⚠️ This chapter is gonna be a little gory toward the end of the middle 😣 read with caution if you're not a fan of that ⚠️
Mickey's POV
Tiffany and I sat on the cold hard cement floor of the basement of the man who picked us up from the Evergreen Highway. She recognized him as her freshman history teacher, and I realized that was how he was tricking these girls into his home. He was their teacher, so they trusted him. Then, he would siphon their gas and be there to "rescue" them, just as he did for us the night before... It was so well thought out, and diabolical.
I was getting hungry, and we had no idea how long we had been down there for. Mr. Ray kept a dim overhead light on 24/7, and there were no windows.
We were talking to each other softly when we heard the basement door squeak open. We both froze and started hearing heavy footsteps come down the stairs.
"Duct tape," I said in a harsh whisper, using my knee to press the tape back over my lips.
He was down before Tiffany had a chance to put the duct tape back over her mouth. Mr. Ray came down, wearing the same thick jacket I saw him in earlier. In his hands were two trays of food for us, but he froze when he noticed Tiffany frantically trying to put the tape back over her lips.
He growled, "are you trying to escape?"
Tiffany began sobbing again and started begging him to let her go. I stayed silent, trying to accurately assess the situation but I could feel my heart rapidly beating with every second he was down there with us. I felt utterly helpless.
He walked over to me with a scowl but set the food down by my hips and he leaned toward me to take off the duct tape.
I sniffed as soon as he ripped it off and tried to keep my composure. "Why are you doing this?"
"Answer, you jackass!" Tiffany shouted to him.
He snapped his neck toward her and marched up to her. He began digging in his pocket, and eventually pulled out a small silver key.
Tiffany's demeanor changed from angry and spitting insults at him to the most grateful person in the world. She thanked him and promised not to tell anyone, expressing her gratitude through a multitude of expressions.
Mr. Ray released Tiffany's handcuffs so she was finally able to put her hands in her lap. As soon as she did, he leaned down and handcuffed her wrists together again.
"What the hell are you doing?" She asked.
Without saying a word, he grabbed the chain of her handcuffs and began walking toward the stairs, dragging her behind him. She began screaming as she tried to fight back, but only to have her dirty socks slip on the concrete floor and she fell to her back. He continued walking while she was twisting from under his grasp.
"Help me! Help me!" Tiffany screeched.
"Nobody can hear you down here," he replied coldly.
"I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" She screeched.
"What are you doing with her?! Let her go! Please, let her go!" I shouted at Mr. Ray as he walked up the stairs. There was nothing else I could do, I felt helpless. Tiffany was fighting back and screaming as he bounced her up the stairs like a doll. Her screams were quickly silenced as soon as the door slammed.
"Let her go!" I shouted again, beginning to lose my voice. I bent my knees up to my face and I rested my forehead against my jean clad kneecaps and let out the loudest scream I could muster. I had tears streaming down my face, with no thoughts on how to escape.
____________________________
Tom's POV
After work, I rushed to Mickey's apartment to see that her car still parked in the parking lot. This false hope made me take the key she gave me and rush up to her apartment. I went in, and every light was off and I searched through every room, and she wasn't there. A plant she had potted at one of her windowsills was beginning to whither and welt, so I gave it some water.
Mickey wasn't here, and she hadn't been here for days. In case she decided to pack up and skip town, I checked her bathroom and clothes and saw that nothing was missing. Even her purse, badge, and wallet were still on the table.
I went home and found myself sitting on the couch beside my phone in case Mickey called during the night. I sat there all night, not getting a wink of sleep. The next morning when I trudged into work, and I knew that something was seriously wrong when Fuller pulled everyone together to deliver news that concerned Mickey.
We were all sitting around the table in the squadroom while Fuller was standing in front of us. We were all anxious to hear the news that he had. Fuller took a deep breath before he said, "the station found that this is the work of who they are calling the Red River Strangler. Now, since he's kidnapped an officer, the FBI had been signed to the case."
"Woah—" Doug interrupted. "She's been what?"
"Kidnapped by a serial killer?" Ioki asked.
Fuller nodded, "I'm afraid so. The FBI are professionals, so our job now is to go back to business as usual and let them do their job."
"What do they know about the Red River Strangler?" Judy asked with a small voice. A question I was about to ask myself.
"Nothing good. They found a couple of the girls who have gone missing the past few months over by the Red River, strangled. They know it's the work of the same man because of his signature. They've all been... um... scalped."
My jaw dropped at that. It was something so dark and twisted, how could a human being do that to another human being? There are some things about this job that are too much for me, and this was hitting my breaking point. What pushed me more was knowing that Mickey was at immediate risk for that.
"Scalped, sir?" Ioki asked with a gulp.
"Yeah. He has sliced off the scalps of his victims," Fuller cleared his throat. I brought my hand up through my hair, trying not to imagine what that would feel like.
"Have they found the... hair?" Doug asked.
Fuller shook his head, "they believe that he is keeping them as trophies. He could be keeping them, maintaining them, wearing them... anything, really."
A man came through our door wearing a suit which made all of us hold our breath. He wore dark sunglasses, and looked very professional. He put his hand on Fuller's shoulder and asked, "can I have the floor?"
"Please," Fuller said and took a step back.
He took off his dark glasses and said, "I'm Agent Washington with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We are exhausting every possible way to rescue your missing officer. We have agents working on the field and some will be stationed at the head office at Metropolis. All we ask is that you take a step back and let us do our jobs."
I stood up from my chair and asked, "are you asking us to stop looking for Mickey?"
"Hanson," Fuller snapped at me.
