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James Bently went into work that morning to discover the place in chaos.
The murderer—or murderers—had moved into the city.
A specialist team was already working the case, but the detective heading the team wanted to use a few of his men to cover more ground; asking questions in the surrounding area, trying to find witnesses. Glendale was a built up area; for two people to be murdered so viciously in their beds without anyone seeing anything bordered on impossible. A couple of the closest neighbors reported hearing screams and called the police, but no one reported actually seeing something suspicious.
Already in a bad mood, this new development did nothing to help his frame of mind. Someone had vandalized his car during the night, breaking in without bothering to even steal the CDs out of the glove box or rip out the radio. The only damage was some kind of wrench used to jimmy the passenger door open. He suspected kids to be the culprits, practicing their skills or messing around, knowing the vehicle belonged to the neighborhood cop.
James picked up the report requesting the extra men and started to read. The name of the neighborhood brought back memories. He’d spent time in the area himself, four years earlier, when he first met Serenity. She still owned the house and rented the property out to tenants since the whereabouts of her husband had yet to be determined.
He frowned. 23 North Louis Street. The address struck a chord of uneasy recognition. Surely the crime hadn’t occurred on the same street as Serenity’s house? If so, perhaps her tenants saw or heard something.
James tapped his pen against his desk, the curious part of his brain sparked.
He glanced at the pile of paperwork lined up to do that day.
It can wait, he decided. Maybe they could do with another person at the crime scene...
James drove down Serenity’s old street toward a marked police car parked further down the street.
Craning his neck as he drove, he peered up at the houses. Many years had gone by since he was last here, but he thought Serenity’s house must be close by. Being back churned up so many memories; a lifetime’s worth since first meeting Serenity.
Their relationship had come a long way since then, surprising even him. Serenity meant a lot to him, but he quickly discovered he couldn’t love someone so obviously in love with someone else. Of that person’s identity—her husband, or someone else—James had never been sure.
Serenity found out about the pregnancy during the early days of their friendship; he’d never questioned his desire to support her as a friend. Even though they weren’t involved as a couple, she’d been through a lot and had no one else. He couldn’t just abandon her to deal with her pregnancy alone.
Then he met Amy.
Meeting his wife put his feelings for Serenity into perspective. Serenity wasn’t the type of woman he could ever be in a relationship with. After the things he saw at work, he needed to come home to laughter and fun. He needed someone like Amy. Serenity contained too much of a dark side—no surprise after the life she’d led. Soon, James found his feelings towards her morphed into those of protective father more than anything else.
He pulled his own unmarked vehicle up behind a Crown Victoria. A police officer stood outside the door of the closest house. Yellow tape sealed the front door. The officer glanced up as James pulled in.
James’s heart tripped a beat as he recognized the front door. Serenity’s old house was taped up. He was certain. His stomach sank. Did this mean her tenants were the victims? No one had told Serenity yet; he’d have been the first person she’d call.
He opened the car door and climbed out. The young officer spotted him but no recognition lit his eyes. James held out his badge as he approached. The officer gave him a nod and removed the tape, like a bouncer at a club. James walked into the house and the officer sealed the door back up behind him.
Waves of déjà-vu swept over him. To his left was the small sitting room where he’d first interviewed Serenity. At the end of the hallway was the kitchen.
The place had been ransacked. The contents of the dresser drawers had been emptied all over the floor, paper lay scattered everywhere. Someone must have been searching for something, but it was impossible to tell if they found what they were looking for. The television and stereo-system were still in place and an expensive i-Phone sat on the hall table. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a burglary gone wrong.
James climbed the stairs.
Ahead, the doorway to the bedroom where the murders took place loomed. To the left was the bathroom and a small spare bedroom Serenity’s husband had used as an office.
Even from the end of the hall, James saw the blood splattered against the doorframe.
He took a deep breath and walked down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Blood coated every surface, soaked the bed and the carpet, and splattered up the walls.
“Jesus,” he muttered, his hand over his mouth.
The bodies had been removed early that morning, taken to the morgue for autopsy, though from the amount of blood, James wondered how much of the bodies would be left to analyze. Forensics had also been in and swept the place for fingerprints and samples.
James frowned. The neighbor called the police as soon as she heard the screams—just after eleven. From the records, only twelve minutes passed between the call and the first patrol car arriving at the scene. The victims, a Steve and Jocelyn Bainbridge, were alive when the screams had been heard—or at least one of them was. The murderer didn’t ransack the house first; the noise would have woken the victims. They would have either come down to investigate, or else called the police themselves. Both the victims had been murdered in the bedroom, the woman still in bed. The killings must have been fast—only minutes—yet the volume of blood implied the deaths had been anything but quick.
Also, whoever committed the murders would have been covered in blood. How could someone not notice them leaving the house? The area had properties on all sides and it hadn’t been the middle of the night.
