Chapter 7

By the time I got home that night, I was completely exhausted. The bone examination and the search had taken a lot out of me. Ryan dropped me off in my parking garage. I slipped out of the car slowly, grabbing my laptop and my messenger bag that held my case files. When I went to shut the door, Ryan grabbed my wrist. My eyes snapped to his face.

“Katie,” he began, clearing his throat. I glared at his little nickname, “Get some sleep tonight, okay? I care about you and I don't want you to be out of it when we're chasing the bad guys.”

I smiled inwardly. On the outside, I smirked, “Chasing the bad guys, huh?”

Ryan grinned. “Yeah. Chasing the bad guys.”

I smiled. “You get some sleep too. Who'll protect me if you're not around?”

“No clue.” Affection.

I sighed, gave myself a moment of thought, and leaned in and kissed Ryan on the cheek. He looked mildly surprised when I pulled back.

“Good night, Ryan. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He nodded. “I'll pick you up.”

I smiled and turned, feeling his eyes on me as I made my way to the elevator. As the steel doors closed behind me, I heard a faint 'good night' from his direction. Minutes later, I pushed my way into the apartment, tired and out of it, but relatively happy. I dropped my things on my couch and made my way to the kitchen. I grabbed an ice cold bottle of water and leaned against my kitchen counter. I sighed. I could feel the beginnings of a head ache coming on.

I popped another Tylenol and headed for the bathroom with every intention to have a long, relaxing soak in the tub. As I started the bath and poured in some bubbles, I started thinking about the search that had taken place a few hours earlier. Questions flew through my mind.

Did this Oliva Rose have a connection to the cases? If so, how? Had Tacolini been stalking her? Who had the pink thong belonged to? What about that George Whitney?

What was going on between Ryan and I?

The thoughts exited my mind as soon and I slipped under the hot water. I sank into the tub and let myself drown out the worries. Baths had always been my saviour. I inhaled the lavender scented bubbles, savoured the warmth of the water. Yes, baths were good.

I finally got out when I started to drift off. I wasn't too keen on drowning just yet. I rubbed myself dry with a towel before throwing on my warmest pyjama bottoms and an old, ratty tee shirt. The nightly routine came next. Brush hair, wash face, brush teeth, put on moisturizer. By the time I slid beneath the warm covers of my bed, it was almost midnight.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. When it did, it came in fitful bouts, rolling over and thrashing. I couldn't get images of all three dead bodies from my mind. I couldn't get the questions to leave my brain alone. I couldn't stop thinking about Ryan. The deep sleep I'd wished for didn't come until three in the morning.

~~

I awake in my room. There is no furniture, no bed. Nothing. I am on the floor. I crane my head. It hurts. I look around myself gently. There is red. So much red. I don't know where it is coming from. Chalk outlines my body. I try moving my legs. No movement. Arms are a no go. Even my cranium has stopped responding.

I try to scream. My body goes rigid. No sounds escapes my throat. I try again. I need help!

“Help me!” I scream. Again, nothing. Not a single note leaves my mouth.

Suddenly I hear footsteps. I try to look to the door. Three men stand there, looking down at me. I can't see their faces, they're blurry. I desperately attempt to get their attention. They don't notice. The men step over me like I'm a bump in the road. One starts speaking to the other two. I can't understand them!

One of the men comes right up to me. He leans down to check my pulse. I sneak a glance at his face. It is rough and rigid, his skin the colour of light dirt. He is Pablo Tacolini. I almost gasp, but then realize that I can't. Tacolini stands up and speaks to the other two men. Another comes over to stare at me.

It's Ryan! Ryan! Ryan you need to help me! I'm can't move, I'm stuck! Ryan, help! I try again to scream. No sound will leave my mouth. I can feel a sob starting in my chest. I close my eyes and open them again. When I do, Ryan's head is gone. So are the other two's heads. I scream for the fourth time.

Sound! I'm making noise! I feel function return to my legs, and I roll to my side. The headless men do nothing. I stumble in my room towards the mirror. What I see almost deserves a double take. The reflection staring back at me is not me at all, but the headless, bloody corpse of Remy Hadley.