"Frankly, officer, this is out of your jurisdiction," Agent Washington said, "we are here to keep you, and civilians, safe."
"You are asking us to give up," I stated flatly.
"I am ordering you to take a step back. I understand this team solves cases around Metropolis, but Michelle is your friend, right? You are all too involved with the victim to be efficient. We have a certain protocol we follow to keep victims safe. Let us do our jobs so we can find her and bring her home safely."
"Sit down, Hanson," Fuller said firmly.
"That's all, thank you," Agent Washington said and excused himself.
As soon as the door closed after he left, Fuller sighed and said, "look, I want to find her just as much as you do. But, I am not willing to lose another officer over this killer. We have to drop it."
"I'm sorry, Captain, but Mickey is one of our own," Doug said.
"Captain, with all due respect, I am going to completely ignore everything you just said," I said firmly.
Fuller exhaled and I could see that he realized that none of us were going to listen. Until he said, "if any of you interfere with the FBI in efforts of saving Mickey, I will suspend you and expel you from the Jump Street program."
No one took that threat lightly. We all relaxed some in our chairs and Fuller seemed pleased by how that threat could take care of us officers. But not me. Of course I didn't want to get fired, but I'd get fired a million times over if I knew I was saving the woman I love. I stood up and everyone turned to me, and I walked right up to Fuller. I stared at him, not breaking eye contact as I took out my badge and gun and placed them on the desk in front of him.
We didn't say anything to each other, but I walked away and out of the chapel.
____________________________
Mickey's POV
I had no idea how long Tiffany was gone for. I had a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that kept me from eating the unappetizing food that Mr. Ray brought down. I peered down at the tray, and saw that it was an unpalatable green soup with a stale, moldy bread roll and a cup of metallic water. Prisoners eat better than this. If he was going to treat me like a prisoner down here, he should at least feed me like one.
The sound of the door squeaking open made my heart skip a beat. I threw myself on the floor again, and let my eyes close to look like I was sleeping. I heard the ominous thumping down the steps which took everything I had not to look at. The horrifying sound of a body dragging on the floor was going to haunt me forever.
The sound of the handcuffs clicking as they tightened again prickled goosebumps on my skin. I could feel his eyes burning into my soul, but it wasn't long before I heard his footsteps go up the stairs again and the door closed behind him.
I thrusted myself to sit up and looked straight at Tiffany. She was awake, but silent. Her busted lips quivered as I immediately noticed crusted but thick blood that streamed from cuts on her face and her nose and mouth. She had dark bruising around her eyes and cheekbones and her forehead. She was completely beat up.
"Oh my god, are you okay?" I asked her.
Her eyes took a second to find me, but I could see even from being so far away that one of her pupils was blown and the whites of her eyes were red. When she opened her mouth, I noticed a tooth of hers was now missing. Her gums were caked in blood, settling in between the gaps of her teeth.
"Michelle... it was horrible. Oh my god... I just... it was awful." Her voice was trembling. With the level of violence she endured, I was quickly able to figure out what happened.
"It's okay... we are going to be okay," I said.
"No one knows where we are—"she sniffed "—there's nothing we can do. No one is coming to get us."
I shook my head, "I'm a police officer, Tiffany. People know we are gone, I'm sure of it. They've got the best officers in the city looking for us. We are going to get out of here, I promise."
I know I'm never supposed to promise anything, but it was the only thing giving me hope. And I knew that Tiffany was going to need some hope. But she was right, no one knew where we were, so hope was all we had left.
____________________________
Tom's POV
It had been almost seventeen days since Mickey went missing. I was following the FBI case against the Red River Strangler, and they believed that he was holding the girls for a couple weeks before killing them and putting them in the Red River. They figured this out because their stomach contents only had green pea soup, bread, and water and they were all incredibly malnourished and dehydrated. That meant that we had just a few days left to find Mickey if he was going to keep up with this pattern. But, if he finds out that she is a cop, he may kill her quicker... if he hasn't already.
I had swiped some of the reports from the main office and I was studying them myself with some of Mickey's notes that she made from her first day on the case. I always forget how much her handwriting reminds me of chicken scratch, but I adore it anyway.
I sat in my living room, with papers littering the floor with an an energy drink in one hand and a shaky pen in the other. My reading glasses kept slipping off my nose so I constantly had to push them back up. I tend to turn to alcohol when I am under a tremendous amount of stress like this, but I knew that I had to be in the right mind to be going over these notes and come to a conclusion myself. I hadn't slept much in days, nor have I showered in two, so I was running on pure adrenaline and Jolt Cola, which was just sugar and caffeine. I may still not be in the right mind...
I had my television on turned into the news. They were covering the disappearance of both Tiffany and Mickey, stating that they were both students and had been missing for almost three weeks. They interviewed Gerald Ray, a history teacher at the school and he was saying, "I can't believe something like this would happen in our town. It's crazy... Tiffany was my student. I can't imagine what their families are going through. I pray that they are found soon, safe and sound."
There was a harsh knock at the my front door which interrupted my thoughts. My first thought was that it was the FBI coming to get their evidence back and to arrest me, so I grabbed a blanket from the couch and draped it over all the papers before rushing to the door. I opened the door slowly, until I realized it was only Doug.
"Hey, man," Doug said.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him while taking off my reading glasses.
"I haven't heard from you since you walked out on Fuller a couple days ago. I wanted to see how you've been," Doug said and looked me up and down. "Doesn't look like it's been good."
"I've been busy." I opened the door a little more and let him walk in. He closed the door behind him and I headed for the blanket, where I carefully took it off to reveal what I had been working on.
