoved under the armrest.

Cody told him to never commit any other crime while in a stolen car, unless it was only stolen to get him to the crime scene and away, to protect his identity. Then ditch it as quick as possible.

Did kidnapping count?

At least she wasn’t still in the trunk.

Oh, shit. His mind raced. If they caught him now he was not going to get out on bail any time soon. Oh, shit. She was all tied up like one of those rolled roasts you see in the meat section. Then she was tied to the chair and he did it all over again. Oh, shit. Then he locked her in that damn closet and all but nailed the damn thing shut. Oh, shit, shit.

She was going to die in there.

Oh, shit.

The cop car was catching up. The lights were reflecting inside the roof of the car now. He could hear the siren’s wail.
Unless he told them where she was. He would have to tell on himself. Car theft. Weapons trafficking. Drug dealing. Kidnapping. Oh, shit. Kidnapping a CIA agent. Terrorist activity. He wouldn’t even be entitled to a phone call or an attorney or any American rights.

Oh, shit.

To save her life he would have to tell. If he told he would never see daylight again the rest of his freaking worthless piece of shit life and he couldn’t even get high to ease the pain.

Oh, shit.

How had things gone so wrong so fast?

One thing was sure. He could never tell them about the woman in the closet in the cabin. If he got caught she was on her own. She was going to die in there. Die a slow death of thirst and starvation. That would have to be an awful way to die. Slow and miserable.

He was going to feel badder than hell about that.

 

Chapter Forty — Seven: The Closet

26 Jul
Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

 

 

At some point L C fell asleep.

She woke up when the car bounced over bumpy roads that shook her in the trunk as though she were a shake and bake woman, needing only to be breaded properly.

Eventually the car stopped. Doors slammed. And at long last, the trunk opened. Hands grabbed her, pulling her out of the trunk. She had pictures of being drug somewhere. She weighed one hundred and fifty pounds, which the doctor told her was not seriously over weight for her height, but which she had found many men could not carry.

Her legs were pulled out first. Perhaps her restraints would be cut and she would be allowed to walk.

Or maybe it was a rapist.

She had not given much thought to why she had been kidnapped, or what would be done to her besides killing her and leaving her body in a ditch or something of the like. For a second she had hoped the tape binding her legs would be cut, now she dreaded the idea.

The rest of her body was pulled out of the trunk.

Whoever had her was able to carry her and walk with her. She tried to get some picture of what the person might be like. She was unsuccessful.

She wondered if she were being carried over a threshold like a wedding couple was supposed to do.

Once again she went back to the problem of why she was being kidnapped. Could it have to do with why she was in jail? Nothing she could think of made sense to her.

The person, she was sure it was a man, somewhat thin, dumped her into a chair with a plop. It felt like a wooden kitchen chair. It hurt her hands, which were at the small of her back.

Rope was looped around her chest. She was being tied to the chair. When her upper body was secure the abductor turned attention to her legs. Rope was tied around her ankles and pulled back. After all that was done she was poked and prodded as though to make sure she could not move.

A voice was mumbling. She wondered if there might be more than one, but she could not hear anyone else. Nor did the voice seem to be directed to anyone else, not even her. It sounded most like the voice of a person trying to make sense of written directions. Like her father would make when he put together a bicycle for her from a box. Her father loved it when things were obvious enough he could put things together without needing to make sense of the directions.

She wondered if her kidnapper were reading directions on how to tie knots.

When she was secure in her chair it was tilted backwards as though she was going to fall. A seconds worth of new fear hit her. Then she was being drug.

Tilted up again. She was being pushed into a place.

You’ll be okay in here until I get back.” A voice told her. “You can scream and yell all you want now. Nobody around here to hear you. But it will be a while before I get back with food. You might not want to tire yourself out.”

A door was closed on her. She was sure then she was in a closet because the door pressed against her shins hard as it was slammed too. Something was done outside to secure it.

There were footsteps, then silence.

Two miles a way Tom drove the pickup up a back road well away from people or cabins so his brother-in-law and his pain in the ass dog would not distract them from what they had come up here to do: Hunt. The dog looked steadily in the direction of the cabin where the dead man had been.

Five miles away a little dog named Rocko went up to a window, scratching at the pane and barking, trying with all of its three-pound weight to force its way through the glass. Aunt Emerald picked him up, scratched him absently behind the ear and peered outside. In the background the parakeet, Tabby, barked twice, then shut up.

Aunt Emerald saw nothing. There was nothing to see.

