Bonded (2 page)

Chapter Two

Humming a soft tune, the
figure’s movements came as if in a dance. There was a gleeful grin on the face
of madness as the weapon was drawn from the ice chest. Pulling on a glove, the
figure popped the blade free of the rubber mold and held it up to the blue
light for inspection. A single word floated on the air. “Perfect.” The voice
sounded neither male nor female, but simply mad.

The time was now. The figure
slid the knife back into the portable ice chest and covered it with a blanket
of dry ice.

Stepping out into the bright
sunlight, the figure’s tanned and perfectly honed features turned up to give
homage to the sun before starting out for a day at the beach.

The selection was made easily.
Only the perfect candidate would be the choice, and the knowledge of who that
was could be seen very clearly and very quickly.

“You little bastard.” The
teenage girl kicked at the sand and the child who had spilled his red Kool-Aid
all over her white bikini. “You are such a little retard,” she said haughtily
before moving off and laughing with her friends, then settling on the lounge
chair she had set up.

Moving confidently, the figure
grinned. The stage was set, and all it would take would be the singular, most
perfect moment, which came far sooner than expected.

The sun was at its apex. It was
clear what needed to happen. A fine, upstanding citizen could only take so much
of this vulgar, foul-mouthed wretch who had been let upon the world. Even the
twit’s parents and siblings should be killed. Ah, that brought a smile to the
figure’s face, as it stood to the left of the young misfit with the mouth of a
sailor. He was thankful for his ability to become invisible at will, thankful
for that twist of his genetic makeup that made him the perfect dispenser of
justice.

Standing just off to the side of
the beach chair, there was a moment of time before the figure bent at the
waist, as if listening intently to what the girl was saying even though no one
saw him standing there. The knife, made of ice and laced with acidic compounds
and paralytic agents, slid deep into the back of the twit’s neck from behind,
just between the webbing of the chair. He ensured that it slipped just above
the C1 vertebrae so that the death would be instantaneous, far more than the
little girl deserved.

There was no need to bleed her
by pulling the blade out of her neck. Not when leaving the blade in the crevice
created by the serrated and sharp edges of ice was enough. Too bad he had to
make sure that the brat didn’t scream. His special cocktail would have killed
the girl far more painfully than a simple stab, and she deserved it. For all
the horrible blasts to everyone near, oh yes… This was a death well deserved,
just as her parents’ and siblings’ deaths would be—the figure just had to wait
for a tearful obituary.

Walking off with cooler in hand,
a whistle on the breeze all that signaled that he had been there, the killer
was gone well before the body was found. Ah yes, it had been a good day.

He intended to return later to
watch the police as they canvased the area and talked to the airheaded idiots
that had been on the beach with her. The best part of it all was watching the
havoc that had been wreaked upon the community.

After the tools of the trade had
been put back, the figure stopped at the edge of a food truck that sat on the
boardwalk, phased back into sight, then moved around to get a thick sandwich
and a bottle of water. Moving to take a seat on the pier in perfect view of the
scene, the killer took a bite and began to eat, watching, smiling as the girl
was found to be dead. Her mother shook her to wake her, then began freaking out
when the girl didn’t respond. It became clear to the mother a moment later when
she lifted the brat and saw the blood staining the white chair.

An elated smile tilted the
figure’s lips when the first scream rent the air from the girl’s mother, who
sobbed about her
baby
. As the
shadowed figure took another bite of the thick Philly sandwich, the glee all
but rolled off his body.

The sandwich was finished and
the water sipped as the killer took in everything—the police that arrived, the
hawk-eye looks they cast around the crowd on the sand. He laughed. As if the
killer that could create such a spectacular kill would be stupid enough to
remain so close. While the words that the officers shouted to each other didn’t
reach his ears, the killer’s eyes ate up everything that happened with joy.

Once the beautiful, yellow tape
was strung up around the body of the foul-mouthed hellion whose soul had been
sent to Hell where she belonged, the killer stood.
Ah yes, it was a very good day indeed
. He tossed his trash away and
headed off humming a tune.

* * * *

Emily Donovan looked up from her
crossword when the door to the shop was pushed open. A groan all but surfaced
as she took in the look of the two men and sighed. Lifting an elegant hand to
the duo, she murmured, “Over here.” Quickly she put away the puzzle and tugged
on her gloves. After all, she knew what they wanted.

Not bothering to get up, she
looked up at them through her lashes and took their measure. This was a last
straw for them. She could tell that when the first man flipped open his badge
and said simply, “Emily Donovan?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’m Emily.”

She watched them watching her,
as if trying to figure her out, and smiled. “I take it that my assistance is
needed?” Good grief, did she hate saying those words. She hated her particular
“gift” … if one could call it that. She hated knowing that she could find and
track a killer with the touch of a finger to the weapon. She couldn’t give a
name and address. Instead she saw the surroundings through the killer’s eyes
and had a kind of built-in radar, so to speak.

“Ms. Donovan, we need for you to
come with us. There’s a—” Thick neck, dark glasses, short and squat. Emily had
his number before he even opened his mouth.

“You have a situation,” she
provided.

“Yes, ma’am. Now, if you will.”
He gestured toward the gleaming, black sedan parked out front.

“I’ll be perfectly happy to come
with you.” She hesitated and added, “But I’ll take my own way in and out. I’ve
been held at your mercy before and won’t be again.”

“Ma’am, we’ve never seen you
before,” Skinny and Pale answered her.

Ahh, here’s the smart one.
Turning, she smiled sweetly,
smooth, honey tones dripping from her lips as she leaned back in her chair,
crossed her legs, put her arms on the table, and faced them once more. Her
deep, brown gaze pierced him as she said, “When I say held at
your
mercy
,
I mean the agency, not you personally.” She purred the words.