The perpetrator must have been fast, really fast.
James pushed away memories threatening to resurface.
How the hell was he going to tell Serenity? He wished he could stop her from finding out. He wanted to protect her from this. She’d been through so much already and had just started to get her life back together. The last thing she needed was this sort of horror linked to her old home, on top of the bad memories of her abusive husband.
But she had to know what had happened and James had to be the one to tell her.
Serenity was at work when James called.
She answered on the first ring, “Mr. Berry’s office. This is Serenity.”
“Serenity? It’s me.”
She recognized his voice immediately and smiled. She’d been planning on calling him later. She still needed her notes back.
“James. How are you? I was going to call you.”
“Serenity, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said, his tone level and serious.
Bile rose to the back of her throat, sudden nerves churning her stomach. Part of her wanted to slam the phone back down, not wanting to hear what he had to say.
Sometimes in life things turned on a dial. One moment everything was fine, besides all the usual worries and stresses, life carrying on as normal; the next something happened that turned everything else on its head, all those worries became meaningless and trivial by comparison.
She feared this to be one of those moments.
“What’s wrong, James? What’s happened?”
“It’s the tenants at your house. They’ve been murdered.”
“What?” Disbelief and shock knocked her breath from her. “When? By who?”
“Last night. As of yet, we don’t know the culprit. We think it’s the same person who committed the other killings. But, this is the first time he’s been in someone’s house.”
“Jesus Christ.” Her hand clamped against her mouth.
“Can you come down to the station for me? Even if you didn’t know them well, the murder still happened on your property. The detective in charge wants to ask you a few questions.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she said. “Just let me talk to my boss and I’ll come down as fast as I can.”
“Okay, see you soon.”
About to hang up, she heard his voice filter down the line. “And don’t worry. I’m sure none of this has anything to do with you.”
She frowned. “No, of course not.” That possibility hadn’t occurred to her.
Her head was reeling. Why would someone want to hurt the Bainbridges? They had seemed like such a nice couple; it was impossible to imagine why anyone would want to do such a horrific thing to them.
She had no idea what the police thought she could tell them. She had hardly known the couple; they paid their rent on time and their references all checked out. Other than the occasional phone call, they pretty much kept to themselves.
Serenity put her head in her hands and took a deep breath. That more violence had occurred in that house shocked her. The situation brought back such horrific memories, rocking her to the core. She pictured the blood all too easily.
Nausea roiled in her belly and her hands trembled, but she needed to pull herself together. She had to get down to the station before she was due to pick Elizabeth up from preschool.
Pushing her chair back, she stood and made her way to her boss’s office.
Serenity faced the closed door and took another deep breath, steadying her nerves. She knocked gently before opening the door.
Mr. Berry glanced up from beneath big, gray bushy eyebrows, a slight frown etched in lines between his eyes. His eyes narrowed slightly behind the small wire-framed reading glasses he always wore.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. “But I wondered if I might have a word?”
He straightened, putting down the pen he was holding. “That’s okay, Serenity,” he said, gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk. “What can I do for you?”
She opened her mouth to speak but found tears were perilously close. She bit her lower lip and swallowed hard.
Concern filled her boss’s face. “What is it? What’s happened?”
She tried again. “The police just contacted me. The couple I rent my house to were murdered last night.”
“My God!” he said, shocked.
“They want me to go down to the station and tell them what I know—which really isn’t anything. I wondered if I might leave early so I can finish there before I need to pick my daughter up.”
“Yes, of course.” He thought for a moment. “I’m just about to head out to a meeting with some clients. I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make first, but if you want to go down to the parking garage and bring my car around to the front, I’ll drop you off.”
The small act of kindness touched a smile upon her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Berry. I appreciate it.”
He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out the car keys and passed them across the desk. She’d been trusted to move his car before; if he had to get across town quickly she would be called upon to bring the car around to the front door of the building, saving him precious minutes.
Although Serenity didn’t own her own car, she’d passed her test as a teenager. Wanting to use her as his personal taxi driver, her stepfather had encouraged her to learn so he could drink as much as he liked without worrying about the repercussions.
Fourteen flights led down to the underground garage that served as private parking for the whole building. Only the top dogs got a space—the executives and high-flyers—the rest of the staff mostly relied on public transport.
Serenity walked into the corridor and pressed the button to call the elevator. Four elevators served the whole building. She glanced up at the lit arrows above the doors, indicating which direction the elevators headed. The one directly in front of her was going down and, within moments, the doors slid open, revealing an empty space.
With the car keys dangling from one finger, Serenity stepped inside and pushed the button for the garage.
Mirrors surrounded her and she couldn’t help but stare at her own reflection. Serenity reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. She still hadn’t got used to her shorter style. She’d had long hair her whole life but demonstrated her independence by cutting it to her shoulders. Jackson would never have allowed her to cut her hair.