Doug whistled, "wow, you really have been busy."
"Yeah," I agreed and sat down. I put my glasses back on and began going over the notes again. I need to be thorough. There must be something here that I'm missing.
"I just wanted to let you know that they just found Tiffany Benson's car along Evergreen Highway."
"Tiffany?" I scrunched my nose at the name, not recognizing it until I scrambled to find Mickey's original notes to see that she had befriended a student named Tiffany Benson because she was in a friend group of most of the known victims, and she fit the physical attributes of the victims. I completely forgot that we were looking for her too. Maybe I do need sleep, but I can't until we find Mickey.
"Yeah, Tiffany Benson. She is a student at Apple Valley. She went missing seventeen days ago and they just found her car," Doug said.
"Mickey said that she was with Tiffany Benson the day that she—they disappeared," I stated. I shuffled through the papers, with an itch to find the one on the original report before Mickey was even put on the case. I finally found it, which listed all the possible suspects.
Doug said, "your eye is doing that twitching thing again."
"What thing?" I asked. When I finally registered that he said 'eye', I immediately rubbed my eye.
"Let me get you some water. You're looking a little strung out, man. When was last time you ate?" Doug asked as he pried the Jolt Cola can from my jittery fingers and walked to the kitchen.
"I can't remember."
"Tom. That's not good for you. You need to eat and get some sleep."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry."
"Have you been drinking?"
"No, I haven't. Just... help me Scooby Doo this shit. Where did you say her car was found?" I asked him.
"What's the magic word?"
"I'm sorry. Please help me Scooby Doo this shit."
"Evergreen Highway," Doug answered, followed by the sound of water coming out of the faucet. "Tom, buddy, you should take a break from this."
"I am not gonna do that," I responded.
I pulled out a map that was buried under all the other papers and I shoved it in Doug's hands when he came back to me. I took the water from him and guzzled it down with my shaking hand. I was frazzled, but I felt like I was close to a breakthrough. Hope is paralyzing.
"Here," Doug said and marked the spot on the road with his finger. "Look, I hate to state the obvious but what if he killed her?"
"Why would you say that?" I growled at him.
"I want you to think this through about what you are getting yourself into."
I ignored him and looked back down at the map. I eyeballed the spot and replaced it with my finger as I set the map down on the floor again, and I grabbed the report on the suspects and compared their addresses with where the car was found.
"Tom."
"Gerald Ray lives only two miles from where the car was found," I said as I frantically ripped off a piece of paper and jotted down the address and stood up. I took my glasses off and tossed them onto my couch.
Doug stood up with me, "where do you think you're going?"
"Where do you think? To save Mickey," I said as I rushed to grab my coat and my keys. That must be who kidnapped her, and where she was being kept. We didn't have a lot of time, and I could only imagine how terrified she was.
"Tom, think about this."
"Every second I'm here, is another second she is being tortured," I stated.
"What if she is already gone?"
"Then we would have found her body already." I realized that I didn't have my gun, until I noticed Doug's on his belt. I marched up to him and took his gun out and asked, "can I borrow this?" I walked away without caring for his answer.
"Are you sure you should be driving?" Doug called out to me.
Probably not.
"Yeah, I'm going. I'm going to tear his house apart until I find her," I said back and ran out of the apartment.
I jumped in my car and raced to Gerald's house in the middle of no where. I had no plan, no back up, and no plan. Just me and my gun and hope that I wasn't too late.
I'm coming, Mickey.
____________________________
Mickey's POV
I tried to wiggle my arms, but it was no use. I was still chained, and I was incredibly weak from the severe lack of food and sleep. The tight handcuffs were making open sores and welts on my wrists that made moving painful. Even drinking water was hard because I had to bend down to bite the plastic cup and tilt my head back to get any water because of the rusty chain he wrapped around my stomach to the post behind me. The chain was cutting into my stomach and it made it impossible to get even a speck of comfort.
The soup was green and disgusting and cold, but I usually ate the bread whenever Mr. Ray came down to give us food. Sometimes he came with spoiled beans, which made us sick. He was mad at me for not eating the soup, but he was livid at Tiffany for not eating or drinking anything. Sometimes, he gave us wet, slimy cat food which the pungent smell of fish and organ meats alone would make us retch since we didn't have any food in our stomachs. We were both so weak, and she was in so much pain. It was incredibly difficult to watch.
There were many instances where I would beg Mr. Ray to hit me rather than Tiffany, which he tended to ignore but sometimes he would give in when I'd scream at him and call him a coward. Then he would hit and kick me until he exhausted himself. It was the only thing I could do to defend Tiffany. I am the adult, and it's my job to do my best to protect her.
I got to this basement wearing a grey sweatshirt, but it's since been cut off my body and discarded by Ray. I was wearing a white t-shirt underneath, which is now covered in dirt, sweat, and lots of blood with various degrees of red and brown stains. Both of our bodies were covered in bruises and scratches from when he would throw glass bottles at us, shattering against our bodies or our feet.
There was an old, revolting bathroom off to the side in the basement. It had a disgusting toilet and a dirty sink but no door. Once, sometimes twice a day Ray would unlock us from our pole and take off the duct tape around our ankles and guide us to this bathroom so we could do our business. We couldn't even run away and escape if we tried. Broken glass littered the floor, cutting through to our feet with each painful step. Tiffany and I would both cry each time from the sharp and intense pain. Afterwards, our feet would bleed and feel tender and swollen only to do it all over again.
