Gone After the Wind

Chapter 15: The Agent

FLORENCE SYKES woke up with a bolt of pain coming at the back of her head. It was excruciating and intolerable that opening her eyes had become a forceful thing to do. Her body felt weird, as well, as though some tough and thick tree branch was wrapped around her, cornering her in a tight place. Out of mere consciousness, she reached for her head, eager to know what had caused that irritating throbbing. Her attempt resulted in nothing, though; her wrist felt like it had been bolted into something hard.

Weirded out, she snapped her eyes open and slowly roamed it around. For the first seconds, she stayed awake, she couldn't make anything out of it other than the swaying light bulb suspended above her, flickering and too faint to light up her surroundings. Her vision was cloudy, and her eyeballs stung terrible, but she was wise enough to know she was lying atop a metal bed, and the room was far different from what she had back home.

She thought of being inside a hospital, but no ward could be this dark and inflated with coldness. As that dawned on her, she felt an overwhelming sense of fear pricking her nerves. She raised her head just enough to take a good look at herself. The moment she saw her body was exposed, and not one single cloth was covering it, her spine tingled, and her heart hammered against her chest. She was also bounded; both of wrist and ankle was pinned with a black leather strap connected under the edge of the metal bed, entirely disabling her from moving. Eyes widening, she writhed, the rough fabric of the strap grinding against her bare and cold skin.

To be naked inside an unknown room was already a horrifying fact to accept. But to have sudden alertness to the situation and realize the inevitable danger foreboding around her was a whole other thing to entertain.

As her mind slowly gets the idea of her captivity, memories before she ended up here are unwillingly displayed inside her head. Image by image, it sunk to her.

From the sight of the pick-up truck tailing behind her car, her attempt to escape, the perfectly orchestrated accident and that sinister smile. All came to her like a bomb.

She shivered, and the fear clutched her more. Her eyes roamed again, but this time, it was tinged with horror and accompanied by a scream that only reached her throat. It came out muffled as some cloth filled her mouth, pressing beyond her teeth. Wriggling around to break free, she caught a view of the table facing her way and saw some surgery tools that shone faintly, their sharpness glaring back at her.

Just as she let out yet another futile cry for help, the door opened, creaking slowly, and her head snapped towards that direction. A man's silhouette came creeping in, walking forward where the light couldn't touch his face. He went around the edges of the bed, his light footsteps tapping the concrete floor. That and Florence's heavy breathing were the sole noises vibrating in the room. But sooner or later, she knew her screams of agony would replace it. That is, if she won't find a way to escape.

As her survival urges started kicking in, her chest was rammed by the easiest emotion she could seize. Anger. Directed not only to the situation she allowed herself into but to that sick man preparing to do unimaginable things to her. Had she been smart enough to cast him away, she wouldn't be here, hopelessly praying for a miracle to come true. She prided her abilities too much that she overlooked and underestimated the craziness of one deliberate stalker and what he's capable of.

What is he after? Is it money? Revenge or for s****l gratification? Whatever it is, I'll do everything to give it so he can let me live!

"You should be grateful," the man said out of the blue, his voice sounding muffled slightly as though some object was covering his face. The tone and pitch weren't deep, Florence. Or hoarse, or high. It was average, the kind everyone would use in a casual conversation.

She tried to make out of his face, searching for something distinguishable. Any mark that could later benefit the pursuit of the police. But as if he was aware of that trick, he remained in the dark, standing behind the metal table, only revealing the lower part of the plastic apron he wore.

"I chose you to be part of this," he added, and Florence heard the metal table being rolled forward, its wheels squeaking, causing the supplies to clank together noisily. "You'd be honored soon, and they will recognize the importance of my work through you."

Florence screamed again, louder and more potent than the rest. It vibrated on the cloth, and she could feel her lips getting numbed. She thought of the life back home and instantly longed for it. She'd missed a lot. The university and the students she was handling, her independent domestic life, her neverending feud with her husband, and the spicy relationship she had with that kid. All of it will be left behind and never to be felt again.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and the wound pulsating inside her heart hurt more than the throbbing of her head.

