Chapter 4.2
November 15th 1996
Slowly, but surely, the pulsating feeling grew. Every beat rippling across her head. A shock wave emanating from the centre as Tiffany slowly rolled over and attempted, in vain, to open her eyes, the fluorescent tubing of the basement lights proving too much as she snapped her eyelids closed and groaned. The buzzing coming from the lighting had already begun to add to the chaos underway in her brain, the pounding, painful throb of her hangover bringing on a wave of nausea as she suddenly sat up and lunged for the edge of her mattress. Retching for a few seconds, but to no avail, Tiffany remained slumped, her upper body hanging over the corner of her bed as she exhaled deeply . Giving her legs a little shuffle beneath the worn and tattered sheets, she lifted her hands in instinct as the now empty bottle of tequila rolled from the edge of the bed and smashed across the bare concrete floor of Gorman's basement. The explosion of glass sent another thunderbolt slicing into the furthest reaches of Tiffany's brain as she winced in agony and waited for the pain to subside, if only slightly, before pulling her knees to her naked chest and swinging her bare legs over the mattress. Feeling the soles of her feet firmly against the dusty, cold concrete, she pressed her palms down on the bed and pushed herself slowly to a standing position, the cold enveloping her body as she took a deep breath, still unable to open her eyes without the blinding light burning deep into her skull. The trio of lights illuminated the large, run down room tremendously well, hanging from the beams of the ceiling and casting a white glow across all four walls, the thick, wooden beams barely managing to support the floor of the bar above. Raising a hand and shielding her eyes, Tiffany tried once again, managing to fare slightly better as she opened her eyes gradually and surveyed the freezing cold room. The television sat on the work surface running along the opposite wall of the basement, unresponsive as the screen sat still and dark, last nights press conference returning to Tiffany suddenly as she allowed her throbbing head to remember what it could. The Captain of Chicago Police Department stumbling through a car crash of a press conference. The assembled media whipped into a frenzy as the bombshell dropped, the second Sarah Pirce murdered, and in the same order they appeared in the phone book no less. One thing was for certain, Tiffany thought as she stretched, rocking back on the balls of her feet as her body allowed the cool air to investigate every pore, her breasts lifting slightly as she did so, throwing her arms into the air and letting a large yawn escape. By the sounds of things the police were stepping it up a gear. Obviously Tiffany had expected this. She'd have been crazy not to. But that didn't alter the fact that she now had one hell of an obstacle to work around. Stepping up patrols, increasing the number of officers on foot, reaching out to the remaining girls. Still, the element of surprise remained in Tiffany's hands. They had no witnesses, no description and no idea when or where the next 'episode' would take place. Relaxing from her stretch, and giving her head a gentle shake, Tiffany took a step backwards and let herself go, landing on the corner of her bed as she sat and gave her next move some serious thought. As she studied, she took in the room around her. The pile of garbage dumped in one corner, all odds and ends from the bar, had long since been accepted. Broken cigarette machines, bags of cement, boxes of duct tape, reams of discoloured paper and a couple lengths of rope were more or less part of the furniture as far as she was concerned, Selena not seeming to be in any rush to clear them away. There had been another length of rope but she had found a use for that the other night, her first victim being the unfortunate recipient. A small smirk gave way to a tiny fit of laughter as Tiffany stooped to the floor and lifted the newspaper laying by her feet, examining the front cover, for the hundredth time, and flipping through the pages to find the article reporting the death of the very first Sarah Pirce. It didn't go into quite as much detail as she would have liked, but that was a good thing in a way. It gave her something to reference. Some minor detail that had previously gone unreported, should she need any help convincing the police that she was indeed this 'Phone Book Killer' that the media had christened her. They had reported, for example, that the first Sarah Pirce had been shot multiple times. Twice in the upper body, and once more in the head. But they had neglected to mention the fact that she had already been dead by that point. A coroner's report would determine the cause of death to be acute asphyxiation, the result of her body being suspended from a tree in her own backyard. A shiver of excitement, an outbreak of goosebumps, all came across Tiffany as she closed her eyes and recollected the sequence of events. Two hours she had awaited Sarah's arrival, finding her address from the phone book and picking the perfect moment to strike. She'd arrived home, probably from work, and exited her vehicle without a care in the world, heading to the trunk of her car completely oblivious to Tiffany's presence as she had found herself attacked from behind, the swing of a hammer doing the job and rendering the unsuspecting woman unconscious before she hit the floor. There had been a lot of options for Tiffany at this point, but seeing the house empty and in darkness, she had made her decision a while ago, retrieving the length of rope from the trunk of the Plymouth and quickly wrapping it around Sarah's neck before dragging her to a kneeling position beneath the tree and looping the rope around the sturdiest looking branch. As she waited for Sarah to regain consciousness she'd sat and looked over her body. Nothing special. Older than Tiffany by far. She'd had her doubts right then that this was the correct woman, but the very thought that it could be had sent a spark of anger surging through her veins. The image of her precious Chucky pursuing this woman, maybe her leading him on, his hands touching her and god knows what else, had sent Tiffany over the edge as Sarah began to wake up, her confusion evident as she examined her hands, bound in duct tape, and began to panic. Unable to scream due to the ball of socks stuffed in her mouth, Tiffany had approached her, knife in one hand, gun in the other and simply smiled as she raised her hand and flicked the dark curls of hair from her face.
