Chapter Seven
Edward dropped the spent cigarette on the ground, effectively smothering it with his boot. He was still pissed off about his other shoes. It had taken years to get them to the right comfortable fit, but now they were fucking evidence. It was stupid to think of such trivial shit, but it was what he did when his head was too full and he didn't want to think too much.
He pulled out another cigarette from the pack in his jacket pocket and lit up. Drawing in a deep breath, he checked his piece as he let smoke curl out from his mouth. His favorite gun and knife that he had on him when he went out were gone. They didn't find them at the scene. The idea that the bastard had his hands on his things pissed him off.
It scared him a bit, too. He was afraid the asshole would kill someone with them.
He shook his head, realizing that it would go against everything. It would change the killer's MO and in the seven years since it all started, the killer hadn't changed it. He deviated slightly with Rosalie since she had blonde hair instead of brown, but she had attended a school in the same district as the others and died in the same way as all the rest.
Bella and Rosalie had several friends in common in high school, and the killer could've chosen any one of them as his next target, to draw Bella out. Why had he chosen Rosalie? Was it because Bella and Rosalie were best friends or because who Rosalie was related to? The fact that Edward had made a name for himself shortly before her death couldn't be the reason.
Right?
He'd have to look into the possibility, since he had made plenty of enemies in Seattle.
Then there was Bella, the killer's first victim. The only one that survived until Edward had. Why had the killer chosen her? Was it because she was the daughter of a cop? A closer look at the files was in order, since that could be another connection between all the victims. If Charlie and Garrett thought he'd sit by while they did all the grunt work, they were in for a rude awakening. He'd have his hands on all the files, including Bella's soon. There was no way he'd sit on the sidelines anymore.
Bella, he didn't know what to make of her anymore. The horrors she'd been through, he could only imagine all too well. It was no wonder that her mind had refused to recall the memories of her ordeal. Instead, she was a witness to all the victims' deaths.
That shit was causing her physical and psychological pain.
There were too many scenarios in his head. All centered on Bella and the killer. Would things have been different if they disclosed the news about Bella after they found her? With no memory and in a coma, he doubted it would've made much difference. They had no idea how long she'd been walking when someone found her. Charlie didn't even know if the killer had buried her. If she had been, how had she dug herself out? He had pounded his fists and arms against the pine the best he could and didn't make a damn dent.
He also remembered that Rosalie said that Bella was a year younger, because she skipped a grade, making him nine years older. She was too smart for her own good and that meant she had been barely seventeen when it happened.
How did she get out alive by herself?
Memories and images haunted Edward daily since Rosalie's murder. The "what ifs" would always replay events differently, especially around Rosalie's birthday or holidays. Now there were twice as many things to consider. With all the new information, the secrets that were held, and what he'd gone through. What his sister had gone through.
"Christ," he hissed, his fingers plowing through his hair. The cigarette shook, hanging precariously from his lips. He needed to focus on something else before he lost his fucking mind.
Edward did a quick search around the house, getting a layout of the land. The cabin was surround by lush forest, but the tree line was several hundred yards away. The area between the house and the forest was almost flat, with no other structures or any place a killer could lurk without the camera's picking him up. It wasn't natural, and it was obvious they cleared away any trees. The few that dotted the landscape, trimmed in such a way that it wouldn't hide anyone among the branches either. Each one lit up like Christmas and most held some kind of camera. He detected several motion sensors around the house that likely tripped the alarm if someone came too close.
He'd have to test their sensitivity soon.
After he was done, he grabbed the bag his stepmother Esme had packed for him before taking it to the hospital. His hand hurt like a bitch, but it was still a couple more hours before he could pop a few pills again. He'd rather tolerate the pain; risking grogginess while he was with Bella, with the killer on the prowl would not be a good idea.
It was a good thing he was ambidextrous, or else he'd be useless with a hurt right hand. He worked hard over the years to perfect his aim with his left hand and it seemed he'd put it to good use. His imagination would put a bullseye right between the killer's eyes.
Garrett met him on the porch, locking the car with his alarm. "I'm staying on the couch. Charlie said you could take the office. There's a spare bed in there."
