[FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

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Warrl
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[FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

#1 Post by Warrl »

This story begins in two time periods a few days apart, and switches back and forth between them. The chapter titles explain when things occur.

Wednesday Evening, April 6
.....Sunday Morning, April 10
Thursday Morning, April 7
Thursday Evening, April 7
.....Sunday Midday, April 10
Friday Evening, April 8
.....Sunday Afternoon, April 10
Friday Night, April 8
.....Sunday Evening, April 10

Warrl
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Re: [FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

#2 Post by Warrl »

Wednesday evening, April 6

"Tanya", the willow leaves rustled. "It is time. Rise, Tanya."

She pushed through the thin layer covering her and sat up. Where was she? Rusted old cars, many of them obviously missing parts, surrounded her. The memory of how she got here came to her, along with why she had returned. Her limbs tingled as they awakened.

And other memories returned, such as her name. Tanya Middlestreet. A fifteen-year-old runaway, getting along by selling what fifteen-year-old girls can sell because that was better than her dad taking it by force.

The sun had just set. Quickly, before the twilight became too dark, she looked herself over. Her clothes were a wreck: torn, stained, and caked in dirt. She couldn't even keep herself decently covered, and she smelled of copper, grease, and dirt. She'd have to avoid being seen until she could do something about that. Her skin, a chocolate-cream color, wasn't nearly dark enough, even dirty, to reliably disappear in the night, and her bright red hair wouldn't help. She had caches of clothes and a few other belongings in town. She hoped that nobody had found them, and that she could get to them without facing questions she wasn't prepared to answer.

Tanya studied a patch of oil-soaked ground that seemed somehow odd and yet familiar. It was under the willow tree that draped its long strands of leaves over the fence. "One of your sisters", the leaves said.

"But I only have one sister," she thought. "Amy – she's not really here is she? She's just eleven! And Dad never even spanked her!"

"No," the leaves answered. "She is not here. Your new sisters are here. Waiting. You are strong enough. Go."

She found the rusted, broken-down gate and headed out of the junkyard, noting the broken and faded remains of a sign on the fence: "iller's Auto Wrecki". It was just starting to rain, a slow drizzle that could go all night and not amount to much. She was cold – no surprise, considering.

She walked a mile along the road through the swamp before she'd found enough mailboxes with numbers to tell her she was walking the right direction. Four miles later, in the dark, she came to the lake. Clothes already wet from the rain, she walked into the lake and proceeded to clean them – and herself – as best she could.

The yard light of a nearby house shone on laundry hanging from clotheslines. None of the clothes would fit her, but a couple dark towels under her own clothes at least dealt with the exposure problem and made the rips less obvious.

An hour of walking around the lake brought her to the highway and a convenience store. She went into the store and looked at the newspaper rack. There was one copy left of the Summerville Daily Journal; it was for Wednesday, April 6. Good. She had been gone five days, and she'd have two nights to prepare.

Warrl
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Re: [FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

#3 Post by Warrl »

.....Sunday morning, April 10

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?" Gwen answered automatically as she put down her coffee.

"This is Jim Argent," said the elderly voice on the other end of the phone. "I live out on Old Prairie road. I was just out tending my garden, and my dog Nancy showed up carrying someone's hand."

"A hand? A human hand? A real one?"

"Yes indeedy, broke off at the wrist, and none too fresh. It stinks pretty bad. Haven't seen anything like it since I came home from 'Nam."

"What did you do with it?"

"I wrapped it up in a plastic bag and put it in an old empty paint can. That'll protect it from the wildlife. I wrote the time on the can with a Sharpie; dunno if it matters but it won't hurt."

"That and keeping it out of the sun should do until an officer gets there."

"Well, I got it in the shade. Hope it won't be too long afore you get someone out here. It ain't really an emergency, though, I don't think whoever's missin' that hand is gonna be much upset if it stays lost another hour or two. It can't be put back on."

"I'll send someone right away. You're at 3340 Old Prairie Road?"

"Yes'm."

"Okay, thank you."

Gwen looked at her computerized map to see who was in the area and available. Great, one of the rookies. She keyed the radio.

"Eight roger, come in."

The radio crackled, "Eight roger, over."

"Fred, it's your lucky day. We got a stray body part over on Old Prairie Road and you get to be the first officer on the scene. Jim Argent at 3340 will give you a hand. The report should be on your computer now. Over."

