Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1) (22 page)

He wasn’t afraid of death
or the dead. Hell, he dealt with it day in and day out; it was the
living that scared the hell out of him, the not knowing who was
walking behind him or plotting their next kill. The not knowing
what was going to happen next, the helplessness to do anything
about is what was devouring him from the inside out. It was
simultaneously the most potent and sexy thing in the world to
him.

He knew better than to talk
to Ant before he went to bed. Every, single, fucking time he went
to bed thinking about Anthony Bruce, his dreams were tortured and
bloody. Eight flashed before his eyes. In his dream he had cut her
heart out while she was still breathing. He held it up in front of
her horrified face as it pumped its last dying beat, thick clots
dripping from his hand and the arteries and mangled veins hanging
like webs from his fingers. In his dream, her beautiful, brown eyes
were pleading with him, her stunning red hair was all around her
tranquil face and her hands were clawing at his chest. When he
tasted blood in his mouth from biting his own lip, he bolted
upright and ran to the bathroom, bile rising in his throat. He
barely made it to the toilet when his dinner spilled out of
him.

He was accustomed to the
nightmares and he wasn’t sure why he was feeling so sick about this
particular one. Maybe it was still just too fresh in his mind, the
combination of tasting his own blood and the details not fading
fast enough. It could also be that the faces were just too
familiar. He had never dreamt of his Chapters in such a ghastly
way. It was the Cambridge case; it was getting to him in a way no
other case had.

Eight
… He shook his head when
Elsa suddenly popped into his head again. No matter what he had
convinced himself of or what the facts were, he wasn’t Anthony, or
any cold-blooded killer for that matter, and his Chapters would no
longer simply be referred to by their numbers. They all had names
and he repeated them over and over in his mind.

Kayla. Anissa. Jordan.
Peyton. Terra. Emily. Elsa
. And the
Chapter that started it all… the one whose name he would never
speak again…the one who made him into the calculated soul-crusher
he had become.

*

Dressed and ready to face
the community and his fellow investigators, Victor headed to the
FBI office for another day of work. Just as he entered the
facility, his phone chirped with a text message.

C8: I found this quote:
“The impulse to cruelty is, in many people, almost as violent as
the impulse to sexual love – almost as violent and much more
mischievous” by Aldous Huxley. I’m truly sorry for my cruel words.
I know nothing of your life or past to have said something so
callous. Even if I did, there is no excuse for it except to say I
was angry and hurt, and I wanted you to feel the same way. It will
never happen again.

C8: P.S - Wherever you are
– be safe and know that whether or not you show up, I’ll be waiting
for you, 9:00 a.m. on Saturday at Grace Street.

Frozen with emotion, he
stared at the phone. He hadn’t even had to punish Eight,
Elsa
, to make her
understand her wrongdoing. Simply letting her come to the
conclusion herself had been enough. It was a revelation. Had his
methods been flawed all along?
He had
always used basic psychology: positive consequences for positive
behavior and negative consequences for negative behavior. Of
course, he had always focused on the punishment aspect, for obvious
reasons – his own selfish wants and the fact that he got off on it.
But
was he wrong in thinking he could
force someone to change their ways with harsh
conditions?

Someone bumped into him,
nearly knocking his phone out of his hand, reminding him of the
real world waiting for him. Hope crept into his subconscious and
for the first time in years, he allowed it to stay. He couldn’t
change who he was or what was coursing through his veins, but
still… maybe today would be different. Perhaps today there would be
a real break in the case.

Elsa sat in her office reading all morning,
not once attending to what she was getting paid to do. She was
devouring Mr. Black’s case study like it was some kind of depraved,
dark novel where there was no romance involved, only sex, pain,
humiliation and cruel lessons. Still, she couldn’t stop reading.
She had finished with Chapter Seven and was now more than half-way
through Chapter Six - Terra, the prim and proper personal assistant
to a CEO of a major corporation. Elsa found out quickly this was
the Chapter that Mr. Black had fucked and mentally and physically
tormented in a run-down hotel on weekends. This was also the
Chapter that begged for more every time he would humiliate her.

