Gone After the Wind

Chapter 40: Surrender

HIS CHEST felt like it would explode in a minute. His lungs and heart knew the right away to take revenge after being exhausted for more than an hour. It would have taken two if adrenaline didn't kick in at the right time. He fled from the scene just as quickly and convenient as he had entered.

He ran from the back of the house to the small carpet of woodland behind the neighborhood, not daring to look back or stumble on his feet. He ascertained his escape route would be accomplished no matter what happens. He slinked through the dense, bushy woodland, never minding the bouganvillea slapping his face and the downward trek that almost broke his knees several times.

He punctured through the abandoned sewage been He never envisioned he'll find himself fleeing away, leaving a domain unclaimed and an artwork unfinished.

It's infuriating, to say the least. His body irked of thousand mice, crawling around and scratching beneath the skin, begging to come out and eat every part of him.

He wanted to bang his head on the concrete. Cracked it open like what should have been of that woman's filthy head. Or even better, shed his skin from head to toe. Incomprehensible failures binds brutal punishments. Pursuing agony is the right way to absolve himself. From the sin and from the disheartening failure. Inflicting pain will make him second-guess if he ever thought of allowing his perversions smother his thinking again.

But before all of that, he must put forth his safety above everything.

His ragged breathing slowed. His mask felt like it was melting with sweat, going deep into the pores of his face. He feared he might get recognized but the sewage was damn dark, anyway. He pulled the mask off. Chilly, damp air of the sewage soaked his face, smoothening his airways and making his sight perform better.

He could see the dotted light getting nearer as he continued to stomp on the still, foul water. Ten minutes later and his venture on the disgusting hole finally ended. He never felt so grateful with nature as much as he did while inhaling the fresh, minty breath of the planet. He felt alive, renewed, and f*****g determined to start all over again.

Not so far from the sewage, a rented blue van was kept under pile of dried leaves and dead branches. It didn't look suspicious and unnatural. He made sure of that by choosing a land that had been previously dugged out. That way, the size of his car would fit the overall outline of the small hill. Beneath the leaves was a thin wood, installed to keep any dirt from entering inside.

He hiked up and as he removed the camouflage one by one, he looked behind his shoulders, left to right and at the sewage. No one can see him. No one will. If an i***t showed up, he'll have no choice but to use his knife.

Half relieved no eyes prowled on him, he got inside, stripped himself of the jacket and slid off of his pants. He reached at the back of the van, tossed his clothes and pulled out a bag containing casual, business clothes. Today, he's an electric–.

He tidied himself up. Fixed his hair. Cleaned his face and practiced a heartwarming smile.

He looked at the rearview mirror and his white uneven teeth showed. "Good afternoon, officer. Is there a problem? Well, I had been called in to fix a router. My ID? That's the thing, officer, I didn't bring it with me because this isn't really an official business. Is that so? Thank you so much! I hope you catch the guy, though!"

Then the cop will waved him away, convinced and fooled by his act. What an i***t the force would look.

He practiced these lines constantly as he drove away from the woodland. Thankfully, thoughtful hikers created a small way that led to the main road of the neighborhood. He stopped before the exit, ensuring no one was hanging out at the unfinished projects and abandoned townhouses at the outskirts. He stomped on the gas and successfully slinked through the rows of decrepit areas.

Slowly, house by house, life began to form. He decreased the speed when he turned right and the pile of ravishing, oppulent lots came into view. Blending in have always been the easiest. Pretend and act like you own their lifestyle and you'll be good. Rich people are the most gullible. They never ask. They never investigate. They'll accept you for what you present for as long as it fits their ridiculous standards.

He knew it all too well. If the truth had been otherwise, the project wouldn't have made it this far.

Now it's another draining yet fun task to make a fool out of them again. He doesn't mind, though, as it won't cost him anything more than a strained, concealed laugh in his throat for their stupidity.

