Grace Street (A Chapter 8 Novel, #1) (33 page)

Elsa read until her throat was dry, but kept
her eyes trained to the journal. She had no idea why she was
reading the mundane writings of Special Agent Victor Laurenzo. On
the occasion that she would take her eyes away from the journal to
look up, Mr. Black was seated on the duchess chair looking out the
window pensively with a pained expression on his face. Surely he
could sense the loss of the optimistic and bright-eyed, young man
he once was. Elsa didn’t know him then, but even she missed
him.

As she read on, his writings were becoming
increasingly more focused on the one time ‘person of interest’
Scarlett Greenwood. He would find excuses to keep going back and
questioning her even though there was nothing to link her
definitively to any of the cases. He was obviously attracted to
her.

Two more murders popped up during the course
of his writings, one who was linked again, to Scarlett through six
degrees of separation. No one found it odd because Virginia Beach
is a fairly small community and most individuals could be linked
through less than six degrees of separation.

Scarlett – a lovely name for a woman whose
name matches the color of her lips. I have taken a particular
interest in her. More than work related. We have discussed many
things, our pasts, what we want for our futures, etc. I find my
thoughts becoming clouded when I’m in her presence. Perhaps it’s
the cheap musky perfume she wears. She is struggling financially.
She hasn’t admitted as much, but I can see it in the way she
dresses, the car she drives, and the less than desirable
neighborhood she lives in. Although my pay grade is still on the
low-end, I want to help her.

The last words leapt off the page. He had
always had the kind of personality where he wanted to help people.
Like herself. She even sensed he may have been a romantic at heart.
It was a lovely thought…

The snap of the leather brought her back to
reality. The icy coldness in her heart did nothing to quench the
fire on her back, and she hunched over as her fingers gripped the
journal. She shrieked and hid her face as hot tears streamed down
her face. Her throat tightened painfully and her body began to
sweat profusely as the warmth of her back spread over her body.

She wanted the old Victor. The one whose
writings she was reading. Where was he? Was he gone forever? Her
physical pain was acute, but didn’t compare to the misery she was
feeling in her heart.

“I want the real Victor,” she howled when he
lashed her across her shoulder blades once more.

“Read,” he ground out between gritted
teeth.

Terrible regrets assailed her. Had she been
wrong about Victor? She refused to believe that… “Victor, please…”
she begged.

“Ten… nine…”

The snap of leather again.

Her anguish almost overcame her control, but
she forced herself to straighten up and go into auto-mode as she
sobbed out the dreadful words written on the stark white pages.

Another murder. Scarlett… he was falling for
her. He had fallen for her. He was in love. She loved him. She
understood him. He understood her. She rushed the words, wanting
the torment to be over with.

Elsa’s tears gradually diminished and her
words slowed when she read that he wanted to scream from the
rooftops of his love for Scarlett. Victor had light in his life
then and it was beautiful to read.

But no one could know of their love.

One more body was found, but it was the first
of the five; the first murder, not the fifth. It had been hidden
better than the others, but the murderer was sloppy then and
inexperienced.

Her words came out hurried again as she could
feel the climax to the horrible story building.

Scarlett Greenwood was arrested when not only
the red fiber is linked to a scarf she purchased, but a partial
print on the tape that was used to bind the first victim’s mouth is
identified as hers.

Elsa realized why the name had seemed
familiar. She remembered hearing in the news when she was arrested.
It was a big deal. She was Virginia’s first convicted female serial
killer. Scarlett, the love of Victor’s life, was a serial
killer.

Elsa kept reading in dumbfounded shock when
his world fell apart. He denied his affair with her, but there were
always suspicions. His work was scrutinized and second-guessed, and
he was ridiculed for not having seen what was staring him right in
the face. Scarlett had used him to find out about the details of
the investigation and he was so blinded by love that he gave her
exactly what she wanted.

