Page 29 of Grave Possession (Grave #2)
Chapter Twenty-two
Graves
“ I ’ve got a lead!” I say, panting into the mouthpiece of the phone. I’m out of breath from scrambling to get all my gear together, double and triple checking the bag for everything.
“What? Where? Lennox, what’s going on?” my uncle whisper-shouts. He must not be alone.
“There’s a cabin about forty minutes north-west of here, and I’m loading up to go check it out.”
“Wait a minute… How do you know all of this? Damn it, Nox. This is why you have to keep me in the loop.”
Shouldering the phone against my ear, I zip up the duffle bag. “Those hunting websites I told you about, remember?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I heard back from multiple people. Some sent pictures, and one slightly matched the cabin from that video I had sent to me.” Oh, fuck. I said too much .
“Video? WHAT VIDEO?!” he roars, uncaring if others hear our conversation anymore. Shit, he’s pissed. I don’t have time to relay everything to him right now.
I sigh. “The killer sent me a video yesterday. I’ve been too busy analyzing it to even think of anything else. I’m sorry, uncle. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“We are going to have words, young man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep your fucking radio on you since you’ll lose cell reception out there. I’ll be out to the mill shortly for my rounds.” Silence stretches between us until I almost debate hanging up. “If he’s there…” my uncle pauses.
“Yeah?”
“End this,” he says.
“No matter what?” I ask.
“No matter what,” he solidifies. I wonder if he would still say that if I told him my hunch about our fellow officer. I haven’t found any evidence against him, so my theory is still flimsy at best.
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and Nox…” my captain’s words turn from cold and stern to warm and loving.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Be safe.”
“Yes, sir. You too,” I reply, ending the call.
Click.
I snatch the bag off the table and pocket my phone.
Flying out the door to the ATV that’s parked around the back of the house.
I stuff the bag into the storage compartment on the back of the quad, and turn the key in the ignition.
As I slide the helmet over my head, the engine sputters and dies.
Pausing, I wonder if it was just a simple misfiring of the engine.
I turn the key again and nothing happens.
No, no, no… Pulling off the helmet, I clearly see the gas gauge needle is so far below the ‘E’ it’s almost pointing straight down.
No fucking way the gas was that low when I got back the other night.
I race over to the shed, the spare jerry cans I have sit in the damp grass alongside of it.
There’s only two… There should be four. I pull out my phone, dialling my uncle once again.
While waiting for him to answer, I shake the canisters, both are empty.
This is impossible. WE HAD A FUCKING SYSTEM!
He wouldn’t forget to fill the cans on purpose… Would he?
“Nox, is everything okay?” he asks, the concerned parent persona back at the forefront.
“Did you forget to fill the jerry cans?” I snap.
“No, I dropped off two full ones the other day, and took the two empty cans.”
“You took two empty ones, and left two full ones?” I confirm.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, Lennox. I’m sure. I’m not fucking senile yet, son.” Sometimes I beg to differ.
“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath.
“What is it?”
“There’s no gas.”
“No gas? What do you mean? You used all that fuel already? When do you sleep? ”
There’s no time for pointless questions. “How long until you start your patrol?” I ask, diverting the subject away from my lack of rest.
“I’m leaving soon.”
“I need you to bring me more gas. Something isn’t right here and I need to go look around.”
“I’m going to need you to stop being so bloody cryptic and spit it out.”
“I think the killer was here. The gas cans are empty, and fuel doesn’t just magically disappear.
” My psyche may be crumbling and fragile, especially with the hallucinations, but I know I haven’t been riding the four-wheeler in a fugue state.
I’m not waking up in weird places or experiencing memory loss.
“Shit. You better be armed, Graves,” he commands. The Captain persona slipping perfectly back into position.
“Yes, sir.”
“Vest too, I fucking mean it. I’ll be there in under an hour. Be. Fucking. Safe.”
“Yes, sir.”
Click.
After checking out the property, I find nothing amiss so I head into the forest. Starting behind the shed, I weave my way through the foliage. The unmistakable odour of gasoline invades my nostrils, and I try to follow the dizzying scent.
Deeper and deeper into the woods I venture, coming across a pile of clothes.
Scrutinizing the scene, there’s no tent, remnants of a campfire, impressions in the earth, or trash.
There aren’t any signs of camping whatsoever.
Absolutely no reason for a fresh pile of clothes to be plopped in the middle of a small clearing.
My suspicion mounts as I scan the area, but nothing else immediately jumps out at me.
Without any gloves on me, I grab a stick to pull the garments apart.
A black tank top with a large tear down the front and dark grey joggers sit in the damp grass.
Inspecting them, I know without a doubt they are Mallory’s.
The pants are covered with old blood, the once red colour now brown from oxidation, mixed with the dirt smudged across the cloth.
The front of the pants are completely saturated from thighs to knees.
That better not be her blood. While the back of the legs are dirty, there are only small transfer stains of blood.
Mallory, or someone else, most likely wiping their dirty hands on the cleaner area of fabric.
The overwhelming scent of fuel emits from the clothes.
So…this is what happened to the gas my uncle brought me.
The killer’s fucking taunting me, screwing with me on as many levels as possible; siphoning my quad tank, dumping my gas reserves all over Mallory’s clothes, and making any trace evidence practically useless now.
Does he know I’m onto him or does he just like having the upper hand?
I opt to leave the clothes where they are, they most likely won’t do anyone any good.
If I turn them in, it will just tie up resources better used somewhere else.
The DNA will be compromised and degraded after soaking in the fuel for at least a few hours, if not more.
I turn and start to make my way back to the house.
Three paces into the trek, the sound of paper rattling in the breeze catches my attention.
It’s off to my left and I couldn’t care less about it, but I’m not one to leave litter in the forest. However, the more I look at it, the more peculiar the scene becomes.
A branch pierces through the middle of it.
I doubt that would occur naturally, unless there was a windstorm… which there hasn’t been.
Making my way over to it has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. I look around, but there’s nothing amiss. Is someone there? Carefully, I pull the worn paper off the tree branch. The message scrawled across the page chills my bones, and shoots my heart straight into my fucking throat.
I didn’t even have to force her out of those clothes, she begged me to taste that sinfully sweet cunt.
Catch me if you can.
Crushing the note in my fist, jealousy crashes over me.
Rage like I’ve never felt before threatens to sweep me away and I fight to stay rational.
No way she would choose that slimy old fuck over me.
Unless I’m wrong…and her kidnapper isn’t my fellow officer.
What if it’s someone new? He isn’t following his usual pattern by engaging with me.
Could this be someone I previously arrested?
Someone trying to get back at me? Fuck, I don’t know anymore.
Did I do something to upset her? Am I losing her? Why would she leave me?
She wouldn’t. The blood on her clothes proves to me she’s still in danger, and I need to get my ass moving.
I need to find Mallory, today. And when I find her, I’ll fucking skin this piece of shit alive, no matter who it is.
Dragging his torture out at a glacial pace, I’ll subject him to everything he put my woman through and more.
I’ll make him regret the day he ever laid his fucking eyes on my Mallory.
Then, when I end his miserable existence, and put her nightmares in a grave alongside him, I’ll make Mallory my wife.