"I know you're probably desperate to know what's going on right now. Maybe even wanting to scream for help." She had whispered as Sarah tried to stand, a swift kick to the back of the knees bringing her crashing to the soil of her garden, Tiffany's smirk turning to a giggle, which in turn developed into a cackle of laughter as she continued. "But for now, let's try and keep this between me and you. Okay?"
Shaking her head, the cobwebs still evident, Sarah had then looked on in horror as Tiffany dropped her weapons and grabbed the end of the rope, the laughter stopping as a more solemn look appeared on her face, eyes never leaving Sarah as she started yanking violently, grunting as she began to hoist her victim into the air, the muffled screams from Sarah Pirce getting more stifled with every pull. She'd kicked, tried even harder to scream, but in the end it all proved futile as Tiffany stood and looked on, watching as her body began to fit uncontrollably, eyes glazing over as the spasms grew wilder, the oxygen cut off, her brain slowly starved before eventually shutting down completely and leaving Sarah's frail body swinging quietly in the cold, evening breeze.
'Just how Chucky would have done it.' Tiffany thought with a smile.
She had to admit that the look of terror, the electricity in the eyes of somebody that knew they were doomed, helpless in fact, had excited her. But she still felt somehow empty. Not how she expected. True there were more women out there, and it was possible that the woman now swinging limply from the tree before her wasn't the correct Sarah Pirce. But she expected more than this. Quite what she had expected to feel she wasn't sure. Liberation perhaps? A satisfaction, even if only slightly? Was she disappointed that it had all been over so quickly? No. All she could feel now, as the adrenaline began to subside was anxiety. An anger that began to bubble to the surface. A rage that had exploded before it could be controlled as Tiffany quickly swooped and picked up the gun, firing as she let out a monstrous scream, the body hanging by the rope absorbing the bullets with a kick as it began to swing back and forth, more violently with every shot. Although four shots met their target, the full round of six had been unloaded, Tiffany firing until the gun was empty, each extra pull of the trigger resulting in nothing more than a 'click' as her anger died down. Common sense kicking in and telling her the best thing to do was get out of there. Quickly. She had done, naturally, and just in the nick of time by the sounds of the news papers write up, the witnesses describing what they found moments after hearing several shots. The second Sarah Pirce had been a little more difficult to corner, hence the urgency and complete lack of any plan other than to shoot first, ask questions later. But again, the feeling remained. An exhilaration giving way to a lack of fulfilment and an emptiness she found hard to brush aside. Would it finally relent? Finally drain away once the seventh and final Sarah Pirce had been dealt with? Tiffany wasn't so sure. She hoped so. Nevertheless, she would find out in due course. She had set her plan in motion and wouldn't rest until she had carried it through to the end. Not just for her, but for Chucky too. For the both of them. After all, it was this bitch's fault that they now found themselves in this position. Chucky dead, Tiffany going crazy over whether or not she would ever see him again. The hardest thing this last eight years had been the anticipation. All this work, all this searching, all this heartache. What if it was nothing but a waste of time? She had to admit, right now as she sat on her bed in the basement of Gorman's, the idea of what she had set out to achieve sounded ludicrous. Like a childish dream, a fantasy. But everything she had heard. Everything she had seen. She had to carry on, because her day would come. Maybe not today, tomorrow or even the day after that, but it would come, she would see to it. And when it did they could pick uo where they left off. She still had the ring, the very same one she found the night Chucky died. All she needed was him. Feeling her hangover beginning to wear off, Tiffany gave her head a little shake and stood, the cold biting at her bare legs as she crossed the basement floor and flicked the switch on the ancient boiler in front of her, the pipes beginning to creak and groan as the flame inside grew tall and long, water beginning to pump around the vast network of pipes littering the building. Turning, newspaper in hand and striding back across the basement, Tiffany suddenly had an idea as she cast her eyes over the assembled pile of odds and ends sat in the corner of the room, the reams of paper sitting proudly on top as if calling to her as she lifted the newspaper with a smile and let her idea blossom with a smile.
