She had opened her eyes in those first moments of consciousness and couldn't quite understand why it was still black. Eyelashes batted, as she blinked furiously. Was she blind? Had the blow to her head been so severe that it had robbed her of her sight?

There was a moment of recall, what had happened to her that led to this point. She knew this was going to happen, her mother told her it was going to happen eventually if she went west instead of north. She had begged her daughter to go up to Nashville with her aunt and uncle. Her reply was that both towns were just as skivvy. Sure Nashville was just as superficial as Los Angeles, but at least there was support in Nashville. But she had dreamed so big, when she went to that "Florence and the Machines" concert. After that show she couldn't even dream of doing country. That night had been magic to the young woman, just pure magic, to hear them play, to feel the pulse of the crowd … that was what she wanted for herself one day. She thought if she could just touch that kind of atmosphere in one of her shows, that she would know that she would've made it. But to get there, Nashville wasn't on the road map. In hindsight maybe it should've been or else she wouldn't be in this situation.

That situation she was in being sorted out for more clarity. Vanessa wasn't in fact blind, but instead was in a very dark place. Where ever she was it was pitch black and stuffy. A condensed heat in the confined space brought on a strong sweat that soaked her under arms and face. There was a distinct pine smell that filled her nostrils and stained her hands. She attributed that to the hard wooden surface she was laying on. Her breathing became hollow and muffled in close quarter surroundings.

Gulping thin air she rose to sit up and immediately struck her forehead against something hard. She fell back down with a yelp of pain. She pressed her hands to her forehead where an angry read welt began to form, which seemed small compared to the brewing storm of dull pain forming in her head. It was only after a moment that she felt a hard wooden surface pressed against her raised elbows. She knocked them against the pine once, twice, three times and then ….

"Ohmygod, ohmygod … OH PLEASE NO!"

She stretched her legs out and felt the soles of her bare feet slap against freshly milled pine wood. She threw her hands up and began pounding on the enclosed sealing. Her breath becoming ragged and panicked as hot tears began streaming down her face. She knew it even before she could process it.

Someone had sealed her in a pine coffin.

Detective Stories: Case #2

A Study in Chrome

"HELP!"

"SOMEONE!"

She sobbed as she pounded with her fists and knees against the newly cut pine. "Oh god, oh god, oh god!" She cried while struggling against her tight confines. The first thought that came to mind was her poor mamma and how she would react to learn that her daughter was killed. Who would she talk too every Sunday on the phone? Who would she crochet mittens and caps for in the winter? Who would take care of her when her arthritis kicked up? Who was going to love her?

"PLEASE SOMEONE!" She begged.

Her voice became hoarse as her vocal cords gave way under panicked pressure and thin air. Soon strength failed too, leaving her with splintered palms and bruised knees. After dread gave way to helpless grief all she could do was cry. The world began to spin everything was becoming hotter. As the hours passed she began to hum to herself through quiet sobs, trying to escape the wooden box she was trapped in. She wanted, needed to escape somewhere clean and pure. Somewhere like the church she and her mamma had gone too all her life. She could see the nice white boards it was built with and the always reliable creaky floors. It would be a cool Sunday morning, with a gently chilly breeze, such a relief to feel after a rough southern summer. She remembered all her fellow southern bells with their big hats and the jovial contentment on their preacher's face as he spoke of Jesus's love. It was all the comfort in the old sermon could muster inside as she hummed the hymnal feeling the heat become unbearable.

Then there was a crash close by. Her eyes which had been squinched close, flew open and she was back in her black pitched hell. She listened closely as the sound of heavy feet thumped on wooden boards. They were purposeful and coordinated footsteps, not a wasted movement. It was like the clop of a thoroughbred's hooves.