"Jim Argent, 3340 Old Prairie, stray body parts. How's he going to give me a hand? Over."

"He has it in a paint can. Over."

"Oh, um... suddenly I'm glad I haven't eaten lunch yet. I'm on my way. Over."

"Good luck. Over and out."

She put down the microphone and informed the computerized map that Little Fred would be at that location on a medium-priority call. Then after a moment's thought she used her phone to call the detective unit.

"Big Fred? Good, just the person I wanted to talk to. Get on your computer and pull up report 3471. I thought you'd like a heads-up on this. Little Fred got the call, and as far as I know he's never dealt with a dead body. He may need a more experienced officer, someone with a steady stomach."

"Yeah, Gwen, the kid's still green under normal conditions. And this is a bit odd, could turn him a whole other shade of green. I think I'll head out that way."

Gwen notified Little Fred and the map appropriately, wishing someone had been as thoughtful on what turned out to be her husband's last call. Oh well. That was why she'd decided to supplement her widow's pension by working in dispatch.

Warrl
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Re: [FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

#4 Post by Warrl »

Thursday morning, April 7

Storpia woke to the sound of someone cursing. It sounded like – but it couldn't be. She sat up and looked around, then pulled her pants on and levered herself upright with her crutch. She noticed that it was still quite dark outside, and the wind was rustling the leaves of the willow tree in the back yard. They made a comforting sound.

Carefully maneuvering around a couple of other girls sleeping on the floor, she went into the living room of the squat-house. "Wow, Sugarlumps! It is you! I hoped you'd found a real life!"

Tanya looked up from where she was peering behind a loose segment of wall paneling. "No such luck. And I need clothes. I had a bundle stashed in here, but it's gone. The other stashes I had are gone too." She stood, and the two girls hugged each other.

"Oh, I took this bundle when you'd been gone three days. Just kept it safe for a day, then decided you weren't coming back and opened it up. Most of us are about the same size. Except bras, of course, nobody here got a rack like yours. And I haven't spent any of your money yet. So really almost everything's here. But what the heck happened to you? Those clothes are a wreck! Where've you been?"

"To hell and back. Please don't ask. I might want to trade some clothes. I need to cover up a bit more myself."

"Oh, that'll be a shame. You got such beautiful skin, not all carved up like mine. But those clothes you got on are trash, girl, no trading for them. Come help me fetch my bundle. Got some sleepers back there."

A few minutes later they had Storpia's bedroll out into the living room and were going through the clothes it concealed. Tanya picked an outfit and said she would go into the bathroom to change.

"Why not change out here, Sugarlumps?" Storpia asked.

Tanya grinned. "I think you're a little too eager to watch me undress."

"You know it, girl. But then I'd want to help. And that would lead to... a felony, dammit. Why you gotta be so gorgeous so young? Get thee behind a door, and stop tempting me. Oh, and here's the cash that was in your bundle."

A short time later Tanya emerged from the bathroom in clean clothes – with the ruined stuff packed to go. "Almost dawn," she said. "I gotta be someplace." Storpia saw her to the door, and after another quick hug she left at a quick walk.

Storpia went back to get a few more hours sleep, wondering just what it was that seemed odd about Tanya. The rustling leaves of the willow tree seemed almost like a voice. She couldn't make out what it was saying, but she was pretty sure it was trying to reassure her.

Then she remembered that there was no willow tree. There had been one at the previous squat, which the owner had chased them out of a month before. And realized what it was about Tanya that was bothering her.

She didn't feel at all reassured.

---

Storpia caught the bus to the community market for her morning busking. First she stopped by the newspaper and magazine stand which doubled as a community message center for the market regulars. She left word that she wanted to talk to Brady.

Then she went to her usual spot in the market. There was a concrete retaining wall there, just the right height for her to sit on. She arranged her crutch and hat, took out her flute, and began to play.

A cop went through the market about every half hour, but the first two weren't Brady. Finally the female officer strolled by, paused for a moment to listen to the music, nodded, and went on into the coffee shop.

Storpia finished her tune, then played another short piece that got a few coins from a couple of small children and a rather larger tip from their mother. Gathering up her morning's take, she went into the coffee shop, bought a sandwich, and sat down next to the cop. Her usual mocha was waiting for her.

"On a Thursday, Storpia?" Officer Adele Brady said. "Something must be up. Do we have another hooker disappeared?"

