The Nightmare Effect

Chapter Eight

        The drive to the scene was a lot different, just like Carter warned. The whole fucking press went berserk when they got word about the treasurer's death. The police were getting hit on all sides, the city was being blamed, and the mayor was getting his ass handed to him by all kinds of radio and T.V. personalities. It was beautiful, in a way. Carter and I had to push our ways through the crowds outside. One of them stuck a microphone right into my ear. I turned around and punched the reporter. Now, I would never  hit a woman voluntarily... but I give no mercy to the paparazzi. I should appear on a kid's show one day. After gettin' through the crowds of parasites, we took an elevator to Windstag's apartment.

        "Damn, no wonder she liked being a treasurer if means getting a place like this," I noted.

        "Yeah, but look at where it got her today," Carter brought up a good point.

        We went into the huge apartment to find her corpse still hanging. By the look of it, it looks like she committed suicide, but of course, shit ain't what you think it is until you dreamed about it. Her ceiling had to two beams going horizontally, connecting two sides of the wall together. The rope was thrown over it and tied to the end of a heavy wooden table. Another cop approached Carter.

        "Detective," he handed Carter a big envelope. Carter took it and opened it.

        "What's that? Your retirement papers?" I cracked.

        "Shit, I wish," he took out a photo, "compare these two." 

        He held the picture by the face of the treasurer. I looked back and forth, noticing they were pretty similar.

        "Where's that picture from?" I ask.

        "It's from that photo you found. Miss Windstag was in it, so was Wilma and Judge Barry," he turned to me with a confident look.

        "So, we got a pattern and the next victims," I pulled out a cigarette to smoke.

        "You're really gonna smoke in here?"

        "Look at the ceilings. It ain't gonna kill nobody," I puff away anyway.

        We make our way to the bedroom, looking for any sort of clues. I tell ya, she was loaded. I probably counted over thirty different pairs of shoes and over twenty types of business clothes. Jealously is too weak of a word to describe it. I went into the bathroom to see if she took any sort of medications. She had one open bottle. She must have taken before she died. I picked up the bottle and read the label. "Ativan." Unlike Judge Barry's prescription, I already knew what this drug was. It was the shit you took for anxiety. Makes sense she'd have it, considering the cash she had to be managing. I didn't think it to be really relevant, but I thought I'd take three pills for myself. Never tried meds that chill you out, figured she wouldn't need'm anytime soon.

        I met Carter back outside the bedroom.

        "Find or remember anything?" Carter asked.

        "This one was different. The killer put something over her head, like a bag. Couldn't see much of anything, but I could hear him getting the rope ready," I replied back.

        "That's a change. You think he might be on to you?"

        "What? The only guys who know this are you, the cops, and Dr. William."

        Carter had a weird look on his face. It suddenly hit me.

        "Wait a sec. That narrows down our killer, right? He knows what I can do!" I whisper to Carter.