He swerved the car to the familiar intersection and quickly as the commotion and pile of police cars dotted his front, a cold, spiky feeling welled in his stomach. His grip tightened on the wheel, his knuckles turning white and his arms trembling unnecessarily.

In a blink, his failure–no, his mishap flashed in his mind again, snatching his focus and sanity like a thief. His temperature raised and that horrendous feeling was back again, choking him to the point that he could see splotches of black as he get near.

His foot almost slammed the brakes as his breathing doubled. But a pinch to his thigh and a slap to his cheek sent him tumbling back to his senses. He heaved a deep sigh, blowing out the frustration and anger one last time.

Like a summer breeze whispering a field of flowers, his brain slowly relaxed. Monstrous thoughts lost its pangs. Deadly urges dissipated. Time seemed to have slowed and he felt peaceful, elated even as the house of that woman loomed closer.

There was no panic nor fear. He was strangely calm. The speed of his car was average. He passed the house quickly and quietly than expected. Nothing, however, missed his watchful eyes.

From the number of police cars surrounding the area, to the familiar faces of law enforcements processing the scene. The mood he picked was heavy and grim, darker than a funeral. Hastiness covered the ambiance and none of them looked happy. They love their jobs, don’t they?

His urge to smile and greet at them froze. Thinking better, he looked straight ahead, sparing the commotion a quick and defined glimpse.

He could have liked savoring their reactions. It’s a sign of victory, a telltale image of his success. Although he felt proud and ecstatic seeing them treat his work with utter seriousness, his mind just can’t focus celebrating.

It suddenly considered triumph as insignificant because all it wanted was to fixate on one particular face he caught as he drove away.

That familiar and dreamy face of Cara Black.

She was exiting the front door, trailed by her minion who’d trade his ten years of life for a minute of f*****g her, and even from afar, he could hear her serene, soft voice barking orders. Everything slowed, except for the both of them, as he digest every prominent feature he found extremely adorable.

The sway of her jet-black hair on the wind; her dark blue state police jacket that discredit her natural, unique curves; the wide, posh cargo pants that amplify her long legs; her creamy, pale skin that shone under the sunlight; and her strict, stoic face that could drive any men crazy.

It’s been days since the last time he saw her. He didn’t expect she’d be here or be a day early. Strange. Was it being punctual or a prediction that went wrong?

A sly grin formed on his lips. He won’t mind if she’s getting closer. Or if she had identified his closet of dolls. He’d give her anything she’d need if it’s possible.

Getting caught… it’s really not a bother. He’s long accepted, anticipated that at the end of this voyage, it’d be over. For him. For his dreams. For his urges. For his plans.

It’d be hitting two birds with one stone. His project would meet its conclusion and no more of the tiring work. And then… they can finally meet. Cara Black and him. He can finally introduce himself properly. She’d have her most awaited break and he’d be done. Once and for all.

Such a shame that he can’t introduce himself today. Or admire her beauty, stare at her darkness and feast upon the peculiarity that makes her the most fascinating woman he’s ever met.

Excitement sparked his nerves at the thought of standing face-to-face with her, having real eye contact and finally starting a conversation, only the two of them would know. How he’d trade everything for that moment.

Soon, he won’t feel like a goddamn heart-eyed stalker. The hindrance will finally come off and everything would become easy.

For now, he must focus getting far away from her as possible. If success is what he thrived, he must leave and abandon the weeks worth of work and let the police claim authority over the dollhouse and the unfinished doll inside it. Only for temporary.

He’ll assert control once his problems settled down and once everything winds up to his favor.

Patting himself, he removed his gaze from the spectacle. He stepped onto the gas, not a single care to the police cars scattered around and the confused looks of onlookers. He did not feel any ounce of fear as the traffic ahead of him went heavy and the sign of a checkpoint loomed at the end of it.

Agitation settled into his chest. Not from the terror of getting caught but from the excitement of a new side quest waiting for him on the horizon. He failed to take her, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s done. It’s not over. It will never be.

The project is simply getting delayed and he can’t wait to start it again.