Her first instinct was to call out. But as she opened her mouth, she gave it a second pass. Her mind flashed to the last thing she remembered before getting here. She was at open mike night at McFadden's, grooving with the house band. It was a good night and people were actually shouting out song names for her to sing, for once. It was a nice change from the usual request of her taking off her top. That's where she saw him for the first time. He was a tall, staunch man, as stiff as his all black suit. His face had been shadowed but for his bald head as emotionless eyes watched her. He didn't drink, he didn't talk to anyone, and he didn't even slouch. He just watched her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She probably should've remembered him, had it not been for a lot of tequila and such a fun night. If she had remembered, she might have never used the back entrance at three in the morning and came face to face with him, armed with a video camera and a blackjack.

If she drew attention to herself he might find her. He might change his mind and find a more gruesome fate than suffocation. For a moment her mind flashed to dark places and a cold fear gripped her as she imagined her naked body eviscerated in a bloody life like recreation of a Picasso painting. But then she took stock of where she was and what would happen if she didn't say anything. Was this fate any better or worse than being carved like a Thanksgiving turkey?

Her voice was weak at first. "Hell …" She made a frightened whimper and gave a shallow breath. "HELLO?!" She yelled, pounding on the pine cover of her coffin. The footfalls stopped and everything was quiet. "Please!" her throat hurt as her voice gave way. She closed her eyes when the direct footfalls strode toward her. With her ear to the ground she couldn't help but feel like she was tied to railroad tracks with the train just around the bend.

Then all at once the lid of the pine box crunched and went flying off like it was a loose cover of a frosting box. The intense heat was blown away in a second and was replaced by the sweet numb of deeply cold air that came rushing through her lungs. The cold caressing of her skin was like the best comforting kisses that a lover could never achieve in her moment of relief.

She opened her eyes and saw a silhouette standing over her. It wasn't the bald headed man in a suit that the reaper would be jealous of. It was a girl. She had a gracefully svelte body, straight as board, and long satin curls that cascaded down as she leaned over Vanessa.

"You're not dead?"

"I don't know …" the young woman answered in haze of confusion and fear for her life in a moment of vulnerability.

The girl tilted her head innocently. "You're talking to me." She supplied helpfully. "Normally, dead people do not talk." She spoke to the girl as if she was consulting the possibility that she was in fact alive. She sounded young, with a straight forward voice that was wielded with little expression or inflection to any situation much less the one Vanessa was in now.

"So I'm alive?"

The words rang through her head. It wasn't just a statement; it was a feeling, a spiritual awakening. Yes, Vanessa was alive. She was still breathing, still intact. She could go home, back to her church, back to that damned southern heat, and most importantly back to her mamma.

The girl nodded assuredly. "Yes … a safe assumption though puzzling." She paced away. In her wake she left the young budding singer to find her own way out of her pine coffin. Every inch of her body was soaked in sweat, her dyed blond locks sticking to the back of her neck and plaid western shirt, tied off at her chest. The relief she felt when the box was opened was immediately turned into torture as the cold air began to burn her lungs, her wet clothes and exposed belly and long legs making the situation direr.

Shivering, she found herself in a two room home. The cabin was made of stone and old wood that was covered in dust. There was no furniture or sign of life around her. She shuffled toward a broken window and surveyed in confusion the dense tangle of tall trees and underbrush that seemed to swallow the abandoned home. Her rescuer appeared in the doorway of the single bedroom. In the glimmer of a stray beam of moonlight that shined through the kicked in front door, she saw her.

Vanessa's heart sank for a moment. Her savior was not a police officer, or forest ranger. The brave soul who had saved her life wasn't even old enough to buy beer. The teenage girl looked like she would fit in more with a high school cheer squad with her beautiful face and slim body type, than to actually take on a psychopath.

"Where is he?" She asked forcefully.

"Who?" She shivered in astonishment that this girl several years her junior was here alone.

The girl tightened her cheek. "The man who kidnapped you." She clarified. "He's not here … He's supposed to be here." There was a clinical pensiveness to her query.

