The Rabbit Hole

Chapter 24

I've been at it for weeks on end, coming at her from all sides, searching for a way into her heart, looking for the tiniest inlet to worm my way in to win her trust. I managed to get her to divulge her and her psychopath of a brother's past. Bringing to light what Suzanne was to him and what brought about this monster. She's still frightened to do something about him, but I can tell she desperately wants to. I just need her to see it, nudge her into the direction she wants to take but too fearful to do so.
The door opens and the stairs begin to creak as he walks down from them and starts towards me. He's still limping from the stab I gave him. That seems so long ago now, and my ever-growing belly is not making it easier, with it being a constant reminder of time being continuous. I crawl into the corner as he comes to sit by me. Here we lie, seated on this filthy mattress, stained with blood, piss, sweat and tears from me and all the other women who came before me. Those who were ironically lucky enough to have died quickly, whereas I, on the other hand, have been forced to be here for a much longer time. Days which led to weeks and weeks which led to months, of how many months? I have no clue at all. I've only been hanging by a thin thread of fading hope each day, losing track of time and counting my scars, arranging from which hurt the most, and now as he sits next to me, I wait for whatever new kind of suffering he's going to inflict upon my slowly and also painfully withering body. He puts his arm around me. "How are you feeling today, Suzanne?" He asks in a creaky whisper, "Good? I hope you're doing much better than me, because my leg hurts with each step I take, and as you may have figured, I hurt you to the similar level of how much pain I'm feeling at the time." He says as he pulls me closer to him. I try to wriggle out of his hold but he pulls me back into his arms. He sits behind me now, with his arms still wrapped around my body. Sitting on this stained mattress like an odd couple with a fading romance. He tightens his grip and speaks into my ear, "You're very special to me, you know that?" He says as I continuously try to free myself from his hug. He slides his left hand down to my belly, "This little one here," he says as he runs his hand on my belly, "Will be my legacy." He whispers in my ear and begins to nibble on it. I try to pull away with my head but he grips my ear with his teeth. He sinks them in my ear, and I feel the excruciating pain as he grinds his teeth while biting me and in a blink, he bites off a chunk of my left ear, leaving me screaming and rolling on the mattress in pain.
I watch as he limps away from me, in his mouth still chewing on my piece of flesh.

He returns in a couple more hours, no doubt it's to inflict more pain and punishment. Once again, he sits beside me, my left hand still covering my mutilated left ear. He grabs me on my wrist and removes my hand to see his work. Still, under this pain, I don't cry.
"Does it still hurt?" He asks arrogantly as he takes my hand into his, sliding his car-oil stained fingers through the spaces of mine and gripping it tightly. We remain in silence as we sit on the mattress, holding hands like an odd couple staring into the empty void of nothingness.
He sits up and looks into my eyes, his pupils steady, not shifting as he gazes into me. Holding my left hand as if to propose to me. He dips his free hand into his trouser pocket. What is he doing? What is he going to pull out? A knife? Is he going to sever my hand? Or is it a ring? Is this sick bastard really planning to propose to me? These questions are flooding in my mind right now as he reaches into his pocket, rummaging deeper into it. The fabric of his pants weaving soundly as he pulls it out. I see it, recognise the small handles of it. Small pliers. He's planning on breaking my fingers in my left hand now. "This little bunny," he starts in a creepy singing tone as he places the cold metal of the pliers onto my index finger, "went to market," and then skips to the middle finger, "this little bunny filled the bucket," singing and skips to the next finger, "this little bunny's ear was crooked," pinkie finger, "this little bunny was retarded, and," skipping to the thumb, "this little bunny hopped all the way...home!" He says as he clamps down the pliers on the tip of my nail and pulls it out from the root. I scream and try to pull away but he tightens his grip, then he recites the song again. He keeps going on and on until all the fingernails from my left hand are completely removed. Leaving me with bloody left fingers and revealed nail beds.
He continues to whistle his creepy remixed version of a classic nursery rhyme as he picks off my fingernails from the ground. The stairs groan and creak behind him as he leaves and locks me in.

*

The Baltimore Police Department, staring at the fairly recent sketch they were provided with from Casey Dillion's description of the man who bumped into Heather seven months ago, detective Edwards starts to ponder endlessly. Formulating theories, most of which are nonsensical, trying to figure out and find out if there actually is a second potential victim after Heather Brooks. Knowing very well if Heather's body actually were to surface, the next girl will probably be taken shortly after, and in her case, the time of captivity will return to the previous victims time limit, which is three days and the body drops. After gathering the information from a homeless man of which way Heather's shoes were facing, it still entails of another victim. "But where? We've already crossed off the mall as a potential sighting." Edwards professes to agent Rennik, slumped over in his office chair thinking as well. "I just don't see any other place."
"I don't know. Is there anything happening? Like a concert or something?" she asks.
"No. Nothing."
"There's actually a theme park opening this weekend," says the forensic specialist, Joshua Goodman as he walks inside the office.
"What?" Moira asks and Edwards winds around to face him.
"Yes, there's an opening for the new theme park. It's a very big thing." He says to them.
"Where? Which direction?" Edwards asks as he glances over the Baltimore map.
"Uhh, a few blocks past the mall." He says confused. Edwards measures the direction from the Bridgewater residence to the Theme park location, and it's what he and agent Rennik hoped it would be. The direction of the theme park meets with the killer's potential victim's direction, South West. "Moira, it's the location. That's where his potential victim might be." Edwards says. They waste no time and head over there, Edwards pockets a smaller picture of the recent sketch and leaves.