"No. Something weirder. The last one I told you about? Sugarlumps, disappeared last Friday? Did you find out anything about her?"

"I have a tentative ID on her. That's about it. You know she's a juvenile so I can't tell you anything."

Storpia nodded. "She came back this morning, real early. Wearing the same clothes she had on when she disappeared. And the clothes were ripped up pretty bad. She had some towels wrapped around her, and I think she needed 'em to stay legal."

"Hm. Did you get the clothes?"

"Nope. She swapped some of her good clothes for some of mine with higher necklines and longer sleeves, changed, and left in a hurry, took the rags with her. That was maybe half an hour before sunrise. And she wouldn't tell me where she'd been or what happened."

"Well, I haven't been able to get the chief excited about street kids disappearing every couple weeks. He thinks they decided to go back home. I don't think I can stir him into action with a story of one reappearing. Was there anything else odd about her?"

"Yep. Sugarlumps is named for her boobs. I think she's just fifteen, but she's got a rack that makes straight chicks drool. I've seen it happen. I watch her breathe and wish I didn't have a good dozen reasons I can't touch. So I know how Sugarlumps breathes. This morning she was breathing different."

"Breathing different."

"Way different. For all I could see or hear she didn't breathe at all, except when she was talking. But I didn't figure it out until after she left. Oh, and when she came in her skin was cold – no surprise there – and when she left she was still just as cold."

"Breathing is something people don't change easily. Could she have been on drugs?"

"If so, someone pushed 'em in her. Girl stays clean. But I don't think so. She seemed the same except for her breathing. And wanting less-revealing clothes. That's not her style."

"Do you think you'll see her again soon?"

"Dunno. There's a bit of me hoping not to. Kinda creepy. Don't suppose you can take that to your boss, though."

"I definitely can't take that to the chief. But that doesn't mean I'm not taking notice. I don't know what to make of what you've told me, but something is going on, so please keep telling me about odd stuff."

"Keep the free coffees coming, and we're good."

"You're the best use of my street-informant allotment that I have going. Really, someone should be paying you for what you're doing with the street kids."

"That'll never happen. I learned about hell by surviving it twice, not from a textbook, so I'm 'not qualified'. And I don't think I could put up with the pretenders in the agencies for long."

"Sometimes I can barely stand them myself. Well, the lunch rush is starting, so we need to get back to the sidewalk."

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Re: [FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

#5 Post by Warrl »

Thursday evening, April 7

A couple miles north of town, Fred Grant, known as "Big Fred" in the sheriff's department for more than twenty years and three editions of "Little Fred", was lounging at home when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi Uncle Fred."

"Well if it isn't my favorite traitor niece! When are you going to dump the city police force and come work for the sheriff's department, Officer Brady?"

The niece chuckled at the standing joke. "Sorry, I'm right where I want to be for a while. Although it'd be nice if the Chief could spot an elephant in an outhouse."

"Well, Adele, he's not much of a cop but he's a great administrator. You definitely have a stronger feel for the street. I'd guess the current frustration is your missing prostitutes? By the way, I agree that it at least looks like a serial killer."

"Your saying that would be enough for me to go over the Chief's head and call in the FBI on my own, if there weren't a wild card in the deck. An informant tells me that early this morning the most recent presumed victim – 'Sugarlumps' – came back."

"That's not expected. Tell me more." Fred had a notebook and pencil at the ready.

"Clothes – the same ones she disappeared in nearly a week ago – badly ripped up, to the point she was wearing towels under them. The informant didn't mention any visible wounds, and I think she would have. The girl offered no explanation of where she'd been or what happened to her clothes, which she hauled off with her after she changed. And possibly a change in her breathing patterns."

"A girl that young – didn't you say she's about fifteen? – and not even an obvious lie for a several-day disappearance? That's mildly odd by itself. But who notices breathing patterns?"

"Yoga instructors, Lamaze instructors, martial arts instructors." Fred was aware that his niece had taken all three classes in the prior year. "Some medical professionals. Music teachers and voice coaches. Lots of people."

"Ha, cagey as usual, won't give me a clue who your informant is."

"And you shared your list with me, when? I know you meet some of them in town."

"Confidential information, of course. I'd be disappointed if you did tell me. And how's the little guy?"

"Great. Do they always grow this fast?"

"No, it's kind of uneven, he'll stay the same size for occasionally as much as three days at a time. Then in a few years it changes and he'll hardly grow at all except in September and January. Which are, of course, right after the back-to-school and after-Christmas sales."

