Dear Captor (Letters in Blood series Book 1) Read online

  I can’t believe she tried to seek help about my messages. Good luck. The police will never find those cell phones—use once and destroy. I’ve learned a lot doing this over the years. I’ve changed the way I was taught by my master. He wouldn’t be happy, but he doesn’t get a say anymore.

  In thirty minutes she’ll be locked up, and I’m eager to hear her beg and cry to be freed. They all do it, and it brings me immense pleasure. Just thinking about it raises the hairs on my arms until they stand like little soldiers, the feeling of elation rushing through my blood.

  This is the routine.

  I never deviate.

  Glancing back again, a peaceful look rests on her now relaxed face, her hair fanned over the seat. Something in me twinges.

  Giving my head a good shake, I grip the steering wheel tighter and get back to the job at hand. The first thing to happen is the cutting. She will bleed.

  I open my eyes. A sharp pain stabs me right behind my left eye. I wince, and my head throbs. What the hell happened? I don’t rush to move since I’m not sure if I’ll throw up or not. Nausea swirls in my stomach, and I groan quite loudly. My vision is blurry, and I’m unable to make out what’s in front of me. All I can see is a grayish blur before the room begins to spin out of control. I slam my eyelids shut again. The room slowly stops.

  “Help? Is anyone out there? Can I have some water?” Not sure who I’m speaking too, but I sense someone’s focus is on me. After a short while, my stomach stops its uncomfortable swirling, so I blink a few times, trying to bring my eyes into focus. Straight away, I smell the metallic scent of blood. An uncomfortable feeling settles within me as I try and recall the moments before I woke.

  Waiting for Roman.

  A noise.

  Getting smashed over the head, and across the cheek.

  “Oh my…” I breathe. My hands tremble as fear spikes through every fiber of my being.

  Slowly, I sit up. I’m on a filthy, maybe less-than-half-an-inch-thick mattress that’s placed on a grimy, foul floor. My body trembles from the chill in the air. The room is dimly lit, and when my eyes adjust better to the lighting I notice there are stains on the top sheet that’s been placed over my body.

  I study my surroundings. Concrete walls hold me captive. I can see out through the bars across the front of the boxed-shaped cell, and a small rectangular window, up high enough I can’t reach it, which is covered with torn paper. My sight falls upon a staircase leading up to who knows where. My blood runs cold. Dark splatters mark the wall. Blood. A slither of fear runs through my veins.

  Hesitantly, I stand, and the room spins with me. I extend my hand, steadying myself against the wall. Chills climb my spine.

  Was Rebecca in this room?

  Is some of this blood hers?

  Bile forces its way up my throat, and I throw up whatever’s left in my stomach, which doesn’t seem like much at all. How long have I been here?

  “Hello? Is anyone here?” I call out, my throat burning in the aftermath of my violent retching. It’s screaming for some water.

  It’s then I notice that my shoes have been removed, along with my clothes. I’m in my bra and panties. Oh, hell. I’m automatically thrown back to my childhood when my father would lock me in our basement just to hear me call and beg to get out. He’d always threaten me with the dark room, as he called it—it was pitch black. This one isn’t, though.

  I should be panicking right now, but I’m not. Although inside of me anxiety brews, and it’s only a matter of time before panic sets in.

  When I was placed in my father’s dark room, I knew it was only for a short period. This, I think, will possibly be the last place I see, before I end up like Rebecca, dead. I can only put this whole situation I find myself in down to the serial killer that’s been lurking the streets, or it’s a random attack.

  If it’s him, then I’m already dead.

  I don’t know what happened to Rebecca, but I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. Wrapping my arms around my chest, I comfort myself. I used to do this when I was a child to help settle me down. Tears prick my eyes, and I stare up at the tiny window. Is it the same night when I was taken? Or was I knocked out for longer?

  I sit on the thin, disgusting bed and pull my knees up to my chest. At least the nauseous sensation has almost vanished… for now.

  Without warning, an overhead fire sprinkler sprays water in my cell, all over me and my bedding. A scream erupts from my lungs when the water hits me. It’s like ice. I stand immediately.