Time to send the police a friendly greeting card.
One step ahead. That was the plan as the Chicago Police Department went about their daily business, the patrol car signaling and pulling into the side of the road as the apartment building shot up from the sidewalk like some gargantuan, concrete monolith. The streets were busy. Frantic in fact. Teeming with life as the residents of this great city went about their days with little to no worry. Couriers dashed in and out of traffic, the blare of horns from irate motorists going largely ignored, only a few gaining a reply in the extension of the occasional middle finger. Business men and women strode the sidewalks exuding confidence and charisma as they marched on oblivious, the generously sized cellular phones clamped to their ears with one hand, a steaming cup of coffee gripped in the other, barely paying attention as they barked orders and smooth talked clients. Window cleaners worked feverishly along the line of storefront windows. Buckets of water dragged along as they quickly applied their squeegee and moved on to the next customer, cigarette casually hanging from the lips as they hurriedly scribbled a receipt upon payment. Straightening up and shutting off the ignition, officer Harold Wan ran his fingers through a head of jet black hair and cast his eyes over the crowd. Constantly changing. A blur of faces. A sea of criminal activity no doubt lurking beneath the cheap perfume and false smiles. Intuition told him that any other day, he'd be walking this beat and picking up all kinds of calls. A car theft here. A mugging there. Maybe a call from an informant in the Chinese district. But today was different, no better reminder than the one that greeted him as the turned his attention across the street and found himself face to face with officer Patrick McCain, the words rolling from his tongue as he addressed officer Wan without allowing his eyes to leave his crossword.
"Tea set found on property." McCain mumbled, pen between his lips as the wrinkles gracing his face stretched with every word.
"What?" Wan replied, momentarily diverted from the heaving throng of people passing by the patrol car.
"That's what it says here." McCain said as he gestured to his crossword. "Tea set found on property. Six letters."
"How the hell do I know?" Wan snapped, visibly pissed at the lack of attention from his partner.
"Jesus." McCain lifted his head and surveyed the much younger officer. "Bad day already?"
"I just don't get what were doing here." Wan shook his head and gestured to the crowd. "How is this helping?"
"You know exactly what we're doing here Wan." McCain's eyes returned to his crossword, pen now tapping constantly upon his bottom lip. "Or was I at a different briefing to you?"
"You know what I mean." Wan retorted.
"This is where that third Pirce woman lives right?" McCain gestured towards the apartment block with his pen.
"Obviously." Wan said.
"Then we do what the captain said. We sit tight. We observe. Try and spot this guy."
"Never gonna happen." Wan shook his head once more.
"Meaning?" Officer McCain asked, dropping his crossword as he gave officer Wan his full attention.
"Let's assume that this guy, like the rest of the city, saw that press conference last night." Wan laughed. "You really think he'd be stupid enough to come down here?"
"You're right," McCain nodded. "A stupid person wouldn't do that."
"Exactly." Wan smiled in agreement. His good mood short lived as McCain interrupted.
"However, who are we to judge this guy to be stupid?" McCain continued. "Crazy, maybe. But not necessarily stupid."
"Bullshit!" Wan scoffed. "Nobody in their right mind would step foot within a hundred yards of this place now."
"Look," McCain cast his gaze upon the crowd outside. "You're probably right. Which is why Johnson and Lewis are doing the exact same as us down at the fourth Pirce woman's place. If this guy decides to trick us, maybe skip one, then we'll be waiting."
"I guess." Wan joined McCain in examining the public making their way past the entrance to the apartment block. The assortment of faces racing past. "But even if he does show up. How are we supposed to notice him? I mean he'd have to have 'serial killer' stamped across his forehead and be carrying a butcher knife and a damned mini-gun before he raised any suspicions."
"You'll know." McCain laughed. "You young guns don't seem to understand that half of being a cop is intuition. Look for somebody acting shifty. Long coat to conceal any weapons and what have you."
"And until then?" Wan asked, sinking back into his seat behind the wheel of the patrol car.
"We wait." McCain answered, reaching for his crossword and beginning to once more chew on the tip of his pen. "Because sooner or later this guy's gonna screw up."
"Let's hope it's sooner rather than later." Wan replied folding his arms across his chest and laying his head back into his head rest.
"Fingers crossed Wan." McCain mumbled. "Now make yourself useful and help me with this crossword."