"Naturally. Now, what do you think of the wild card?"

"I don't know yet. What do you think of it?

"I think I may be the best cop in my unit but I still occasionally can use advice from a damn fine officer who has a lot more experience than I do."

"True. And remember, even the best most experienced cop can overlook things from time to time. Anything else?"

"Just a touch more physical description which I think confirms she's the runaway you thought she is. From the descriptions I've gotten she should be selling herself on the stage or runway, not the sidewalk. Oh, and her street name is supposedly in honor of her particularly impressive breasts."

"Yes, that pretty well confirms it. But I have a bad feeling about her father. If I'm right, she may be better off on the street than at home."

"Disgusting. But she's turned to prostitution, and I suspect we have someone killing young prostitutes. She's about the youngest I've heard of in the city. I have some friends on evening shift who are sweeping Madison Street every Friday night now. And I've asked some of my informants to pass word on the street that this is happening."

Fred's daughter walked into the room and informed him that supper was ready.

"Good move, Adele. If we have what we think we have, we don't care why the girls stay off the street - just that they do. But I gotta go. If you think master chefs in expensive restaurants can get egotistical about their food, try one that's twelve years old. Tell your husband I said hello."

She laughed. "Dammit, Uncle, you have to invite us over for dinner more often. And he just got home. Talk to you later."

After dinner Fred called an FBI agent he had worked with several years earlier, Alice Kubrik, to unofficially discuss what his niece had told him.

Warrl
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Re: [FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

#6 Post by Warrl »

.....Sunday midday, April 10

Officer Fred Rodriguez pulled up to the house on Old Prairie Road, parking by a late-1960s Lincoln Continental that gleamed from a recent wax-and-polish job. As he got out of his patrol car he noticed a much-older man kneeling in the garden by the porch, planting what appeared to be a rhododendron, with a Golden Retriever nearby rising to its feet to inspect the intruder.

"Mr. Argent?"

The older man nodded. "I'll be with you in just a moment. Nancy, sit! At my age getting up isn't easy, so I'd prefer to not have to do it twice. Ah, there, it's done." He proceeded to climb slowly to his feet with a major assist from the porch railings. "Call me Jim. You're here about a stray hand?"

"Yes, sir." Little Fred introduced himself.

"Okay, it's right here on the porch, in the shade. Nancy brought the thing to me just before I called."

Little Fred opened the paint can using Jim's garden trowel. The odor curdled his stomach. Reaching in he pulled out the plastic-wrapped bundle and inspected it by feel. "A left hand. I'll leave further examination to Detective Grant, from the Homicide unit, who should be here soon."

"Homicide?" Jim asked as the officer re-closed the can.

"Well, there's a body somewhere that used to be attached to this hand, and if it weren't dead it would have shown up at a hospital – which hasn't happened around here lately. A dead body is Homicide's until it's explained. Any clue where your dog found this hand?"

"Nope, but I have a leash. Maybe Nancy will take us there."

Jim spent a few minutes retrieving his cane and leashing Nancy. After sniffing the can, Nancy headed up the road with the two men walking behind. A quarter mile later, they arrived at a long-abandoned junkyard with a willow tree draping its fronds over the fence. The remains of the sign, next to the broken-down gate, read "iller's Auto Wrecki". The dog wanted to go through the gate.

Rodriguez stopped and looked carefully at the driveway. "There has been a bit more traffic here lately than a person would expect. Not a lot." Just then the radio on his shoulder squawked. He triggered the microphone and said "Eight Roger, over".

"Rodriguez," Gwen said over the radio, "Detective Grant is at the Argent house, by your car, and doesn't see you. Over."

"Tell him to proceed a quarter mile north to the old junkyard, and park on the road. Over."

"North to the junkyard, park on the road. Will do."

They waited for the second officer. Grant parked as directed, got out, and introduced himself. "What do you have?"

"Well, the only one we know to have been on the scene is this dog," Rodriguez said. "She wants to go into the junkyard, which may or may not be the scene.

"Well, a dog wanting to go in there is a bit shy of probable cause for a police search..."

"Why don't I let her finish her walk," Mr. Argent said, "and then tell you what I see?"

Nancy gave them a look that clearly said "Finally!" and led her human into the junkyard. A couple minutes later they heard Mr. Argent praising his dog from fairly far into the piles of wreckage.