I had no idea what I looked like, but I could imagine the significant bruising around my eyes and swollen cheeks. My face was constantly throbbing, but I would much rather it be me than Tiffany. The inside of my mouth has been tender and bloody because I've been anxiously biting the inside of my cheeks and peeling the soft skin of my inner bottom lip off with my teeth. Luckily, he always missed my nose on the bone-breaking kicks and none of my teeth had been broken yet. However, he didn't need good aim to stick us with pins and fishhooks. My arms, legs, and breasts all had scabs and bruises at various degrees in healing from where he sadistically plunged fishhooks into my flesh or stuck me deep with pins.
My nose would bleed, and the blood would seep between my chapped lips, coating my tongue in its metallic tang. This not only would collect on my cotton shirt, but it would dry against my upper lip and crust over, layer upon layer. Thick slugs of blood would slip out of my nose, followed by a cascade of a red river out of my nostrils. My teeth would sink into my soft lips, making them bleed and swell up. We were never given the privilege of changing out clothes or washing our faces, so the crusted blood remained stuck to our skin and clothes.
I thought I saw my dad. I noted his fearful, electric blue eyes and his shaggy dark hair as he stood near me, squatting down beside me and rubbing my shoulder. I felt him rub my shoulder. I quickly realized that he was my brother, Jack. He was by my side every moment I thought I was going to die. I asked him how he was able to find me, but Jack couldn't have been there with me... Jack is dead, and he has been dead for thirteen years. I've heard of people who see their deceased relatives shortly before they die themselves, but I didn't really understand it until it happened to me.
"I'm in pain... please," I begged.
"It's not time to go. Not yet," he told me.
Then he would disappear, and my brief feeling of comfort would vanish. I really didn't see him that much, but I knew he wasn't really there. He was real, but not physically. No one else could see him. It scared me how real he looked. I didn't know how much more of this I could take.
Almost every time we were left down in that basement, he would say, "if I'm not caught, I'll be back tomorrow night." Of course I prayed that he would get caught, but if he was caught then we would die in that basement alone and forgotten, and our remains would become a speculation for the public for decades. But if he wasn't caught, then he would come back. I didn't know which was worse... I just wanted it to be over.
I had to find something, anything, that would give me any sort of peace to keep me going. We were all alone, trapped by a monster. I found a comfort in my necklace that Tom gifted to me. I couldn't hold it, but it served as a reminder that he was with me, and with it I will not be dying alone.
I had blacked out from the pain and trauma more times that I could count. I was in a constant state of alarm, terror, and panic. I was exhausted. When we were too loud or when he was in a mood to punish us, he would stuff his repulsive, dirty socks into our mouthes and secure them with duct tape. This ensured that we would not be heard, which makes me think that he'd do this sometimes when other people were upstairs. People who could hear us, and save us.
Ray, in his sick attempt to be sympathetic, noted that Tiffany and I might enjoy something to listen to rather than just sit in silence all day. I was hopeful for a radio, and perhaps we would hear about any updates the media has found about our disappearances. Instead, we were given a boom box. The boom box had just one cassette tape that played over and over of just salsa music. He began to play this before any assault would occur, so I began to associate this energetic, zesty, pulsing, happy music with the most horrendous and brutal actions imaginable. I can never listen to it again.
I tried to keep track of the days, but it was impossible without any sort of light or pattern to pick up. He tried to break us down by saying that no one was looking for us, but one day he came to us with gifts. These gifts, were our own missing person posters that he pinned to the wall directly in front of us. We were forced to sit there and stare at them, knowing that our friends and family were trying desperately to find us.
The dreaded sound of his footsteps down the stairs became a noise I knew far too well. I groaned and leaned my head back against the post I was handcuffed to, and I attempted once again to slide my hands out of the handcuffs but it was no use. Open sores and blisters on our wrists and ankles were a result of the restraints, whether it be duct tape, handcuffs, rope, or a combination of the three. They were so painful.
He came down and I eyed him with no energy left in my body. My stomach was growling, but I had no appetite. He looked at the both of us, and walked over to the boom box and began playing salsa music, then he walked up to Tiffany. She was pale, sickly, hollow, and exhausted. She had a busted lip that was sticky from dried blood, and deep bruising around her face and arms. The side of her face was so black and purple, I think he fractured her cheekbone. He was assaulting us to the point that we wished we were dead.
I let my head roll in his direction as he approached Tiffany who was also leaned back on her post. The traumatic music was fuzzy in my ears, but my heart was pounding like I just drank an entire pot of coffee. He squatted down to her and he stroked her hair gently, and whispered something to her that I couldn't hear.
She was trembling and through her silent cries she choked as she begged, "please don't hurt me. I-I don't want to die."
He pressed his lips against her temple before his arm snaked around her neck and he began squeezing. I got a burst of energy and I sat up straight, terrified and appalled by what I was seeing.
"What are you doing! Let her go! Please, let her go! She's just a kid!" I begged. I struggled under my restraints, trying desperately to free myself so I could save her.
The man said nothing. I could hear Tiffany's metal restraints clamoring together as she tried to fight back, but she was no match against the six foot tall, two-hundred-fifty pound man. The happy music was blasting in the basement. My body finally gave out and I fell back to the floor. I wheezed and I closed my eyes to avoid seeing her death, but I couldn't plug my ears.
"Oh, oh, oh," I whimpered under my breath as I could hear her gasp and gurgle and choke as he strangled her. The music couldn't cover that up. I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could, feeling my nose throb as I scrunched my entire face in an attempt to conceal the horror I was facing.
The ragged noises coming from her throat ceased as her struggles under the restraints came in spurts before being silenced. I wish I could have held her hand to comfort her, but I was too far away. I heard her body fall limp to the floor, and my gasp made my eyes open.
