Chapter 10 - An Imaginary Crane

During the time that Lee was making the ransom drop, Rachael was locked in a sturdy walk-in closet.

When she and Rosalia first arrived at the house, Rachael had misgivings. She understood why Rosalia didn't want to come to her house. Rosalia was right that Rachael did fit the profile of the serial killer's victims, and while Rachael didn't view it as a serious threat, she couldn't easily discount the fears of a late-term pregnant woman threatened with preeclampsia. After the doctor's visit, Rosalia admitted to Rachael that her ex-boyfriend being released from jail was the source of much of her tension. She was concerned about him coming to Los Angeles. Rosalia called him a bully, but she clearly still had feelings for him. She had even defended him against the rape charge, saying the girl who claimed it was a slut who wanted revenge when Raul ditched her to go back to Rosalia after one of their fiery break-ups.

A nursing school friend of Rosalia had offered her a place to stay for a few days, actually two places, and Rosalia thought it might be a good idea to take her up on it. Of the choices, she opted for the brother's "weekend" house in the hills because it "sounded dreamy" — like the friend's actor brother — and "Raul would never in a million years track her down if he did come looking." Rachael objected to the remoteness of it, but Rosalia had her mind set. There was a phone and the doctor said bed rest should suffice until her next appointment if Rosalia stayed calm. Rosalia would only stay calm if she got what she wanted, Rachael realized, so she caved. They stopped to pick up a couple of days' worth of prepared foods, with Rachael planning to come check on her as soon as she could get away.

Right after they entered the house, an interior door burst open. A man and woman both in stocking masks aiming guns stormed toward them. The woman grabbed Rosalia around the neck and waved the gun around wildly. The man's aim at Rachael was much steadier and more threatening. Rachael was ordered to face the wood planked wall and spread out. With the muzzle of the gun planted hard in Rachael's back, the man roughly patted her down. He stopped at her waist, leaving Rachael with some hope for eventually getting to the throwaway derringer above her ankle.

Rachael felt the man's gun slip off her back as he went to cuff her right arm in the air. Rachael decided to try a move. She didn't perceive the woman as a real threat to fire her gun, and if she did, she was unlikely to hit her target, which had been Rachael not Rosalia. Had the gun been trained on Rosalia, Rachael would have hesitated. As the man gripped Rachael's right arm high in the air, Rachael whipped to the right, driving her left fist into the man's right kidney. Although the man grunted a little, his abdomen was taut and he took the punch well, a bad thing for Rachael. He immediately drove his whole body forward into Rachael slamming her into the wall. Rachael's left shoulder took the brunt of the force, but her head also bounced off the wood planked wall. She sank down to the floor dizzy from the blow.

The man walked back to Rosalia and held the gun to her belly. "Try anything else again and she dies." Rosalia looked much more scared at that moment than she had when the whole episode began, Rachael thought. The man dragged a shaking Rosalia toward Rachael all the while pressing the gun firmly into Rosalia's belly. The man ordered Rosalia to finish cuffing Rachael's left arm behind her back. As soon as she did so, the man pistol whipped Rachael on the back of the skull knocking her out.

Rachael woke up in a large well constructed cedar walk-in closet devoid of clothes. She was lying on the floor wearing a short nylon pajama set, although her undergarments were still on her. Rachael's ankles were connected by two pairs of connected handcuffs that dug uncomfortably into her flesh. Rachael remembered what happened to the point of her arms being cuffed, but was unclear about what had happened afterward as well as where Rosalia was. Her mind was sluggish and her body more tired than she could explain. A concussion was a definite possibility, but Rachael also briefly wondered why the front of her top was wet and sticky. She drifted in and out of consciousness until a knock startled her. The woman spoke.

"You need a potty break?"

No matter how woozy she felt, Rachael wasn't about to let a chance to exit the closet or to push the soft target of the two hostage takers pass. "Yes."

"If you try anything, my friend will kill Rosalia. Understood?"

"I would like to talk to Rosalia so I know she is all right."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because my friend says so. Don't mess with him. He'll hurt her if you do."

"You sound scared of him?"

"I'm not."

"Lying to yourself?"

Rachael left the closet and was hobbling in the direction the woman pointed with the gun. The woman was definitely an amateur. If not for worrying about Rosalia, the next part might have proven amusing.

"How am I supposed to get the pants down?"

Even through the stocking mask, Rachael could see the look of concern in the woman's mouth and eyes.