The man stepped ahead, finally exposing himself to the light. Florence was right. Something was covering his face that's why his voice didn't come out as natural as it should. He was wearing a white and plain mask with three holes showing his eyes and lips. His frame wasn't broad, but the size of his torso was enough to depict how much strength his arms could demonstrate. If he were weak, he wouldn't have subdued the impact of the accident he made.

Wearing thick blue gloves, he reached for the table and picked up something that looked to be a small syringe. He went near the metal bed, drawing one arm to Florence's head in, which she immediately tried to avoid. She recoiled, pushing her back against the sheerness of the metal, and shrieked.

"Sshh..." The man touched her forehead, stroking bits of her hair like an affectionate parent. "This won't hurt a little, my darling. Just imagine this is your ultimate transformation. You'll come out in here more beautiful than ever."

On the very last energy she had, Florence resisted, wriggling around the bed on every chance she could seize. The man's arm landed on her shoulder, and she felt a prickle. Groaning, she stared at the man, wide-eyed and cursing him to death. Moments later, her nerves started to decrease their activity until she couldn't feel nor anchor a move anymore. Her eyes were the only part left that she could navigate.

"Good girl. Now stay still and let me work on you," he whispered, dropping the syringe on the table. He grabbed the wooden hatchet and raised his arm.

As it went down, the hatchet blade plunged into her chest, the blood squirting violently. And Florence could only watch it with tears flowing on the side of her eyes.

----

THE DRIVE between Redvine to the airport was rather long and exhausting, Cara almost called Ervin to take over the responsibility. Her mind was glued to the newest and the single clue she acquired from that household. If only she weren't enthralled at meeting this agent, she wouldn't have spent more than thirty minutes traveling and being alone.

She arrived at the airport ten minutes late from the allotted time. She walked inside the spacious waiting area, anxious and firmly clueless. She recalled Eric's description and scanned each face in the sea of people. She was losing hope when a woman in a dark blue jacket caught her attention. Sprawled on the chest side of the jacket was the acronym FBI, capitalized and painted in bright yellow. She was leaning against a huge pillar, tapping her phone swiftly and casually pushing her cart back and forth, using the tip of her shoe, as though boredom had been a hard thing to fight.

Cara wiped the sweat off her face and fixed her tangled hair. Still, in awe of meeting one field agent in the flesh, she took some moments to commemorate the chance she had luckily received. This kind of setup rarely happens in a state full of misogynistic bastards and narrow-minded police officers. To them, the FBI's involvement would be neither good nor beneficial. As long as they don't get called in, it won't matter if one case goes cold or the bereaved family won't earn the closure they need.

To witness such a system meet its end was the kind of pleasure that brought a solid motivation to Cara. And not the easiest one to get extinguished by doubt.

Cara took deep breaths before heading forward. Apparently sensing someone was aiming in her direction, the agent looked up just in time Cara stopped walking. She immediately flashed a warm smile, one particular gesture that Cara wasn't prepared to see.

"Agent Rose, I presume?" Cara extended her hand, the corners of her lips stretching into a small yet welcoming smile. "Cara Black, State detective. It's nice to meet you finally."

"You presumed right. Elian Rose, to be exact," Agent Elian Rose replied delightfully. She shoved the phone on the back of her pants, raising the other arm to shake Cara's hand. "Good to see you, too, detective."

Cara nodded appreciatively, and the introductory moment was cut-off. "I'm terribly sorry for being late. I was on the highway for hours, I didn't see the time. Hope I didn't bring any inconveniences."

"It's alright. I'm not in a hurry. Your place, your own rules."

Cara took a deep breath, hiding her amazement through exhaling. "Shall we go, then?"

Agent Rose nodded, straightening her back. Cara gestured the way, and the agent started pushing her cart consisting of only one duffel bag. Cara followed suit, staring at her back with admiration as her excitement flowed like a river. And for the first time since it all began, she allowed herself to smile genuinely.