I saw her limp body on the concrete floor, and my heart beat out of my chest and I let out a scream. She wasn't breathing, and she wasn't moving. She was dead. I could still see her face. The only parts of her cheeks that were clean of blood and dirt were where her tears washed it away. Her death was brought on by a heartless man, on the cold concrete floor of a basement in the middle of no where. There was nothing I could do to save her, but I couldn't help but think that I was responsible. With death, came bliss. I was almost envious. Now, I really was alone.
The man started marching up to me and I knew that my time was coming to an end. This has happened too many times to me in the past month that it was no longer a coincidence. I had been dodging death for so long, it had finally caught up to me. I was hopeless and in so much pain, I almost welcomed it.
"Can you do me a favor, please?" I begged which made him pause. I continued, "when you kill me... can you please put my body somewhere I'll be found? I don't want my loved ones to cling to a hope that I'm still alive."
He grumbled, "okay." It was as if my final request was a burden to him.
I thought about what I would be leaving behind... and Tom was the only one that I could think about. He taught me precious secrets of a true love withholding nothing. I've been a much better person with him. Far beyond forever, he will be mine. I was briefly comforted at the thought that someday I would meet him again. I would welcome him to the place where our troubles will melt away like lemon drops, and we would be together for the rest of eternity.
These concerning thoughts were quickly pushed away and replaced with determination. I wasn't ready to give up. I was restrained, so there was nothing I could do physically to save myself, but I could try to talk to him. Before I could say anything, he swung his leg back and kicked me as hard as he could in my ribs. I wheezed and curled up, unable to catch my breath while I was submerged in an ocean of pain. I was frozen in place for a moment as my body attempted to absorb the pain. It came to me with a sudden numbing reality that I was not meant to leave this basement alive.
These next few minutes may be my last. I don't know what could happen, but I know that it would be hard to face, especially now because I'm alone. I might just fail, but as sure as the stars fill up the night sky, God knows I tried. I really, really tried.
I've never seen anyones eyes go black before. I knew that begging wouldn't do any good, so I had to try another angle. Regardless of the outcome, I know I did my best. I just hope that Tom will be able to understand that. I don't want him to hurt from this.
"My-my name is Michelle, but you can call me Mickey. Call me Mickey, because that's what my friends call me. What's your name? Can you tell me your first name?" It was the first question I could think of. Adrenaline was pumping through my entire body which let me thrust myself back up to a sitting position. I knew I was running out of time.
He seemed a little caught off guard, so he paused to answer. "Gerald. My friends call me Jerry."
"Jerry," I breathed a quick sigh of relief. I asked him, "I know you like teaching, Jerry. You've been a teacher for a long time. You like teaching a lot?"
"I do," he said.
"What part of teaching do you like, Jerry?"
"I like being close to the children," he answered.
I decided to ditch this question and moved on to another, because this was going to get me no where. Instead I asked, "what are your hobbies, Jerry?" There was a quiver in my voice, but the question made him take a step back from me. My goal was for him to see me as a human, and try to gain empathy.
"I like making wigs," he said with a monotone voice.
I turned my head to smile up at him, trying to be as polite as I could. It was incredibly difficult to do, considering how much my face hurt and the fear I had toward this man, and the hatred after watching him kill a 17 year old child in front of me. "That's pretty rad. Can I see?"
I was trying to bond with him, and it was working. A sickening grin spread across his face and he said, "sure. I'll be right back, don't move."
He ran upstairs, and I let out a shaky exhale. I looked back at Tiffany, seeing that she hadn't moved. I couldn't believe that she was dead. I sat myself up and threw my head back into the post in frustration, and felt something jab at the base of my skull. I was confused, until I remembered that I still had bobby-pins in my hair. I pressed my head back and wiggled my head and neck around until the bobby-pin fell to the floor. I managed to push it toward my fingertips, where I could grab it and I began picking at the lock. Maybe I'll be able to get out of here.
The door opened and I got startled so I dropped the pin.
"Shit," I mumbled under my breath, trying to grab it again.
"Close your eyes," Jerry told me from the top of the stairs.
"Okay," I called up to him and closed my eyes. I could hear him scamper down the stairs and began slowly pacing in front of me. I managed to grab the bobby-pin again and I continued to try to pick the lock without him noticing.
His footsteps came to a stop and he told me to open my eyes. I opened my eyes and my eyes went wide in disbelief at the wigs he had displayed. I was absolutely horrified and my mind was snapped back to this ghastly reality.
All the "wigs" he had were completely covered in blood, because he had scalped his victims. This was his signature that I thought I was being clever by hiding from Tom until I solved this case. I could see the jagged edges of the flappy skin and mutilated tissue along the ends of the "wigs", noticing that they were all brunettes. These used to belong to all the victims that came before me and Tiffany.
"I don't really let people watch me work... but since you're interested..." he said and grabbed a knife from his pocket. "And you've been such a good girl. You've done everything I have asked you to do."
"What—what are you doing?" I asked, still trying to pick the lock. Maybe because I wasn't able to see what I was doing since my arms were wrapped around a post behind me or because I was severely dehydrated and lacked nourishment and sleep that I wasn't able to focus enough to pick at the lock. It was probably a mix of them all, along with being Mr. Ray's punching bag after he got tired of Tiffany. Regardless, I couldn't pick the lock. I was too weak, too exhausted, and terrified.
He strutted over to Tiffany and grabbed her by her thick bun to sit her up. Her entire body was limp, and her face was tense and her dead eyes were open but droopy. He pressed the sharp blade of his knife by her ear and began slicing her scalp off.