She glanced at herself again. The memory of the murdered woman’s face flashed in her mind. A much brighter, younger version of her, but even so the likeness couldn’t be missed. Now she had the Bainbridges to think about as well.
Death surrounded her.
Serenity shivered.
The elevator doors opened with a ‘ping’. Now mid-morning, everyone had been at work for hours, so she found herself alone.
She headed across the tarmac to her boss’s allocated space. Diesel fumes caught the back of her throat. The cars she passed were all top range; BMW, Audi, Mercedes. She remembered a comment she had made to James about not having a car because she was trying to save the planet. She smiled to herself; in truth, she would love to own her own car; life would be so much easier without relying on public transport to get everywhere. But she couldn’t afford one by a long stretch—not that she would admit as much to James. She still had her pride.
From out of nowhere, a horrendous stench washed over her, drowning out the scent of fuel.
“Oh, God!” Serenity put her hand over her face and pulled up the sleeve of her sweater, trying to use the material to stifle the smell. The stink was like trashcans after a few days in the sun, or like road kill that had crawled under a bush to die. The stench seemed so thick she struggled hard to breathe. Like tendrils of smoke, it crept up her nostrils and down the back of her throat, as though it were a living thing and intended on smothering her.
Serenity tucked her chin down into her chest and walked faster.
What the hell was the cause? Had something actually died down here? She couldn’t believe no one else had noticed and a team of people weren’t fumigating the garage. The people she worked with were normally such a fussy bunch—they complained if their coffee had been stirred the wrong way.
She glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source of the stench. The stink made her eyes water; she would report it as soon as she got back in the building. Yet everything looked much as it always did and the place was empty.
Her footsteps echoed as she walked across the garage, her low heels clicking on the ground. She hurried toward Mr. Berry’s car—a jet-black Audi A6—parked over the other side of the garage. Desperate to escape the smell, she felt as though she was suffering a slow suffocation.
The sound of heavy footsteps came from behind. Serenity glanced back but the garage was empty.
Serenity picked up her pace to a trot; her heart thumping hard enough in her chest to hurt. Adrenaline raced through her veins.
The footsteps came again, slow and steady, like boot heels clicking on the sidewalk.
Scared now, she looked back around, but still no person made themselves visible. Was someone following her, someone hiding from her now?
She wanted to call out, but scenes from a dozen horror movies flashed through her mind and her sensible part knew if someone were hiding, they certainly wouldn’t answer to her calling out, ‘hello’.
Serenity gripped the keys in her fist, holding them so the car key stuck out between her clenched fingers, like a dagger. Though only a makeshift weapon, it was better than nothing. She focused her sights on the Audi, now only thirty feet away.
Suddenly, a heavy breath rasped in her ear, the putrid smell strong enough to knock her sideways.
Serenity screamed and spun around, lashing out with the key, certain she would be faced with an attacker, but the key only swiped thin air.
Tears of fear flooded her eyes. She hadn’t imagined the footsteps or the cold breath against her cheek.
She turned and ran for the car, unlocking the door with a push of the button on the key-fob. She wrenched open the driver door and threw herself behind the wheel, pulling the door closed behind her and slamming down the lock.
The smell was gone.
Her hand still shaking, Serenity started the engine. Though fluorescent lighting shone overhead, she flicked the switch for the headlights anyway, needing the extra light.
What was wrong with her? She hadn’t experienced a panic attack like that for years. She was sure she had gotten over the worst of her problems, (or maybe not gotten over—after all, murdering your abusive husband and falling in love with a vampire was hardly something you just forgot about), but she certainly thought she’d dealt with her issues. Only now a wormhole into the past had opened and she was plummeting, freefall.
The paranoia, grief and horror; all those memories flooded back as fresh as the day they happened. Had the murders brought the recollections back? Or perhaps Elizabeth’s strange premonition had caused the relapse?
She must have imagined the whole thing. She had experienced similar things many times four years ago, but she hadn’t felt an attack of such total paranoia for a long time.
That feeling of being watched, of constantly looking over her shoulder.
Serenity didn’t want to go back to the dark place of her past, trapped in her house, too scared to leave. She’d come a long way since then; built her life back up from scratch and dealt with the trauma for the sake of her daughter. She’d been so tempted back then to let everything consume her. So many times, it would have been easier to simply give up.
The loneliness—missing Sebastian every moment of every day—almost pushed her over the edge. If not for Elizabeth’s arrival, she wouldn’t have made it. She’d never been on her own before and Sebastian’s abandonment hurt all the more because of it.
It’s the murders, she told herself.
Any sane person would be shaken after hearing people they’d known had been murdered in their own house—in the same house where she murdered her husband.
She needed to get a move on. Mr. Berry would be waiting for her and she didn’t want him to think he had an unstable employee on his hands.
With one hand clutching the wheel, she pushed the car into first.