Falling For The Bad Guy.

Chapter Nine

Picking myself up off the floor, I ask Dennis how this happened. "Well, they attacked the guard first, and then went after Peter." My first initial reaction is, "let me see the body." Looking at the security guard, I could see it was a clear shot. "We have to find him Dennis. I need to find him." I can't have anything happen to Peter. I just lost my best friend, I can't have something happen to someone I have come to adore and love so much. I go back to my room and see the most horrid thing. Seven body guard's dead, and Peter passed out, on the floor, with the words "Rebecca Donelli come find me" engraved in the skin  on his stomach. I scream for Dennis, and call 911 for an ambulance. They take him into the truck, and I go with him. I know he isn't dead, but the words are so deeply written into his skin that he could bleed out. I don't understand why this serial killer wants to get close to me. What's his purpose for these killings? What's the bigger picture? And why now? Why Peter? He didn't kill Pete, he didn't hold him hostage for long, he simply needed to get his message out there. Why directed to me? Thinking about all of it, the multiple times the killer has brought me up, I know what I have to do. Holding onto Peter's hand and getting driven to the hospital, what I need to do hits me like a ton of bricks. I have to be the bait. If I were to make myself the bait, and put my vulnerable self out there, the killer could possibly come forward. Or would that be to easy? Would that make it known to the murderer on the loose, that I wanted to be seen by him? Right now, my main focus is Peter though. There's been an attraction to him since the minute we started speaking. He's intelligent,wise, charming, funny, and to good for this world. He doesn't deserve any of this, and even though I know it can't possibly be my fault, I still feel guilty for the things that have happened to him. If he hadn't have met me, this wouldn't have happened. Then, I think of another thing. There were 21 missing people before I came along. This serial killer had to have known me before. He knows my last name, he's been stalking me to know who my Best friend is. Oh my god, he's eliminating people. He's eliminating the closest people to me, so he can just get closer. When we get to the hospital, they take Peter in right away. A few hours later, I'm so thankful to hear he's going to be okay. He was not only carved into, but he was also drugged, so when he wakes up, he doesn't remember anything beyond him going to get breakfast. We let him know what happened to him, and he asks if everyone is okay. It's ironic how this man is laying in a hospital bed, and manages to be so genuinely caring about everyone else but himself. We let him know that the guard was shot dead, and he's not surprised. Many things in this field don't surprise Peter, and often times, I wonder why that is. "Who found me?" He asks. "Me." I respond. "Oh well, thank you." I laugh at his manners. I go over and kiss him on the cheek. He puts his arms around my waist and his head to my chest. "Should I leave you two alone?" The nurse asks. "Oh no, we're not together." We say, at the same time. It's disheartening to hear that, even though we've had no romantic relationship at all. The nurse leaves anyway, and I ask Peter how he's feeling. "Besides being carved into? I'm great." I swat his face and he chuckles. "How is the pain?" I ask, genuinely. "I've accepted it won't go away, but It's gotten better, thanks to you. How are you Rebecca? I know Carlee meant a lot to you. I remember the day she came to the station and brought along a box full of donuts and movies to watch. It was comical seeing you two watch the news talk about death, yet still manage to crack up and enjoy your food." I laugh at his words, while tears stream down my cheek. "That was the thing about her, even in the most horrid times, we could still find the good in all of it. We were each other's best-friend, and that's what best-friends are meant for in this world." "That's how it was with me and Jacob." Even though our worlds have been ripped apart by the loss of our closest loved ones, I'm still grateful that we understand each other's pain. It's a rare thing to be able to feel what someone else is feeling, yet I feel understood by Peter.
Two Days Later...
Peter's being discharged from the hospital today. The drugs wore off and there was nothing else damaged besides the skin and tissue of his stomach. A lot of stitches later, and he's coming out fine. It's when we're alone together that I tell him about my plan to put myself out there, for the killer to come get. He thinks it's irrational and stupid, considering the possible consequence that I could get murdered. "Will you be armed?" He asks. "No. I want to go in with nothing. No wires, nothing that can make him suspicious, or else he'll really kill me." "How are you even supposed to do this?" He asks. "I'll get a different hotel room, I'll drop the security, and I'll let go of contact with you and everyone at the station for a few days." "Rebecca this is ridiculous, you can't do this to yourself." I start to get irritated. While I know he wants the best for me, he can't hold me back. "I'm not going to stick around and let more people get murdered! The killer wants me to find him. So, I will. I'll find him and bring every victim to justice. You have my word for it Peter! Why can't you just trust me?" "I do trust you. I trust your capabilities simply because you have so many, but this is going to far. You don't know what you're getting into." I feel my insides begin to shake and my pressure go up and I know this is when I'm mad. "I've sat around for months and seen what this man is capable of! I've seen someone's insides ripped out, someone's face sewn onto another, and a blended person's body! Don't tell me I don't know what I'm getting into! I have to do this. I have to find him." I could see that my words have persuaded him, because he looks as if he'll give in, and he does. "Fine. But keep your gun. Collect all the knives you have, and keep a gun on you." "I will. I have to put the puzzle pieces together first. I have to somehow make it known that we're looking for him." I call Dennis and explain my plan. "I think that's brilliant Rebecca. A brave and brilliant thing to do." He says. "I need to get the message that I'm hunting him down, into the world." "I have just the idea. I'm sure the news would love to get a story from you, who wouldn't want to hear the lead detective's words?" What? "I'm the Lead Detective on this case?" I ask, surprised. "Well who else would be?" He says. "Thank you for the responsibility. I