I shrieked and I was so terrified that I closed my eyes again, trying to not have this be the last image in my head before my death. I was trembling in fear, which was probably what he wanted. He wanted to see me scared, and see how far my limits were. This was well beyond my limit. I bent my knee up to my face and I ducked my head behind my knee so I didn't have to watch.
"Look at me while I'm working!" He screamed at me, "or I'll gut you like a fish... alive!"
My leg was shaking as I set it back down on the sticky floor and opened my teary eyes again to watch this child get scalped right in front of me. Blood was oozing from the incisions, and he would occasionally flip the skin and I would see her blood dripping from her pale skull.
"Please, stop," I begged through my cries, but he refused to listen. My breath had been knocked loose. My ribs were in so much pain from my shaking and wheezing. I'm sure one or two were broken.
As he was finishing the scalping, we heard light footsteps above our heads. He paused to look up, just as confused as I was. The basement door opened with a bang, and someone came scampering down the steps.
Jerry rushed to my side and I gasped when he wrapped his sticky fingers around my throat and squeezed lightly. I didn't have the energy to wiggle out of his grasp. He held the knife between his fingers, and I could feel the handle against my skin. I was trembling and my breathing was shaky, and he waited for whoever was coming down the stairs to show themselves.
I finally saw my saviors face, it was Tom.
"Freeze, police!" He ordered in a deep and demanding voice. He held his gun in front of him, pointing at Jerry. I saw his eyes dart to me momentarily, before putting his attention back on Jerry. His hair was in disarray, which I know usually happens when he hasn't had time to sleep or shower. His face was twisted in anger, with sharp eyes full of so much hate.
"Tom," I breathed out. It was like Superman had arrived.
Jerry's hands tightened around my neck, and small ragged gasps were escaping my throat. My eyes widened when I realized that he was trying to strangle me. My throat tightened as it tried desperately to fill with air, but his grip was too strong, and I was too weak. My lungs began to ache from lack of oxygen, and I began to see blackness slip across my vision.
"Let her go!" Tom's voice echoed in my head.
The intense pressure around my throat released as I collapsed down, coughing and gasping for air. I blinked away the darkness that overwhelmed my vision and saw that Jerry had stood up and taken a step back from me. Armed with only a knife, he raised his blood covered hands up in the air.
Tiffany's body, no longer being supported by Jerry, was slumped over her legs. Jerry dropped the knife to his feet, knowing that he had no chance against a gun. He stared at Tom as Tom put his gun away and exchanged them for handcuffs.
When Tom got close enough, Jerry went crazy. He started to fight back against Tom, trying desperately to get back to the stairs. Tom gripped Jerry's shoulders and pulled him back. He kicked Tom's gun out from his belt and it skidded across the room where I couldn't reach it.
Even though Tom looked as exhausted as I felt, he was prepared. He gave Jerry a disorienting punch to the face, and Jerry tried to twist out of Tom's arms. Tom aggressively pushed Jerry against the wall, and Jerry fell to the floor. Tom never hesitated to put himself in harms way to protect those he loved.
"I am far from finished, you son of a bitch. I can go all night, do you understand me?" He yelled at Gary.
Tom looked at him for a moment to determine that he wasn't going to be getting back up. He turned and began walking towards me, and I was in too much shock to read the look on his face. I was just so thankful that he was there. He asked, "are you all right? Talk to me, Mick."
I breathed out a sigh of relief, and a small smile spread across my sore cheeks. Air whistled painfully through my throat, as if it had grown barbs. I noticed Jerry scramble up to his feet quickly and began charging at Tom. I was a little slow from being so tired and hungry, but I managed to warn Tom by yelling out his name.
Tom turned around just in time as Jerry was trying to press a rag soaked in chemicals to Tom's face. Tom managed to avoid the rag and he tackled Jerry to the ground. I pulled my knees up to my chest so they didn't hit me as they were rolling around on the floor. I felt useless that I couldn't help. Tom punched Jerry in the face again, and got him laying on his stomach. Tom pressed Jerry's face to the floor with handcuffs in his hands and began handcuffing his wrists behind his back.
"Gerald Ray, you are under arrest," Tom said, wiping some sweat from his brow.
"Police!" We heard from above. Doug, Judy, and Ioki came running down the steps, holding their guns up.
"Just missed it," Tom said. He grunted toward Jerry as he stood up and told the others to take him away. Ioki and Judy came down to take Jerry away while reading him his rights. After the transfer, Tom turned off that dreaded salsa music.
Tom ran up to me and rubbed my shoulder as he got the chains and handcuffs off me and said soothing words, "you are all right now. I gotcha, I'm taking you home, Michelle. You're safe now. I'm here."
When he talked to me, he sounded so far away but I knew he was right next to me. The torture I endured the past few weeks caught up to me all at once. Doug came up to us and talked to Tom, but I was too unfocused to hear what he was saying.
"Are you real? Are you here?" I asked, it felt like I was whispering through thorns in my throat. I was terrified that maybe he was a hallucination.
"I'm here, I promise. And I'm not leaving."
I sniffed and felt the warm metallic syrup of thick blood dripping down the back of my throat. I was able to wipe my bleeding nose with my free wrist and saw the blood smear on my pale gray skin. I cleared my throat and spat a clump of blood out onto the cement floor, which sent a wave of burning agony up my esophagus. It ripped up my throat before subsiding into a steady dull pain.
I clamped onto Tom with the smallest ounce of energy I had left and begged, "don't let me go, Tom. Please, don't let me go."