©2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Forty — Six: Normal Disturbance

21 Jun
Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Morgan and Delavera pulled into the parking lot. Someone had called in a disturbance. No one seemed to know what was going on. The neighborhood wasn’t the worst part of town but it was on a down hill run and headed there fast. The parking lot was in back, behind the store; dark and gloomy, with an array of litter scattered across the asphalt. It was large enough for eight or ten cars. Bushes and a broken fence with holes big enough to walk through, and an alley on the other side of that.

A paradise for drug dealers, pimps, and muggers. When they got out of the car both Delavera and Morgan kept their hands close to their belts. People stood around staring at the two of them. A neighborhood where people appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Anybody see what happened?” Morgan asked in his most policeman like bellow. Most of the people just kept staring at him. He figured those were the ones who didn’t have any outstanding wants or warrants. There were others. Shadows who did not want to be seen. Fully arrestable on sight people.

“Man and a woman had a fight. Happens all the time. Don’t know why anybody called it in.” Said a man in a long brown coat.

“Maybe because there are laws against beating up on women?” Delavera said from just behind the headlights. “Who called it in?”

An older woman, obviously drunk, probably in her seventies, spoke up with conviction and no fear. “He was holding her down. I couldn’t tell what he was doing to her. She was laying on the ground and he was rolling her around. I said, ‘Young man you should stop that,’ but he acted like he didn’t hear me.”

“Probably her pimp frisking her for money,” said a young man. Most of the bystanders laughed.

“Did you get a look at him?” asked Morgan.

“No. I didn’t stay around. I went across the street to my friend’s house and called the police from there.”

“Did you see what kind of car they left in?”

“Young man, I just told you. I went across the street to call you people. It is your job to take care of these things, not mine. Besides it is too dark back here to see anything anyway. I told the store owner there ought to be a law making him put lights back here.”

“I agree with you, ma’m. Okay. We’ll make a report as best we can.”

Before they left the spoke to the owner of the store. Delavera asked him, “You got no lights back there. You got no video cameras. You know it is dangerous for your customers back there?”

The store owner looked her, his black and rock hard, hers soft brown, “What do you want me to do, lady, scare all of my customers off?”

 

(c) 2014, all rights reserved

 

Chapter Forty — Five: Silence is Frozen

14 Jun

 

 

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

The car drove for a ways, then bounced horribly. Stopped. The engine turned off. Silence. The door opened. Silence. The door closed. Silence. Some gravel crunched.

Silence.

Oh, my God. I never told anybody where I am. The Langlins are in Europe. They won’t be thinking about me. They wont even want to think about me until they come back and I’ve proven myself innocent. The lawyer won’t think about me until I don’t show up for trial. Nobody knows where I went to but the lawyer. It will be days before anybody realizes I’m missing.

Oh, my God. Oh my God. The killer kidnapped me. The cops are going to think I skipped the country. It will be years before they find my body and the case is reopened because they find out their mistakes.

Oh, my God. They may never find my body. Oh, my God. They will never know who the real killer is. The Langlins, My mother, Auntie Em, they will all think I did it. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

OhMyGod!

After a few minutes, in the pitch black trunk, hearing nothing except her own thoughts and fears, panic engulfed L C. She began to kick her legs, buck her body, and make as much noise through her gag as she was able. The more she moved the more panic overtook her. Soon she was an unthinking mass of frantic movement and noise.

Then there was a solid banging on the back of the trunk.

L C froze. Both mind and body.

Silence.

She waited. She was sweating. Her breathing was ragged, almost hurting her nose as the drove in, out, in, out, in heaving blasts.

A voice came through the trunk. “Do you want me to beat you to a bloody pulp with a tire iron?”

Fear gutted her from the bottom of her stomach to her mouth.

“Answer me.”

Her first thought was, “How do I answer.” Her mouth was stuffed with something that prevented her from making intelligible sounds.

“If I open this trunk you will regret it.”

She yelled “NO!” as best she could through her gag.

“You make one more sound and I’m opening this trunk and beating you senseless so you can’t make any more sounds. Do you understand?”

Her mind raced. Is that a trick question? He just told me if I make one more sound he will beat me with a tire iron. Then he says make one more sound. What do I do? What do I do?

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“YES!” Losing control she fairly screamed the answer.

Silence.

Something scraped. She flinched thinking the trunk was going to open any second now. It didn’t.

It was dark. L C Was sweaty. She could smell her own fear. She began to shake. She was a tiny little girl again in a big dark bedroom, and there was something horrible in the closet. Daddy was gone and mommy was asleep and didn’t hear her.