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Re: [FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

#7 Post by Warrl »

Friday evening, April 8

It was over an hour after sunset when Tanya arrived on Madison Street. Bryn was just returning from a hotel a block away. "Sugarlumps! Where've you been the last week?" she shouted.

"Oh, various places." They exchanged hugs. "Hey, where is everyone? Aren't we short a few girls?"

"The cops came through half an hour ago," Bryn replied. "Arrested a few, chased more off. Young hookers've been disappearing Friday nights..."

"Well, that makes it easier. I don't want anyone else swiping my customer."

"Don't you go disappearing again. You had us worried."

"No promises, Bryn. But I'll see if I can let you know what's up." She sat down on the curb.

"Hey, stand up. There's no other little skinny young thing struttin' her stuff right now, you got no competition."

"I'm waiting for a certain guy. But listen, okay? I'm a new one. Name's Cocoa. Will you play along?"

"Hiding from somebody? You bleached your hair out a bit. Won't fool anyone who knows you. It's tough to change your street name when you keep working the same street."

"It was a rush job. And it'll do enough for tonight. Well, that and an outfit that isn't my usual sort." Glancing up the street, she took the larger woman's hand and pulled herself to her feet.

-----

He saw the Viking whore standing on the sidewalk in front of a store window, two blocks ahead, and thought how good it would be to take her... but a man must know his limits.

Then he noticed the girl sitting next to her. Red hair, but an almost-natural pale red. Not the fake-looking bright red that was the current fad. The Viking was lifting her to her feet and saying something to her, probably scolding her for not brazenly flaunting herself.

Not that she needed to. Even anxiously folded in on herself, she was cute and obviously stacked. Dressed more demurely than the other whores, which somehow made her even more attractive.

"She's a new one," he thought.

He pulled the car up to the curb in front of the girl, thumbing the switch to roll down the passenger-side window. She looked back at the Viking, who nudged her forward, saying "Go ahead, Cocoa. You wanted to do this."

The girl stepped forward and leaned on his car door. "Hey, handsome, looking for something special?"

"Could be," he replied, holding up a fifty-dollar bill.

"You paying for a hotel room too?"

"Don't need one – I have a place."

She looked back again, and at a nod from the Viking she opened the car door and climbed in. "You'll bring me back here afterward, right?"

"Don't worry, I'll take proper care of you." He put the car in motion again, heading out of town. After a couple miles he asked "Is this your first time doing this?"

"Mmmmaybe. Does it matter?"

"It might, afterward. Did that Viking tell you how much of your price she's going to take?"

"Huh? She never said anything like that."

"Oh, you are new at this. What put you out walking the street?"

He kept up some smalltalk, in hopes of distracting her so she wouldn't notice how far they were going. Fifteen miles out of town, on the far side of a swamp, he pulled into a driveway and the headlights flashed across an old, broken, somewhat faded sign.

"Auto wrecking? You're taking me to an old junkyard?"

"It's nice and private. Nobody will hear us."

"Seriously? You've brought girls here before?"

"Sure, six times." He parked the car under a willow tree that hung over the fence.

With a subtle nudge he urged the girl deeper into the junkyard, out from under the willow tree. Its tendrils almost seemed to try to grab hold of him. As he followed close behind her he reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife.

"Yes, I've brought several whores here. You're just one more ." He wrapped an arm around her neck. "And you'll be buried here too. I've already dug your grave." He swung the knife toward her stomach.

But she caught his wrist; her arm trembled as she held the blade away. "Grave?" she gasped.

"By the fence, right over there. Just relax and I'll make it fast."

She spun and dropped out of his grasp, and ran a bit further into the junkyard. "You can't kill me!"

He followed her, ignoring the soft sound of sifting dirt behind him. "I've explored this place – I know how to find you better than you know where to hide."

For several minutes he pursued her toward the back fence, careful to always stay between her and the gate. Of course, if she did get out to the road, he had a car and she didn't...

"Smell that?" she suddenly said as she ducked behind a car.

He paused, curling his lip at the odor. "An animal must have dug up one of the others. I'll fix it later." He paced toward her.

Suddenly she rushed forward and kissed him. A chill spread from his lips through his face. "Time to meet my sisters." Grabbing his shoulders, she turned him around.

Five women stood between him and the car. The headlights shone on cut and torn clothing, bloodstains, stab wounds. He realized he had known all five – very briefly, before murdering them. And as they approached, the stench got stronger.