~~

It's true what they say about nightmares. You do wake up in a cold sweat. Your heart does pound out of your chest. But the phone doesn't usually ring.

Gasping, I reached over to my night stand and grabbed my cell, bringing it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“What's wrong?” Concern.

“Nothing, Ryan, I just woke up. Nightmare.” I sighed, letting my heart rate slow back to normal.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. What's up?”

I heard paper rustling over the line. “I went back to the lab after I dropped you off, and I gave the underwear to Rich. He said he'd see if there was DNA, test it, and call me.”

“And?”

“I just got off the phone with him.”

My heart started beating again. “What did he find?”

“There were two different samples of bodily fluids the material. He tested both. The first belonged to Tacolini, so surprise there, but you'll never guess who the second person was.”

The steady thumping in my ribcage said it wanted to know. “Who?”

“A Ms. Olivia Rose.”

I almost dropped the phone.

“The one that wrote all of the articles?”

“The very same. Was in the system for a prior DUI.” Ryan sighed into the phone. I knew he was excited, but tired.

“So, she'd spent the night with Tacolini, huh?”

“Seems to be that way.”

I tapped my finger on my night table. “I think we need to have a talk with Ms. Rose.”

“Maybe.”

I sighed. “What time is it?”

I could hear the sheepishness in his voice. “4:50. Sorry for waking you up.”

“It's fine. Have you been up all night?”

“Yeah, I've been at the lab. Well, I'm actually in your office.”

I chuckled. “How did you get a key to my office?”

“I called that ginger you're friends with. Randi or something? I don't know. Anyway, she gave me a key. She's got like, ten of them.” He said. I shook my head, then remembered he couldn't see it.

“Remind me to kill her, please.”

Ryan laughed. “Will do. I'll let you go back to sleep. Be ready to go at nine, Katie.”

“Alright. Oh, the couch in my office pulls out, you know. If you want to get some sleep.”

“Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow.”

After I hung the phone up, I lay back down in my bed. Faint light filtered in through my blinds. Sunrise would be soon. Deciding I wasn't going to get any more sleep, I hopped out of bed and made my way to the shower.

A full hour later, I walked into my kitchen, hair pin straight, fully dressed, and ready for work. I popped open the fridge. Not a pretty sight. I settled for stale bread and peanut butter. A glass of almost sour milk later, I moved to the living room and flipped on the T.V.

News. Shopping Channel. Cartoons. Documentary. More news. Another documentary. I checked the clock. 8:30.

I gathered my files and my laptop, and sat myself on the couch. I pulled out the pictures Recovery had taken of the Tacolini scene.

The front lobby of the apartment building was how I remembered it. Cramped, small. The same two leather couches sat in the middle, but this time George Whitney wasn't sprawled out on one. The next few pictures showed the narrow hallway, the door of the apartment. Then the snapshots changed from eerie to disturbing.

Tacolini's body, headless and bloody. Splatter obnoxiously coated the same wall I'd seen with my own eyes. The chalk outline was missing. Pictures of the book case, the fridge, the bedroom.

I stopped, suddenly. There was something wrong with the photo of the bedroom. Something was missing.

The thong.

I examined the picture more clearly. Perhaps it was just hidden. Maybe I just couldn't see it.

It wasn't there.

I heard a car horn. Ryan. I hopped up, grabbed the pictures, my laptop, and ran outside. I could see Ryan through the windshield. He greeted me as I slid in the car.

“Good morning.”

I didn't respond. I flipped through the pictures and looked for the one of the bedroom.

“Oh, good morning Ryan! It's so good to see you! I've missed you with every passing second of my life!” He answered himself in a mimic of my voice. I slapped his arm.

“What the hell, Katelyn?”

“Ryan, there is something not right in these recovery photos.”

He stopped. “What?”

“The photo of the bedroom,” I said, fumbling for it. I handed it to him, “There's no thong. It's not there.”

“Someone placed it there?”

“That's what it looks like.”

Ryan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Who else could have put it there?”

“Anyone with a key to the apartment.” I shrugged. We both stopped and looked at each other.

“George Whitney.” Simultaneous revelation.

“Looks like Ms. Rose isn't the only person we need to talk to.”