There were drawbacks, it appeared, to your boss being in police custody. Not only was the bar unable to open during Selena's temporary incarceration, it also appeared nobody was to be paid either. Which brought about an entirely new problem for Tiffany. Today's activities would require some money, as did almost everything life has to offer. After sitting and carefully cutting up the two days old copy of the Chicago Times, arranging the letters in a way that enabled her to create an anonymous letter to the Captain of Chicago Police Department, Tiffany had set about getting dressed and preparing herself for the day ahead only to realise she had no money. No money, no credit card, nothing. A problem she had craftily managed to manoeuvre by dipping into the till behind the bar at Gorman's. Not something she was proud of, but entirely necessary considering what she had planned. Besides which, she would hopefully be long gone by the time Selena was released, meaning no immediate repercussions. Or so she hoped. Now as she stepped from the shadows of one of the many local convenience stores, she could feel a chill whip around her body. Her short, black dress, her naked legs and the tall stilettos heels seeming only to draw attention from a construction site next door as she removed the cellophane from a packet of cigarettes and nonchalantly cast it into the afternoon breeze, the wind whipping it instantly off and down the street as she removed a cigarette from the pack and placed it between her lips. Then, feeling her senses twitch, her subconscious picked up on something scrawled across the front page of today's edition of the Chicago Times, Tiffany craning her neck to investigate and finding a headline referring to Captain Senior's shambles of a media event the night before. Reaching into her bag, hanging from her shoulder, suspended by her bare thighs, Tiffany retrieved her lighter and struck the flint, inhaling as she carefully dipped the tip of her cigarette into the flickering flame and grabbed the newspaper from the rack. Releasing a cloud of nicotine infused smoke, she took in the headline. 'PHONE BOOK KILLER TERRORISES CITY' it read, the sub-heading promoting a complete lack of confidence in the police force as it determined them to be devoid of any clues as to the identity of the assailant. Opening the rag and flicking to the corresponding page Tiffany read on. The two murders already committed were examined in great depth. No stone left unturned as the journalist of the Chicago Times valiantly sought the big scoop. The story carrying the potential to make or break a career. The article glossed over all manner of subjects. Potential suspects, motives and future victims all included as Tiffany read on with a wry smile gathering across her lips. Last night she had fallen asleep, tequila in hand and an uneasy feeling creeping into her mind. What if she'd been lazy? What if somebody had seen her? Seen her car? What if the police knew more than they were letting on? What if, what if, what if… It had been enough to drive her mad, the seemingly infinite possibilities stemming from one small detail. She knew it was natural to feel that way. A paranoia invading every thought and casting doubt upon a well laid plan. She'd experienced it a handful of times with Chucky towards the end. As the victims began to pile up, as the Lakeshore Strangler became yet another boogeyman to plague the city and the police, the tension rose and Chucky's demeanor became more and more agitated. His nerves gradually became more frayed. Violent outburst more and more common. Not towards Tiffany, but anybody within reaching distance soon felt the wrath of Charles Lee Ray as the police circled like sharks, unaware just how close they were to catching him on a number of occasions. She'd tried to reassure him. Explained that the police had no evidence and how careful he had been. But it hadn't been enough. At the time she thought it foolish. Silly in fact. But last night as she sat nursing the half empty bottle of tequila, analysing whatever she could remember of the press conference surrounding the murders, she too had felt the flutter of nerves. The nagging feeling that refused to leave her no matter how much she tried to remain calm. She'd felt better this morning though, coming to the conclusion that alcohol had more hindered than helped in her attempts to carefully retrace her steps. After waking this morning and going over everything twice, thrice even in some cases, she had been more than satisfied that the police remained one step behind. After all, it was bound to set alarm bells ringing. Two women with the same name, in the same city, brutally murdered within days of one another? The whole point of her adopting this rapid fire plan was for this very reason. Strike quick. Be organised and finished before the police knew what the fuck was happening. No doubt they'd try to formulate a plan. Out-think her and maybe guess as to the location of her next target. If they succeeded then so be it. She'd cross that bridge as and when she came to it. Right now however, she felt a wave of relief as she continued to read on, finishing the article with a silent snigger as she closed the newspaper and placed it back on the rack, the eyes of the shopkeeper burning into the back of her head as Tiffany gave an embarrassed smile and stepped onto the quiet sidewalk. Feeling the wind softly dance through her hair, Tiffany felt reinvigorated. If anything, the article she had just read, couple with the police forces obvious stupidity, had given her an air of confidence as she looked up and down the street, a phone booth resting just fifty yards away as she turned and began to stride towards it, her heels clicking along the sidewalk as she felt the blinding sun on her back, unusual for this time of year, but more than welcome. Reaching the phone booth in no time at all and yanking the folding door to one side Tiffany stepped inside and grabbed the White Pages stowed beneath, opening the book and flicking through the pages at speed. It didn't take long, her jet black fingernail soon enough scraping down the familiar page and coming to a stop at the name 'S. Pirce'. The top two were done. Finished business as far as she was concerned. However, five remained and this is where the fun began. Would the police be counting on her heading straight to Sarah Pirce number three? Perhaps they anticipated her train of thought and had instead decided to lay in wait at the residence of Sarah Pirce number 4. Maybe, just maybe, they had gone all out and were planning on ambushing her at each and every address listed. This raised the stakes somewhat, she had to admit, and to be honest it gave her a little bit of a buzz. But she still had that element of surprise. The police would most definitely be on the lookout for a male for a start. So even if they were present, she was pretty confident of getting in and out without so much as a glance from Chicago P.D's finest. Returning the White Pages and leaving the phone booth, Tiffany folded the door closed behind her and stopped dead in her tracks. An idea sparking into life as she spotted the florists across the street. Flowers gracing the window, buckets full of the things scattered one on top of the other, stacked high as though jostling for position. Hand painted signs stood on the sidewalk, orders made to whatever wishes the customer had, ribbon and decorations of all sizes and colours. Feeling her mischievous side begin to clamber to the surface, Tiffany grinned.