Edward nodded and walked past him to get inside. "I want the files on all the cases by tomorrow afternoon."
"I'll see what I can do," Garrett said, closing the door behind him. "There's a problem though. No one else knows about this place besides us, and the Blacks, and I'd like to keep it that way, so I'll have to leave in the morning. And Charlie has to make appearances."
"Don't trust your own people?"
"This guy is good with computers and electronics. I'm not risking him listening in on my conversations with my partner or superiors. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised that he could hack his way into our systems."
If he could do that, then Bella's security system might not be good enough, Edward realized. "Do you think he followed us here?"
Garrett shrugged. "I don't think I was followed, I always keep on an eye out for that when I come here. Charlie would've done the same. Getting Bella's cell phone number wouldn't have been hard. She called her father from it and if he accessed his phone records, he'd find the number. I'm going to have to ask you to remove the battery out of your cell phone until we can get new, untraceable ones. I'll leave mine for now."
Edward nodded and tossed him his phone. "That's fine. Get me those files."
"Are you sure you want to see them?"
They both knew what Garrett was referring to, the eerie and horrific pictures of his dead sister and all the other women. "I saw some of them," he answered. It was best Garrett knew the truth.
"Which was the reason you were dismissed," Garrett stated.
"Pretty much, I had become obsessed with finding the killer. Even though I wasn't allowed to be a part of the investigation team, I did steal a peek or two at the files."
"When I first started on this case, I thought I could handle it. Those pictures, the hell they must have gone through, have given me nightmares."
"I know he never sexually assaulted his victims, for me it made it a little easier. But yeah, seeing the pictures of Rosalie in that fucking box was something I'll never forget."
Never, Edward thought. Sometimes, when it was too quiet he remembered them. Her pale blue eyes, much like their father's, stared blankly from the pictures. Her blonde hair covered in leaves and dirt, the same condition as her clothes. Then there were the pictures of her bloodied and broken nails from her attempt to claw her way out of her coffin. They reminded him of his promise to his mother, to find Rosalie's killer.
He never broke a promise.
"For what it's worth, I'm doing everything I can to find her killer," Garrett stated. The conviction in his voice made the statement ring true. Edward nodded. "I need you to keep a level head from now on. It kept you alive down there and it will up here."
"I'm not sure what came over me when I was in the box," Edward whispered, shaking his head. "I was beating at the top, screaming, so damn angry at myself for failing. Suddenly I remembered that I had to stop. That I had to control myself and calm down if I wanted to survive." There was something else, too. A wave a calm he never felt before.
At the precise moment, Edward's stomach growled out in hunger, making him groan aloud, too. Garrett chuckled and told him to grab something to eat. "There's plenty of stuff for sandwiches. I'll take first watch."
"I'll relieve you in a few hours," Edward said as he walked toward the kitchen.
"Make if four, I'm pretty sure everyone will be sleeping in late anyway."
~oOo~
Bella wasn't sleeping. She was staring at the ceiling and trying not to see bloodied and battered wood instead of the smooth cream painted surface. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived those few moments where Edward had struggled against his own sanity and fears before he could calm down.
Even though she was just as scared too, she did her best to calm him. Bella understood, or at least she thought she did.
She wasn't merely seeing through their eyes.
She felt what they felt.
She saw what they saw.
She felt their fears as if they were her own.
When they were unconscious, she was still aware. It was why she knew exactly where to find where he buried them. Once they found the spot on the road where the killer turned off, she knew exactly how many steps to take and in what direction.
She researched possible topics about what was happening to her. Read countless words of speculation and supposed true accounts of similar occurrences on the internet. None described it exactly how she felt when she slipped into a trance.
Every time it happened, she was with them in that box, buried not only beneath the dirt, but in their minds. The few brief moments she half woke up long enough to give her father details was always too short. The trance would pull her back in at the cusp of their terror, suffering along with them. She struggled as much as they did, trying to get out.
There was one time that she almost died. She feared that next time, if the victim died and she remained inside her mind, she would die, too. She probably wouldn't have a choice. Not unless she got control, and that required practice.