Tom wrapped his arms around me and picked me up like a fireman in his prime. I was glad that he did, because I was so emaciated, I couldn't hardly stand. I was so out of it, I could barely hear his shoes crunching the broken glass from under his feet. He carried me up the stairs, where more law enforcement was ready to explore the basement. I felt so safe in his arms.
We walked out, and it was dark outside. Bright flashing lights from police sirens burned my eyes, even though I had to suffer with a dim light above my head for almost three weeks. I rested my head against Tom's chest as he walked, and I was relieved to finally be out of there. I honestly wasn't expecting to make it out of that basement alive.
He took me to the ambulance that was nearby, and they took my vitals and asked me questions. Detectives came over to take photographs of my wounds. Tom never left my side.
"Can you tell me what's going on?" One of the EMT's asked as he stood in front of me, putting on blue latex gloves. I sat at the back of the ambulance with Tom sitting beside me.
"Uh... I-I'm okay," I stammered. Even though I was out of the house, my anxiety level was not coming down. But my ribs were becoming much more painful as my adrenaline was diminishing. I tried to make myself speak calmly, but my voice was low and husky, almost a whisper. My throat felt like it had puffed up twice it's size, and my breath whistled in and out slowly.
"You're okay? You don't look okay." Then he asked a question I couldn't hear.
"Huh?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at the EMT, which made my face throb.
"Are you in any pain right now?" He repeated.
"Uh..." I pointed to my ribs.
"Right there, on your side?" He asked.
I nodded and bit my lips together to keep them from trembling.
"Okay, let me see." He grabbed my arm and explained that he was going to be lifting my arm over my head gently and I winced. "Does that hurt?"
"A little bit," my wobbly voice broke. Tears welled in my burning eyes.
"Go ahead and put your arm down," he said and my arm was placed at my side. My chest was quivering as I breathed. "I need you to calm down. I need you to breathe. There you go, deep breaths. There you go. Very good. Now, I want you to relax your arm and we are going to check your blood pressure, okay?"
"Okay," I said with a nod and a sniff. He put a sleeve on my arm and began pumping so it tightened around my bicep.
Another EMT squatted down in front of me and carefully took off my socks, which made me wince. They were covered in dirt and blood, cut up from all the broken glass I've stepped on. He told me that he was going to clean the bottoms of my feet, and then he took tweezers and pulled out glass splinters that had imbedded themselves in my feet. I held Tom's hand and I squeezed my eyes shut from the pain. When he was done, he bandaged my feet up and gave me a tetanus shot. He told Tom that I was going to need to go to the hospital and get another tetanus shot soon.
I looked up at Tom and I felt completely overwhelmed by everything that had happened. My voice was trembling as I told him, "he killed her. He killed her in front of me. She was alive yesterday... and she was alive today... There was nothing I could do... there was nothing..."
I began to get emotional again. Tom's hand rested on my head in comfort as he stroked my hair, trying to calm me down. I blew a raspberry and wiped my tender eyes with the back of my hand and rolled my eyes around to get the tears out of them. "I'm fine, I'm okay."
Fuller walked up to us and asked, "are you all right?"
I took a shaky breath, "I will be."
Fuller turned to Tom and said, "when she's clear I want you to take her home."
"Aye aye, Cap'n," Tom agreed.
The EMT took my arm and explained that he was going to put an IV in to get some fluids into me. I nodded, and asked Tom if he would hold my hand. His hand gently gripped mine, and I barely felt the needle pierce my cold skin.
"You'll have to talk to some investigators in the morning. Okay, kiddo? Can you handle that?" Fuller asked me.
I nodded, "yeah, I can."
Fuller said, "I'm glad you're safe." Then, he turned to Tom and handed him back his badge and his gun before he left.
I asked him in a hoarse voice, "what was that about?"
"Nothing," he said and he pulled me into him gently, pressing his warm and loving lips to my temple.
More and more officials, such as the FBI, came to surround the house in the woods. I was with the EMT for a long time because they encouraged me to go to the hospital, but I needed to go home. They reluctantly agreed, and just made me stay with them until they were certain I was okay and that I promised to go within the next few days for a full work-up. They cleaned my the sores and welt on my wrists and ankles, and wrapped them in bandages. I sat with Tom with my head against his chest until it was safe for me to go home.
Tom took me home, and I still felt like I was in a daze. It was almost like I convinced myself that I was still in the basement, and the fact that I was safe and at home now was just a dream to help me cope with the trauma. I was terrified that I was going to wake up and be back in the basement.
For seventeen days, I was in that basement. For seventeen days, I was brutally tortured and assaulted. For seventeen days, I thought I was going to die. It was so bad, I wanted to. I almost gave up. I'm lucky, some girls never get out of their basements.
I sat on the couch and Tom made some peanut butter toast for me to eat, just so I had something in my stomach. He also brewed me a mug of warm ginger tea. Tom went into my bedroom and came out with some pajamas for me to change into. I tried to remove my shirt, but the shooting pain in my ribs stopped me when I tried to move my arm. I winced and gasped, and Tom asked me if I needed help. I sniffed and nodded, and he very carefully helped me get out of my three-week-old clothes. He pulled my shirt off over my head slowly and I noticed that the front of it was covered in dirt and soaked with blood at various stages of freshness, and he tossed it to the side, and my shaking fingers fumbled to unbutton my stiff jeans. His fingers lightly brushed mine to the side and he popped it open with ease and shimmied it off my legs, and grabbed my hand to help me step out of them.
"I... um... I feel really gross..." my voice was small and quivering.
"Would you like to take a bath?" He asked.
I nodded softly, "uh-huh."
