The Butcher and the Wren(46)

Fixed.

The steady light changes things. Without the strobing effect, everything softens. He lets his gaze wander around, wishing he had more time.

It won’t be long before they arrive to tear this place apart. Soon, this will all be reduced to evidence bags and caution tape. Somehow, his current situation is made worse by the knowledge that it was a noncompliant woman who toppled his house of cards.

If this is how his story is going to unfold, he is going to take control of everything he can. He unlocks the pristine deep freezer situated neatly against the wall and enters numbers into its keypad lock. The latch clicks loudly, cutting through the soft hum of the air conditioner. He runs his hand over the top of the lid. It’s cool to the touch as he drums his fingers along the smooth surface. When he opens it, the vacuum seal gasps. It reminds him of lungs deprived of air for almost too long. A blast of cold air hits him in a wave as he gazes down at her. She’s freezer burned. Her skin is like ice, smooth and cold. Dried blood still cakes her cheek. After weeks in the freezer, it has dried and now stains her skin. It looks beautiful in a strange way, like a macabre rouge.

If he turned her over, he’d be able to touch the neatly bandaged wound in her lumbar region. He got it right that time. With this experiment, he had successfully severed the spinal cord at the C6 vertebra. Immediately, his captive lost movement in her legs, trunk, and arms. That’s what was supposed to happen seven years ago, but he has since learned from his botched attempt, perfected it.

An incapacitated victim is easier to work with, but less of a challenge; perfect for a test of scientific prowess rather than athletic endurance. He always wanted to attempt a lobotomy, ever since those early days at the library. She had bled more than he anticipated when he inserted the ice pick into her orbital socket. His initial attempt at the prefrontal lobotomy didn’t go quite as planned. But the father of the ice pick lobotomy had had failures too. Admittedly, he hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to place the ice pick in the correct position. Even when he knew he had made a mistake, he still proceeded to the next step of stirring it around, and that’s what really ended things for her. She had shuddered and convulsed. Her eyes bulged, and she tensed so hard that he was sure she would break. Her pain was evident on her face. He can still see her muscles reflexively tightened around her neck and jaw. She would have gritted her teeth down to dust if he hadn’t placed the gag in her mouth. Blood dribbled from her nose like a leaky jug of milk and pooled below.

It’s like lipstick now.

He touches the dehydrated skin with his fingers and relishes in the feeling. The bright blood had glistened on her lips and teeth at the time, shiny and inviting. Now it looked like the cracked surface of the driest desert. The ball is still there between her teeth, hardened from the cold. At the time, he thought it was just a bit of practice, but now her suffering will have a greater purpose.

He unplugs the freezer, propping the lid open. When they come, they will smell her first. He unlocks a closet to reveal his most heavy-duty tools and weapons. His preference has always been to hunt up close. Even when he was younger, he enjoyed sticking a pig with a sharp knife more than shooting it from afar. Sometimes a situation requires distance though. If he is going to hunt big game, it’s time to bring out the big guns.

He grabs his TenPoint crossbow and a quiver full of titanium mechanical broadhead arrows. When deployed, two blades shoot out from the sides of each arrow, resulting in a two-inch wound on the target. Maximum damage without added bulk. He’ll be able to move easily and quickly, vital to his plans. After all, this is the first time his prey will be able to shoot back.





CHAPTER 30





PULLING UP TO RAY SINGER’S address, Leroux sees Will leaning against his parked car. He parks behind him in front of the home and gets out.

“I’ll stick behind here for a little,” Wren says from the open window. “I just need a minute to process alone.”

Leroux nods. “Okay, we won’t be long. Don’t touch my radio.”

He throws her the keys, and she gives him a small smile as she starts up the engine.

“John, why must you always make me wait for you?” Will waves his arm dramatically, and Leroux rolls his eyes.

“Get it together, Broussard.”

He tucks in his shirt and starts toward the front door. They walk up the steps and ring the doorbell. A disheveled-looking middle-aged man answers the door. Even from the safe distance of her place in the car, Wren can hear everything with total clarity.

“Can I help you?” he asks, opening the door and leaning out.

Will speaks first, showing an ID as he does. “New Orleans Police Department. I’m Detective Broussard, and this is Detective Leroux. Are you Ray Singer?”

Ray looks stressed.

“Yes. What is this about?”

Will continues, “We are investigating a near-fatal attack that occurred in the area last night. The victim was last seen at your bar.”

“Jesus. Is it that woman from the news?” he asks, his eyes widening.

Leroux nods. “We need to speak with the bartenders and any waitstaff that were working last night. Can you provide us with those names and their contact information?”

Ray leans against the doorframe, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

“Wait, the Butcher was in my bar? Is that what you are telling me? Holy shit.”