The scent of mildew and disuse hit Vivian first, then a slight tinge of garbage that needed to be thrown out. Vivian’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness of the interior. The curtains were drawn and the bit of light that did spill in made the place look somehow worse. The house was a wasteland, a desolate scene of filth and chaos. Old food lay molding on dirty dishes, piles of sketchpads amassed like fallen towers, and pens and pencils littered the floor like casualties of a stationary war.
Her eyes flicked to the walls, where countless sketches were pinned haphazardly, each one more disturbing than the last—crude, explicit depictions of women in various sexual acts. The sketches were actually quite good, despite their vulgarity. It was a grotesque gallery of depravity, and it made her skin crawl.
Another scream came from the back of the house. The same woman. It sounded like there was a bit of horror to the scream. And this time, there were words.
"Help! Please, someone!"
Sterling moved ahead, gun drawn, clearing the path. Vivian followed close behind, every sense alert. They moved toward a hallway off the filthy living room but as soon as they stepped into it, the sound of hurried footsteps sounded out from down the hall. The footfalls pounded toward them, approaching rapidly from the back of the house.
"Interpol, and we are armed!" Sterling bellowed before the unseen runner could emerge. His voice boomed like thunder in the cluttered, squalid space.
The footsteps faltered, a moment of stunned silence hanging heavy in the air. Vivian's pulse thrummed in her ears, the tension coiling tighter within her. Every instinct screamed that danger lurked just beyond sight, that the woman's life hung precariously in the balance. She steadied her breathing, ready for whatever—or whoever—was about to face them.
The corridor stretched before Vivian, a narrow throat leading to the unknown. Sterling's stance was rigid as he aimed his gun down the hallway, eyes narrowed and jaw set. The air was thick with tension, each breath dense with the stink of neglect. Vivian didn’t think she’d ever felt so on edge—so helpless in regard to what the next few moments might bring.
Then he appeared—the figure of a man, or what remained of one—at the top of the hall, looking out toward them. Thin to the point of emaciation, his skin hugged tight over jutting bones. In his shaking grip, he held a rifle, an extension of his wild-eyed desperation. Clad only in boxer briefs, the gaunt figure stood as though he had risen from the pages of some twisted fairytale, ink stains smudging his hands like proud wounds.
“Drop the gun!” Sterling yelled.
The man’s eyes were wide and though he did not drop the gun as Sterling had commanded, Vivian thought she saw something like fear in his eyes…like he wanted to obey Sterling but he was too frozen in fear.
“Sir, we’re Interpol officers,” Vivian said. “We need you to put that rifle down now!”
“I…you don’t…” the man said.
“Now!” Sterling bellowed. It was so loud and forceful that for just a moment, Vivian thought the thin man had pulled the trigger on the rifle.
"Yeah…okay," the man finally said. He then simply released it, and the weapon clattered to the floor. Vivian flinched, fully expecting it to discharge from the impact.
But it didn’t. Instead, the entire house went quiet again. But for just a moment. The woman was screaming from the back again.
"Who are you?" Sterling demanded, voice cutting through the stifled air. His Glock was still raised, pointed directly at the man.
"Raul Leary," the man rasped, his voice a hollow echo. Fear flashed across his face, the recognition of his own precarious situation.
With Sterling commanding the standoff, Vivian nodded toward the hallway. Sterling nodded, though there was concern in his eyes. “Careful,” he said.
Vivian slipped past them, making her way down the hall. The stink of the front of the house faded in the hallway, replaced by what smelled like marijuana and some sort of spice. Sweat, too. It was a bit nauseating.
There was a bedroom at the back of the hallway, the door opened. The woman wasn’t screaming anymore, but Vivian could hear female sounds of exertion and disgust. With her weapon still raised and doing everything she could to keep a steady hand, Vivian entered the bedroom.
It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. There was no way she could have predicted it, and her brain struggled to process it. The room itself was pristine, its cleanliness an affront to the squalor beyond its walls. But it was the bed…what sat on the bed nearly made her scream and go running back to the front of the house.
A woman lay bound to the posts, vulnerable and exposed. Her heavily tattooed body was completely naked. Her black hair was down, sprawled out all over a small, dingy bed. But it was the snake that drew a gasp from Vivian’s lips—a monstrous coil of scales and muscle slithering across the woman's flesh. Its tongue flickered in the stale air, tasting the terror that hung palpable between them.
It was such a bizarre sight that for a dizzying moment, Vivian assumed the snake was one of the woman’s tattoos, an imagined serpent making its way across her abdomen.
"Stay calm," Vivian whispered, more to herself than to the victim. She stepped closer, her mind racing for a plan, any plan. With each movement, she felt the weight of responsibility pressing upon her—this woman's life, suddenly and irrevocably, in her hands.