The girl shrugged. "I … I don't know. I was outside of McFadden's and then this guy hit me over the head and I woke up in that coffin." She explained. "I … I don't … maybe he left." She offered to her junior.

The girl frowned. "Unlikely" She slapped her down with thoughtful suspicion.

Suddenly the dark living room was lit with bright neon that was blinding to Vanessa. She raised a protective hand to shield eyes that had spent so long in the dark. In fear she squinted to the source of the bright light. Outside, near a decrepit front porch adorn with a creaky rocking chair were twin headlights. If the young woman wasn't scared enough she heard the building of an ignition. Her heart nearly stopped when the unmuffled engine of the car came alive, roaring with deafening noise.

"OH GOD, it's him … he's going to kill us!" She squealed over the engine. To make matters worse, the car began revving its engine, inching closer to the ramshackled cabin like a rabid dog pulling on its chain. The combination of lights and noise rattled Vanessa to the core. She had been trapped in dark silence only to be exposed to such an extreme of the opposite. Together in such seamless order almost shut her down completely. She turned to the teenage girl for a shared sense of fear.

She was left wanting.

Her companion frowned in light amusement and interest at what their antagonist was doing. "He's attempting to intimidate us, through noise and sound. Bait us into making a rash decision." She spoke over the engine in a tone as if she was explaining the situation to an instructor at an academy.

When the honking started the young southern belle could no longer stand it. "Make it stop!" She cried. From the idea of being buried alive, to being gutted, she cupped her ears with her hands and let the terror well inside her till she was saturated in helplessness. However, her junior marched toward Vanessa, never taking unblinking eyes off the headlights.

Slim fingers wrapped around the girl's arm with no comfort or empathy for her flayed emotional condition. "Please remain calm." She requested.

The girl's grip was soft and smooth but unrelentingly strong as she led her away from the window. Past the dusty rustic kitchen was a backdoor painted white and nearly off its hinges with rust eating away at the oil rubbed copper. All the teen had to do was throw an arm out and the door tore away as if she had put a boot through it with all her might.

"How?" She stammered in surprise at the show of strength.

"Follow me."

Together the two youth's began sprinting through the cold shadowy woods. Looking behind her, Vanessa saw the car backing away from the cabin. He saw their silhouettes cast larger than life against the branches of the tall California pines as they slipped into the dark wilderness away from the searching lights.

A part of the singer was grateful to back in the dark. The dark was safe; it helped her hide from those who wanted to hurt her. The other part was wishing that the psycho hadn't taken her boots and waist jacket. She was freezing in the dark forest, the mine field of fallen branches and barbed plants tore apart her soles and scratched her exposed thighs.

"Do you know where you're going?" She shivered.

Her rescuer was completely the opposite of the singer's situation both in terms of clothing and emotionally. There was an unfazed look of blank determination as she led the way through the tangle of low hanging trees. She was clad in surplus combat boots that thumped surely over underbrush. Her graceful frame was clothed in brown cargo pants, an army green tank top that was covered by a purple leather motorcycle waist jacket.

"Yes, I know where I am going." She replied surly. "On the other side of this section of forest is the main road, from there we have access to a car." She stepped over stump. It would've been nice to have been warned about it before Vanessa crushed her toe.

She hissed in annoyance as she caught up with the teenage girl. "How did you know where to find me?" she whispered.

"You're kidnaper's last three victims were found with wood splinters in their fingers. We analyzed the wood and narrowed the pines to Big Bear. There was only one wood mill this close to these types of trees. We took a guess that you might be at the former wood mill owner's old cabin." She explained.

"You found me on a guess?"

"It was educated."

"Oh, well, that's comforting."

Her companion blinked emotionlessly at her response and continued forward.

Ahead of them was a dip in the scenery and from afar the singer could see the road. The teen quickened her pace till they reached the crest of the small hill. Together they hiked down the steep drop off onto the dirt road below. But as they got there bright neon lights outlined their frames. The menacing sight of an old muscle car barreling toward them was only matched by its engine's frightening roar, like a charging rhino.

