M Sellars - Perfect Trust

“The motherfucker’s all over the map.”

“Yeah, and these are just the ones we know about,” she said. “You know as well as I do the stats on unreported rapes. Especially where Rohypnol is in the picture.”

“Yeah,” Ben nodded and frowned. “So Paige Lawson might’ve been an attempted rape gone bad instead of a robbery-assault.”

“From what I heard it sounds like she fits the profile,” Charlee agreed. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I just got the facts on Lawson an hour or so ago.”

“Yeah. Not surprised. You’ve had a lot on your plate.”

I was listening intently to the entire exchange, keeping my mouth shut, and taking in the information. The jumble of puzzle pieces I’d been laboring over earlier was suddenly starting to make sense; for the first time in a very long while I had a feeling that a significant number of them actually belonged to the same picture.

“It might be a good idea for us ta’ compare notes,” Ben told her.

“Yeah, although I’m thinking I’ll be helping you more than you’ll be helping me.”

“Yeah, maybe so, but ya’ owe me one.”

“How do you figure?”

“I lost twenty bucks on ya’ when you showed up here in a skirt.”

“You were in on that bet? Serves you right,” she laughed. “Oh yeah, before I forget, there were actually a couple of other things all the victims mentioned, although I don’t think it will help your cause any since it didn’t go very far.”

“What’s that?”

“Several of ‘em mentioned having quite a bit of makeup smeared on their faces. Kinda like it had been wiped off, but not very well. And they all remembered bright, flashing lights- I mean like blindingly bright.”

There’s a funny thing about approaching storms and squall lines. Sometimes you can look out across the vast, empty plain of life and see them coming countless miles before they ever reach you. Then there are other times when there is so much clutter in the way that they are already battering you with gale forces while you are still trying to figure out if the sun just went behind a cloud or if you should seek immediate shelter.

This particular tempest was on top of me before I even had a chance to look up.

The calm was definitely over.

Dead I am! Dead I am!

D-E-A-D! Dead I am!

The painfully familiar chant echoed in the back of my skull as a repressed memory from the night at the morgue revealed itself in halting disharmony. A ghastly feeling of disorientation began spreading outward from my brain in a frantic race to meet the abject panic that was vomiting upward from the pit of my stomach. They arrived simultaneously in the middle of my chest and proceeded to join forces in an attempt to bring my heart to a complete stop.

I heard myself gasp loudly as I sucked in a breath. Then with no precursor, the memory became an explosion of light that burst directly in front of me. The sight stealing flash was accompanied by a muted pop and then followed by an electronic whine. Everything before me was immediately washed out, leaving me temporarily blinded. As the flare faded, after-images blurrily joined with a grey-toned reality that began repainting itself, only to be bleached out once again by a second bright strobe.

I started and out of reflex raised my hand as I blinked and turned my head away from the source of the overbearing luminance. It didn’t help. A third and fourth flash followed quickly on the heels of the first two, and it was still as if I was staring directly into them, wide-eyed and oblivious.

“Hey, Row,” Ben’s concerned voice met my ears. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

“Debbie Schaeffer,” I muttered, or at least that is what my brain told my vocal cords to do. What came out was an unintelligible burst of syllables as I tried to force the words past a catch in my throat.

With the anticipated fifth flash not yet forthcoming, I slowly lowered my hand and directed my squinting gaze toward my friend.

“What was that?” he questioned again.

“Debbie Schaeffer,” I offered again, this time my voice winning out.

I could still see brightly colored spots dancing against a backdrop of rapidly fading after-images, and it was making me a bit queasy. I blinked hard, trying to will them away. Fortunately, the blur was lessening at a quick pace, and this page of reality was starting to come back into focus.

“What about her?”

“That’s the connection between her and Paige Lawson,” I explained, suddenly as sure of myself as I’d been in months. “This rapist.”

“How do you figure?”

“The lights.”

“This one of those Twilight Zone things or are ya’ just guessin’, Row?” He was interested but not yet convinced.

“At the morgue the other night,” I continued. “When I made the connection with Debbie Schaeffer I kept seeing flashing lights.”

“You didn’t mention anything about flashin’ lights then.”

“I didn’t remember them until now.”

“Row…”

“I’m not just plucking this out of the air, Ben,” I snapped. “You know as well as I do how this works sometimes. Besides, if I’m channeling the memories of someone who was drugged with Rohypnol, then maybe I’m experiencing the effects of the drug as well.”

“Okay, okay,” he held up a hand to stave me off. “Calm down. I wasn’t tryin’ ta’ say you were makin’ it up. I just wanna be sure we’re not chasin’ down a blind alley.”

“Sorry,” I apologized.

“S’alright,” he said. “Now, do ya’ remember anything else besides the flashin’ lights?”

“Yes,” I nodded vigorously, “a popping noise and a high-pitched whine.”

“Popping and whining?” Charlee speculated aloud. “Wonder what that could be?”

“I know exactly what it is,” I answered as I realized I’d heard the sound many times before. Living with a professional photographer, it was hard to avoid. “It’s a photo strobe. He’s taking pictures of them.”

“There’s a thought.” She nodded as understanding overtook her. “It would certainly explain the bright lights, and it’s not unheard of for a rapist to take an item from the victim. A keepsake that gives him a way to relive the act. That could also explain why he keeps them for a while.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “And the smeared makeup too. He may be dressing them up in some way to tie in with his personal fantasy.”

“Well,” she volunteered, “I suppose pictures would be as good as anything else, but I don’t think they’re doing it for him anymore. The frequency of the attacks has been increasing.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Ben was shaking his head. “Back the truck up for a minute you two. I gotta minor problem with this theory.”

“What’s that?” Charlee asked.

“Debbie Schaeffer,” he stated. “I’m willin’ ta’ accept Paige Lawson bein’ an intended rape victim. If we apply a little creativity to the coroner’s report, then we can assume that what we have is this asshole jammin’ ‘er with the stun gun. Zap!” He acted out the motion of pulling the trigger. “Then she falls and cracks ‘er head on the corner of the table. Sicko sees the blood, freaks and runs. That works. I’ve got enough on the physical side ta’ back it up, so in my mind, it’ll fit.

“Now, Debbie Schaeffer, that’s a different story. We’ve got no physical evidence, and the way you’ve played this guy up, he apparently doesn’t want these women harmed. Schaeffer was murdered and dumped in the woods.”

“Are you certain she was murdered?” I asked.

He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Well just what the hell would you call it?”

“Maybe her death was an accident too,” I offered.