Rick Mofina - Into the Dark

“What did you talk over? You called me on this story?”

“We’re prepared to give you a little more on the message to use in the story. We think it might help. Is there time to get it in?”

“New York’s doing a final edit now.” Harding did a quick mental calculation of New York’s deadlines and time zone differences. “We’d have to hurry.”

“Got a pen and paper?”

Harding pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket.

“Yup.”

“Your story must emphasize that we think the killer is dead.”

“It does.”

“He calls himself the Dark Wind Killer, or goes by DWK.”

“The Dark Wind Killer-what’s the significance?”

“We’re not releasing that, but there’s more.”

“Go ahead.”

“He said, ‘I’m just getting started.’”

San Marino, California

Robert Bowen stopped eating his breakfast midbite.

On the front page of the Los Angeles Times, below the fold across six columns read the headline Serial Killer’s Message Discovered 10 Years after First Slaying, over the subhead Suspect Vowed Return, But After 5 L.A.-Area Murders, Detectives Now Believe The Dark Wind Killer is Dead.

The byline was Mark Harding, AllNews Press Agency.

Bowen shoved his plate of scrambled eggs aside, spread the paper on the kitchen table and pored over every detail. The article spilled from the front page to page two.

His scalp prickled as the faces of the five dead women stared back at him from the photos and profiles of the feature. It was keyed to the ten-year anniversary of the first victim, Leeza Meadows, and newly discovered evidence by investigators.

A locater map pinpointed the crime scenes. Relatives of the victims blathered about their anguish, justice and vengeance.

Bowen’s jaw clenched as he read.

“The suspect is very intelligent,” said Joe Tanner, an L.A. County Sheriff’s cold case detective heading the multi-agency taskforce that was formed to clear the homicides. “We’ve received his message. As to why he stopped in 2007, we can only speculate that he relocated, or went to prison, or stopped out of fear that he’d slip up. Our most likely scenario is that he’s dead.”

Tanner would not reveal contents of the “cryptic communication” left by the suspect, who’d identified himself as the Dark Wind Killer. Tanner appealed to anyone with information on the case to contact the L.A. County Sheriff’s Cold Case Unit.

Investigators would not explain why so much time had passed before the discovery of the new evidence linking the murders of an accountant, a screenwriter, a waitress, an actress and an escort. The women didn’t know each other or share any connections. The article summarized the grisly details of how the women were killed.

Bowen’s body tingled as he reread every word, every sentence and every paragraph.

He looked closely at the women.

As he remembered each one, waves of sensual gratification rolled through him along with alarm. The urges he’d battled all of his life had begun, by degrees, to possess him again, stirring him to serve the monstrosity that lived within him.

The other being .

The urges rose in the blackest reaches of his existence and swirled through him with a force he’d come to call the Dark Wind.

Sitting at his kitchen table, Bowen felt as if a spike had suddenly been driven into his brain. He fell into a vague dream state, barely conscious of himself as he grappled with the other being. He fought to suppress it as he stared into the eyes of the dead women, confronting his horror, the revulsion and disgust over what he had done.

But the monster inside refused to be denied.

The police are mocking me, saying I’m dead. How could they not revere his five masterpieces and doubt his return?

But Bowen did not want this. Claire was his salvation. He had a new life, a good life. He had buried the monster deep inside himself.

No, I’m living a lie; Claire will destroy the being that I am. She told me she couldn’t have children. Things changed when she pursued her intention to have a baby, to change me, to control me, put me in a cage.

That was not my life. Living like this never was my real life.

No one would ever understand what I am: a supreme creature with needs that are all-consuming. There was so much yet to achieve. I was on the brink of dispatching that woman and her cub in the car wreck. It would have been a perfect crime. Why did I stop?

It would have been wrong, that’s why Bowen stopped.

There’s no right or wrong for what I am.

Yes, there was. Bowen had seen it in the face of the father of number one. That’s why he went to him, to search for a moral answer.

No, I’m deceiving myself. There’s no wrong. No morality. No conscience. No remorse. I cannot deny what I am. Look at the truth. I’ve already started work on new projects; started hunting again.

Amber.

I got into her bedroom and near enough to drink in her breath.

But Bowen had stopped, not only because Amber had stirred but because he’d caught himself standing over her, a reflection in a mirror of his hideous mask and the reason he wore it-to convince himself that he was not the other being. Bowen was not the vile monster in the mirror, and to prove it he’d abandoned the Amber project with every intention of destroying the other being once and for all.

Bowen’s head ached. The being demanded he finish what he’d started because the stars were aligning.

The clock was ticking .

Bowen sat motionless staring at the paper. He saw nothing, heard nothing but the pounding of his heart.

“Are you all right?” Claire entered the kitchen, preparing to leave for work. “Who were you talking to? You sounded angry.”

Running a hand over his face he went to the counter to freshen his coffee and nodded to the cordless phone on the kitchen table.

“A telemarketer called.”

For a moment Claire gave him a look that bordered on doubt.

“Really, I never heard the phone ring?”

“Maybe you were in the shower or drying your hair?”

She resumed putting on her earrings. “What was the call about?”

“He was trying to sell me financial planning services and would not take no for an answer. He started to piss me off.” Robert sipped some coffee. “I’m thinking about leaving this morning for the cabin. Get in some fishing. Maybe spend the night or two, before my next trip.”

“I think that’s a good idea, given all that’s happened.”

“And what about you, what’ve you got going today besides work?”

“Not too much, lunch with Julie, to catch up, gossip, girl stuff.”

“Have fun.”

Claire collected her bag, kissed Robert goodbye, then nodded to the newspaper on her way out.

“I read that horrible story,” she said. “Thank God that’s over with. I hope the creep is dead.”

Robert watched through the window as Claire drove off, her words echoing in his mind.

Los Angeles, California

“There you are. Oh, my God, you must be walking on air!”

Claire’s friend Julie Glidden got up from the table in Cafe Pinot and hugged her.

“Hey, stranger, it’s been a while,” Claire said.

“Sure has. You look fabulous.”

“So do you, I love your new cut.”

“I thought I’d try something casual.” Julie flashed her beauty-queen smile, made an exaggerated sweep of her new angled bangs. “Speaking of new, when you told me the baby news on the phone, I thought, wow! And then that mild-mannered pilot husband of yours does his superhero impression. It’s all coming together for you.”