"What do you want?"

None of them answered. Now he could see that their flesh was rotting.

The nearest corpse reached out to him. "Go away!" he screamed and slashed with his knife. The blade caught briefly in the bones of her wrist, and her hand fell to the ground.

"None of that, now," the girl holding him said. She wrapped one of her small hands around his wrist and forced it down, then squeezed until bones broke and he dropped the knife in pain. "Let's slow you down a bit more." She climbed up his back and kissed the back of his neck; a chill spread down his spine and into his legs. He tried to run, but stumbled and fell.

As the five rotting corpses surrounded him, the willow leaves began rustling. "Leave him to them," they murmured. "You have another concern now."

Tanya paused a moment. "Amy? Dad hurt her?"

"Amy," the leaves replied.

Warrl
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Re: [FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

#8 Post by Warrl »

.....Sunday afternoon, April 10

Deputy Rodriguez, careful to not contaminate the crime scene, had made it to the other side of the road and was vomiting into the edge of the swamp.

"Big Fred" Grant got the crime-scene tape and a few long stakes from the back of his car, and began stringing the tape around the junkyard entrance. "Fred, there's a water bottle for you in my trunk," he said.

Rodriguez gratefully washed his mouth out. "Kind of pathetic of me."

"Kid, most cops and paramedics throw up the first time. And the second. I didn't manage to keep my breakfast down until my fourth mangled body. You got hit with at least four at once. Now why don't you walk Mr. Argent and his dog home, and retrieve that paint-can? I can handle things here for a few minutes."

Another swallow of water. "Thanks. I think I need a few minutes."

"You never really get used to it. And I don't want to work with anyone who does."

As the younger deputy headed down the road with the old man, the dog Nancy proudly leading the way, Big Fred finished stringing the tape and reached for his radio.

"Dispatch, Two Hotel."

"Two Hotel, come in. What did you find, Fred?"

"Gwen, it's a mess. At least four bodies, probably more, some with significant decay. We'll need the complete crime-scene unit, and the coroner should send a bus. Look up the Wesbach case from five years ago – I'd prefer the same people working this."

"I remember that – there was some weird stuff going on and I never did get the straight story."

"There was weird stuff alright, and you still won't. Probably not on this one either. The position of the bodies doesn't make sense. I'll call the FBI – I'm hoping Kubrik is available and nearby."

"Serial killer."

"Got it in one. City's going to want to send some people too. Tell them that I really want their Officer Brady out here ASAP."

"What's your niece been up to?"

"Following tales and rumors about disappearing hookers."

"Ah. She's a good cop. How's Little Fred doing?"

"Normal for a rookie cop. He'll be fine."

"Good. I'll get people moving. Later."

"Two Hotel, out."

Next the deputy pulled out his phone and called his favorite FBI agent.

"Morning, Alice, it's Fred Grant again. I'm now officially reporting a suspected serial killer, following up on our chat last week, on the basis of finding a gravesite. Bring both your hats, I have a feeling you'll need them."

"I just landed," she answered. "What's the location?"

He sent her the GPS coordinates.

"I'll be there in an hour."

-----

Following her instincts, after three hours on the scene FBI Agent Alice Kubrik gave some instructions to the crime-scene units and followed the coroner's vehicle carrying the first of the six bodies.

Arriving at the morgue, she identified herself to the medical examiner and requested a preliminary estimate of how long each had been dead, followed by a more detailed – but still quick – summary of the sole male's wounds.

The medical examiner's assistant reported that the male had probably died Friday night, but the females had all been dead longer – by two to ten weeks, he estimated, and most likely on Friday nights. Some person or persons had scratched, gouged, and bitten the male severely enough to be fatal, but he also had severe injuries in the upper abdomen. The actual cause of death was not yet determined.

For the females, he said, the most apparent factor in all the deaths was multiple stab wounds to the chest and stomach.

Kubrik's phone rang.

"Agent Kubrik? Crime-scene crew here. You told us to call if we ended up with more graves than bodies. We have six bodies and seven graves."

"What are their conditions?"

"The freshest one, in terms of how long it has been occupied, has also been vacant the longest, we think - probably since the middle of last week; the others, less than 48 hours. And it doesn't match any of the bodies. That's preliminary, of course."

"Thank you. Now is Officer Brady still there?"

"No, she went back to her patrol."