  A chilling voice comes over a speaker, which causes me to hold my breath and let the water soak me.

  “You asked for water.” A deep, threatening voice announces.

  Then it goes silent again. His voice sends quaking fear right to my stomach, and I heave again into the single bucket supplied. I may have survived my childhood, but I don’t see myself surviving this. It’s possible this will be the last room I’ll ever live in.

  I sit back on the bed and hug my knees again, allowing the water to fall over me. I open my mouth to try to get some water in there to swish around and wash out the horrid taste, and to fill my belly a little, since I’m sure I won’t be getting much to eat, if any.

  I manage one mouthful, and it’s shut off. I pause, holding my breath, awaiting what’s going to happen next.

  The voice comes through the speakers again. “Welcome to the house of pain. Begging and crying are welcome. I can’t promise it will spare your life. Expect pain and lots of it. Expect blood. Look around—those splatters are remnants of the lives of those before you. Good luck.”

  Where is she? Elenore told me she’d be down in thirty minutes. Perhaps I should go inside and check. Striding through her work building doors, I spot the security officer coming back to his desk.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the building is closed.” He holds up his hand to stop me going any further.

  “I understand. I’m looking for my friend. I was supposed to meet her outside about, um… thirty minutes ago. Her name is Elenore Burrows.” Being in the police department, you know there are creeps out there, ready and waiting. What if something came of the message she showed me earlier?

  “Oh, yes, I did see her walk out. It was as I left for my security check, so about forty minutes ago,” he said, looking down at his watch as if to confirm his time.

  “Okay, thank you. Perhaps I missed her waiting out there. I’ll go check again.” Turning, I walk back out to the near empty street, and I scan each way to see if I can see her.

  I walk left. A phone begins to ring down a side alley, the lit up screen catches my eye. I’ve seen this phone before—it’s Elenore’s. Picking it up, I see the name Suzie on the screen. Who is this?

  “Hello, Elenore’s phone, Roman speaking,” I answer.

  I’m met with a stuttering elderly lady’s voice. “Oh… ah… this is Suzie. Did I get the wrong number? Is this Elenore’s phone? Oh, what am I saying, you said that it was. Sorry, I was thrown by a man answering her phone.”

  “Yes, I’m her friend, and I was meeting her tonight, but she’s not here, and yet, her phone is.”

  Suzie breathes heavily and attempts to speak again, but her words seem to be getting caught in her throat.

  “Are you all right?” I ask. Concern for Suzie and Elenore fills me.

  “No, I’m not all right. Elenore is everything to me, and she takes her cell phone everywhere she goes. It’s attached to her because her boss is so strict and always needs her at crazy hours. Oh, my… Elle. Where are you?” She begins to sob, and the detective in me takes over.

  “What’s your address, ma’am, I’d like to come and talk to you? I’m not sure if Elenore told you about me, but I’m a detective, and I’ll open an investigation immediately. Hopefully… it’s nothing.”

  She rattles off her information, then pauses, and speaks almost in a whisper. “What if that serial killer got her? Oh, no… Her friend just died at the hand of that monster.”

  Something in
me changes. Her friend, Rebecca, was the latest victim. I remember how upset Elenore was in the bathroom, because it drew me to her.

  I say goodbye to Suzie, with the promise of coming and seeing her and finding Elenore. I hit speed dial on my cell for my partner. “Pierce, it’s me. We have another one missing. This is one we’ve met. Elenore, from Rebecca’s office.”

  “Are you sure?” he questions. I hear him moving around and grabbing his car keys.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Her phone has been left behind, like the others and…” I scan the ground, and my heart stops when I notice spots of what look like fresh blood litter the pavement.

  “What is it, Blackwood?”

  Crouching down, I grip my forehead. “There’s blood this time, Pierce. Drops of blood.”

  A series of curses on the other end of the line flow through to my ears. Where could she be? If we don’t find her within one week, we’re going to discover her body with another goodbye letter. Assuming it’s the same serial killer. We’ll have to be open-minded and look at all avenues.

