Nightmares from Within (5 page)

Deputy Chief Walters is not answering any questions related to the poem left at the scene at this time, but in a press conference late yesterday evening, he verified that one was found. There is no word yet on whether police are classifying this man as a serial killer, but sources say that there have been no suspects or persons of interest so far.

The only information being given in this case is that the sites where the women’s bodies have been located were not where the murders occurred.

This is the third confirmed killing in four months. On February 16, the body of eighteen year old Alicia Gilbert was found by pedestrians in Pioneer Square; just weeks later, on April 2, twenty-two year old Marissa Waters’ body was found by a dock worker near Coleman Dock, Pier 52.

State officials are urging all females between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five to be conscious of their surroundings at all times.

I was so engrossed in the article that before I realized it, I was walking up the steps of my apartment building. As I pushed through the doors, Gary raised his head and quickly noticed the newspaper clutched tightly in my hands.

“Miss Taylor, you shouldn’t be reading about that. It’ll give you nightmares for weeks.”

If you only knew. I thought.

The article wasn’t going to be the cause of the nightmares, but it certainly hadn’t helped to read about those poor young women. I turned my attention from the paper to Gary. “It’s okay. I just feel awful for these women’s families.”

He nodded in agreement. “Me too. Now do you understand why I just about have a heart attack every time you go jogging at three in the morning? Imagine how your parents would feel if they found out anything bad happened to you.”

I didn’t bother telling him that my parents didn’t have the time or desire to worry about my safety. They didn’t even know or care where I was. I moved away from Connecticut and that perfect little country club, politically-endorsed Hell, clear across the country as soon as I was able to. They probably threw a party to celebrate being rid of the embarrassment that had been holding them back for eighteen years. The only thing that my folks did for me was allow me access to my trust fund the second I graduated high school. With that and the hefty checks their accountant deposited in my bank account each month to keep me away, I had plenty of money and didn’t really need to work.

But like I said, the distraction was a necessity.

I spoke over my shoulder as I made my way to the elevator. “Tell you what, Gary, I’ll start running on the treadmills in the gym, but you have to promise to stop calling me Miss.”

He placed his hand over his heart like I’d just granted him a lifelong wish. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Taylor,” he replied with a wink.

I’d just pushed the key into the lock when the tell-tale ache started at the base of my skull.

“Oh God, not again.” I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to see how another person was going to die. If it was a gift, I wanted the giver to take it the fuck back! If it was a curse I didn’t know what I’d ever done that was so bad to warrant such an awful punishment.

I managed to get my door open just as the sharp, blinding pain started radiating through my skull.

This one was different though.

I never had a migraine come on so fast before.

I was seven when the hallucinations first started, and migraines were never a part of it. But as the years progressed the headaches grew worse and worse. Now they were at a debilitating level. The pain was usually so unbearable that I’d have no choice but to curl up in a ball on the bathroom floor with tears streaming down my cheeks, just waiting for it to end.

Through the pain I’d see flashes of a person dying, but it wasn’t just a typical death. I couldn’t just see someone passing quietly in their sleep. Oh, no. I had to see people being murdered. People having their lives ripped away from them at the hands of another person as they fought to escape. I never saw the person doing the killing, just the victim, and as if
seeing
their fear wasn’t enough, I had to
feel
it as well. Every thought that went through their minds, every emotion they experienced, the bone-chilling terror coursing through their veins as they died.

I rushed to the bathroom as fast as I could. Bright flashes of light from the pain in my head blurred my vision, to the point that I wasn’t sure where I was going. I didn’t quite make it to the toilet before the searing pain caused my stomach to expel its contents for the second time in one day.

Visions of a blonde woman were flashing behind my closed eyelids.

Something wasn’t right though. Instead of being an outsider experiencing this girl’s pain, I felt like I
was
her. That couldn’t be right. She had blonde hair to my brown. From the flashes, I could tell that she was much taller than me. Things weren’t adding up.

I heard her screaming.

I felt panicked as she ran from someone.

But I couldn’t see her face. Why couldn’t I see her face?

Her back stayed to me the whole time as bits and pieces of her death came at me with the force of a sledge hammer against concrete.

This isn’t right.

That was the last thought I had before the pain grew to be too much and blackness consumed me.

The Poet

I was becoming discouraged. The last woman I thought was special turned out to be nothing more than a pathetic liar. I’d given her a chance to be my soul mate and she’d thrown it back in my face by claiming to be married. I followed her around long enough to know that wasn’t true.

She’d disappointed me and for that, she had to suffer the consequences. The only thing my filthy whore of a mother had ever taught me was that women were never to be trusted.

But the romantic in me refused to believe it. I knew in my heart that there was a woman out there who was meant just for me. I just needed to find her.

I’d been coming to Cherry Street Coffee House for a few weeks for one reason. It wasn’t the coffee; there was a better coffee house just a few blocks down the street.

No, it was the beautiful barista that stood behind the counter every morning. She’d called me handsome the first morning I walked in and hope sprang to life inside of me. After Sylvia, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find another love, but she graced me with that gorgeous smile and I was helpless.