"Then get Fred Grant on the line please."

"Damnit," she sighed, "not another one!"

Turning to the medical examiner, she said, "Check the females' fingernails and mouths for debris. Tissue-match it to the male. Now I have to go track down the occupant of the extra grave."

Then she returned her attention to her phone. "Ah, hello again Fred. You said your niece was talking about missing prostitutes. The girl who came back - I need to find her."

Twenty minutes later she was walking into the community market alongside Officer Adele Brady. As they passed a busker who was putting a flute-case in her backpack, a crutch leaning on the retaining wall beside her, Brady flipped a card and a five-dollar bill into the cap that was still lying on the ground. Then the two officers continued on to a coffee shop.

"It'll just be a minute or two," Brady said. "Get yourself some coffee if you like - and the cinnamon rolls are really good."

As they sat their coffees on a table, the busker came in and ordered a cookie. A moment later she joined them at their table. Kubrik noticed a tracing of old scars, like shallow knife-wounds, all over most of her exposed skin like a filigree.

"This is Agent Kubrik, of the FBI," Brady said. "And this young lady is Storpia, my informant."

"FBI agent?" Storpia stammered.

"Storpia..." Kubrik paused a moment. "Huh. My compliments. A name like that takes courage. Yes I'm officially investigating something." She showed her badge. "But you aren't in any trouble that I know of and care about. Right now I'm looking for a young lady whom, if I remember right, you know as 'Sugarlumps'. When have you seen her recently?"

"Well, Friday early evening the week before last. Then early Thursday morning – she left before sunrise. And again Thursday, very late, and left before I woke up Friday. What sort of trouble is she in?"

"I don't know yet. But I really need to find out. You haven't seen her since you fell asleep Thursday night?"

"Nope."

"So she could have disappeared on Friday night a second time. Do you recognize any of these women?" She showed a series of five photographs on her phone."

"The third one, I think that's Janet Green but I'm not certain. The fourth one is Juicy Fruit – I don't think her parents named her that though – she disappeared a week before Sugarlumps. Sugarlumps isn't in that bunch." She paused. "They're all dead, aren't they?"

"No official word yet. She worked as a prostitute, I'm told. Did she mention anyone as being more or less a leader among the prostitutes?"

"Bryn. Big woman, Viking-warrior type, kind of a mother figure I guess.""

"What do you know about why Sugarlumps wasn't with her parents?"

"Sexual abuse." Storpia shuddered. "Thank gods I never got that. She never mentioned her mother."

"Did she mention any siblings?"

"A little sister. Amy. I think she's like ten or eleven or so."

"Thank you." She abruptly got up and left, gesturing for Officer Brady to follow.

Out on the sidewalk, she said "Brady, I need to talk to that little sister, preferably yesterday morning."

"Uncle Fred gave me a tentative ID on Sugarlumps. Address included. Here, I'll send it to you."

"Thanks." Looking at the address that had just appeared on her phone, she asked "That's what, about two hours from here?"

"Rush-hour traffic. Three hours. You'll get there a bit after sunset."

"Damn. If it matters, that'll probably be too late." She hurried from the coffee shop.

Warrl
Grand Templar
Posts: 1526
Joined: Sun Jun 08, 2014 11:19 pm

Re: [FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

#9 Post by Warrl »

Friday night, April 8

The murderer was dead. Everything in the area was spattered with his blood. Five corpses, one by one, ritualistically collapsed across his body.

Shifting one of the bodies aside, Tanya dug in the dead man's pockets and found his keys.

The car started reluctantly and with an unpleasant sound. She carefully backed the vehicle out of the junkyard and headed home, figuring out the controls on the way as she had never driven before. She stopped along the way to commune with the GPS, asking it for a route that would keep her off the major highways.

Thirty miles from home, the engine made a grinding noise and stopped. She studied the dashboard, where most of the indicator lights were lit. Shrugging, she did the best she could to get the vehicle off the road by slowing it and driving it into the ditch.

Fortunately, familiar territory was straight down the mountain road she was on. Unfortunately, it would take most of two nights to walk that far. And unless she got a chance to clean the blood off herself and her clothes, she couldn't very well get a ride.

She decided, as she walked, that if she had time she would stop by the cemetary and visit her mother's grave.

