Salt and Blood 14/25
Chapter 14
I wanted to kill somebody. I needed to kill somebody. I needed to be in control again.
I was eighty-five percent sure that Dean Winchester didn't belong on my table. At least I couldn't pin a single death on him. Maybe he and his brother were like me or not, I couldn't proof it.
The boat trip had been fun but I didn't gather new information except for the fact that Sam and Dean were also searching for answers. Answers to questions leading to me.
Don't get caught, Harry kept telling me. He didn't say it - not yet - but killing the Winchesters might be the only way to not get caught in the end. Which put me in the same dilemma I had with Doakes. I was pretty sure they were not cold-blooded murderers which meant I couldn't kill them. Not without violating the code and I couldn't do that. Stick to the code and everything is fine.
On the other hand I always could turn them in. I just needed to say a word to Deb or Angel and the Winchesters would be behind bars in seconds. Probably telling the story about the supposed to be dead but still active serial killer to everybody willing to listen. And LaGuerta would listen. So no, that wasn't really an option.
However, the whole situation put me under pressure and the urge to kill grew by the second.
I tried to concentrate on work. There was still the case with the beaten drug dealer and the shot thug and we still had no idea who the other guy was. Some tests were still running - real life never worked like those cheesy cop shows on TV - but so far nothing.
I had another look at the pictures from the crime scene. I didn't really hope to find anything but it kept me busy.
"Hello." I had a closer look. "You don't belong there."
The room had been searched by the killer after he had shot Vince so the blood didn't show the usual pattern anymore but even that did not explain the smear near the window. The pictures didn't give me more to go on - that part of the room hadn't been the focus of the crime - so I decided to drive there to have a closer look.
The apartment was still sealed off and the chaos inside was still the same minus the dead body in the middle of it. The metallic smell of blood was heavy in the air and I had to open a window to actual breathe in there. A few days in the Miami heat and the blood had started to decompose fast. Not that the smell in here had been any better the first time I had been in this apartment.
Breathing through my mouth I went to work. The smear near the window. From most angles it was hidden by the couch and it must have been dumb luck that it had made its way on one of the crime scene pictures. So I only felt half dumb for not noticing it when I had analyzed the place earlier.
I took a sample and maybe I'd just found the killer. The window faced the backyard - a meager spot of brownish grass - with a shed at the far end. Through the kitchen I went outside searching the yard for more blood. And I found some. Not much but it was a trace to follow. A short trace which led to the shed.
I can't say who was more surprised. Me or the guy laying in there.
"Hey man." He said with a grin and an unhealthy cough. His shirt was crusty from dried blood and a bloody knife lay next to him along with bags of what I assumed was heroin. At least what the guy had left of it after days of laying here dying without the courage to actually end it. Empty water bottles and wrappers from candy bars covered the floor around him. Somebody had made himself a nice little hiding spot back here. Maybe that was the only reason he was still alive.
I stepped closer taking in the scene. "So Vince got you before you shot him."
"Bastard had a knife." He gestured weakly to the knife on the floor. "But I got him good for that."
"And those are the drugs you took from David Rico." I guessed.
"That son of a bitch betrayed us. Kept the money, kept the drugs." He laughed hollowly followed by a rattle in his chest. "Same with Vince. Wouldn't share. Tried to betray me but I'm too smart." He tapped his temple with his finger still grinning at me.
Completely stoned. I wondered if he even realized that he sat there in his on piss and shit, seriously injured while he was in lala-land. I guessed not. At least he didn't seem to feel any pain.
"You don't look so good." I said and crouched forward. "Let me have a look."
"You a doctor or something?" Sizing me up he tilted his head but let me pull back his soiled shirt.
"Or something."
The gash wasn't that bad. Or hadn't been three days ago. The ribs had deflected the knife and probably saved his life. Disinfected and stitched up it wouldn't have been a problem but by now it was infected and even with an immediate trip to the ER I doubted he would make it in the end. Junkies weren't known for their strong immune system anyway.
"What's your name?" Not that it really mattered but I liked to know who I had in that little box of mine.
"What the fuck do you care?" He spat at me without heat. "Jack Harris." He added after a second.
I pondered my options. Stoned and injured like he was Jack wouldn't go anywhere in the near future. Or ever. But he wouldn't die in the next few hours either. Or so I hoped.
I needed to do this right. I needed my ritual.
"Okay, Jack. Stay here." I said in my best calming voice. "I'll get you help."
"Don't hurry, man." His breath hit me in the face and I fought my gag reflex. "I've a sweet setup here."