“Good morning, lovely Samantha,” I greeted, as I took my turn to order. The bright smile she normally shot at me most mornings seemed a little strained.

“Good morning, sir. What can I get you?”

Why was she speaking to me with such formality? I thought we’d moved passed that over the last few days.

I smiled wider in an attempt to pull her from whatever unpleasant thoughts were keeping her from paying me the attention I deserved. “I’m doing well. But I’ll admit my day would be perfect if you would agree to join me for dinner.” It was the second time I had extended the invitation and she’d do well to accept it.

She fidgeted behind the counter and averted her eyes. The fact that she wouldn’t maintain eye contact angered me.

“I’m sorry but I’m in a relationship.”

For weeks, I watched her from the shadows. I knew there wasn’t a man in her life so why was she lying to me? Didn’t she know what I was capable of giving her?

I felt the anger churning deep inside, threatening to take over.

She wasn’t special after all.

She was just like the rest of them…a dirty, lying whore.

And she was going to have to pay for her sins.

Taylor

I am not yours, not lost in you,

Not lost, although I long to be

Lost as a candle lit at noon,

Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still

A spirit beautiful and bright,

Yet I am I, who long to be

Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love – put out

My senses, leave me deaf and blind,

Swept by the tempest of your love,

A taper is a rushing wind.

I can’t move. I’m lying on what feels like a mattress, a hard coil poking me in the back. As I move around dust and God only knows what else billows from the mattress and clogs my nose. The smell is putrid and sour. My arms extend above my head like they’re tied to something, but when I try and pull against the restraints there’s nothing there. I’m bound and struggling, spread out on a disgusting mattress, fighting against air. I try to kick my legs but experience the same thing.

What’s going on?

Where am I?

I turn my head from side to side, trying to make out anything that can tell me where I am, but all I see is black. There are no signs of light anywhere.

I may not know where I am, but I do know I’m not alone. I can sense someone in the room with me but I’m too frightened to call out…too afraid of who might answer.

Suddenly, something cold glides across my bare stomach and realization hits me. I’m naked. Whoever has me, has tied me down like an animal and stripped me of my clothes. The object on my skin slides over my ribs and across my breasts, the chill from it causing my nipples to harden. I can’t hold back the sob that escapes my mouth knowing my body is being violated.

The object that slides up my neck to my cheek feels like metal, but I can’t see well enough to be certain. My senses are fuzzy from whatever the person used to drug me. Without warning, the cold metal twists and burrows through the flesh on my cheek. Even with all the adrenaline coursing through me, I can feel the pain travel through every nerve ending in my body.

I let out a scream of pain and try to wrench my arms free while whoever is in the room hovers over me. It’s a knife, a very sharp knife and whoever is holding it just cut me down to the bone.

I hear the sound of a man chuckling as I fight against my invisible bonds and a sudden, paralyzing fear courses through my body bringing my struggles to a sudden halt.

“Please,” I beg as tears pour down my face. “Please, whoever you are…just let me go. I won’t tell. I swear I won’t. Just let me go.” My voice breaks at the end and the person in the room with me laughs harder and pushes the blade of the knife against my stomach. I feel it break the skin and I start to thrash around again in an attempt to get away.

I’m going to die here; I can feel it in every bone in my body. I’m not leaving this room alive.

“Tell me you love me,” he says once I’ve stopped struggling.

I know that voice. Oh God, I know this man, but I can’t think of who he is. The pain from where he’s cut me is so overwhelming I can’t concentrate. Where have I heard that voice?

“Tell me you love me and I’ll let you go,” he says.

I want to believe him. I’m desperate to believe him, but something tells me it’s not true. He won’t let me go.

But I say it anyway. I have to at least try. “I love you,” I cry out between sobs.

He leans closer and I can smell the soap on his skin. His scent is as familiar as his voice. “I don’t believe you!” He hisses, pure rage and evil in his voice. That’s the last thing I hear before the knife plunges in.

I shot up so fast my head bashed against the side of the toilet. Just like with every nightmare, I was covered in sweat and breathing erratically. Once I finally came to my senses and looked at my surroundings, I realized I was sitting on my bathroom floor.

I closed my eyes and fought against my foggy brain; desperately trying to remember what had happened. It all came back to me in slow motion. The migraine, the violent vomiting, the pain, the flashes of blonde hair. I must have blacked out on my bathroom floor.

Once I was stable enough, I pulled myself off the floor and reached over to turn on the shower. The only thing I could think of doing was to wash the horrible images in my mind away. I stripped off the uniform I was still wearing from work and climbed under the scalding spray, hoping the hot water would do the trick.

I reached for the shower poof and poured a generous amount of body wash onto it. As I scrubbed my skin pieces of my dream started to come back to me. I lightly ran my finger across my cheek, feeling nothing but the water rolling down my face. Then I inspected my stomach. There was nothing there. No cuts, no blood, not even a red mark.