Progeny (22 page)

McCarthy handed me the bullhorn and removed his service weapon. Quinlin did the same. I handed Hank the shotgun I’d taken from the trunk. The men took positions over the roofs of the cars in the street, Quinlin and McCarthy on one car, Hank and I on the other.

I brought the bullhorn to my mouth and fingered the trigger.

Hank swatted my arm and pointed toward the house. “She’s in there. I just saw the front blinds move.”

I looked at him. “You’re positive?”

“Someone is in there. A hundred percent.”

“Okay. McCarthy, radio the guys. Let them know that someone is inside,” I called.

He did.

I brought the bullhorn back to my mouth, and squeezed down the trigger. “Angel White! This is the Tampa Police! We have the house surrounded! We have a warrant for your arrest! Come out with your hands up!”

We waited. No lights turned on inside the home. No one came from the front.

I pulled the trigger on the bullhorn again and repeated the command. I glanced left to right. Lights were turning on inside other homes down the block. I noticed another cruiser parking to the south. I looked back at the property and saw the blinds move. Whoever was inside damn well knew we were outside, and they didn’t want to come out.

I looked at McCarthy and Quinlin. “Call those guys surrounding the house. Make sure they are on alert for someone running from the back or trying to escape through a window.”

“Got it,” Quinlin said.

I once again repeated the command through the bullhorn. A light inside the house, as well as the front porch light, flicked on, and I saw movement inside. I rested the bullhorn on the car roof and removed my service weapon from my shoulder holster. The patrol officer with the Taser got himself in the best position for a good shot. I took aim on the front door and looked to my right. We waited in silence. The sound of a clicking deadbolt came from the house. The top of a head appeared in the small rectangular windows inlaid into the front door. Then the door swung open.

Angel pinched the skin on her left forearm and pushed the sewing needle through. The sensation of pain had left a half hour prior. She was just about finished. Her body seemed to accept what she was creating. She looped the needle around and passed it through the skin again. She pulled the needle’s tip back through the loop and knotted it off.

A sound came from Angel’s left, and she froze and turned her head toward the noise. She went silent, listening for it again. She heard it and rose from her chair in the spare bedroom. She scooped up a scalpel from the table as she exited the room.

Angel walked to the kitchen and stopped, listening for the sound again.

“Daddy, is that you?” she asked.

The next sound shattered that thought. She heard a beep, followed by static, and then a response in a low voice. Someone was on a radio.

Angel slipped to the side of the window by the kitchen sink and glanced out. She saw flashlights in the backyard. She lurked to Carmen’s bedroom and looked out through the crack by the window-mounted air conditioner. She saw nothing but heard talking once again. She put her ear to the crack and listened.

Angel yanked her head back and smiled. “Perfect timing,” she said.

She walked to the front window and carefully moved the blinds a fraction of an inch to look out. Police cars were parked in the street. She counted at least six officers standing around—a suitable audience, though she would have preferred more.

Angel glided back into Carmen’s bedroom and slid the mirrored closet doors closed. She put her arms out to her sides and looked at herself in the mirror. She smiled and spun in a circle. “It’s perfect!” she said. “They are so beautiful.”

She heard the police outside call for her to come out.

She stared at herself in the mirror.

The police called again.

Angel trotted back into the living room and to the front door. She looked out. The police had guns drawn and pointed at the house.

The call for her to come out came a third time.

Angel flipped on the lights for the living room and front porch.

“Showtime,” she said.

Angel turned the lock and pulled the door open.

A naked woman stood in the doorway of the home. She appeared to be Angel White.

“Step out of the house. Hands on your head!” I called.

She laughed.

“What the hell?” Hank asked.

“Step out of the house! Hands on your head. Drop to your knees!” I called.

The woman didn’t obey. She stood a couple feet inside the home and stared out at us. Her arms were clutched over her stomach.

“What the hell am I looking at?” McCarthy called over.

“What the hell is under her arms?” Quinlin asked.