"Sure, man." But in my head I was already planning my next steps. I needed my tools and a quiet place.
I drove home to my apartment where I met Debra.
Damn, I'd hoped she would still be at work. Through the ajar door I could see her changing clothes. Hastily I turned around. Technically underwear wasn't that different from the bikini I had seen her wearing a million times and still it was something completely different.
"Where have you been?" She asked ransacking through her outfits while practically sitting half-naked on my tools hidden in the trunk in the wardrobe.
If only she knew. And I really hoped she'd never find out who her brother really was. What kind of monster.
"Had to check something at the scene." I yelled and wondered how long she would need in there and how I was supposed to get my tools without her noticing.
"Found anything?" She sounded muffled like she had something over her head.
"Nope." While I waited I could use the time to eat something. I had a busy night ahead. "You want a sandwich?"
She stuck her head out for a moment. "Thanks, but I'm going out with Dean."
At least she would be busy herself and wouldn't have time to wonder what big brother was up to in the middle of the night. Good. This had been a lot easier back when I'd lived here alone. Time for little sister to get her own place. At least then she wouldn't get between me and my tools or would fuck wanted criminals in my bed. Yes, in that order.
I made the sandwich and fired up my laptop. Eating I checked out Jack Harris. His name came up with a crime history. Drugs, vandalism, break and entry, violence. The usual stuff. Apparently David Rico had been his first murder but it only had been a matter of time. No address and next of kin was an aunt in Albuquerque and nobody had filed a missing person's report despite the fact that he had been missing for a few days now.
With a smile on my lips I finished my sandwich. So the chances were good that the Winchesters wouldn't connect the soon to be dead Jack Harris to the Bay Harbor Butcher. I hate that name.
After endless minutes Debra came out of the bedroom fully clothed and spread her arms in a "what do you think?" manner.
It covers your body, would have been my first answer for which she would probably hit me. So I went for: "Looks good."
She grinned and then bit her bottom lip in a way which meant she wanted to ask something.
"You staying at Rita's tonight?" She finally asked.
"Don't know." I honestly hadn't thought about that. Kill Jack, get rid of Jack, that was the plan for tonight. Where I would sleep was the last of my concerns. But then it dawned me. "Oh, you want the place for yourself. And Dean. Okay."
"Only if it's really okay with you."
"Sure." Just go and let me get my tools, I have somebody to kill.
She hugged me and then finally left. I waited a few minutes just to make sure she wouldn't come back because she'd forgotten something before I got my tools and was on my way back to Jack.
Tonight was the night.
"Hey, Jacky." I greeted him when I opened the door to the shed. He sat there with his back against the wall and a loopy grin on his face just like before.
"Hey, man." He sounded happy and I wondered if he had taken some more of his stash. And how that would interfere with the tranquilizer. Didn't want to kill him on the way to kill him. This had to be done right. Too bad the shed was too small and cramped for my needs and the apartment was still a crime scene. So I had to get Jacky to one of the quiet places I knew. I liked to use places with a meaning for my victims, something personal. In this case it wasn't possible, but that was not the important part of the ritual anyway. A nice touch but not essential.
When Jacky woke up, everything was ready. I even had pictures of David Rico and Vince printed out and on display.
"Hi." I came close to him so that he could see me. With the head fixated on the table it was always hard for my victims to actually have a look around. Not that there was much to see despite plastic and the things I wanted them to see. Pictures of the people they had killed. They had to understand why I had chosen them, why they had to die.
As soon as Jack realized that something was terrible wrong he started to scream behind the gag.
"You killed two people." I ignored the screaming and pointed at the pictures. "Two people to get some drugs. And then you get stabbed and what? Hey, I've enough drugs for the rest of my life."
More often than not I didn't understand people. In some cases I was glad that I didn't understand them.
I freed him from the gag just to hear if he had something constructive to say. Most hadn't but you never know. He started to ramble about how unfair life was and why I didn't just go and fuck myself. I didn't think he fully understood the situation stoned as he still was. With a sigh I gagged him again and reached for the scalpel.
The tension bled out of my body like the blood out of his. Almost poetic.
For a moment I enjoyed the quiet. Only my own breathing and the tripping of the blood broke the silence. This was peace.
Then the quiet trip with the boat into the night. Just me and the ocean and pieces of Jack Harris carried away with the gulf stream. No people to judge me, no Winchesters to chase me.
After a while I turned the boat and went home to Rita.
continue to chapter 15
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