The snake sensed the new person in the room, its tongue smelling the air. Vivian assumed it was a boa constrictor of some kind—the sort people sometimes kept as pets.
“Sterling…” she hissed, trying to stay quiet but also loud enough for Sterling to hear. Her eyes never left the sinuous form of the snake as it slithered across the woman's bare skin. The terror in the victim's eyes mirrored Vivian's own fear—encapsulated in the room's stillness, a stark tableau of horror. Her muscles were drawn right from her arms and legs all tied to the bed posts.
The sound of rushed footsteps and Sterling's commanding presence in the doorway offered a momentary respite from the terror that threatened to claw its way up her throat. "Vivian, what is—"
His words hung, unfinished, as his gaze landed on the scene before him. Time seemed to fracture, each second elongating, stretching into an eternity as Sterling processed the sight. “What in the hell?” he breathed.
At the same time, the unmistakable sound of rapid footfalls filled the house. They grew more and more distant, making it clear what they were hearing Raul Leary trying to make a run for it.
“You good?” Sterling asked Vivian.
“Been a lot better. Just…Christ, go get him.”
Sterling nodded and doubled back, once again jetting down the hall to stop Leary from escaping.
Meanwhile, Vivian drew closer to the bed. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, a tumultuous drumbeat that drowned out all reason. She could practically feel the heat of the reptile's body as it moved slowly around the woman’s torso.
“Ma’am,” Vivian said. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Even with just that one word, Vivian could hear that the woman’s voice ragged and worn out.
“Okay, um…the snake…do you know where—?”
The woman tried to speak, but only a whimper came out. "It won't hurt me—it's his pet! Just…please get the damned thing off me!" She was trying not to shout, hoping not to anger the snake, but there was hysteria edging her voice.
Pet or not, Vivian couldn't suppress the shudder that coursed through her at the thought of the creature's touch. But the woman's plea grounded her, and she steeled herself, reaching out with tentative hands.
Vivian's instincts kicked in, her years of navigating the treacherous underbelly of the art world now channeled into a singular focus: rescue. With no hesitation, she grasped the thick coils of the snake, its scales dry and rough against her palms. It was heavier than she’d been expecting, a slinking mass of muscle. Without even thinking about it, she simply heaved it from the woman's body and flung it to the floor.
She was slightly embarrassed by the cry of fear and disgust that came out of her mouth, but she couldn't help it. She was very pleased to find that the snake had no interest in attacking. It's years of domestic living had apparently defanged it in more ways than one. It quickly slithered under the bed, simply looking for a hiding place from its chaotic morning.
Vivian then reached for the top of the bed, instantly getting to work on the knotted ropes that were holding the naked woman down. The knots had been drawn tight in the woman’s frenzied horror, but Vivian was able to get them undone without much issue. Once the woman’s wrists were freed, she helped Vivian with the ones binding her ankles to the bottom of the bed.
The woman was crying, but there was rage in her tears as well as horror and sorrow. Her eyes blazed with fire as she sprung off the bed, naked vulnerability giving way to raw fury.
“Ma’am, hold on a second, please…” Vivian said.
But the woman wasn’t listening. She marched out of the room and down the hall, screaming in fury. Though she’d been able to speak to Vivian in English it was French she was shouting in as she made her way through the house.
Glad to leave the snake behind her, Vivian followed quickly. She reached the end of the hallway just in time to see the woman diving at the intertwined bodies of Sterling and Raul Leary by the front door. Leary and Sterling had no time to register her charge before she was upon them. Her fists flew, a flurry of desperation and rage, each strike punctuated by a sharp cry that echoed through the sordid room. She was clearly going for Leary, but some of the strikes were landing on Sterling as well.
"Get off him!" Vivian yelled, prying the woman away. Sterling joined in, his trained strength easily pulling the two apart. "Enough!"
The woman's chest heaved, her skin flushed with exertion and anger. Vivian steadied her with a firm grip, trying to make sense of the chaos. She locked eyes with Sterling, whose own gaze flickered with confusion and concern. The woman, still completely naked, seemed to have no idea of her state.
"What the hell is going on here?" Vivian demanded, her pulse racing.
With the woman removed, Sterling got to his feet. When he did, Vivian saw that he’d already managed to cuff Leary. The scrawny man was lying on the floor, on his chest with his arms cuffed behind his back.
“I’ll take this one outside,” Sterling said. “Have a word with him. You stay here with her. Get her some clothes and see what answers you can find.”
Vivian nodded, her head still swirling with the absolute absurdity of the past five minutes. She had no idea if any of this had anything to do with their case, but the morning sure as hell had taken a very weird turn.