'Maybe it's time to have some fun.' She thought as she checked both ways and started to cross the street.
Grabbing the oversized steering wheel of the Plymouth and pulling herself forward Tiffany peered out from behind her shades, the street sign finally appearing as a stationary delivery truck pulled away from the kerb. Signaling and guiding the huge car down the narrow road, Tiffany examined the buildings to her left. Tall concrete structures towered over the street below as the residents and business owners scurried about like ants. People walked dogs, jogged, drank coffees as they walked and chatted, all the while blissfully unaware of the evil scheme currently underway as Tiffany spotted the apartment building and continued past, travelling a little further down the street. When she reached what she determined to be a safe distance, she pulled the Plymouth to the kerb. The white wall tyres brushing the sidewalk as she applied the brakes and gently let the car roll to a halt. Grabbing the gear stick emerging from the steering column, she placed the car into park and shut off the engine. The rumbling of the magnificent machine ceasing immediately as Tiffany reached for her handbag now resting on the passenger seat. Peering inside, a hum escaping her lips as she searched, her eyes widened and a content smile smoothly appeared as she laid her eyes on her trusty knife/nail file. As reliable as ever and never far away, this thing had paid for itself multiple times over. Zipping her handbag closed and lifting her head, she looked in the rear view mirror and had to stifle a giggle as she looked at her new acquisition on the rear seat of the Plymouth. A brief call at the florists had wielded a bargain, the girl behind the counter able to suggest just the thing as Tiffany explained what she was after. She was sure the police would love it. In the long run that was. Removing the keys from the Plymouths ignition and opening the door, Tiffany stepped onto the sidewalk, stopping briefly to lean back in through the open door and grab her handbag and surprise package, the plain cardboard looking anything but exciting. She couldn't be leaving that behind now could she? Package held firmly beneath her arm, she slid the keys into the drivers' door and locked the car, taking another look around as people hurried to and fro. Sure enough, she had spotted a police car on her journey past the building, which was to be expected. All she had to do was keep her composure and all would be good. Truth be told, she found the police presence added a little zing to the occasion. A factor of danger that made her hairs stand on end as she began to walk, passing the patrol car and observing the two officers inside, the younger oriental looking officer monitoring the street, giving Tiffany a quick glance as she passed and flashed a smile, the older officer focused on something else. She wasn't sure what, but it didn't exactly look like official police business.
'Hard at work boys?' Tiffany thought to herself still smiling, turning her attention to the apartment block before her, blending in with the crowd as best she could. Calmly approaching the entrance and climbing the steps one at a time she stopped at the secure door, the long list of names each flanked by the corresponding button to 'buzz' the apartment, a supposedly secure way of screening any guests. It never worked out that way obviously as Tiffany found out, the door to the lobby of the apartment block swinging open as a tall well built man in a flat cap and high visibility jacket came racing through, noticing Tiffany and holding the door for her, the pair exchanging pleasantries as she stepped through the door and into the lobby, noticing the floor and apartment number of one Sarah Pirce. Apartment 305. The third floor was easily accessible by the elevator at the end of the corridor, although Tiffany chose to ignore it. The poorly spelled graffiti indicating all manner of sexual acts that had taken place in the tiny metal carriage. No, she had decided to take the stairs long before she had arrived, simply because she wished to get an idea of the buildings layout. Plan an escape route should things go wrong. The exit seemed easy enough. There seemed to be a push button that released the locking mechanism and allowed the door to swing free. However, the last thing Tiffany needed was to be disturbed either during or immediately after what she had planned, then have to rely on the urine soaked elevator at the end of the hall. The stairs were steep. Steeper than she thought they'd be as she grabbed the banister and pulled herself up flight after flight, her legs beginning to tire quickly as she felt her heels dig into the plush carpet. Soon enough she found herself on the third floor. The sign gracing the wall indicating apartments 301 – 313 to be to Tiffany's left as she turned and began her long walk down the narrow, crudely decorated corridor. The wallpaper had begun to peel. Years ago by the looks of things. Plaster crumbled from the walls, everywhere she looked there seemed to be signs of wear and tear. Neglect and abuse. Pausing, and taking another look down the empty corridor, Tiffany looked at the door now waiting in front of her, apartment number 305, the numbers barely held on with tape, the peephole resting smack bang in the middle of the zero as Tiffany took one final breath and curled her hand into a fist. One more look either way, the coast well and truly clear, Tiffany pulled her hand back and rapped gently on the door. Nothing. No voice, no footsteps, nothing. She gave it a few seconds and tried again. Louder this time, knocking with a little more force as the banging echoed down the hall. Then she heard it. She wasn't sure what exactly 'it' was, but she heard it. A mumble emerging from within. A muffled voice followed by a lung shattering cough as soft, shuffling footsteps approached the door, the gentle creak as the occupant uncovered her side of the peephole and looked through the door and into the darkness of the corridor.