won't fail you, I promise." "You haven't failed us yet, and I don't expect you too." The next day, I'm completely out of touch with the world around me. I'm in a hotel room by myself, with hundreds of documents on my table about everything that has happened for the past months. Sorting everything out, there's nothing here. There's no trace of anything that can lead back to who did this. But it's that exact fact that pushes me to believe the high possibility that this is a cult. A cult- system of religious veneration and devotion directed toward a particular figure or object. That's the only thing that makes sense. Then, it all clicks. I call Dennis and Peter, putting them on a conference call. "It's a cult. It's a murdering, sex cult." "What?" They both say. "Forty one murders in one night is extremely hard to do. And everyone is different. Every single murder that has taken place is unique. All of the kidnappings, done by one man. The first murders, Kimberly, Jessica, done by the same man. He's had to have persuaded forty two men, and women to kill. Yet, he did Peter's brother's murder by himself. He's training forty, possibly more, on how to commit murder." "What makes you think it's related to sex?" He asks. Then, something else clicks. All women except for five were attracted to females. "More than half of the missing women were lesbians. They had to have been satisfied with one another. Yet, the five that weren't, also needed to be satisfied. Then comes in the men. Sex and murder. What more could women and men who came from broken homes want? The night forty one people died was the night he let his trainees go." "Jesus Christ. How long did it take for you to come to this conclusion?" Dennis asks. "Hours. Hours of black coffee and fearful worries." "So let me get this right, you're voluntarily putting yourself up for grabs to a serial killer, who may also be a raping- sex infatuated, brutally murdering cult leader." Peter says. "Yup. That's my exact plan."
From there I went to work on making myself the bait. But it wasn't until four days in that something actually happened. February 26th. I can't breathe. I wake up in a enclosed space. Once I look around the area I'm in, I realize I've been placed in a coffin. No air. I can barely breathe. My mouth is duct taped shut, my hands and feet are roped together. I can't scream. I can't hear anything that's going on. Nothing is available to my senses. It's now that I know I've been kidnapped. I'm kidnapped with no way out. My gun and phone have been taken off of me. I count the minutes as they go by. Thirty three minutes later, I'm taken out of the coffin by a man in a white clown mask. He lifts me up and puts me onto a chair. I see twenty six men and women, all with white masks on, in a circle. There's a candle in the middle of them, and they're holding hands. A woman with dark toned skin and brown hair calls for someone. I look behind me and see two tall men carrying in my father. My father. My dead, or possibly passed out father. I try to scream, but I can't. The tape is on too tight and nothing but mumble comes out. They lie my father in the middle of the circle. He's been drugged, I could tell. I am finally able to take a breath now that I know he's not dead. But it's when I see the man take a knife that I know he will be soon. Another man gets up and comes behind me, holding my eyelids open, so I'm unable to shut the scene I'm watching out. They dangle the knife in front of his face. When he wakes up, a few minutes later, he sees the knife come at him as they slice him from the top of his forehead to the bottom of his chin. The skin of his face falls off and nothing but blood is revealed. I can't shut my eyes, I can't unsee it. I cry and scream but really, I'm at a loss of words. The man who cut his face off, was watching me the entire time. His eyes were so powerful as they sent a message into my soul that would haunt me for the rest of my life. It's when they begin to unclothe him, when they really violate him. Every one of them grabs the knife in front of them and begins to cut off one of his body parts. The knives vary from small to large. First, the right arm. Next, the left leg. The man in the middle takes a hold of his genitals, cuts them off precisely, and begins to eat them. He's enjoying this disturbing action as he moans out of pleasure. It's a sensual thing, that becomes clear. They continue to slice off every part of my father, right in front of me. I can't look away. I can't get the image of my dad being butchered right in front of me, out of my mind. The worst part is- they're enjoying it. They slice open his stomach and begin to take out his insides. Laying his organs on the floor in front of them, they each take a bite- like savage animals. That's exactly what they are. It's when they make a mockery out of him that  the worst part begins. They scalp his hair off and put it on there own heads, wearing it as a wig. It's all a joke to them. There laughter rings through my ears and damages my every thought. Yet it just keeps getting more extreme, more painful to watch and hear. One of them, a female, gets up and takes a part of his hand off. She walks over to me and caresses me with my fathers chopped of hand. It's sick, it's disgusting, it's mental abuse. Finally, I think the torturing that's happening to my fathers body is over. They've completely butchered him, they've eaten him, they've made a joke out of his existence. They're still not done though. They take the few parts of him that still remain, and put them into a blender. Hearing my fathers body blend into a liquid substance is terrifying. They pour some of the drink my father has been turned into, in a bunch of cups. They all sip, but there's still a little bit of the liquid left. They take what's left and hold me down as they open up my lips. I try my hardest to keep my mouth shut, but forcing me to open my mouth up, they pour my fathers dead body into my mouth. As it goes down my throat, I feel it come back up as I spill my guts and his, onto the floor. When I'm done vomiting, the torture is over, for now. I'm emotionally damaged forever. I've never experienced something so dreadful, so terrifying, so mentally torturing. It's when I see them carry in Dennis's body that I really become worried. He's dead, it's clear by the gunshot wound straight in the head.
I had known then that sex was a common theme in cults, and I had a feeling it was a well known thing in this cult. But the sexual torture they would do to Dennis's body, the psychotic necrophilia all twenty six people would perform, is something that would stick with me, and terrorize my mind, for the rest of my life.