Here I am, back from the family road trip, and quite sunburnt. Remember folks, always wear sunscreen. There was that song for the Class of '99 warning us to wear sunscreen, and I ignored it. The Class of 2002 received no such warning, perhaps they already know this. (I am not impressed with their knowledge though, as I got to watch my brother, in full regalia, walk straight into a door. Here's to the Class of 2002: Beware of screen doors.) But, as I piddle my way around the fact that I have to write this chapter… Oh, and my apologies to the real residents of the house in this chapter. I'm sure you are really nice people, even if you did cut down every living thing on the property. Sorry to have a serial killer take over your residence. Tralala and off we go…
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It was chance. It was luck. It was a twist of Fate that had brought him to the small bookstore that morning. And it was the moment he had been waiting for. He looked into the rearview mirror as he drove, smiling to himself as he rode along at speed on the interstate. What a wonderful day it was, and it was sure to become an even more wonderful night. As he pulled to the off-ramp onto Fillmore and came to a stop at the lights, he cautioned a glance into the back seat, which was not visible to the outside due to the heavily tinted windows. A dark haired man lay bound and unconscious there, covered by a blanket just in case anyone did look in. Really, he looked like he was doing nothing more than napping. All the restraints were hidden underneath the blanket, and there was no need for a gag at the moment, since he was unconscious. The light changed and he rolled through the intersection, heading east. Soon, everything would come to a head.
*****
Lindsey shivered as she and Clarice walked down the coolly tiled hallway that led to the morgue. The air temperature was a bit lower down here, but it wasn't the only thing that was making the goosebumps stand out on Lindsey's arms within the sleeves of her suit jacket. Clarice looked completely unfazed by coming down here, but then she had had the benefit of being a Forensic Fellow and Lindsey had not. Lindsey had avoided autopsies, and morgues, and pathologists as much as she could. Death was not a subject she liked to dwell on, especially after she had come so close to losing her own life. Clarice pushed open the first set of doors into the airlock, holding it open for Lin as she followed. The morgue was in the same color tiles as the hallway had been, a chilling continuity. A lone woman sat at a desk, pecking away at a computer keyboard. Clarice smiled at her as she stepped forward.
"We're looking for Peter Adamowski, do you know where he is?" Clarice was drawing her badge as she spoke, keeping eye contact with the woman. The woman laughed as she took her hands from the computer keyboard.
"Aren't we all?" she replied, and elaborated when she received a confused look from Clarice. "Actually, Pete didn't show for his shift today. No calls, no messages, nothing. No one's heard a whit from him."
Lindsey's eyes were roving all over the room as Clarice listened to the woman. There was a single wall that had a few framed items hanging on it. Lindsey headed in that direction, staring intently at them. Beautifully done pictures, one in charcoal, another in what looked to be crayon and magic marker. She leaned close to the glass, looking at them, taken in by the detail. A signature in the lower right corner of the pictures caught her eye and she drew in a sharp breath. Clarice was turning to look at her as she turned back to them.
"Where did these come from?"
The woman stood and came over to Lindsey, looking at the framed items. "They're Pete's. He's really into that 'Hannibal the Cannibal' guy."
Lindsey and Clarice shared a look behind the woman's back, the same thought running through both minds.
"Do you have Pete's address?" Clarice demanded of the woman, who was now staring widely as Lindsey trotted towards the doors leading back to the hallway. She nodded slowly and led Clarice to the desk, where she dug through a door and produced a thin and worn address book. Clarice watched impatiently as the information she had requested was scribbled on a notepad. She was gone before the woman could ask or protest. Everything had just cracked wide open.
*****
1202 Madison Avenue looks even worse in the daylight than it does in the light of the moon. The dryness of the grass is even more evident under the afternoon sun and the absence of any vegetation on the lot. Stark, forlorn, blocked to all outside influences by the heavy curtains. Lindsey followed Clarice up the front walk, to the porch that rested in the shade. There was no doorbell, but there was a brass knocker on the door behind the screen door. Clarice pulled the screen door open, setting a small number of moths free, and reached for the knocker. She had an eerie flash of déjà vu, seeing herself at the doorstep of Jame Gumb's house once again. Lindsey shifted, unbuttoning her jacket and glancing around the dry yard.
Faintly, footsteps could be heard within the house. The door was without a peephole, so the only way to see who was on the porch, besides pushing the curtains in the front windows aside, was to open the door. Lindsey's head whipped back to the door as it opened slowly. A tall man stuck his head out, looking at Clarice and Lindsey.
"Can I help you, ladies?" he asked, his voice soft and mellow.
"We're looking for Peter Adamowski. Special Agent's Clarice Starling and Lindsey Singleton, FBI." Clarice showed her badge, and Lindsey did the same, the thought of recognition buzzed in her head as she tried to place where she had seen the man before.
"That's me. Can I help you with something?"
May we come inside, Mr. Adamowski? We'd like to ask you a few questions, about the autopsies on the murder victims." Clarice could see him starting to shake his head and withdraw into the house. She held her breath, praying that it wouldn't come down to a chase.