"Get back." The teen ordered the southern belle in monotone.

"Are you crazy?! Get off the road!" Vanessa screamed.

When it became clear that the older youth wouldn't listen, the girl turned and gave the singer a shove. The force was like an electrical shock. She went airborne, landing at the foot of the wooded hill. The youth watched in horror as the car speed forward without restraint at the teen. Yet the girl didn't flinch, eyes intense and deadly as she watched it come toward her. In response to the loud obnoxious honking was the curious tilt of a head.

PRKFFF!

A crack of a booming rifle echoed loudly through the dark forest. There was a sound of bending metal when a large caliber bullet pierced the hood of the muscle car. Like blood from a clipped artery, black oil began to spurt onto the windshield. Almost immediately the car began to swerve, banking left, then, right on the narrow road, coming like a freight train toward the teen. However the girl continued to stand her ground, dark eyes flicking back and forth as if estimating where the old car would end up. She parted her feet to get a powerful base behind her. Just as the car swerved out of the way, she reached back and smashed a closed fist into the side of the hood.

Vanessa's mouth hung open as the girl went spinning to the ground and the now dented car was redirected up the hillside flanking the country road where it wrapped around a thick tree. The cold air was suddenly filled with smoke as the destroyed car gave a death cough before it went silent. Plums of black clouds spewed from the crushed front end of the vehicle.

The singer slowly staggered to her sore and cut feet as she took in the scene. It seemed like just minutes ago she was singing at a bar and now she was in the middle of nowhere having been chased by a crazed killer and saved by a suicidal head cheerleader. Cautiously, she made her way toward the girl who was face down on the dirt floor. Mournfully, she gently slipped to her knees and turned the young beauty to cradle her. She nearly screamed when she saw her rescuer with her eyes wide open and confused.

"What are you doing?"

"I … I thought you were dead." She said in shock.

The teenager turned her head in puzzlement. "You seem to have trouble with the definition and state of one who is deceased." She replied almost insultingly.

There was a moment of outrage that younger girl's comment. "Well … I mean." She fumbled a moment in shock. "You punched a car!" She nearly shouted.

"I work out."

Suddenly, a black gloved hand reached out and grabbed the dyed blond's hair by the dark roots on her scalp. She screamed as she was yanked painfully away from the girl she was cradling. Her fear was only intensified when she gandered over her shoulder.

He looked like the same man who attacked her outside the bar. He was tall and staunch. The straight frame looked powerful in his shadowed appearance. Though his crisply pressed black suit was now caked with soil and torn down the seam of his right sleeve. In the sleeves tear showcased a pale arm gashed by a fallen tree branch. But most frightening of all was the mask he wore over his face. Made of chrome it was shaped like a skull, a very familiar echo of a metal endoskeleton face. Dimmed eyes through the viewing slits looked emotionless and terrible as he stared back at his victim.

Quickly the Teenage girl found her feet as if nothing ever happened. Her straight, centered, posture carried her in stride toward the backing away killer with his hostage. When she got within striking distance, the masked killer drew a large jagged bowie knife. Its hand guard was a pair of spiked brass knuckles. Vanessa's rescuer halted her advance as the killer placed the knife to the singer's throat drawing a superficial cut across her milk white skin. The singer cried out in pain as a bead of blood dribbled from the razor edge mixing with the droplets of sweat. Intense golden flecked eyes stared down the killer as he continued to back away after the wordless warning.

When the chrome masked man was safe enough away, he silently removed the knife from the southern belle's neck. He raised it up to his head as if about to make a quiet proclamation. Whatever it was they'd never know.

PRKFFF!

Another rifle shot echoed through the dense cropping of trees like a rolling clap of thunder. There was a grunt of human emotion from the faceless robotic killer in the shockwave of pain that came from the shattering of the bowie knife's blade. The impact of the high caliber bullet broke apart the knife like a smashed block of ice. The force of the impacted knocked the murder's arm out of its socket. Vanessa seized her moment for freedom and spun out of his grip just as the teen flew forward.