Trying to push Scarlett out of his mind, he
filled his life with night-after-night of meaningless sex. He tried
new business ventures and invested in real estate to build up his
wealth to keep his mind busy. He attempted anything and everything
to forget about the biggest mistake of his life, but nothing
worked. With his writings becoming darker with each following
passage, Elsa could see his light diminishing until there was
seemingly none left.

He chastised himself endlessly. He blamed
himself for the last two victim’s deaths. Everyone had considered
him an intelligent and brilliant man, but why then hadn’t he seen
the lies and deceit in her eyes? He tore himself down
time-after-time, never giving himself an ounce of forgiveness. He
was a failure like his mother had said all along. It went on and on
and Elsa began to sob uncontrollably when she remembered the harsh
words she had spoken to him.

The last chapter rocked her to her core.

I am a man who has lived a life of lies. I
not only involuntarily assisted a serial killer, but I am the son
of one. My fucked-up circle of life is complete. Why did I seek him
out? I could’ve moved on from Scarlett. I could’ve learned to
forgive myself, but now this changes everything. I understood her
because I am her. The same insanity that runs through her veins,
courses through mine. I am black inside, but I now have a new
purpose. To study the human psyche on a deeper, darker level by
using any means I deem necessary, ethical or otherwise. Fuck the
rules. Fuck love. There is no going back to the man I once was.
I am Mr. Black.

There were no more words on the pages, but
the belt struck her raw flesh again with the same ferocity and Elsa
screamed until her voice cracked. She curled up into a ball and
rocked herself until her body and brain went numb.

“Why?” she wailed.

“Because I want you to understand who I am,
like Scarlett understood. I want you to see that there is no light,
Elsa, only darkness. Do you see now that being with me will only
hurt you?” his voice trembled.

He spoke her name and not her number. When
she looked up, it was Victor looking down at her and there was
light, hidden far, far back behind his beautifully tortured and
tear-filled eyes.

“I refuse to believe that,” she gasped
out.

He brought the cow-hide up again and stepped
back to allow himself room to wield the ghastly tool of torture.
Elsa straightened up, her body now shaking uncontrollably from the
pain and adrenaline surging through her veins, but she pushed her
chin out to accept his will.

“Do it, Victor. Do it if it makes you feel
better. Keep lying to yourself about who you think you are and do
it.”

Victor winced. “Stop fucking calling me
that!” The belt fell to the floor with a thud and he fisted his
hair as he fell to his knees. “Why are you so God damned stubborn?”
he whispered as he pulled her close.

His voice was foreign, sad and tormented, but
when he touched her skin, the searing pain overwhelmed her and she
let out a blood-curdling scream. She wanted to stay lucid and to
hold him, but the burning heat traveled from her spine to her
brain, and dizziness overcame her. Spots suddenly filled her vision
and then, darkness.

Heat... Unbelievable hotness and pain,
scorching, searing, agonizing pain… Green sparkling eyes, soft
lips, large hands caressing her face… whispered words…
I’m wrong
for you, Peach.

It was all a haze. Or was it a nightmare?

Elsa woke in a sweat, crying. She was in the
master suite, alone and lying on her stomach. The soothing and
somber sounds of
Oblivion
by Bastille were playing on her
cell phone that lay next to her. Cool, wet washcloths were draped
across her back and a ceiling fan above her was set to high, but
the pain was still present. When she tried to sit up, a wave of
nausea crashed against her body like waves against the ocean floor.
She stilled her body until it passed.

She had never felt such an intense ache and
she didn’t know how to cope with it except to try and pretend like
it wasn’t there. She inhaled slowly through her nose and blew it
out her mouth. There was no pretending. The pain was there and
lingering like an unwanted lover.

Wobbling to the bathroom, she peeled the damp
linen from her back and dry heaved from the flash of heat that
traveled down the back of her legs. Her back was glistening with
salve, but the sight of the raised and welted lashings across her
pale skin was so shocking, her brain immediately shut down and
refused to accept what it was seeing. How could Victor have done
this to her?