 

 
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

 

 

Chapter Forty — Four: The Ride

7 Jun
Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

The lawyer told L C to stay low, not attract attention, and avoid the press. She had a microwave, a TV, and a small refrigerator. Still she needed some food and something to read. It was a neighborhood where a lot of people dressed so as to be “invisible.” It was not uncommon to see people walking slouched over, wearing hoods so you had a hard time seeing their faces, shoulders and arms bowed forward so you could not tell from looking at their chest if they were male or female.

She sat in her room, with the lights out, looking out the window.

She decided she could do that. She rolled her hair up and tucked it out of sight, waited unill the sun set and the world outside was in dull quiet shadow only broken occasionally by someone yelling or honking. She missed her little dog Rocko.

The store was open after dark. It was less than a block away. It had everything she could need. Food, drinks, magazines, and a shelf of paperback books.

She went ahead and used her debit card, wondering how long her money would last. Enough to last a week, maybe.

As she left the store the only thing on her mind was getting back to the room. When she rounded the corner of the store, one step past the driveway into the parking lot, something rammed into her, driving her into the unlit parking lot.
She dropped her bag. She started to yell. A fist hit her in the stomach. She found herself bent over looking at the cement. She looked up, trying to see her assailant. Another fist hit her in the chin.

She went down.

When she came to she was being rolled into the trunk of a car, her bag of groceries being dumped on top of her. Her hands were duct taped. Her feet and legs were duct taped. A cloth something was in her mouth and duct tape applied over it as an after thought. Duct tape was wrapped around her eyes. Someone was going through her clothing picking out her cell phone, billfold, room key.

As the trunk slammed down, closing her into total blackness, she thought, “That sure as hell isn’t a reporter.”
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Forty — Three: Understanding Oneself

1 Jun

 

 

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

Okay, I think I’ve got it figured out.

Why I never killed anything in my life before. Why I was afraid to kill anything. Why I was so squeamish. I was murder phobic. I knew, subconsciously, what I was. And I knew, also subconsciously, that if I never did it I would never become it.

That didn’t sound right.

That sounded muddled.

Some men are homophobic. Some men are so non-homophobic they can do things that would embarrass a homosexual and it still never effects their basic heterosexual nature. Now I know. Not all homophobes, maybe. But some of them. They know deep down that if they ever kissed another man, if they ever had sex with another man, they would lose control, and from then on all they would ever want was another man.

Some of us fear other things.

Some.

Somewhere deep down I knew. If I ever killed anything, If I ever tortured something, someone. I would never want to stop.

So maybe that kid in class, the one you teased because they refused to dissect the frog… Maybe they are the wuss you thought they were. But maybe they are a murder phobic latent psycho murderer who secretly knows in their heart of hearts what they really are.

And maybe, if they are like me, and they hated you enough, perhaps they are considering you as their next victim.

I am.

Chapter Forty — Two: The CIA Agent

24 May

 

Did you notice my daughter's picture? Yep, she is here.

Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.

 

 

Lonnie had been out to the safe house several times. Nothing. A window had been broken and a squirrel moved in. Other than that it was uninhabited, unvisited, and hardly worth going back too.

 
He was pretty sure he was suffering from depression. Since Cody’s murder he had been getting higher more often and stealing more cars, not just oftener but more desirable. The kind that brought in better money.

 

The guy who bought the cars from him was proud of him. Something Cody said was a bad sign. “Means you are doing it too often. You are playing with fire. Cops will start looking for patterns until one day you go to break into a car and they are waiting for you.” Until Cody’s death what Cody said was what Lonnie did. Now. It didn’t seem to matter.

 
Right now he was doing something else Cody had told him never to do. Cody said, “You heist a car you get in it, you get it where it is going, you get out of it. Never look back.”

 
Now he was doing what Cody told him only a fool on a suicide mission would do. He was stealing chick mobiles, cruising town in them, and picking up girls in them.”

 
He was driving slow checking out everybody. Looking for some promising action.

 
That was how he spotted the CIA agent.
He whipped into the parking lot. Got out of the car, and headed toward the street, trying to figure out what to do next.

 
Right now Lonnie wanted to be really really clear. To think perfectly. To be more brilliant than he had ever been before in his life. To be able to see and understand things normal people leading normal lives would miss.
Lucky for Lonnie. Even though Cody had told him never to mix his crimes, to never be loaded or have drugs anywhere near you when you boosted a car… Well, Cody didn’t know everything or he wouldn’t be dead, would he.

 

Lonnie reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. He smiled. This was some of the best shit. It made the world a pane of glass you could look through.

 

With this he could think his way through anything.

 

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