  My body vibrates from the cold. Nothing I do stops it. The sprinkler turns on about every thirty minutes and stays on long enough to let me drink down around half a mouthful. My stomach is to the point where it feels as though it’s going to start eating itself. I’m so hungry that I feel sick.

  “Please, can I have some food?” I call for about the hundredth time. Sunlight shines through the tiny window. I haven’t seen or heard anyone since the voice yesterday. At times, fear grips every single part of me, and then find myself digging deeper in an attempt to survive.

  “Where is she?” my father’s anger-filled voice echoes around the house. I drop the glass I was washing onto the floor, and it shatters around my bare feet.

  He walks into the kitchen. “What are you doing, you stupid girl?” he yells

  I don’t have a chance to speak before he takes two big strides and strikes out at my face. It stings, and my eyes fill with water. My hand comes up to my burning cheek. My father’s hand lashes out again and I flick to the side, only this time he takes a handful of my hair and drags me along behind him. I step on the broken glass, and the sharp shards cut into my feet. I can’t stop walking, otherwise he’ll punish me again. Tears stream down my face, as with each step I take, the pieces dig deeper and deeper into the flesh of my feet. Leaving a trail of blood behind me. I’ll have to clean that up later.

  I don’t even know what it is I’ve done wrong. I went to school and came home like I always do.

  It’s then I notice where we’re going. Down to the basement—the dark room. Panic strikes through me like a red-hot iron poker. This room freaks me out. He only does this to torture me.

  I remember the first day he threw me in here. I called out and begged to be released until I was hoarse. This is probably the thirtieth time I’ve been in here in the last six months. He transformed our basement into this room solely for me, and now I don’t beg or cry out. Some days I hope and pray I die down here. Then I’d be left in peace. How does blood do this to its own flesh and blood?

  I’m glad I never had siblings. I’d hate for someone else to go through this, not only physical, but mental, anguish.

  Father stops at the door and pauses, yanking my hair so my face is right in front of his. The pain in my feet is momentarily forgotten. “You deserve every ounce of pain. You’re worthless, and I’ll make sure you remember this every damn day of your miserable life. I hate you were even born.”

  “Then put me up for adoption,” I scream back in his face.

  He yanks my head back. It’s as if he’s going to pull out the entire handful of hair he’s holding. I scream.

  “Shut up, you worthless excuse for a human being,” he hisses at me. Spittle spatters over my face. “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again, or you’ll find yourself in more trouble than you bargained for. You’re mine, and I intend to break you every which way until there’s no spirit left inside you. You’ll be nothing but a shell of a girl.”

  Shoving the basement door open, he pushes me with such force I fall to my knees, scraping them along the concrete floor as I slide along. I bite my lip so I don’t cry out and bring myself more pain. The door slams, and I hear the locks clicking into place.

  Slowly, I sit upright. Agonizing pain ripples from my feet up my legs to my scraped and most likely bleeding knees. I break. The dam walls shatter. I won’t allow myself to cry out loud, because I don’t want the monster outside the door to hear me. If he does, he’ll be back down here inflicting more pain. He definitely doesn’t want me to exist.

  I sluggishly shuffle toward the corner of the tiny room. It smells like mold and old water. There’s a bucket in the corner for bathroom usage, but I’ll never use it, because who knows what he’ll make me do with it. A shiver runs through me. He’s a vile man, one I wish more than anything in the world would die and give me peace.

  Once I make it to the corner, I find the loose wall tile and pull it off. I did this one day when they both weren’t here. I placed a bottle of water and some first-aid items in here. Nothing too extravagant, so they don’t notice I’ve cleaned up. But because I never know the extent of my injuries by the time I get down here, I’ve prepared for almost everything. When my hand connects with the tiny flashlight I stole from the shop, I click it on and shine it on one foot at a time. They’re torn-up and shredded bits of flesh.

