Dark Purpose - III

Part 1

III.

“Please…let me go…please…” Helen squirmed under her arm restraints. Her head was swimming and she could feel blood trickling down over her eyes. The darkness she sat in was all encompassing and cold. The damp air wafting in through the broken windows made her skin tense up. The goosepimples peppered her skin from neck to toes. She shivered uncontrollably from the fear and the icy breath of the man shifting around in the shadows.

                “shh shh shh. It’ll be alright.” The shadow whispered moving tools in the dark.

                Helen strained her eyes to find some source of light some exit to escape to. If only she could break free. She could feel a metal pipe jutting out from the broken wall where she was chained. It felt rusty, perhaps if she could wrestle free. She tugged and tugged feeling slight movement in the pipe. The shift in the metal caused the shadow to shoot up and stop moving. He was staring in her direction; she could feel his eyes on her. She didn’t have time to waste she couldn’t hesitate. She tugged again.

                The heavy footfalls of the large shadow caused her heart to explode in her chest. She tugged and tugged again tears streaming down her face. Panting, crying, tugging. The shadow was atop her in seconds and she felt her arms fall. She had broken free!

                Then she felt it. A surge of pain.

                She felt for her right hand but all she found was the warmth of blood. Sticky and viscous, drying quickly on her left hand. She had been released from her holds, but she had also been released from her own hand. The panic and adrenaline caused the shock to stutter. But in her confusion of missing a hand her yearning to stand and run was halted. She was frozen, now missing a vital part of her being.

                The shadow stood above her staring down with his dark eyes. His own hand grasped for her throat and lifted her up effortlessly. With his empty hand she felt him grab for her exposed wrist. She felt weak and unable to fight him. With one motion he forced her back down but this time it wasn’t to the floor. She felt the cold rusty metal once again but his time not above her head but through her stomach. He had set her down upon the broken pipe nailing her to the wall. The force of the blow knocked the air out of her chest.

                Helen tried to force a scream but only blood bubbles escaped her mouth. The shadow stepped away and returned with a suture to close up her exposed wrist and a tube. He gingerly stitched up the mess of a stump and patted her on the head. She regained her breath slowly but felt the world drain out all around her. The cold was exploding in her feet and her hands as the blood she had was pouring out of her. The tube was forced inside her body and she felt sucked dry. The will to exist pulled from her flesh and her heart. Drop by drop. She grew hazy and the pain in her head exploded. Like she was filling with sand, pulled down towards the center of the earth. One more breath, a wheeze, a gurgle, then a dark peace.

The shrine room wasn’t so conveniently placed next to the harvest room this time. The Butcher, he loved that name by the way reading about his exploits in the newspaper, had to carry the gallons of blood elsewhere in the old building. Two stories down from the harvest room and farther west than he liked. He was a stickler for precision. The meat had to be placed facing the west, the harvest had to happen between two and three A.M. by moonlight if possible but by candlelight if need be. This was only a small hang up but not big enough to hinder him.

                The Butcher pushed the false wall away, fabricated by plaster pieces smothered in blood-soaked mold and stepped inside his shrine. Candles filled the back wall and he went to work. Paint rollers covered in dried cracked blood were dipped in the fresh paint. After the first coats were down, he began to pen out his confessions. A poet by heart he wished to convey his pain through the only medium he knew, the ink of the heart.

                ”It’s not my fault…the evil within me persists…I’m infected with the will to cause death…back and forth I fall…from light to dark…my purpose…my will be fulfilled…” until his hands were coated and the paint was dried The Butcher whiled away the hours.

                The bag he carried, filled with a part or two from the harvested, sloshed as he threw it over his shoulder. The hand, a foot, and two organs made up this harvest. Carefully extracted, carefully preserved. He slid through the door that led to the alley and tossed another bag of his soiled clothes away. He emerged from the alleyway as the bustle of the city began early in the morning. A garbage truck trundled along behind him excavating the trash from the abandoned building and the evidence of his being there with it.

                The Butcher once again blended away into the crowd. His harvest complete, his shrine built. His deed done for one more night.

“When was this reported?” Greed asked Officer Wilson taking a seat at his desk. A report sat on his desk detailing a new victim.

                 The previous two days had brought nothing but strife. Riding around town listening to the doctor talk non-stop about his books and his theories and the work he had done. Not to mention his sick obsession with knowing the mind of a killer. That part irked Greed to know end. In his years as a detective he was sure he knew the mind of a killer. It was no mind at all. It was a tainted existence devoid of humanity or reason. Even the ones who commit murder on a whim and appear sane in the aftermath are still tainted. Greed had no remorse for those who took life and had no patience for those who were fascinated by them. Thankfully the doctor left him alone at night only to bother him again once his city obligations were met. The doctor was a popular fellow at the local radio stations and TV stations, spouting his garbage repeatedly.

                “Three hours ago.”

                “And you didn’t call me?” Greed said shooting up from his desk.

                “The examination team already went out we figured it wouldn’t matter until they came back with something.”

                “You idiot! What’s the address?”

                “It’s at the bottom of the report.”

                Greed snapped a harsh look at the green officer and stormed out the door. Hopefully those bumbling idiots on the exam team didn’t ruin the crime scene. They could be just as useless as the rain.

                To his surprise the exam team was waiting outside when he pulled up. Looked like they didn’t even put their equipment in the building yet. Greed walked over to the group standing at the back door having a smoke.

                “Chester, what’s the deal? Figured you would have been inside making a mess of things before I got here.”

