He said nothing as he prepared to release himself with his wife, something he could never do with his targets as it would only leave traces of evidence.
His mind echoed with the screams Jane from HomeGoods when the tire iron slammed against her stomach.
He never left evidence he didn’t want to leave.
He saw the blood from the one the media called Maya Gibson trickle down her neck.
The erotic pleasure surged through him as he heard the satisfying moans from his wife.
No, he was much too careful for that.
26
It was nearing three in the morning when Aidan's eyes flew open. He was lying on his side, staring at the bright red numbers of the alarm clock. He had managed to get four hours of rest, which was more than he'd received in a long while.
Cheyenne snored softly next to him, hunched in a tight ball, the sheets pulled to her chin.
It was then Aidan realized he'd tossed the sheets off his body and was covered with sweat. Despite not wearing clothing, the temperature rose through his body as though he was lying in the middle of a blazing furnace.
Running a hand through his hair, he found it was also very damp,
Aidan rolled to a sitting position.
Something in the corner of the dark room caught his attention. He looked over, then blinked his eyes to try and get the reflection of Maya standing there out of his head.
She reached out to him, mouthing something, but no sound came out. Blood flowed from her eye sockets and the ends of her hair.
In several jerking movements, she crawled into the bed with Aidan. The mattress bounced ever so slightly. He glanced over at Cheyenne to see she was still asleep, undisturbed.
Maya inched closer, closer.
It was only a dream, right?
It had to be.
Aidan wanted to move, to get away. But it was impossible.
Soon, Maya’s face was close enough to touch. He could feel her cold, cold breath on him.
“You’re not real,” Aidan whispered. “You’re not.”
Only the sound of Cheyenne’s peaceful snoring, in tune with the pulsating veins in his ears, filled the room. The blood dripping from Maya was thick and warm, despite the draftiness. Sweat poured down his face.
“No,” Aidan whispered. “Get away from me. You’re not real. You’re not.”
He shook his head with fervor. It seemed as though his blood would begin to seep out of his skin until the veins burst.
Aidan closed his eyes tight, telling himself he was only dreaming.
That Maya wasn’t really there. She wasn’t. She couldn’t be.
Chills crawled across his back.
Aidan reopened his eyes.
Maya had vanished.
He scanned the room for any remnant of her, but she was gone. Using the light of the moon, Aidan looked to see there was no blood, only sweat, which continued to run down his face.
His feet wobbly, he inched out of the bed to feel his way to the bathroom. With the intent on taking a long cool shower, he turned on the water.
Aidan stepped under the cold water spewing from the showerhead and placed his palms against the wall, leaning his head forward. He closed his eyes and shuddered.
He tried to shake the image of Maya out of his head, but she seemed to have embedded herself into his consciousness.
The dreams were too real, too vivid.
The image of Maya was etched in his mind, just like the faces of the other victims.
They continued to flash before his eyes until they merged together, and Aidan couldn't tell one from another.
“Please, God,” he found himself praying out loud, “Please make it stop.”
He remained in the shower until the temperature of the water turned lukewarm.
When he got out, he dried himself off, his mind whirling.
After pulling on a tank and shorts, he slipped out of the bedroom, went down the stairs and left the house for an early morning jog to clear his mind.
27
Ben Ridgeway stepped into the police station, wondering where he should go. There was no one around to help him. He needed to find someone now. His wife was missing—she had been missing for two days. He’d tried to call the police on the phone, but of course, they were of no help. They wouldn’t help him unless Jane had been missing for forty-eight hours.
Well, now it’s been forty-eight hours, and someone had to help him.
He hurried to the glass window where he figured somebody should be. Banging on the glass, he cried out, “Hello? Anybody there? Please, I need someone to help.”
“Can I help you, sir?”
The tone from the short dark-skinned woman sounded annoyed with him, but Ben didn’t care. She sat between the security alarm and the conveyer belt.
“My wife,” he told her through his tears. “She’s missing. I heard—I-I heard...”
He fell to his knees as the feeling in the pit of his stomach told him the man the media referred to as The Carnations Killer took his wife.
“Please help me,” he begged. “My wife didn’t come home from work the other night. I’m worried something might have happened to her.”
With her irritable tone, the woman told him she’d find an officer to help.
Ben stayed on the floor, not caring whether people saw him or not. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stand, anyway.
Finally, a tall man came his way.
“Sir, I’m Lieutenant Davis. You say your wife’s missing?”
Ben told him yes, that she didn’t return home after work like she was supposed to.
The lieutenant nodded slightly and instructed him to follow, so Ben did.
He was led to a private room and was instructed to sit in a chair.
Ben followed his orders.
“What’s your name, sir?”