"Okay," Tom said softly. "Do you want to be alone or do you want me with you?"
I shook my head. "Please stay with me. I don't want to be alone."
"Okay, okay." Tom handed me a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around me. I was holding it in place when he came back after starting the bath. My hands were shaking and I felt like every ounce of energy was sucked out of me. I knew that if I took a hot shower, I would probably collapse.
No matter how hard I tried, I could not bring my mind to stay present. I still felt like I wasn't really there. I assume that Tom sensed this, because he slowly guided me to the bathroom and he slipped the blanket off my body as he helped me into the bathtub. The water stung my welts even though the bandages. I sat down in the warm water with my knees up to my chest, and my heavy head rested on my bruised and tender kneecaps.
First, Tom rolled up his sleeves and took out my ratty braid and fluffed my greasy hair down my back. He told me he would be right back, and he left.
I closed my eyes for just a moment. I needed to ground myself, and bring myself to the present. Five things I can see. The silver bathtub faucet, the blue hand towel by the sink, the hand soap container, my grey bathrobe, and the white bathroom door. Four things I can touch. The warm bath water, the white acrylic tub, my tender knees against my cheek, and my individual fingers gripping my legs. Three things I can hear. Water from the closed faucet dripping quietly into the tub, my rugged breathing, and the soft swish of the bath water when I move. Two things I can smell. My soothing eucalyptus bubble bath bottle, and white tea from my reed diffuser. One thing I can taste. Peanut butter.
I am safe. I am home. I am here.
The one thing that brought me back to that basement were the bite marks. Gary's teeth had imbedded into the flesh of my inner thighs, now in various degrees of the healing stages. I could still feel his hands gripping my legs to stop me from kicking him off. I hope that they don't scar, but I'm not sure yet. My arms and legs were riddled with fresh, raised scratches with dried blood from the broken glass he threw at us. I will already be psychologically tormented by him for the rest of my life, I cannot have a physical reminder too.
Tom came back with a plastic cup from the kitchen. He filled it with the warm bath water and poured it over my hair, using his hand against my forehead to act as a shield for my eyes. He did this a few times until my hair was soaking wet. He lathered some shampoo on his hands and worked it into my hair, and when it came time to wash it out, he put one hand on my back and told me to lean back. I did as he said, and he dipped my head down to the water and used his free hand to rinse all the shampoo out.
"Is this okay?" Tom asked in a small voice.
"Mm-hm," I replied weakly. My throat was dry and scratchy, it hurt to talk.
"That's my girl," he said softly, "I wish we could swap places so you wouldn't be suffering like this."
I responded, "I wouldn't wish this upon my worst enemy. Th-there is no way I would ever let that happen."
"You're doing great, Michelle. We are almost done."
We had the same routine for conditioner as well, and then he squeezed a generous amount of body wash onto a wash cloth and used that to wash the horrible weeks off of me. With every limb, I saw the dark purple bruises that stained my skin, or the sickening green ones that are tender to touch. Tom was gentle, using the wash cloth to lightly scrub away all the grime and blood that dried on my body. I almost wished he scrubbed my skin until it was raw. I felt so dirty and disgusting.
I noticed that he pumped some of my face wash into his hands and told me to close my eyes. I did, and he washed my face. With my egregious nutrition and lack of skin care, my skin felt clogged and horrible. He focused on scrubbing the crusted blood off my skin once and for all. He used a cup of fresh water from the faucet to rinse the soap off my face, and then it was time to drain the tub.
"You always take care of me," I said weakly with a sniff.
"I will always take care of you," he promised while rubbing my sore back gently.
Normally, if someone had to help me bathe like this, I would feel rather embarrassed. I felt too vulnerable. I hated not being able to do something so basic for myself, but I had no reason to feel this way. Doing this with Tom was so beautiful and sweet and intimate, I was more than thankful. I truly love him in a place where there is no space or time, and I love him for my life. I owe him my life.
The water was filled with soapy bubbles and was tinted red from the blood and dirt he washed off my face and body. He took my hands and helped me stand up, and used a fluffy towel to wrap around my shivering body. He helped me into my fresh, warm pajamas, and got me a glass of water and some medicine to help with the pain. I slowly and painfully crawled into bed, and collapsed down to my pillow where I patiently waited for him to come back.
The only light was from a warm-lit lamp I have in the corner of my room. It casted gentle shadows on Tom's concerned face. After I took the medicine, I looked up at him and asked in a small voice, "can you lay down with me for a minute, please?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course," he said and he turned off the lamp. He slowly laid down beside me, and positioned himself in a way where I didn't have to move much to welcome him into the bed.
I rested my head against him and used his body as a pillow. My arms hugged him close, because I wasn't ready to let him go. He wrapped me up in his arms, holding me tight.
Tom shifted just slightly from under me, making me think that he was trying to leave. I tried to fight staying awake as I mumbled softly, "please don't go."
His fingers trailed up and down my back as he relaxed himself further into my bed. He continued the pattern and stroked my hair softly. He said, "I'll be here for a while, don't worry. Close your eyes, I'll be here in the morning. Everything's all right. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe with me. Always."
When I think of our life as a song, I imagine moments like these to be a part of the melody. It's like he is singing to me, and his love of hidden in the melody. We are together and alone now, and it is like he is singing this song of love to me.
Thanks again TayNicole99 for the idea!! I based Jerry a little off of the Green River Killer in the method of abduction and killing. He killed in Washington state and I've always associated the fictional Evergreen State with Washington State because Washington is literally called the Evergreen State 😂
Hope you enjoyed!
Next chapter is based on the episode 2245 with the execution of Ronnie Seebok!