"I could call in my friend to help with that, but I don't think you would like that. He might." That thought seemed to bother the woman. She walked up to Rachael and shoved the gun hard in Rachael's gut. With one strong yank of her free hand she pulled down Rachael's shorts and underpants. If only Rachael's hands hadn't been cuffed behind her back, the time would have been ideal to wrest the gun from the woman's control.

"I can manage the rest without help, thank you."

"I'll stay here just in case you get ideas."

"It's not like I can get to the window trussed up like this."

"No more talking."

Rachael finished her business. "Now what?"

"Back to the closet."

"Like this?"

"Yes."

"I want to see Rosalia."

"No, back to the closet."

"How did you get her to go along with this?"

"The same way as you, with a gun. She's in another room, lying down. She said it was doctor's orders."

"If you want me to cooperate, I want to see her."

The woman walked her to the door of the master bedroom they must be inside. Rachael heard the t.v. blaring from a nearby room. "Do you think my friend is watching a telenovela? She's out there. Now, back to your closet."

Rachael complied. If and until she could get the cuffs in front of her, she couldn't visualize a clean escape scenario. She needed to silence the woman as well as wrest the gun from her if she had any hope to get at the man holding Rosalia. She had barely started working on the cuff issue when another knock on the door issued. The door swung slowly open. "Something for you to drink."

The woman set down a lidded cup with a straw, just perfect for handcuffs behind the back. Rachael decided to hold off on what she figured from the light in the bathroom window must be breakfast. It was time to see if she was still limber enough to get the cuffs to the front. She would admit that she was not at her physical peak. The last few weeks of working crazy hours, missing workouts and eating poorly hadn't helped. She could stand a little reserve duty soon. She imagined Lee laughing at her. "Going soft, Red." She became more determined then and managed to clear her butt with the cuffs. She rested before finishing the job a few minutes later. She was weary and incredibly thirsty when she finished. She made mental flip flops deciding between working to pull up her underwear and pants with her cuffed hands, which she knew would be exhausting, or to take a drink.

Rachael's head pounded as she tried to retrieve her bottoms. The cheap nylon shorts were hopelessly snagged in the cuffs, at least to hands bound by handcuffs. She pulled and wrangled as hard as she could. Her vision dimmed. She heard Lee's voice coaching her. "You need to calm down. Take stock of the situation. They are still wearing masks, which means they may not intend to kill you. As far as you know, the babies are safe."

The babies, Rachael thought. They matter more than me. Lee will manage without me.

"I don't want to. Fight for this, Red, fight for us."

Rachael wanted to, but what was there to fight right then? She lay down on her back, brought her legs back and pounded them against the wall. Just my luck. A fucking cedar closet built like a fortress. Rachael's mind began going to a dangerous place: the hut in which she'd been brutalized in Kuwait.

"This isn't Kuwait. I will find you, I promise."

I can't do this again, Lee. You don't understand. Rachael struck at the walls harder until her legs ached.

"You've got to calm down, Red. Breathe. Take a drink."

It might be drugged. Then I will lose control. Right, control of the inside of a closet. Rachael once again began to whale at the walls and continued until she had no energy left to thrust. The closet was becoming the hut. Rachael was nearing the crazy place. The drink. She began to hope it was drugged. Maybe drugged would be better.

Lee's voice was there. The captain's voice, calm and in control: "Drink, Red. It's better than hurting yourself. I'll find you, I promise."

Rachael was drinking before she realized it, sucking down most of the large cup quickly. Then she was drifting. She wasn't sure she cared at first, then the crazy place was close. She was half naked and trapped in a room. Then she was in the hut in that village on the border of Iraq and Kuwait. Not again! She struck out against the door with her feet, but the cedar door held firm sending waves of pain up her legs. She struck it again in frustration with the same result.

Her anger turned inward. She'd put herself in this situation. She knew about Rosalia's ex, knew there was a slight risk. She thought she'd taken adequate measures to control the risk. Not enough, clearly. Plus she'd never told Lee or Saul about the ex. She didn't want him to worry. Damn it. Whose bright idea got her into this whole mess anyway? Harriman Nelson. He had started it. The two redheads in Lee's life sipped neat scotches and talked one evening while Lee was outside grilling hamburgers. "Lee loves Roberto, but I know he wants more children. It would mean a lot to him to have a child of his own to continue his family tree. He's the last of the Cranes. There are ways you two could do it now, Rachael. I can help. Imagine the hair, the eyes." Damn you, Nelson. You were right, but so what? Look what it has come to. Rachael fell asleep in a sea of self-recriminations.