I repeated my command for her to step from the home. She began to weave back and forth. Almost as if she was dancing. She took a step forward, stopped, and slammed the door.

“Shit,” I said.

“It looked like her to me, I guess,” Hank said. “The woman appeared to be in her thirties, dark hair. Kind of hard to get an ID with whatever the hell that just was.”

“It’s her,” I said. “How many people who have their house surrounded by cops open the front door naked… and then laugh?”

“Good point. What do we do?”

“Get that warrant to enter the property in our hands. We know she’s inside. If she won’t come out, I guess we’ll have to go in after her.”

“Do you think she’s alone?” Hank asked.

I shrugged. “No way to tell.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Bostok. He answered within a couple rings.

“Yeah, Kane,” he said.

“Cap, we have her holed up in the house. She won’t come out. How are we looking on that warrant?”

“I have it in hand, but I won’t be out there for another twenty minutes at the minimum.”

“Okay.” I covered the mouthpiece of my phone and looked at Hank. “Twenty minutes,” I said.

Hank nodded.

“You’re positive she’s there?” Bostok asked.

“A woman opened the door, did some weird shit, and laughed at us. After that, she slammed the door. It appeared to be her. I can’t be a hundred percent, but I’m pretty damn sure.”

“Didn’t have a good visual?” he asked.

“Just hard to tell with whatever was going on.”

“What does that mean? What did she do?”

“She was naked and… I don’t know. Dancing, maybe?”

“Naked and dancing?” Bostok asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

Bostok cleared his throat. “Keep everyone away from her. I’m hustling to get there.”

“Thanks, Cap.” I clicked off.

“What are we doing?” McCarthy asked.

“Waiting. The warrant will be here in twenty minutes. Just sit tight,” I said.

“I saw something red on her sides. It may have been blood,” Quinlin said. “Doesn’t that give us probable cause?”

“We’re waiting,” I said. “We can’t chance it.”

“Okay,” Quinlin said.

“McCarthy, keep those guys on the side and back of the house on their toes,” I said.

He made the call.

We stared at the front of the house. Ten minutes passed before I saw movement in what I assumed to be the living room. The woman seemed to be pacing back and forth. The shadow inside grew larger, and the front door of the house pulled open again. The woman, still naked, once again stared out at us. Her arms were in the same position as before—clutched over her stomach.

“Angel White, step from the house with your hands in the air!” I called.

She patted her bare stomach with her hands. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Lieutenant Kane with the Tampa Police. Now, exit the home, Miss White,” I said.

“You’re the cop that called me earlier. Are there more police coming?” she asked.

“Come from inside the house Miss White,” I said.

She shook her head. “That’s not my name. Can we talk for a bit?”

“What about?” Hank asked.

I gave him a sideways glance. Obviously, the woman wasn’t in a healthy state of mind. Hank’s interacting with her would only bring about more nonsense.

“Did you know that my dad used to live across the street in that empty lot there? The house is gone, but I can still feel him near. Have you ever felt lost and then completely found? I have. It’s like… my whole life was meant for one moment, and I had to search through all of the darkness to find the light.”

My stare at Hank hardened.

He shrugged.

“Miss White, come from the home and surrender yourself. We can get you some help,” I said.

“Help? What makes you think I need help? Who are you to judge me? And for the second time, that’s not my name.”

“What’s your name?” Hank asked.

“Hank! Quit it,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Why don’t you come in, and I’ll tell you.”

“You come out,” I said.

“Nah, you guys will have to come in. I have something to show you.”

“Is that an invitation to enter the premises?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m guessing you’ll come in when you’re ready. Don’t worry, I’ll be ready too.” She turned, exposing her naked backside to us. She reached back with her foot and kicked the door closed.

“She’s holding something,” Quinlin said. “It’s the second time I saw it.”

“Yeah, I saw something,” I said. “I don’t know what, though.”

Hank looked at me and shrugged. “Was she just threatening us?”

“I don’t know. We’re not doing anything until we have that warrant,” I said.