                “Greed. Looks like your partner arrived here already, barred us from doing our job. If he wasn’t a lackey of the mayor, I’d have had words, but you know how these things go. Gotta follow orders.”

                “This isn’t the war Chester. And I don’t have a partner.” Greed gritted his teeth and tossed his own cigarette away. He could already hear the drivel coming from the doctor’s fat lips. He pulled the rope up and entered through the back door. He could hear the man talking to himself, it echoed down the halls. He didn’t bother to concentrate on his words, he was more interested in seeing the scene for himself. The first time he’ll be able to examine it without any bumbling hands mucking it up. He should give the doctor a pat on the back for stopping them from getting in there. Maybe once this was all done, he’d buy him a beer.

                The smell of dried blood and bile wafted through the halls with the echoed voice. Greed would never grew accustomed to that smell no matter how many times it entered his nostrils. Something about it was always new and searing despite the smell and the taste in the air repeating itself from scene to scene. It was an object of death that couldn’t be overcome. Reflexively he pulled out his kerchief and readied it for his face when he turned the corner and saw the doctor with no such aid for his breath. Not wanting to appear weak before the other man he stowed the cloth to his pocket. His face wrinkled in contempt as he entered the room.

                The woman’s body was against the wall perched upon a piece of metal protruding from her abdomen. In the lowlight from the outside he saw a few pieces missing from her as well. The same M.O. missing limbs, and missing blood.

                “Fascinating.” The doctor said.

                Greed twitched at the word choice. Of all the ways Greed would describe a crime scene “fascinating” was nowhere on the list.

                “Have a look at this. The first cut looks like it was made in haste, while the others are more calculated. This man knows his anatomy. Where to cut and what to cut.”

                “That was apparent before.”

                “I know, I’ve seen the photos but seeing the specimen with my own eyes gives new life to my ideas.”

                “Specimen?” Greed couldn’t bite his tongue at that. Calling a helpless gutted victim of a murderer a specimen, as though this was simply an experiment to study and not a human being.

                “I know, I know. Bad choice of word. I sometimes fall into intellect and my tact deserts me. I mean no disrespect to the victim; I simply look at this from an altered perspective. As one must to ascertain the truth.”

                Greed scoffed and turned away.

                “What have you ‘ascertained’ thus far then doctor?”

                “Only a few things. From the writing we discovered in the other sites and the way he handles the spe…victims we can see that he is learned, not a bumbling simpleton as many would think. Sometimes a learned man can crack and break down. I’ve seen that before in the asylum’s I frequented in New England while writing my book, The Mind in the Dark. Some patients of course were simply mad from the word go, but many others were men who held high esteem in academia or business. Intelligent well-mannered men one day then corrupted the next. They weren’t serial murderers in the same way as this Butcher character, but they had committed heinous crimes nonetheless unlike what their initial character would reveal as possible.” Cairn explained using his pen to push aside the flaps of skin revealing the innards of the woman on the wall. The way he so easily pushed aside the spent flesh made Greed’s skin itch.

                “So, he’s smart. What does that matter? Is he not mad?”

                “Of course, he’s mad but he won’t leave so many clues. He is no amateur. As we have seen in his past victims there is a series of events and a pattern. Similar women. Similar buildings, similar restraints, similar incisions and cuts though the pieces missing are different. There seems to be a reason behind his apparent madness. And I believe no doubt there will be another room hidden away containing his confessions.”

                “Greed, are we good to start now?” Chester said stepping out from the hallway.

                Greed looked around the room and felt he was sinking. Nothing from what he saw revealed much. But a spark lit in his brain. An idea, a lead.

                “Ask the doctor. I’m headed out.” Greed said pushing past Chester.

                “Really? Done already?”

                “I’ve had my share of torn up women today. If you need me call the station.”

                “Detective hold up, I’ll come with you.”

                “No thanks doc, I need time to think.”

                Dr. Cairn exited the room behind Greed and caught him in the alleyway. Chester emerged and waved his men to enter the building and start their examination. The wind picked up and made Greed’s jacket flap. Winter was close and the oppression of cold was ever growing. Cairn put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

                “You have a hunch? Care to share with me?”

                Greed shrugged the large hand off his shoulder and turned towards the other man lighting a cigarette. He had no intention of sharing his idea with the man lest he need to hear the man’s ideas about it. He would run it down and share if he absolutely needed. But it might behoove him to send the doctor in another direction.

                “You know I do need your help.”

                Cairn perked up at this. Greed could sense the doctor wanted to have a connection with him but was hesitant to force his hand in the matter.

                “Go around and see if you can find out where these girls are coming from. Someone must be missing them. There’s a brothel only a few blocks from here.”

                Cairn had a dejected look.

                “Don’t you think a P.O. could do that? Seems a little beneath me.”

                “A uniform wouldn’t be able to get in, let alone ask any questions. You’re the type of guy who might even frequent such a place. You’ll fit right in. It’s important. Plus, if he is taking girls from a club or brothel he might be there or around there. Report back to me when you find something.” Greed pat Cairn on the shoulder and slid back to his car. Greed smirked knowing that if anything Cairn would be distracted by the women and out of his hair for at least a few hours, hopefully for a day if he pays well.

                “I’ll do what I can. I have some other appointments around town as well, but that’ll be on my list.” Cairn said as Greed shut the door.

                Greed’s idea though would send him towards the closest hospital. The idea that the Butcher was a doctor of some sort, from his efficient skills with amputation and suturing, made him wonder if any doctors have been discharged recently or perhaps were exhibiting any strange behavior. In the rearview he saw Cairn collecting his things and going the opposite way.

                “On your way little one. Have fun.”

Next →