Rachael didn't know how long she had slept when she awoke to the door opening. It was the man. His gun was trained on her. Rachael prepared to shake off the grogginess and risk trying to take him down when she got a chance. This time, she'd have her arms at her disposal, except as she began to right herself, she realized that was no longer true. Her arms were cuffed behind her again. Her whole body was cramped and sore, especially her legs from all that whacking at solid walls.

Cuffed as she was, she couldn't get up before the man was standing over her.

He gazed down at her still naked crotch. "Roja. Muy bonita. I like roja. I like my women fiery."

Rachael was scooting backwards in the closet without conscious thought. Maybe the instinct to flee was right for once, she reminded herself. Don't challenge him. It didn't work out well the first time. Wait and see.

The man advanced. He reached his hand out toward her crotch. Rachael fought every instinct to kick at him as if doing so with cuffed legs would be effective. Maybe, if he got closer, just maybe she could get her knees to his groin, but not yet.

He briefly stroked her pubic hair before he suddenly reached out and snatched at her curly red head hair. It hurt to the roots. Was it all going to happen again? She didn't expect this play. She thought it was about ransom money. This had to be the ex-boyfriend Raul. How could she forget that one of his convictions was for rape? Damn it.

Lee's voice was there again. "He'd have to let go of the gun at some point. You could take him then."

Handcuffed like this? Are you crazy?

"No, you are, Red. If he does try, then it's time to let loose with the crazy. Got it?"

Rachael stayed stock still as he gripped her hair and glared, as if deciding what he wanted to do next. Then he let her go and backed up to the door.

"Don't cause any trouble or you will not like the consequences. Hope that your man does not double cross me. I will take it out on you later if he does. Do everything she says or I will keep my promise."

The woman stepped in behind him with her gun and another drink. "Drink every drop now."

Rachael would have drunk it and more had it been offered. She'd been awake for all those months of abuse. To sleep through it would have been better.

When Rachael next stirred, the woman was present like clockwork with another drink. "If you are lucky, this will be the last."

"As in before you kill me?"

"I do not want to kill you. If your man pays, soon we will all go our separate ways."

"He has you believing that, that I'm not going to be killed?"

"We will be away where you cannot find us. We have no reason to kill you unless you give us one."

Rachael shut up abruptly. Maybe they meant it. If she revealed she knew who the man was or figured out who the woman probably was, what chance was there? Still, she was shocked at her passivity in the face of these captors. The kind ones, they only hurt you worse in the end, she remembered with a shudder. She heard Lee's voice, though.

"This isn't there. We'll find you. Don't give up."

But a part of Rachael was shockingly ready to give up. Lee would take care of Roberto and the babies no matter what.

Rachael's next arousal was entirely different. She heard screams, horrible screams. At first she wondered if they were hers under the influence of the drugs they'd been feeding her. She was groggy and out of it still. The drugs hadn't yet worn off, but the screams were so terrible they'd sliced into the fog. Nausea overtook her and she puked dry heaves. Dorothy Parker's line rang out. "What fresh hell can this be?"

The screams continued for some time, then tapered off. Rachael had no idea of time. Her watch had been taken at the beginning, along with her throwaway gun and anything that could be used for a weapon or escape. With the screams, a panic ensued. Escape suddenly seemed essential. What could she use? She managed to get the cuffs in front again, but it nearly took every bit of energy she had. She lay on the floor staring around desperately looking for something with which to attempt to pick the cuffs. All of the damn hangers were wooden. Joan Crawford would be happy with this closet. Why didn't they make the door open outward? She might have one chance with momentum. At least, that's what she thought when she attempted a full body slam into the door. She swooned to the floor, passing out again.

The next time she stirred, there were no screams. The closet door opened very slowly. Rachael's eyes were only half open when she saw the face of a man she knew was not her captor. "Over?" she whispered.

"Over? Well, I suppose you could say that." He extended his hand toward Rachael.

"I don't think I can get up yet."

"Pity. I've run out of things to do while waiting for you to wake up. They pumped you full of Seconal. You are lucky you didn't die of an overdose."

"Who are you? You look familiar."

"We have never met before."

"You aren't here to help me, are you?"

"In a way, yes. In another way, no. I find myself acting as an opportunist just now."

"I don't understand."

"Come see then."

He pulled Rachael up by the cuffs, but she could barely stand on her own. He wrapped an arm around her and heaved her in a fireman's hold. He dumped her on a king-sized bed.

A body lay to her left on ghastly bloodied sheets, a body flayed of much of its skin.