  My stomach drops. Blood constantly oozes from the cuts on each foot. I’m not sure how many there are. It’s as if I’ve taken a razor to my feet and sliced them many times over. I pull out my small first-aid kit and splash a tiny amount of alcohol on the cotton wool to cleanse them. Thankfully, I remembered a pair of tweezers when planning for every possible scenario.

  Holding the flashlight in my mouth, I steady the light on one foot. I begin picking out the shards of glass embedded there. For the next hour, I’m pulling out glass and trying to stop the bleeding. I do what I can, which isn’t a lot. Hopefully, I’ll be let out soon and can tend to my wounds properly.

  I’ve thought about taking my own life at times, but then that’s giving them what they want—me gone. Why would I want to make their life easier, when I can make it harder? It just means I have to endure every kind of pain imaginable they throw at me. After years of this, it’s nothing new.

  Suzie, our neighbor, is so lovely. She allows me to stop in quickly, when I can, and will give me a bite to eat. I only do it every so often, because I can’t risk getting caught. Suzie always threatens about going to the police, but I tell her not to, or things will be worse for me. She did tell them once, but they did nothing. My parents put on the ‘happy family’ faces they do so well, and if I don’t play along, it’s even worse for me. Teachers at school don’t say anything, or even ask about my bruises. I think they don’t care. Who would even bother with a girl like me? I dress in rags the majority of the time and have no friends.

  One day they will be gone, and I’ll hopefully be free—free from this living hell.

  The sprinkler turns on again, and I’m startled awake. A noise, like footsteps, creaks above me.

  “Please, can I have something to eat?” I beg again, knowing someone is up there. I hope this monster at least feeds its captured prey. That’s what this feels like—I’m the rat, and the snake is waiting in the dark, ready to strike out.

  My time will come.

  Right now, I’m hoping I can fight and survive. I need to survive. I’m not entirely sure how long my strength and resolve will stay strong. I never thought I’d be put back in this type of situation.

  Those same heavy footsteps come down the stairs, and I jump up. My heart pounds in my throat as I watch and wait for someone to appear in front of me.

  An eerie silence fills the room, as though the air has been sucked out, as if it’s afraid of who has moved into my surrounds. Stepping back further into the corner, my focus doesn’t move from the bars of my cell’s entry.

  Everything plays out in sl
ow motion before me. A large figure steps into my view, dressed all in black. I shrink back farther again. Hugging myself, I try to hide from his view. He stops right in front of the barred entrance and looks down at his boots. He has a black ski mask over his head. In an instant, his head whips up, and I’m staring into the dark eyes of my captor.

  Terror shocks me right to my core. My breathing intensifies, and before I realize what’s happening, I’ve collapsed in a heap in the corner. Blackness swallows my vision, and in seconds I gladly succumb to it, not wanting to look into the eyes of death anymore.

  A loud shriek startles me awake, only to realize it was me who cried out. My eyes spring open. Where am I? I’m restrained to a platform of some kind. Glancing down at my hands and feet, I see metal shackles holding me in place.

  Fear barrels through me like a freight train. What is this new kind of hell?

  I wriggle and strain against the chains in the hope one of them isn’t secured properly.

  “You won’t get out of those. They’re professional standard.” A threatening voice comes from behind me. Pulling in a breath, I strain to see. He steps into my view, still in his dark clothes with his mask firmly in place.

  The room I’m in appears like a small operating room. It smells really clean compared to the dirty, dank cell I was held in. Beside my head is a tray of instruments, and some look menacing. There’s scalpels and tweezers, the hospital kind. Uneasiness floods me. Does he plan to cut me up into little pieces?

  “What do you want?” My words shake as I speak them, and my whole body feels as though there’s an electrical current coursing through it, causing me to tremble. It’s the fear of the unknown. Not knowing if I’ll see tomorrow. I wonder if it’s going to be quick and painless, or slow and excruciating.

  He walks around the table, his stare boring right through me as if he can sense what I’m thinking. His gloved hand picks up one of the scalpels from the tray. I hold my breath in the hope I’ll pass out again, and won’t have to be awake to endure what possibly might happen. His fist connects with my chest and the breath I was holding rushes out of me.