A little over half an hour later, Cara and Agent Rose were half the distance between the airport and the station. Silence reigned over the past minutes they spent on the trip, and even Cara had little experience dealing with strangers, she didn't feel any awkwardness. She loved it even, for she was given an opportunity to examine the agent inconspicuously.

As she studied the agent, occupying the front seat and perusing the case files, there were major things that she couldn't let go of without considering. One of which was the age. Given her vast record of accomplishments, it seems right to put her between thirty to forty years old. But with skillful scanning of her physical appearance, it wouldn't appear so. Her skin looked smooth and flush for someone that was already pushing fifty and on the verge of retirement. Her facial features were on point to completely visualize an exceptional kind of beauty. Even at a distance and side angle, Cara could already tell how she had magnetized many eyes in her youth. Either intentionally or not.

Not only did it seem surreal to know she's already fifty-four-year-old, but it was also shocking at some point. Because who would've known a woman of her age would become the greatest agent ever lived?

"I can see that you have some underlying questions for me, Cara," Agent Rose suddenly said, eyes still glued on the papers.

Cara was taken aback she had deduced that without even tearing off her attention to the files. Was she that obvious?

Cara's mouth froze. Words were unable to visit her. The agent looked ahead, settling into a comfy spot on the seat, her shoulder relaxing.

"You've been glancing at me occasionally since we left the airport, and you barely say a word."

"Sorry." Cara's heart leaped for a second. "I know it was rude. I just... couldn't help it. This is my first time seeing one real agent straight out from the feds. Did I offend you or anything?"

"Nah, I'm used to it. Been receiving the same looks ever since I got this job. People are curious creatures, so it's normal." Agent Rose shifted in her seat. "You can ask me. Go on. I've been in that stage before, so I know the feeling. Bit of a pressure, am I right? Especially if the one that was assigned to be with you was an old fart. Just like me." She chuckled.

Cara swallowed hard, contemplating whether she should bite that probe. She didn't spill the wrong deduction, though.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just not used to seeing women overpowering men in terms of solving cases. Women in this state feared that. It's sad to admit, but I'm the only one who had the guts to enter homicide," Cara answered politely.

It was a full-time truth that, until now, still haunts the police force. The majority of the women graduating from the academy avoid CID like some sort of curse was engulfing it. Reasons behind the declination still baffled the higher-ups since no one had ever stepped forward to express the truth. But as Cara had heard from the stories, they were afraid to confront the nature of crimes being investigated in homicide. Many say it was too dark and unbearable. While some were just too lazy to keep up with the complications they must face.

That was why Cara's thoughts about that had been fixed. But today, it was all shattered into pieces.

"Hmm. If any of your colleagues were taking the opposite direction, why did you choose it? Why take the risk?"

Cara was dumbstruck by the nature of the questions and where it could head. Licking her lower lip, she looked outside the window as her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"It had been my dream since I was a kid."

"That's strange," Agent Rose remarked. "I rarely see a kid foreseeing her or his future catching criminals and shooting murderers. What was the cause, anyway?"

Cara debated whether she should answer truthfully or just lie like what she usually does whenever someone pried on her past. But Agent Rose is different. Her judgment might be a lot better than everyone else. She's a stranger, as well. An outcast in this state. So there's no at stake at telling tidbits of information about that.

"My mother was murdered bizarrely when I was a kid," she answered darkly. "The police couldn't find the man who did it or what really happened to her, so the case went cold immediately. For years, I tried to find the answer by myself. But I figured I won't be getting anywhere with just asking around, so I took matters into my own hands. Luckily I was fostered by some retired detective, which made the process a lot easier."

Agent Rose made no response. From the side of her eyes, Cara could see her stare, probably measuring the tension building in the air and how she would defuse it. Then, mouthing a sigh, she said, "I'm sorry to hear that."

