Thomas Amo: An Apple for Zoë: Book One ~ The Forsaken

Ironically, Julie's favorite band was Tommy James and the Shondells. This only solidified her belief that her love for him was eternal.

Julie's radio, which played gently in the background, was permanently tuned to AM station, 610 KFRC. The steady drumbeat and piano of Pretty Ballerina by The Left Banke filled the room. Julie's heart swelled as Tommy lay across from her. The fear of being caught by her parents was the farthest thing from her mind as Tommy brushed his hand across her cheek. With so much to be said, Julie could hardly contain herself, as she was about to share her very first kiss with the one boy she would love for the rest of her life. The two—would-be lovers—whispered softly to one another as to keep their Saturday evening rendezvous a secret.

"You sure your dad won't come in?" asked Tommy.

Julie smiled and wrapped her barefoot around Tommy's ankle closing the distance between them.

"Are you kidding, it's Saturday night, he's got his martini and a new color television. Soon he'll be overdosing on Jackie Gleason, Lawrence Welk, and don't forget tonight, Bing Crosby is the host on The Hollywood Palace ," she said with a wry smile.

"Bing Crosby over Petticoat Junction ?" he asked playfully.

"No, I'm serious, all week long, all I've heard is, 'Bing is on The Hollywood Palace , so keep it quiet, and maybe in the morning we can all have some Minute Maid orange juice,' " she said in her best father's impression of Bing Crosby. The two of them covered their mouths to keep their laughter to a minimum. As their laughs subsided their eyes met.

"Kiss me Tommy," said Julie in a sweet romantic plea.

Leaning together, Tommy gently placed his lips against Julie's. Hers were soft and moist. Together they found the bliss of innocence. In a daring move, Tommy slowly parted his mouth and Julie took his gesture and the young lovers enjoyed the pleasure of a first French kiss. Pulling Tommy closer, Julie wrapped her petite arms around him. Holding him tightly against her, Tommy could feel the swell of her breasts. When their kiss ended Julie placed her head on Tommy's shoulder. The euphoria of the moment was forever etched in her mind to the tune of Pretty Ballerina , and made even more perfect as Tommy whispered in her ear.

"I love you, Julie."

Stopping on the sidewalk to adjust his black horn-rimmed glasses, the melodic sounds of The Left Banke called his attention to a nearby window. Hidden by the darkness and fog, the stranger stepped from the sidewalk and into the yard. Cautiously he made his way to Julie's bedroom window. Silently he watched the young lovers as they lost themselves in their passion. Gripping the gun, which was buried in his pocket, his fingers caressed the gun in a fashion that mirrored the young boy's hand enjoying the touch of the girl's firm, supple breast. As he watched the boy, his own desire increased. Gripping the gun tighter, the stranger stepped closer to the window. The snap of a dry dead fallen tree branch caught the girl's attention. With a start Julie stopped kissing. Tommy quickly pulled his hand from her shirt.

"Tommy did you hear that?" she said clicking off the radio. Tommy nodded and listened. Silently they both held their breath as to sharpen their hearing. The rustle of dead October leaves crunched slightly.

"Tommy, I think someone is watching us," said Julie in the hushed tone of a frightened babysitter.

"You want me to go look?" asked the boy valiantly.

She nodded her approval. Slowly rising from the bed, Tommy cautiously moved to the window. Standing next to the sill he attempted to peek out and not be seen.

"Julie, turn the light off," whispered Tommy. Julie reached over and pulled the plug from the wall, causing darkness to fill the room. Again Tommy made an attempt to stealthily look out the window. Julie slid off the bed and moved to her bedroom door and opened it slightly, from the distance she could hear her father laughing at the preview bumper for The Hollywood Palace .

Looking out the window, Tommy tried to see, but the fog concealed most everything within view with the exception of the streetlight on the corner of Jackson and Maple. The fog gave the street a look of 1880's London. Slowly appearing from out of the mist, Tommy could see the stocky figure of a man lumbering into the glow of the streetlight. The man stopped for a moment at the corner and seemed to be looking at his watch. He turned and began walking south up Maple Street disappearing from Tommy's view. It was 9:00 p.m .

Sitting at his desk, staring out the window at the fog enshrouded San Francisco skyline, Detective Thomas James' thoughts returned to the present as his daydream was broken by the soft calming voice of fellow detective and best friend Michael Kirkland.

"I heard you got a suicide note on this one, Tom."

"No Mike, it's definitely not a suicide note, but it most certainly is disturbing."

James's comment peaked Kirkland's interest, he found a chair and sat opposite of his best friend.

"What do you mean?" asked Kirkland.

James leaned in as if it would make the conversation more private. "I've seen a lot of weird crime scenes in my day, you know this city we get it all, but this one was downright scary."

"Scary? In what way?"

"It wasn't just the fact we had a double homicide, but it was everything, right down to the kinky little details. This guy didn't just murder two people, it was the way he killed them. Choosing a funeral home for a start."

"Not your typical crime scene, but not out of place to bring a dead body," commented Kirkland.

"That's where things begin to get scary, Mike. Amanda Carlyle wasn't dead when the killer brought her there."

"He killed her inside the funeral home?"

"Killed her, bathed her, dressed her, and even took the time to do her hair and make up."

Kirkland shivered as he sat silently trying to absorb James' story.

"The frustrating thing is that there are far more questions than there are clues," lamented James.

"That's par for the course, so tell me what you do know for sure."

James slid the case file across the desk to Kirkland.

"At 11:00 p.m. last night Amanda Carlyle was out with a girlfriend. They were both seen at The Cellar nightclub on Sutter Street. She and her girlfriend got into an argument with another couple of girls and the bouncer kicked Amanda and her friend out. According to the friend, she left Amanda at the parking garage next to Pier 39. That was the last time she saw her."

"So who's this friend?" asked Kirkland.

"Valerie Rivera. We're still trying to catch up with her and check her alibi."

James gave Kirkland a concerned look. "Trouble is Mike, there's something else. Something that's even more freaky then this whole crime scene." Kirkland sat the file down to listen.

"So we found a note on Amanda. It's like a confession, and written in what appears to be a child's handwriting. It's signed by someone claiming to be Edmund Frayker."

"So you checked out the name right?" asked Kirkland.

"Oh yeah, I checked it out alright. Edmund Frayker was killed in a fire in England 1888. Or so people say. Based on the research I did, some people think the fire was just a ruse to get people to believe he had died. He was also a Jack the Ripper suspect, and London continued to suffer a string of prostitute murders well into 1892, Scotland Yard just kept it quiet."

"Sounds like your killer likes playing games. Do you think this guy is pretending to be Edmund Frayker and is going after prostitutes, Tom?" James shrugged.

"Because, this girl doesn't fit the prostitute category, she's young, attractive, comes from a decent background," continued Kirkland.