Elsa just couldn’t wrap her brain around
Terra. In a way, she could identify with Chapter Seven. She had
once been the same way – attention seeking, rebellious and even a
bit promiscuous, although she was a teenager at that time and not a
grown woman.

Why would anyone want to be treated the way
Chapter Six wanted to be treated? What was Mr. Black trying to
accomplish with her? From everything she was reading, he wasn’t
helping her at all. All he was doing was feeding into her
sickness.

But who was she to judge what a person got
off on? Maybe it wasn’t a sickness at all and simply a fetish.
Hell, she had her own perversions, like being screwed in the butt
and dominated. Elsa shook her head at herself for being
hypercritical. She, of all people, had no right to look down her
nose at anyone. Everyone truly was different, each with their own
wants and needs and obsessions.

Her current obsession: Victor Laurenzo. She
had stopped trying to deny it wasn’t. Her thoughts were consumed
with him and her sanity was like a thin thread ready to break.

She checked her phone, hoping for some kind
of response from Mr. Black regarding her text, but only a blank
screen stared back at her. She reminded herself that he was busy
doing the noble thing of trying to bring justice to the families
who had lost their loved ones.

It was astounding to think that the man whose
job it was to find killers and give peace to the families of murder
victims was the same man who had chronicled his debauched mental
games with unknowing victims. She had only joked about there being
a personality split, but Elsa was starting to wonder if that was
really the case.

There were only a few other references to his
personal abuse and nothing else was shared up through Chapter Six,
leaving Elsa to make up her own horrible ideas of what he could’ve
been put through living with an alcoholic parent. Where was his
father in all this and why would he have allowed Victor to live
with a mother like that?

Lunch came and Elsa continued to hide in her
office, reading. She was happy to be done reading about Terra and
moving on to a new Chapter. She only hoped this one would be less
distressing. She was wrong.

Chapter 5 – Peyton, age 37. Profession:
Restaurant Owner and Entrepreneur

Prologue:

Welcome to my world, C5. I used less than
ethical means of finding you, but alas, I found you. A case you
were involved in fell into my lap by sheer luck. You are the
surviving ‘victim’ of a known murder suspect, though I hesitantly
use the term ‘victim.’ I would never suggest that you were asking
for what you got, but you stated it yourself. Even now, you will
not talk openly or divulge everything about what transpired that
night. Why is that? I ask, but I already know the answer. You liked
it. You sought it out. You are a masochist and one of the most
intensely personal people I’ve ever met, even in my line of
work.

Your façade is almost perfect, but I can see
right through you. I’m not sure there’s even anything I can help
you with except to give you what you want – pain. This will be a
lesson for the both of us and I hope you can teach me to embrace my
sadism fully, as my other Chapters have pigeon-holed me and not
allowed that side of me to come out completely.

Pre-activity:

I made my offer to you and was pleased
that you accepted, though I expected as much. Your STD check has
returned clean and I’m eager to get started working on you. I have
secured a quaint bungalow not far from my place and out of view
from the rest of the world. The solitude will allow for us to play
hard and permit you to scream without fear of being heard, and you
will scream, C5.
I promise
.

Surveillance Notes:

I have watched you closely. You’re discreet.
I like that. Not much else to tell. You’re a woman of habit and a
professional when it comes to your businesses, but behind closed
doors is where I suspect you’ll really shine.

Weekend 1:

Your physical exam was disturbing. Though
your physique is attractive, you bear the scars of a true
masochist. I must commend you, though, on hiding them well. Long
sleeved-shirts, slacks and long skirts at all times…they should’ve
been tell-tale signs, yet I wasn’t prepared to see what I did. But
your battle wounds will not dissuade me from my ultimate goal.
Perhaps I can add some of my artwork to your canvas. Yes, I like
that idea very much.