Rachael dry heaved further. The game, already bad, just got much worse. She could tell from his face that he liked her terror and panic. Breathe, Rachael, breathe. Crazy versus crazy isn't going to help here. Calm, detached professionalism was the best course. It might have been the hardest thing she'd ever done. A vision of Lee's face floated behind the man, coaching her to breathe more deeply. "You can do this. Just buy some time."

After a few more breaths, Rachael managed to detach her mind from the gruesome sight next to her. She'd seen it all before and lived.

"She doesn't fit in with your other victims."

"No," he said as he raised the dead woman's arm to show Rachael. "That's why she's 3 1/2 instead of 4."

"Why kill her?"

"Boredom waiting for you or that idiot partner of hers to return. I thought he might have to be 3 3/4 if you didn't rouse soon, but then again I was concerned he'd bring a posse with him. So thank you for waking up before he arrives, if he ever does. I have my doubts."

"Who are you?"

"Surely you know by now."

"I meant your name."

"Let's see if you can guess. You called my mother and planned to interview her last night."

"Richard Champlain?"

"I rather prefer the moniker the papers have given me."

"I had nothing on you. It was a shot in the dark."

"And I had nothing against you. I quibbled quite a bit with myself over whether you should be next even before you contacted my mother. Then it was sealed."

"How did you know about me? I was kept out of the public eye."

"True, but I saw you going into the building on some random footage the news played of NCIS's office. I lurked around the building until I found out your name. Really, law enforcement does not expect serial killers to hang out by the building. Later, I remembered you from last year's newspapers: the wedding murder."

"Lucky me."

"I do sympathize with you somewhat. You have had more than your fair share of hardships."

"How did you end up here?"

"Well, I wasn't stupid enough to follow a professional up a canyon road if that makes you feel better. I had been watching the pregnant one. After she left the house with you and came back with an imposter dressed like you, I was intrigued beyond reason. I followed the imposter. She left your lovely car running with the keys in it in the middle of the barrio. I assume it was stolen within a minute, but I didn't wait to see. I followed her as she boarded a bus, then picked up a car in a shopping center lot. She never noticed me follow her here. I listened from outside until I got the gist of the situation. When the man left, I came in. Since then, well, as you see, I bided my time."

"Why redheads in the Navy?"

"Oh, I suppose there is no harm in explaining since you still aren't fully awake enough to appreciate what I have in store for you. The first one, she was responsible for my discharge from the Navy."

"She didn't have a number carved on her like the next two."

"No, to be honest, I didn't have a larger plan at the time. But I loved the reaction of the papers and I . . . I enjoyed the process. I wanted to do it again and again."

"Why limit yourself to redheads connected to the Navy?"

"No reason, really. It just seemed more sporting to have a theme. More exciting."

"For you."

"I think you are beginning to rally, Commander. Good news for me, not so good for you." Richard Champlain reached into his pocket and withdrew a bloodied scalpel. "Number 4," he taunted as he cut the number in the air to threaten her.

"What's the exact order of business?"

"You should know as well as anyone. I've been quite consistent."

"The coroner couldn't determine conclusively if you did the numbers first or last or somewhere in between. And you did switch from the left arm on Margaret O'Connor to the right on Amanda Prather."

"Because Margaret was left-handed and Amanda was right-handed. I felt damaging the dominant arm early was important. Not so much harm that they couldn't still protest a little to make a game of it, but enough so they were unlikely to succeed. It was a bit of a bother on Margaret, as I am left-handed."

"Does the number come first?"

"You know better."

"Near asphyxiation to subdue the subject's resistance first."

"Correct, then the number."

"Followed by just enough damage to the both arms to keep your victim from effectively protesting with them."

"Yes, then the breasts."

"Why?"

"Because it excites me for the next part. Slowly slicing the skin back, lapping up the delicious juices."

"Then you rape your victim."

"I share my joy."

"Followed by watching your victim bleed to death?"

"I find that since the first one, I lose interest quickly in the end. There is so little reaction left. Instead, I start to fantasize about the next one. Like you. And as pleasant as it has been to chat with you, I'm finding it distinctly unsatisfying now. Time to play the game."

"Do you prefer I sit up so you can sit as well, or do you prefer to work from above?"

"You are surprising me, Commander. Did your experiences as a POW really dull your responses to torture that much? I doubt it."

"The same thing over and over again becomes pretty tedious. Rape, beatings. I expect flaying will be the same."

"Our friend here suffered loudly for quite a long time. I rather suspect you will too."