Soon…

--

For the hundredth time, Cara felt grateful Eric was committed to his job. His existence was a blessing that she can’t help but to feel relieved over and over again. She can’t count how many times she considered him a heaven-sent figure. Saving her life several times was the smallest miracle he’d done among the hundreds of it.

Today, his work of wonder encapsulated of assisting and preaching her work. He upheld his word of taking responsibility of her part. He was keen to excel on it that soon as Cara regained strength and joined him shortly, he immediately swayed the discussion to a new air.

From Faucalt’s blank expression and Moore’s inattention, he nailed a successful point.

Although she wanted to applaud him, cheer as he stood in front of them, hands behind his back and talking like a seasoned detective as he is. His posture was calm and open. He could go on for the whole night and he won’t have a problem knowing what to say next.

Cara silently joined him, standing near his back and nodding in agreement as he began to unpack the perp’s behavior.

“Among all the women he preyed upon, this is the only crime scene where we could feel, see his heightened emotion. Everything from the past were done methodically. From the kidnapping to the execution of his work, every move was highly premeditated. There was no room for mistake. And yet… out of a sudden he did this and almost got himself caught.”

“Oh, f**k it. I can’t listen to this anymore,” Faucalt whined. “Just get on the point already!”

“Can’t you see it? We’re looking at a good clue here. Something about the victim forced or repulsed him to go beyond his comfort zone. He broke his rules, his rituals and even risked getting caught. He had such magnificent control in the past; why did he lose it now? What made Candy Filimon so special, so unique and so tempting that he was, for a second, ready to lose it all just to maim her in a manner that justified his emotions?" Eric pointed out. "Our priority should be the victim and everything about her. I firmly believe there's something about her, that all the victims didn't have or did have but wasn't that severe, that ticked him off. If we could determine that, maybe it will lead us directly to him."

"So we remove every layer of the victim's privacy, is that what you're proposing?" Faucalt's eyes squinted, suspicion clouding his gaze. "Is that what Black whispered to you in the bathroom? She couldn't make her deduction clear earlier and now she wants to violate the victim? To what, make a point?"

"To do something fruitful rather than waste the time arguing," Cara finally chimed in. Moore and Faucalt's attention snapped to her. Already, a vicious look settled upon them. "I don't care what you want to believe in or what procedure you wished to pursue. Nothing won't ever change your mind, will it? Even so, it's useless to make an effort anymore. Do what you see fit in in your mind and we'll do the same but please, can we reach a final agreement that will put our separate investigations fertile?"

It's one realization that she should have claimed hours ago. Convincing Faucalt to change his tactics is like forcing a child to eat leftovers. Infinitely impossible and will never happen in any scenario. He's working with an ulterior motive, one that doesn't align with the force, the victims nor the community's welfare. If his beliefs were different yet aiming to serve the state, Cara would never back down until he'd become fully enlightened of the matter.

But no, the senator's capriciousness is his main motivation to work and solve the case. Nothing more. Nothing less.

That made him undeserving of any redemption.

It may be infuriariting for Cara to allow him and his minion steer the investigation to a ridiculous direction, it's the best solution fit for the moment. Arguing and forcing them to coordinate will take painful time. Right now, all that matters is the victim and the trail of clues the suspect left vigorously. It's better to pick them up while it's fresh and while he hasn't yet created a new counterattack.

The price of failing to prioritize these matters will be grave and incurable. She'd rather compromise tidbits of the investigation than drive it straight to destruction.

Faucalt's smirked, liking her submission and tone of obedience. He posed a forefinger to her. "Now we're talking. Very good suggestion, Black. Why didn't you come up with that sooner? We never should have gone the trouble of baring one another's teeth if you just told us that. It's futile, isn't it? Coming at us like that. Trying to go on your way when it's not your call to decide."

Cara tilted her head mockingly. Eric's quizzal gaze burned in her temple. "Didn't really think of it that way, no. I'm just fed up of explaining myself to a blind man. Forcing you to see reasoning… that's really insulting in your part, isn't it?"