We continued to wait. I checked my watch, the streetlights shining on the dial, which showed a quarter after five in the morning. We needed to get the situation wrapped up before people started waking in the neighborhood and coming outside. I dialed Bostok, and he answered within a ring.

“Yeah, coming around the corner now. The warrant will be in your hand in a minute.”

“Okay.” I hung up and focused my attention down the block. I saw headlights in the distance. The car got closer. The sedan belonged to the captain.

“Are you guys ready? That’s the captain with our warrant there.” I pointed at Bostok’s car, parking on the other side of Baker’s patrol car to the south.

“Yup,” McCarthy said. Hank and Quinlin nodded in confirmation.

I watched Bostok jog the warrant halfway up the block. I headed his direction to meet him. Bostok handed it off to me. “Anything else?” he asked.

I thought for a split second. “Get a paramedics crew on their way.”

“For?”

“I just have a feeling this woman isn’t going to go easy.”

“I’ll make the call. Go,” he said.

“Thanks, Cap.”

I jogged down the street and pointed over at the house to the guys. They met me in the front yard. We started up the short sidewalk to the porch, our guns drawn and aimed at the front door. “Taser,” I said to the patrol officer on the side of the porch.

“Do you want it or want me inside?” he asked.

“I’ll take it. You keep eyes on that side of the house.”

He handed over the X2 Taser gun.

“Hank, file in behind me with the shotgun. We’re lethal and non-lethal. Quinlin, McCarthy, back us up.”

I climbed the steps, and the guys filed in behind me. I banged my fist holding the warrant on the door. My right hand held the Taser. “Angel White, we have a warrant to enter the property!”

“The door is open. Come on in,” she yelled back from inside the house.

I looked over my shoulder. “Are we good?”

After getting three yeses in response, I reached down and twisted the doorknob. “Here we go,” I said.

I pushed the door open, and a smell hit me immediately—a foul stink of death mixed with something else. The four of us funneled into a living room.

“What in the hell is that smell?” Quinlin asked.

I snapped my fingers at him, to get him back on the matter at hand.

Angel White wasn’t in the living room or kitchen, the two rooms we could see from our position. “Angel White. Show yourself!” I yelled.

“I’m back here,” she said. Her words were followed by an eerie giggle.

I pointed in the direction of her voice. Off the living room was a small hall leading into another room, which light was coming from. From the layout of the home, I figured it was the old garage that had been bricked in. My eyes darted around the room as the four of us entered. Metal racks lined the walls. A large blue plastic tub sat in the center of the room. Various knives were strewn across the tables. Everything was covered in dried blood. A winch hung from the center of the ceiling. Angel huddled, naked, in the far corner. The room had no windows, and we were blocking the single door. She was trapped. We had her.

“Face down on the floor, Miss White,” I said.

Her eyes shot toward me, and she stared me dead in the face.

“I told you my name isn’t Angel White. She slid her back up the wall until she was in a standing position. Her arms were still around her stomach. I could now see clearly the substance on her sides. It was blood, and it was running down her legs. She brought her hands from her stomach and pressed them together as though she was praying. She held the position for a moment and began to spread her hands. Her elbows came from her sides.

“What the hell,” McCarthy said.

Angel spread her arms from her body horizontally. She took a step forward. “My name is Angel Redding. My name is Angel Redding. My name is Angel Redding.”

She just kept repeating it. After the third or fourth time, my mind drowned her words out. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. From her wrist, to her armpit, and down to her waist was patchwork skin sewn together and stitched to her sides. She had made herself wings out of the skin of her and Carmen Simms’s victims.

My eyes shot to her left hand. One of her long black fingernails was missing, and she was holding a scalpel. “Drop the blade!” I yelled.

“Aren’t they pretty?” she asked and smiled. She dropped her arms and then raised them back up.

“Blade! On the ground!” I said.

She lowered her arms and looked at the scalpel in her hand. Her eyes rose to the ceiling. “Is it okay if I do it, Daddy?” she asked. She stood quietly for a few seconds. “Answer me!” she screamed.