Cara appreciated the small concern. A quick flashback displayed in her mind, but she waved it away. "I was the one who discovered the body. That's why the lack of encouragement in the force couldn't get in my way. I want to replace that memory with something that could serve as my closure."

"How about your father? Was he around that time?"

Cara's eyebrows furrowed. "No, he was nowhere to be found when that happened. Then days after my mother headed the news' top stories, my only sister vanished. No one knew what had happened to her. I tried looking into it as well, but just like my mother's case, it didn't become active for too long," Cara said, weirded out by the fact she had managed to tell that information without wincing.

"Sorry to hear that."

"It's fine. Really. You don't have to. Besides, I know I'm not the only cop that shared the same past. Feels as though every person envisioning a job in this field has somehow suffered some trauma in their life."

"Totally agreed with that." Agent Rose pressed the button for the window. It went down, leaving ten inches gap. The wind seeped in immediately. "All the lads that I have had the fortune to meet have their own stories to tell. Some trauma to relive painfully so they could remember the thing that made them decide to serve and protect. That's why when I read your records, I was utterly impressed. I know what it's like to be the only damsel in a group of men. They judge you before even knowing what you're capable of. That doesn't sit well with anyone, but you had managed to survive the misogyny. And what's more amazing was, you are the lead detective in a major case."

"Thanks," Cara said, flustered. "I couldn't have done that without the help of my team."

"Hmm, but most of the development in the case was caused by you," Agent Rose said, perusing over the reports again. "The idea of the victims—posing marionettes, for example. You discovered that today, am I right?"

"Yeah."

"May I ask how did you come up with that?"

Cara breathes in the warm air slipping through the window, moving the car into a slow turn as they enter the boundary of Rosegold City. "It was because of the marks I saw on the tree. Marks that didn't seem made by animals or the rangers. Then the glued fingers and toes of the victim came into my mind, as well as the odd incisions on her back that had few fibers unmatched by the clothes she was wearing. Not to mention the artificial body parts that the culprit carved in her, it all pointed to one image."

"Marionettes..." Agent Rose mumbled, sunk in deep thoughts. "What a strange inspiration, don't you think? And pretty sick, too."

Cara glanced at her, fazed at the lightness of her voice. "In Nelia Rasco's case, he didn't achieve the image he wanted to convey right away. It was messy and sloppy, the reason why it took us long enough to figure it out."

"And he performed the crime on the spot, too," Agent Rose added, reading the papers on Nelia Rasco's case. "Ms. Rasco was discovered fresh, and the crime scene wasn't disturbed by any natural occurrence. But no matter how it looked intricate in our eyes, he was wise enough to clean his trail and erase all the simple things that we could use to track him." She sighed. "Killing someone in such a place was a big risk. Even for average criminals. It's a rule to brush off the police's nose on them. Getting caught would definitely spoil their fun. Our culprit, though, defied that. As long as he displayed them in such a way, nothing else would matter."

"And that makes him as...?"

"A very organized serial killer and a hard one to find, at that," Agent Rose answered in a tight voice. "Did you notice how it all panned out for him? The victim is stranded, her shift ending in the most unfortunate way. It was almost as though he manipulated the situation. The snowstorm had been, if not perfect, an absolute chance for him to take her. Just like hunting." She shifted in her seat. "Once the hunter determined the nest of his target, he would set up all kinds of traps to corner his prey. Then he'd attack."

"Any ideas how he accomplished that?"

"Oh, it's all in here. You knew that already. He stalked them, of course. Had dipped into their lives like one nosy neighbor. Probably even put up some acting to blend in. My fair guess is that, the victims had seen him around before they were taken. He wasn't the usual type of serial murderer who went on a rampage for no rational reason—just an urge they couldn't control. Our man here is methodical and smart. He was elaborate on planning and wise in choosing his victims. He studied them, familiarizing himself with their activities first before finally doing it."

