In the Arms of Justice

Chapter Eight

Previously:

"Okay," you said. "Goodnight, Detective Barnes."

"Good night, Y/N. I'll keep you updated. And thanks slash sorry, again," he smiled sheepishly.

He watched as you walked up the steps, unlocked the door, and entered the building. Deja vu hit you, waving in his direction before letting the door close behind you. In an exhausted state, you walked the three flights of stairs with your eyes half closed. Turning your key in the lock on autopilot, you dropped your purse on the floor, then reaching for the light switch.

It was in that moment that a hand covered your mouth from behind.

_______________

A scream bubbled up in your throat, near bursting when you saw the glimmer of a knife in your peripheral vision.

"Don't. Scream," whispered the gruff male voice next to your ear, as the knife-wielding arm gripped you around the waist. He walked you forward into the apartment and kicked the door shut behind him.

Expecting your life to flash before your eyes, instead your mind went blank with panic.

"I've been lookin' for you, sweetheart," he said mockingly, hot breath on your neck. "Had to personally thank whoever ruined my life 4 years ago. So glad that news crew helped me out."

Your assailant continued pushing you forward into the living room, his chest pressed up against your back. He released his grip and shoved you into the arm chair, then bending down with the knife point dangerously close to your face.

"You say a word, and I'll make sure you never speak again, hear me?" he threatened, finally meeting your eyes.

You nodded, terror etched on your face. The man sat on the coffee table across from you, gesturing with the knife as he spoke.

"You know, you're a sneaky one. I never saw anyone on the street that night, so let's just say I was surprised when my face showed up on the news. I had to change my whole look because of you. Man, I loved that goatee..."

He seemed to get lost in his thoughts for a moment, so you attempted to calm down by taking deep breaths. You could only help yourself out of this if you were thinking clearly. The man before you did resemble the sketch you helped describe years ago, but now he was clean shaven with a buzz cut, bleached blonde with darker roots peeking through. There was a faint white scar on his left cheek from that night. He wore a dark blue hoodie and black jeans, boots on his feet. You took all of this in within seconds, mind switching over to problem-solving mode, which was much more helpful than panic.

Snapped out of his thoughts, you saw a dangerous glint in his hazel eyes as they met yours.

"You're actually not really my type, but in this case I think I can make an exception," he crooned with a ghastly smile on his face that made your skin crawl. He reached out with his free hand, a calloused finger grazing down your cheek. You tried not to flinch, in fear of angering him. The finger continued past your jawline and down your neck, pausing at the glint of gold resting on your collarbone.

He picked up the locket hanging around your neck, prying open the inside chamber with his thumbnail.

"This is nice. Picture of mom and dad with baby. You? I can see the resemblance," he spoke, snapping the locket closed. "I might have to take that when I go."

Your heart squeezed in your chest, trying to fight back the knowledge of what him leaving might mean for you.

"Now. I need to you to tell me what you told Detective Good-Hair tonight. I saw the way he looks at you, sitting in that flashy car of his. Neither of you even noticed when I slipped in as that lady with the yappy dog stepped out. I held the door for her like a gentleman, just like my mama taught me. Course I got smacked upside the head if I didn't..." he chuckled bitterly at the memory.

You swallowed thickly, daring to speak for the first time, "What happens if I tell you?"

"Well," he sighed, leaning away from you with the knife cradled in both hands, "It'll be quicker. You know I can't let you walk away. Not after what you did. But if you resist...."

The knife made feather-like contact with the skin of your forearm, a hair's width away from drawing blood. The blade looked freshly-sharpened, ready to do some serious damage. If this was the same knife he had used all those years, then he cared for it and cherished it. This blade had taken the lives of at least 4 women, threatening to take a fifth. The thought made bile rise in your throat. Near the hilt of the blade, you saw two letters etched in the metal: "B.R.".

"So what'll it be? Quick and almost painless? Or drawn-out and..."

Just then, there was a knock on your door, causing the man to yank you to your feet and turn toward the door with him behind you, knife poised near the skin of your neck.

"Expecting someone?" he whispered, crushing your body against his roughly.

The knock came again, followed by a voice, "Y/N? It's Detective Barnes, are you alright?"

The man behind you swore under his breath, craning his neck around the room looking for an exit. In his distraction, he had loosened his grip slightly. You took advantage of this by sinking your fingernails into the knife-wielding hand causing him to drop the weapon and cry out. You then threw your head back sharply, making contact with his nose. An elbow jab to his solar plexus followed by a kick to the groin and he was now thoroughly pissed off and in pain.

A growl rose in his throat as he straightened up, looking for his knife. You kicked it across the floor and reached for the closest weapon-like object within reach, which turned out to be a decorative candlestick.

"HELP. HE'S IN HERE," you yelled, ready to swing your weapon if he came at you.

Realizing he wasn't going to win here, the man rushed to grab his knife and headed toward the window, using his sleeve-covered hand to unlock and open it, then crawled out onto the fire escape.

A loud thump came from the other side of the door, followed by a second, until the splintering of wood was heard. Detective Barnes ran into the room with gun raised.

"Where is he?" he yelled.

"Out the fire escape," you pointed.

He rushed to the window, grabbing his phone with his other hand and hitting speed dial, "This is Detective Barnes, I need back up at the corner of 86th and Amsterdam. Suspect is on foot."

He holstered his weapon, pocketed his phone, and walked toward you, placing a hand on either side of your face.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" he asked, searching your face first and then pulling back to check the rest of you. "Your neck..."

You felt with your fingers, a warm stickiness found there. "He must have nicked me. But I'm fine! Go after him!!" you demanded.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Go get him," you spoke through clenched teeth.

The detective lingered a fleeting moment, meeting your eyes to convince himself you were mostly unhurt, before he reached the window in three strides and flew down the fire escape in pursuit.