Warrl
Grand Templar
Posts: 1526
Joined: Sun Jun 08, 2014 11:19 pm

Re: [FWC 17] Leaving Old Grounds

#10 Post by Warrl »

Sunday evening, April 10

As the sun set, Tanya climbed down from the neighbor boys' treehouse roof and over the fence into her own family's property. As she passed by the willow in the front yard, the leaves whispered "help comes – but hurry."

Quietly she opened the front door and went inside.

"Daddy, no, not again!" That was Amy's voice, from upstairs. "It hurts!" Tanya headed toward her sister's room.

"You'll come to enjoy it," her father said. "Your sister did."

"Not exactly, Father," Tanya said behind him. "Why do you think I ran away?"

"But you came back for more, didn't you, Tanya?" He turned to her. "But why are you wearing such filthy clothes?" He reached out and swiftly pulled her shirt off.

Amy screamed in horror.

"Oh shi-! What happened to you?" her father demanded.

Deep slashes, interspersed with stab wounds, ran across her stomach and breasts. The muscles of her abdomen were exposed and dried out in several places, while ribs were visible elsewhere. Several of the wounds showed tooth-marks where small scavengers had fed.

"Darn. Amy, I was hoping to spare you this. But you're in no danger now."

"How – how – are you alive?"

She paused. "Why don't you go out front and wait? I think someone will be here soon."

The younger girl grabbed some clothes and carefully slid past her sister and down the stairs.

"Well, Tanya, if I'm in no danger – "

"She is in no danger. You are in trouble."

"Do you think you can threaten me?" He stepped closer, towering over his daughter.

"I know you killed Mom. She told me so last night. But you can't kill me."

There was a gasp from downstairs, and then the sound of the front door opening and slamming.

"That won't stand up in court."

"Doesn't need to. The good news – you've heard the stories about how child molesters are treated in prison? You won't find out if they're true."

"What do you mean?"

"What I've become knows only one kind of justice." She looked up into his eyes for a moment, totally at peace with what she was about to do. Suddenly she drove her hand into his abdomen just below the breastbone, and up. She grabbed, twisted, and yanked.

He stared at her a moment, wavering slightly from the impact, then his eyes started to glaze. Tanya reached out with her other hand and lightly pushed on his chest. He fell backward to the floor, and did not move.

She turned and went down the stairs and outside.

-----

Shortly after sunset, Alice Kubrik pulled up in front of a nice two-story house with a willow in the expansive front yard. Emerging from her rental car, she noticed a pre-teen girl crying on the other side of the tree.

"Are you Amy Middlestreet?"

"Yes," the child replied.

"Alice Kubrik, FBI. Is Tanya here?"

"She's inside. Daddy was going to hurt me, but now he's going to hurt her instead. And she said he killed Mama."

Alice began running toward the door - but the door opened before she took a second step. Tanya stepped out, one hand soaked in blood and holding a bloody mass.

"Damn. I'm too late, aren't I?"

"If you wanted to stop me, yes you are."

Amy pulled at the FBI agent's arm. "Tanya's all cut up. She... she... is she a vampire now?"

"No," Alice replied. "I know how vampires happen, and she will not be one. You'll help make sure of that, just by remembering her. And she has friends who will remember her too."

"But she's dead, isn't she?"

"I'm pretty sure she is. But not a vampire. She's something else, and has a very specific reason for coming here. I suspect it's to protect you from your father."

"How will she do that?"

"I already did," Tanya said. "He'll never hurt you again."

"You... you killed him, didn't you? Is that his heart?"

"Yes, I did, and it is. You're pretty smart." She turned to the FBI agent. "Will you take care of Amy? Get her to where she needs to be?"

"I will," the agent replied.

"Thank you. She walked over to her sister, bent over, and put her clean hand on the child's shoulder. "Amy, I want you to remember something important: None of this was your fault. Not what our sick perverted father did to us, not what happened to him, not what happened to me. I love you."

The girl hugged her older sister. "I love you too, Tanya. Are you going to stay with me?"

"No, honey, I'm afraid I can't. Now this lady will get you to people who will help you get situated. Why don't you go wait in her car while she finishes up here?"

Amy nodded, tears tracking down her cheeks. Alice wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her toward the street. On the sidewalk, they turned.

Tanya lifted her father's heart to her mouth. She bit into it. She pulled a chunk free. She collapsed.

"That's it, then," Alice Kubrik said. "She saved you from your father, and now she's done."

A few leaves came free from the willow, fluttered downward, and settled on the girl's body.

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