She kneeled in front of the toilet and dry
heaved and when she did, she grunted loudly. The movement from
arching her back nearly sent her into the darkness again. She
gripped the sides of the toilet seat and slowed her breathing as
she tried to envision a young and hopeful Victor in love. It made
no difference to her who the woman was, just that he had loved.

It took her nearly fifteen minutes to find
the nerve to stand, but she did. Descending the stairs gingerly,
she found a note on the table.

We’re finished. Gather
all
of your things. You’re free to leave.

Elsa sank into the chair and hid her face in
her hands. It couldn’t be over. Not after what he had done to her.
She accepted his punishment and now he was just going to dismiss
her? Hadn’t she done everything he had asked of her? Hadn’t she
played his game by his rules?

She glanced out the window to see the sun
still up and looked at the clock on the far back wall of the
kitchen. It wasn’t even 2:00 p.m. yet and it felt like an entire
day had passed.

Moving slowly throughout the house, she
packed the few items she had brought into the same box that had
been hidden on a top shelf in the bedroom closet. As physically
painful as it was, she dressed and waited. She had to see Victor
one last time to plead her case before she allowed him to send her
away.

Nearly two hours passed when she heard the
click of the lock and felt the warm, damp air rush in along with
the scent of cigarette and bergamot. Her body ached for Victor’s
gentle touch and she dreamed of being crushed in his embrace. She
kept her eyes forward and her hands in her lap, waiting until he
showed himself in front of her.

“I told you that you were free to leave,” she
heard from behind her.

“I wanted to hear you say it, not read it on
a note,” she peeked over her shoulder.

His brows drew together and his voice was
hoarse with frustration, “Then listen closely: you’re free to
leave.”

She shifted uncomfortably on the lounger,
disappointed, but undeterred. She sat motionless until he finally
seated himself at the table, leaned back and stretched his legs out
in front of him.

His dark eyebrows slanted in a frown. “What
are you waiting for?”

She could see that he was trying to distance
himself by acting unaffected. When she noticed the newly developed
dark circles under his eyes and realized he had already grieved her
loss, a sudden sense of urgency drove her.

“I once told you that it takes a special kind
of man to guide and lead a woman. Do you remember that?”

He nodded but remained stoic.

She rose from the chaise and moved directly
in front of him. “You have it within you to do that, Victor. Can’t
you see that?” she stared at him longingly, trying to convey her
need for him. “You’re not your mother or your father. What happened
with Chapter One was sad and beautiful, but you are your own man;
strong and admirable and fucked up like the rest of us.”

His gaze traveled over her face and searched
her eyes. “You’re not fucked-up, Elsa.”

“I am. We all are, in our own ways. I love
all the fucked-up sides of you. Even Mr. Black…”

He abruptly pushed his chair back with a
disgusted look on his face. “Don’t you dare tell me that you love
me.”

“Please, let me love you. Let me help you,
Victor.”

She reached for him but he batted her hand
away. “That’s Mr. Black, remember? I’m MR. BLACK.”

“No, you’re not just that blackened soul of a
person you think you are. You’re both and I can accept both.”

He jumped up and glared down at her. “Shut
the hell up! What do you know about me? You only know what I’ve
allowed you to know. You think those journals and case studies told
you everything there is to know about me? They don’t! You think you
love me because I’ve manipulated you into believing that you do.
That’s what I do, Elsa. I bend and manipulate people’s will, mind
and bodies into what I want them to be. I do it at work and I do it
for fun. You’re my plaything, Elsa, nothing more!”

She could feel the tears building and her
back throbbed with each subtle movement, but she held her composure
and kept her eyes riveted on him. “Another lie in your game, only
this time, you’re lying to yourself. I know who you are. You can
push me away, Victor, but I’ll never stop loving you.”

“I don’t want to be the man you want. Not
like that. And I’ll never be the man you need me to be.” The
steely, cold edge to his voice softened and he sank back into the
chair.