"Who is it?" The voice strained, gravelly and coarse.
"I have a delivery for you ma'am?" Tiffany lied, holding the package up as she leaned towards the peephole and grinned.
"For me?" The voice seemed puzzled. "It can't be!"
"Sarah Pirce?" Tiffany asked, pretending to read a label. "305 North Lakeshore Drive?"
"That's me." The voice croaked. "But I didn't order no package."
"Maybe you have a secret admirer." Tiffany laughed as she flashed her widest grin.
"The hell I do." The voice wheezed and coughed, the sound of bolts and locks being opened as Tiffany stepped back and waited, the sight that greeted her knocking her for six. As the door swung inwards she found herself greeted by a woman no younger than sixty years old. Her face covered from ear to ear in deep, weathered wrinkles as she coughed again, removing the almost burned out cigarette from her dry, blistered lips and dropping it to the worn and filthy carpet. As she looked at the package, the square box held in Tiffany's hands, she seemed almost lost for words.
'Could this really be the woman Chucky had been so obsessed with?' Tiffany found herself thinking. Did she believe that? The state of this woman was nothing short of horrendous. Still, eight years was a long time, she told herself. Which meant there was still a chance this was her girl.
"Let me fetch it in for you." Tiffany giggled, snapping from her day dream and beginning to march into the apartment, Sarah Pirce having no time to stop her as she found herself brushed aside. Heading through the first door she came across, Tiffany found herself in the living room of the apartment, deceptively large and incredibly clean given the state of the occupant. Without saying another word, she set the box on the table and stepped to one side, Sarah appearing behind her and approaching the box with an unrivaled curiosity.
"What is it?" Sarah asked, turning her head and directing her question to the stranger now stood in her living room.
"You'll have to open it and find out." Tiffany laughed. "Whatever it is must be important."
"I guess." Sarah turned her attention back to the package, the plain cardboard box measuring roughly three cubic feet. "You know, you don't look like no delivery girl."
"I don't?" Tiffany seemed surprised, willing Sarah to open the box as she stumbled for a reply. "I'm just doing this as a favour for a friend. Her regular girl let her down."
"I see." Sarah answered, reaching out and grabbing the top of the box, raising the flaps on either side and then lifting the lid to reveal the contents, oblivious to the fact that Tiffany had silently stepped up behind her. Confused at first, Sarah reached in and removed the item to get a better look, the wreath in her hands a beautiful specimen no doubt as the sash draped across it hung loose, the words leaving Sarah lost for words.