"Everything's in the reports, Special Agent Starling. There's nothing more I can tell you. If you'll excuse me I have things to tend to."
Clarice still held the screen door open and stuck a foot in the crack of the door, preventing him from shutting it and earning herself a glare. "It will only take a moment, Mr. Adamowski."
Lindsey counted the number of heartbeats between the end of Clarice's question and the answer from Pete Adamowski. She made it to ten, and was surprised when the door opened fully and he stepped aside, ushering them inside.
"Come on in then, but only for a moment."
The interior of the house was cool and dark. The noise of a radio in the kitchen set to the local NPR affiliate carried into the living room. Old wood paneling from when the house was built lined the east wall of the living room, and the north wall was occupied by a beige sofa. He waved the two agent to it and took a seat opposite in an old rattan chair.
"What would you like to know?" he asked, glancing down at his watch, and back to Clarice. He was avoiding Lindsey's gaze and focusing on the older agent.
"We were wondering why you didn't show up for your shift today. Your coworker seemed concerned when we came down to the hospital."
His eyes narrowed and he took in a breath. "Do you want to know about the autopsies or did the hospital send you down here to find me? Last time I checked, not showing up for work wasn't a federal offense."
"No, sir, it isn't. I was just curious." Lindsey looked at Clarice, who seemed to be fairly calm. As Clarice opened her mouth to speak again Lindsey cleared her throat.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Adamowski, but it seems my coffee from this morning is catching up to me, would you mind if I used your bathroom." she managed to look appropriately embarrassed by having to ask to use his facilities, but he finally looked over at her. He nodded, an odd smile cutting across his face.
"Sure, Special Agent Singleton. First door on the right, down that hallway."
Lindsey rose and nodded her thanks, heading out of the living room and sparing a glance into the kitchen. Nothing unusual, except for the fact that it still sported an avocado green stove and refrigerator. She went down the short hallway, and ducked into the bathroom. A quick examination done very quietly yielded nothing. She found she actually did have to go and completed her business, and washed her hands in the sink. A small locket on the edge of the sink caught her attention and she reached for it with wet fingers. It was engraved with a lacy 'L' and she opened it, a horrible sense of knowing seeping into her brain. A small picture of herself smiled back out at her, although she was eighteen and wearing a graduation cap and gown. The other side held a picture of another smiling graduate, in the same colors, a younger version of Pete Adamowski. Lindsey snapped the locket shut and dried her hands, dropping it into her pocket. She heard a faint thud come through the door to the bathroom but was too preoccupied to react immediately.
She opened the door and stepped back into the hallway, and casting a glance to the living room, turned the opposite way and reached for the doorknob of the neighboring door. It swung open on oiled hinges revealing a disturbing sight to her. The walls were lined with pictures, so many pictures. Everything from black and white to film slides. Her eyes raked over them and she caught sight of her own pictures staring back at her form one wall. A sharp intake of breath accompanied the thought to call for Clarice. As her mouth opened to speak a loud crash and a screech caused her to whip around. Her eyes widened as she saw Pete quickly bearing down on her, fist lashing out towards her head.
"You're not supposed to see that!" he bellowed as he connected solidly with Lindsey's temple. Her movement to go with the force of the blow did little to lessen the impact and she crumpled to her knees. Satisfied, Pete took off back through the house, running out the front door and down the walk. He easily vaulted the three foot high chain link fence and jumped into the drivers seat of his Chevy Caprice. The old car started with a roar and he floored it, spinning the tires as he pulled into the street. He had almost made it to the end of Madison before he was distracted once again.
"What do you think you're doing?" a quiet voice issued from the seat behind him and he slammed on the brakes as he heard it. Fortunately he was at the stop sign and had to wait for traffic before he could go. It didn't mean that he had to answer the question though. A quick turn in his seat and a sharp blow to his captives temple resolved the matter. He floored the Caprice once again and flew through the intersection.
Back at the house Lindsey was pulling herself up from her undignified heap on the floor and rubbing at her temple. Clarice came around the corner and Lindsey moved swiftly down the hall, tugging her car keys out of her pocket.
"I heard his car take off while I was trying to get out of the corner." Clarice explained, touching her own forehead. A glance into the far corner of the living room gave evidence of a smashed end table. "What'd you find back there?"
"This," Lindsey tossed the locket to Clarice as she trotted out the front door. With luck, and a little bit of speed, they should be able o catch up to him before he got too far ahead of them. "And a roomful of pictures. Lovely, but according to him I wasn't supposed to see that." Lindsey threw the gate in the chain link fence open and headed to the Vic. The Ford started up immediately as Clarice slid into the passenger seat, automatically buckling her seat belt.
"Can you drive?" she asked, noting that Lindsey had a growing knot on her forehead.
"Sure. I've driven in worse shape than this." she shot a quick grin at Clarice before slamming the Crown Vic into gear and flying down the street. Barely heading the stop sign she pulled a wide turn, sighting the burgundy Caprice a few blocks ahead, headed towards downtown. "Hang on boys and girls, you're in for one hell of a ride." she muttered as she floored the Crown Vic and blew through a red light.
*****