“You have no idea what agency we
work for,” he retorted. “Besides, it’ll be safer for you if you ride with us.
It only makes sense.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, she
looked at her nails. “It’s all alphabet soup to me, but I suggest that you make
sure to let your bosses know that I have said,
‘
thank you, but no thank you.’”
She knew that she should help them, and she would, if they came back. Right
now, however, there was something off about all of this. They were pushing her
too hard to ride with them, something she’d sworn never to do again.

Standing, she looked at both of
them. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I was just about to close shop and go have a
nap.” She hadn’t been, but she needed time to think. She had to figure out what
the hell was happening. They had never been so adamant before. Ever.

She waited, seemed to be in a
standoff, and turned around. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “I suggest
you leave before I release Elmer Fudd.” She heard them snorting and shrugged.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Oh, and before you ask…” She smiled sweetly as
she stopped at a door beside the staircase. A loud growl and hiss sounded.
“Yes, I do have an exotic animal permit.”

With that, she opened the cage
and reached in. “Hello, Elmer Fudd,” she crooned as she pet the large head of
the very, very angry jaguar. “Will you please show Steroid and Geek to the
door?” She stepped back and let the sleek, black jaguar stalk by her. His
golden eyes were glowing as he watched the two men. He licked his lips and let
out a singular warning.

Shaking her head as the duo left
the shop, she walked to the door, pulled the blinds after putting up the closed
sign, and frowned. She turned the lock and sighed. “Evacuating themselves mid
run is going to be lovely for them,” she murmured, then headed upstairs, her
hand moving slowly over the banister. “Elmer Fudd, can you please make sure
that I’m not bothered?” The answering growl made her smile, and nodding her
head, she added, “Yes, you may.”

He had somehow learned to open
the lower part of the fridge in the back of the shop. Since Emily had learned
that, she kept meaty snacks in there only for him, which he could dine on while
she was resting.

“Good night, my old friend,” she
whispered as she approached the second-floor landing, then turned to go into
the singular bedroom above the coffee shop. She proceeded to strip so that she
could actually sleep, because she had a feeling she was going to need to be as
well rested as possible far too soon.

Emily reached out and stroked
her fingers over the Bible on the bedside table. It wasn’t hers but the
previous owners’. She felt in it the history, the men and women who had touched
it over the years. She felt and saw the past through their long-dead eyes.
There was love, and there was laughter, but under it all was also hatred and
evil.

While there had been good people
who had held that Bible over the years, there were also those who’d been far
less so. Those who had held the Bible to give reason to the murders they had
committed. Emily knew that was why the alphabet soup agencies and the police
all came to her—because she could see and feel things others could not.

Closing her eyes, she found
herself drifting off into sleep.

* * * *

Another one! Oh, life was truly
glorious.

The shadow listened in and
tsked
once more at the words that fell
from the angry father’s mouth. No one should ever allow such filth to pollute
the air. That’s why what they did was so important. It was paramount that they
rid the world of the vile and disgusting! No child should ever be subjected to
the brutal mistreatment that this child, Freddy, was being subjected to. No, it
was time for justice to prevail and for the world to be rid of another monster.

“I can’t fucking believe you,
Freddy! What a fucking prick!” the man shouted at the child. “What are you? A
fucking retard?” The anger in his voice carried, the words far more destructive
than the hand grabbing Freddy’s upper arm. The figure didn’t miss the way the
kid’s eyes had that haunted look about them.

The man dragged Freddy across
the road. The hatred and anger all but flowed off him as he did so. Each inch covered
was another shout, another scream, and even more cursing.

The child’s cries tore through
the air. The neighbors in the small cul-de-sac simply watched as the man
slapped Freddy and cursed at him again. “Your fucking mom should have killed
you before you were fucking born! Now, you’re going to cost me not only for the
replacement window, but you and your little shithead friends have lost my
signed ball. You little idiots. When I get my hands on those little shits, I’m
going to beat their asses, too. Morons, each one of you.”

He pulled the child kicking and
screaming into their house. The door shut behind them, but not before everyone
saw the father’s large paw rising to hit Freddy’s face.

“Oh, yes. I’ll be doing the
world a favor by getting rid of you,” the figure said softly, then went back
into the garage and began to hum, a slow and steady purr as his heavily gloved
hands began to work on the next masterpiece.

Oh, this one would be a true
delight. This would leave the cops wondering just how the foul-mouthed beast
had died. Ah yes, this weapon was amazing and the methods that had been
perfected could now come into play. It was only fitting that someone who had
once been a friend would be the first to experience this beautiful masterpiece.
It was only fitting that the betrayal the figure had felt at the first drops of
the swearing at the child was repaid with this glorious new ice piece that he
had only just completed.

Buzzing along with brutal
madness, the master began to craft. A long and sharp rod—not a blade—that he
would slip between the C3 and C4 vertebrae of the monster that was polluting
the very air that they breathed. Looking up and seeing the time, the figure
placed the weapon lovingly into the deep freezer, surrounded by ice. A gleeful
cackle split the air.

It was dinnertime. A time to
reconnect with the true joys of life, a time to submerse oneself in the sheer
pleasure that could only be found with those that felt the same way. The ones
that were pure light. The ones that would never utter such foul and offensive
words.

The tools of the trade were put
away, and after removing the thick gloves used to pour the liquid nitrogen
compound, the being coughed and straightened before double-checking the
workroom in the garage. After locking the doors and arming the alarm, the
figure went into the home that he kept.