-R.I.P – SARAH PIRCE-
"Is this some kind of joke..." Sarah began to ask, completely taken aback and powerless to resist as without warning she suddenly felt the cold steel of Tiffany's knife slice into the back of her head. A very short, searing pain at the very top of her neck as her eyeballs rolled backwards and her body fell limp, the wreath falling to the floor in one quick, fluid motion. Placing her free hand around Sarah's waist, Tiffany held her up, twisting and pushing even further with her other hand, her fingers wrapped around the handle of the knife and turning white as she grunted in determination. Feeling a crunch of bone and spotting Sarah's arms hanging loosely by her side, Tiffany removed the knife almost as quickly as it had entered, pulling her arm back once more before thrusting the knife into Sarah's back, the blood squirting across Tiffany's wrist as she plunged the blade into her flesh, withdrawing it quickly and repeating the process over and over. One by one the puncture wounds appeared, Sarah's body quickly resembling nothing other than a beaten mess. A bloody pulp as Tiffany savagely inflicted the final blow and released her. The body landed with a thud on the living room carpet, Sarah's lungs releasing one last sigh as the blood continued to flow, taking no time at all to saturate the carpet. Tiffany took a step backwards, feeling the thick, viscous liquid beginning to stain her shoes and feet. Still warm, the blood had a sticky texture to it, penetrating the tiny folds in the soles of her feet and embedding itself almost immediately. Lifting her head, Tiffany observed the fresh corpse now laying face down in the living room of apartment 305 and felt a pulsating sensation in her ears, her blood pressure going into overdrive as, as always, the adrenaline released itself, her heart racing loud and fast as she felt her ribcage literally swelling with every beat. That was it. So easy. Just like that. Another light extinguished In the name of revenge. The room silent, Tiffany allowed herself a moment to breathe, jumping as Sarah's body suddenly moved, a groan escaping as the muscles tightened, a standard reaction that Tiffany had never gotten used to.
"Shit!" Tiffany cursed, reaching into her bag for a cigarette, lighting it as quickly as she could, her hands trembling, and sucking the acrid smoke inwards. She figured she could give it a couple of minutes before the real work began. Then it was simply a case of dialing 911 from Sarah's phone and waiting for the police to investigate. Which they would. The predictability of Chicago's finest boys in blue on her side this time. In the end it only took a minute, Tiffany's cigarette burning from tip to filter as she inhaled lungful after lungful, not looking forward to the next bit of her plan one bit. Stepping forward Tiffany came to a stop and squatted besides Sarah Pirce's body, the puncture wounds still oozing as she examined the devastation. Then closing her eyes, she slowly pressed her palms into the surface of the now moist and sticky carpet, the blood coating the skin of her hands and glazing them a deep, dark red. Turning and looking at the wall behind her, the surface of the plaster barren of any pictures or light fittings, Tiffany stood and proceeded with her plan, raising her eyebrows and sighing to herself.
"Even murder has its ugly side."
Silence filled the patrol car, the only sound coming from the preoccupied officer McCain as he rattled his pen between his teeth, crossword almost complete save for a few troublesome clues. The volume of traffic passing by had remained constant, every car becoming more and more of a blur as the two officers tried to remain vigilant, the mundane task beginning to get the better of them as time ticked by. Suddenly, Wan broke the silence. McCain unflinching as he continued to work on his crossword.
"Estate." Wan said.
"Hmm?" McCain barely acknowledging him.
"Tea set found on property." Wan turned to his partner before allowing his attention to return to the perimeter of the apartment block. "It's 'Estate'. Tea set is an anagram of estate. Which some people use to describe property."
"A-ha!" McCain laughed as he lifted his pen and began to scribble frantically. "What about that? Ever think of doing this police thing as a job?"
"Funny…" Wan laughed. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
"Oh really?" McCain retorted with a smile, lifting the pen from the paper and examining the crossword to see how his new discovery altered things.
"Yeah, but I figure you left it a little late in life for that."
McCain was just about to bite, the humour helping to lighten the mood of an otherwise boring and drawn out afternoon, when the static from the patrol cars radio bursting through the air and piercing the ears as the voice called out, a crackle and a pop as the radio fizzed into life.
"Car 34 come in." The husky, mature tone of Control called out. "Repeat. Car 34 come in. Over."
Before McCain could react Wan had the mouthpiece in his hand, lifted from the console as he answered the call and observed the crowd passing by outside, the leggy brunette from earlier flashing another smile as she again strolled on by.
"Control this is car 34, over." Wan replied, releasing the switch on the mouth piece and allowing static to fill the air again, control responding immediately.
"Be advised, disturbance at your location. Please investigate." The response causing both officers to exchange a confused look.
"Roger that control, but are you sure?" Wan asked, puzzled, McCain dropping his crossword and placing his Chicago P.D hat on his head. "We're right outside and everything looks good."
"Understand that car 34. We have a dead call from a number registered to 305 North Lake shore Drive." Control replied sternly.
"Roger control." Wan said, McCain sat beside him and gesturing with his hands, his lips mouthing a question as Wan nodded and continued. "Do we have a name?"
"Affirmative car 34," Control replied. "Name on record is one Sarah Helen Pirce."
Without saying a word both men flew open their doors, the patrol car rocking as the doors were slammed shut. The crowd of people seemed to turn as one, curiosity getting the better of them as officers Wan and McCain began the arduous task before them, pushing and pulling their way through the wall of people and fighting towards the apartment block one step at a time. Eventually they reached the steps, leaping two at a time as they arrived at the entrance and examined the list of names, sure enough the name 'S. Pirce' displayed at apartment 305. Pressing the buzzer Wan waited, McCain arriving by his side as he finally caught up, bent double as he fought to catch his breath.