With tears blinding your eyes and choking
your voice, our journey has started with snap of leather and a
bang. Though I may seemingly be unmoved by your sobs, that couldn’t
be further from the truth. I am moved. Deeply.

Elsa sighed with relief. There was hope for
Victor. She reached for her coffee to find it still too hot to
drink and put it back down.

I am moved in a way that’s hard to describe
without sounding disturbed. Even now as I relive the pain that I
put you through, my cock hardens and my breathing quickens. There
is no sinking anguish in accepting what I am. I accepted it long
ago. There is no refuting my blood line there’s no point in denying
who I am. I can only add that I’m glad to have found a willing
participant to allow me to experiment on.

Elsa’s wistfulness instantly vanished leaving
her with an inexplicable sense of emptiness. She couldn’t and
wouldn’t believe that he was truly a sadist. Not the kind that
enjoyed inflicting pain just for the sake of it. He hadn’t
inflicted any pain on her. Not serious pain. Suddenly she became
conscious of a low tortured sob coming from her. She didn’t care
who he thought he was or where he came from.

She didn’t know for sure, but her feminine
intuition was telling her that he hadn’t always been cruel. She had
seen little glimpses of his kindness and he had even admitted that
he loved before. What happened to that man? Who besides his mother
had hurt him so badly that he chose to hide behind Mr. Black to
avoid further injury to his heart?

Her phone rang out loudly, startling her and
causing her to knock the coffee mug into her lap. The hot liquid
drenched her thighs and immediately scalded her. She stood and
pulled the fabric of her skirt away from her skin.

The phone rang again. She was so engrossed in
trying to relieve the scorching pain now setting in, she had
forgotten the reason it happened. Absentmindedly, she reached for
the phone and answered as she rushed to the restroom for
relief.

“This is Elsa,” she choked out, still crying
from the revelation about Victor and now the burns on her
thighs.

“What’s wrong?” Victor’s stressed voice
boomed.

Elsa’s throat tightened. “I just burned
myself. The phone startled me and I tipped my hot coffee over into
my lap…” she lifted her skirt to see blisters forming and she
shrieked when she placed a wet paper towel onto her legs.

“How bad is it?” There was a faint tremor in
his voice as though some emotion had touched him.

She frowned. Maybe he was enjoying that she
had hurt herself. “I can’t talk. It’s blistering and I need to take
care of this,” she cried.

“Go to the ER. Burns can become infected
easily,” he ordered sternly.

“You’re overreacting. I’m not going to the
ER,” she hissed through her teeth as the pain and heat began to
throb.

“I mean it, Elsa.”

“I have to go,” she abruptly hung up to deal
with her wounds.

She walked quickly down the hall to the break
room and retrieved several ice cubes from the refrigerator to try
and alleviate the intense pain, but it was pointless. Victor was
right.

*

As she lay in the emergency room bed with
salve and gauze dressings covering her wounds, she called her
mother to let her know what had happened. She was alone in a new
city and she just needed some mommy medicine to make her feel
better. When her mother answered, her raspy voice filled her with
warmth.

“Mom,” she began to cry. Her tears weren’t
only because of her injury, but because of that damned manuscript
and Mr. Black.

“What’s wrong, El?” her mother’s soothing
voice held a note of tension.

Where should she begin? She wanted to tell
her mom everything from about how she had signed her freedom away
to a stranger, to how she had broken the law by breaking into an
FBI’s agent’s house, to having fallen for him.

Instead, all that came out was, “I’m at the
hospital. I burned myself.”

“Oh, baby…” her mom broke off. “Are you okay?
Should I come out there?”

She shook her head as if her mom could see
her. “No, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You could hear it more often if you called,”
she huffed.

“Please don’t lecture me, Mom. I know. I’ve
just been avoiding hearing you tell me how immature it was for me
to move here,” she sniffed.