With her arm reached back, the teen hit the killer in the head like a truck. The sharp noise of metal on metal clinked as sparks flew on impact. The Killer was sent airborne before landing with a cloudy thump on the dirt floor.

"Cameron?!"

Vanessa's hand covered her neck wound, as she twisted to search of the disembodied voice that echoed through the empty woods behind her. But her companion did not answer till she walked over and inspected the killer herself. Placing a combat boot on the unmoving man's chest, she turned back.

"Clear!" She called calmly behind her.

From out of the undergrowth, across the road from the girls, a tall shadow hiked down to the road. He was tall and barrel chested. He looked to be just a tad bit older than Vanessa, though it might have been the designer scruff on his strong jaw that made her think that. One hand was placed in the pocket of a double breasted brown vintage leather coat, the other held onto the strap of a large sniper rifle slung over his shoulder. He was a handsome young man in the light with messily styled dark hair with a feted lock hanging limply on his forehead.

"You alright?" he asked gently.

Looking into his eyes there was an immediate reaction from Vanessa. There was a magnetic strength in him that came out through his emerald eyes that made her feel safe. She gave a stiff nod, he returned it, taking both big hands and rubbing her arms warmly.

"Who are you?" She asked.

"I'm John Connor and that's my partner Cameron. We're consultant detectives. James Ellison pulled us into the case after your roommate reported you missing." He explained. When it seemed that she was temporarily warmed he left her with to collect her thoughts.

When he reached her, his partner was busy studying their mark as she pinned him to the ground with a solitary boot. If he were conscious he might have felt as if a mountain had fallen on his chest. For the first time John got a look at the killer they had been hunting for three days. His suit was torn by the stitching and his cyborg associate had hit the serial killer so hard that his endoskeleton mask had bent to his face. It brought a satisfied smirk to John's.

"You were right." Cameron said studying the killer with fascination.

John made a humored noise. "Never get tired of hearing that." His smirk grew into a grin. Cameron turned to look at him. She leveled him with a blank, blinkless gaze which was silent Cameron for not amused. He chuckled and shook his head as she went back to their target.

"He knew we'd flee to the back exit and use the cynic route to the road." She confirmed the strategy that had been employed to collar their killer in the map studying and planning stages of their raid.

He sighed through a tilt of his head. "It's always good to be one step ahead." He hitched his uncle's former heavy sniper rifle on his shoulder.

Turning back, Cameron studied him. "I don't understand why he didn't kill her." She questioned. "He attacked us at the mill, knew we were coming." The cyborg protested. "Logic and strategy dictates that he should've killed her and fled the area." She seemed almost disturbed by it all.

"It's a pattern, Angel." John placed a hand on her lower back. "He just had to kill her like the others. It's a compulsion, a need, the basis of his psychosis." He explained.

"I don't understand … he became predictable." She frowned.

John watched her for a moment and felt his heart sink. There was a guilt that ate away at him at the end of these cases. How was he supposed to expose someone who so innocently strived to understand humans to better herself for the love of him to the sickness and horror of the worst humanity had to offer? John was forever afraid that one day it'll break her, and she'd give up on herself and him.

He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers to reassure anything that might be running inside her chip that he was still there. When they broke apart he placed a hand against her cold cheek, gently.

"I guess if some machines can grow to be as good as humans." They both looked down at their unconscious masked serial murderer.

"Some humans can become machines."

CASE CLOSED …

Next Time ...

After a string of brutal murders that rock the Tech-World by a cult of religious fanatics. Zeira Corp. CEO Catherine Weaver hires two former fugitives turned consulting detectives to find her kidnapped daughter Savannah who only has hours before she's murdered live on the internet.

John and Cameron are against the clock as they hunt the streets of Los Angeles for …

THE MAD JIHADI!