No answer.
Desperately, Wan pressed the buzzer again, holding the button in longer before relaxing it and intermittently repeating the process, all to no avail.
"Fuck!" Wan spat, stepping back and lifting his head to take in the towering structure before him, the third floor so near yet so far. Still catching his breath, McCain had an idea, approaching the panel of switches and running his finger down the list of names, pressing each and every button as he did so. Within seconds a melody of voices rang out, the greetings eerily similar as the occupants of the apartments responded, McCain yelling into the intercom as his face turned a deeper shade of red.
"Police!" He boomed. "Open the door!"
As confusion and pessimism reigned across the residents of North Lakeshore Drive officer Wan made a decision, withdrawing his side arm and approaching the door to the lobby of the apartment block, hollering at McCain to stand aside as he unloaded a shot, the glass door splintering upon impact but remaining solid as a crowd of people passing innocently by screamed and fled, others remaining to see what the drama was. Squeezing the trigger once more Wan took aim and fired another shot, the glass exploding on impact and spreading itself evenly between the exterior steps and the interior of the lobby. Before McCain could uncover his eyes Wan was off, tearing to the stairwell without a second thought. Spying the elevator, doors wide open, at the end o the hall McCain stepped inside and slowly began to jog, reaching the doors and practically dropping to his knees as he entered. Hitting the button for the third floor he watched as the doors scraped together, graffiti and expended cigarette butts surrounding him as he retreated to a sitting position, back against the elevator wall as he fought to catch his breath. He had wanted to keep up with Was, but the way that guy had sprinted off, leaping the stairs two and three at a time had meant that was no longer an option. All McCain could do was hope that Wan would show restraint and not enter apartment 305 without him. After all, if this was a legitimate emergency and their man was waiting inside, then who knew what he was capable of. Probably more than they had already seen. Pushing himself from the floor and climbing to his feet, McCain drew his side arm and waited as the elevator came to a stop, the doors sliding apart as the empty corridor stretched on into the distance. No Wan in sight McCain took his first trembling step from the elevator and examined the numbers on the doors as he gradually made his way along the weathered, yet surprisingly well lit corridor. Weary of what may lay up ahead, McCain lifted the radio attached to the breast of his jacket and spoke quietly.
"Wan." He hissed as he approached the door to apartment 305. "You there?"
A brief pause as McCain reached the door to the apartment, back against the wall as he lowered his sidearm now gripped tightly in both hands. Peering around the corner McCain found nothing out of the ordinary, the door wide open leading into the apartment and beyond, McCain jumping a mile as his heart skipped a beat as his radio crackled with static and Wan's voice quietly filtering over the airwaves. Low and almost robotic Wan seemed lost for words as his tone met with McCain's ears.
"McCain." He spoke gently. "Where are you?"
"Outside the apartment." McCain calmly responded.
"Get in here now." Wan instantly shot back.
"What is it?" McCain squeezed the transmit button of his radio and asked, taking another look around the choir frame and turning the corner, gun still drawn. "You got our guy?"
"Negative." Wan replied. "He's long gone."
"Then what is it?" McCain asked again, the tension building.
"Just get in here." Wan said.
Navigating the entrance to the apartment, McCain stopped at the first door he came across, the living room no less. Looking inside and doing a double take as he saw the stationary figure of officer Wan. McCain lowered his weapon and entered the living room with a sigh of relief, approaching Wan from behind and laying a hand on his shoulder, his partner unflinching as McCain followed his gaze and allowed his eyes to survey the scene before them. A feeling of nausea rapidly spreading to his stomach as he fought the urge to vomit and gasped in shock.
"Good god!"
Now, with the late afternoon sun beginning to set on the horizon, the darkness rolled in as a cluster of clouds gathered overhead and the rain began to fall. Only a few drops at first, but gradually increasing as Tiffany flicked the wipers of the Plymouth into action and turned on her headlights, the road in front of her stretching far into the distance as she sank back into the plush leather upholstery and allowed the radio to work it's magic. Checking her rear view mirror, Chicago long since disappearing as the car worked its way along the highway, she began to feel a few butterflies of excitement as she thought of the drama that would come with tomorrows shenanigans. She hadn't expected to be making this trip so soon, but her hand had been somewhat forced. The best option considering the recent police activity surrounding her little plan. Now, turning her attention back to the road, she allowed herself a smile as she acknowledged the sign to the right of the highway, passing quickly as the bright red Plymouth kicked up dust and sped on.
'ILLINOIS STATE MENTAL FACILITY - 50KM'
Time to meet the infamous Karen Barclay.