"Nelia Rasco was taken in a bar. It was raining badly, and there were no other customers. She was a waitress, by the way. Security cameras around that place didn't work properly as the bar's budget didn't exceed a hundred of dollars. She vanished from the area. No witnesses and clues that could have told us what happened. Now, Nelia wasn't the type of woman that would enter a theater with a stranger. She's always doubtful of everyone around her. She wouldn't go with someone she didn't personally or casually know."

"Yet the killer had successfully lured her in," Agent Rose said, completing her point. "That provides us the idea that he was familiar to her. Not on a personal level but enough to win her trust that night."

"It could also be the case with Sandy Hupman." Cara shifted the gear, speeding up as sketches of buildings in Rosegold City slowly arose in their front. From tall trees and wide landscapes, her view was fed by small to large establishments. A little over half an hour, and they would be entering the den of Albreska State Police. "The snowstorm may have been terrifying to dissolve anyone's pride to ask for someone's help, but no sane mind would consider going away in a stranger's car. Had that been me, I wouldn't trust anybody even if desperation gets at me."

"He could have a pleasing appearance, the kind that attracts women's eyes without a sweat. Add that into their familiarity of his face, and they would accept the invitation willingly." Agent Rose took a deep breath. "So what you know about this guy so far other than what we just talked about?"

"Not a lot, unfortunately. We couldn't create a profile of him back in Rasco's case because there wasn't anything to help us establish one. The park was clean of prints, and the footage that recorded the events of that night didn't turn out useful. It had been broken. We hadn't got any sight or idea what he was like. Or what car did he drive, nothing."

"So the only clue we could pursue now is the fact that he creates them as marionettes. What connection did that have to the victims is the biggest question here," Agent Rose concluded. "In terms of their background, I see no circumstances or relationships that link them both except for their reputation to kids. The first victim hated kids and had sworn to never bear them. Got reported some time in the past because of mistreatment of a child. She had beaten one, apparently. Then we have our second victim, who was under suspicion for her son's mysterious death. It got never cleared, though."

As Agent Rose continued paging through the files, Cara reflected through their conversation. She couldn't believe that she was able to keep up with the flow of it. Though barely but she understood what Agent Rose meant in every word she said about the culprit as she had thought those theories before. To hear it coming out from her superior felt amazing and pleasing. Agent Rose was indeed a legend.

She was only sitting there for one and a half an hour, reading the case files with a single try, and yet she had already generated those insights.

"I noticed that the first victim was found two months ago. Was he inactive for two months?" Agent Rose asked suddenly. Cara blinked profusely. She swallowed hard. "How's that?"

The spark that was driving her to stay inside the discussion died down out of a sudden and was replaced by utter anxiety. She was taken off guard, and it was too late now to hush down the turmoils boiling within.

"The case was put on hold for... several reasons I don't have the liberty to discuss," Cara answered politely, thinking of any trick to steer the discussion away from that. Of all the matters she could bring, Cara didn't anticipate she would be mentioning that as it bore no significance to the recent case.

"But you were the lead investigator by then?"

"I was."

Agent Rose turned to look at her, completely interested now in that topic. "Well, what happened? How can they—"

Cara didn't say anything. She wanted to answer that, but the intensity of her emotions was stopping her from being considerate. All thanks to their trip that had reached its destination, she could form an excuse to dodge the burning questions. "We're here," she said, cutting the conversation off before it could go deep.

Thankfully, Agent Rose's interest was dropped, and she didn't ask anymore. Chief Alman's presence outside the entrance also helped the situation get better. Cara pulled over to the parking lot, and right after the car settled, Agent Rose climbed out, formally excusing herself to greet Alman. Though it calmed Cara for some moments, the assurance that it won't go surface again wasn't there. She knew she could avoid it now but not always. One's interest has already been awakened. To conceal it would be impossible. Anytime or any day Cara knew she'd have to tell the whole story, prepared or not.

Sighing heavily, she got out of the car and followed Agent Rose's trail, wishing she could acquire the courage to confess what actually happened before the case went on hiatus, as soon as possible. But how?