Crimson flooded Faucalt's face. His smile froze. "Can't really last a second without disrespecting me, huh?"

"I wouldn't dare, Sir. I mean, that's your job." Cara shrugged. "Anyway, enough of the childish banter. Here's a proposition that will benefit us both. If you don't want me around, poking at your every movement, let me work on my theory and leave me alone. You believe that this doesn't belong to the serial murders, fine, gather up evidence that will support your assumption. We won't meddle or try to correct you. Work on your choice to be different. In return, you'll give us full freedom to conduct a separate investigation. You won't restrict any resources or access to any clues, evidence. We'll test the same materials, explore same avenues, just with opposite direction."

"How's that gonna work for us?"

"Like I said, I'll be out of your hair from here on out. I won't try to cause you any inconvenience or even attempt to devalue your deductions. You're free to do anything, Sir, as long as we're at liberty to do our own."

Faucalt nodded. He stroke his chin, pretending to consider it when in fact, he's already rejoicing from within. "I have to admit; that's a very tempting deal. What do you say, Moore?"

The rookie, who did nothing but project contemplatative stare at Cara, broke from reverie. Her unreadable expression turned sour, corners of her mouth going downward. "I think that'll be very selfish of you, Detective, to push us out of your way just so you could do everything you like."

Eric shifted uncomfortably, clicking his tongue and mumbling something under his breath. Cara dodged her attempt to dislodge her patience and composure. Smiling, she crossed her arms. "I think it's the other way, Moore. Even if you agree on my terms, there's no guarantee I'll have the peace I wanted. We have the same boss and works under the same supervision, after all. On your part, however, convenience is full warranted because if I try to break my word, I'll be in much deeper trouble, won't I?"

Faucalt smiled, recognizing the extent of his threats. "She understands it, Moore. You don't have to worry anything. This isn't a truce, anyway. They're waving the white flag which I relish so much, and if you still try to oppose it, I might need to call in a replacement."

Fear sunk in Moore's features. Her head dipped on her chest and she nodded. "I understand."

"Good." Faucalt turned to Cara. "Well? What's our common ground gonna be?"

"Her ultimate safety," Cara replied. "As much as possible, put her in maximum security. A failed murder and kidnapping doesn't mean it's never gonna happen. The unsuccessful attempt will surely piss the suspect off. He's gonna retaliate, no matter what happens, to finish what he started. This applies both in our theories, by the way."

"Okay, I'll have men on it. Anything else?"

"Once she wakes up, I want to talk to her. Immediately. It's important to make use of her memory while it's fresh. Second, I want to hear any developments, updates regarding her and the case. You won't withhold information, evidence from us. We'll do the same, too." Cara tapped on her phone. "To make you believe I'm willing to do my end of the bargain, I'll give you the videos I retrieved from the house across the street. I'll transfer them. Get your copy from the technicians later."

"There's no need for that. We're not gonna find useful in them, anyway," Faucal replied smugly as he transport her requests into orders on his phone.

Cara sighed. "Okay, then, do what you want."

"Considering that we accept your offer, Detective, how are we gonna be sure that you'll be completely transparent with us?" Moore asked.

"She already made it clear minutes ago. How many time should you be reminded?" Eric butt in. "You don't need assurance. With power and authority behind you, we have no choice but to swear compliance, considering we've got so much to lose if we deceive you. Do you understand it now, that she's letting you off the hook, and compromising her job just to avoid trouble, your trouble?"

Cara touched his arm. "Eric…"

Moore's eyebrow perked. "I was asking a question, Detective. I don't see why you have to be aggressive."

Scoffing, Eric took a step forward, looking deadly prepared to start a brawl. Before he could act up on something they'll both regret, Cara stepped in front of him and tugged his arm backward.

"Stop it, you're gonna blow it up…" she whispered.

"She's got the nerve, Cara. She's got the f*****g nerve." His eyes blazed of pent-up anger and frustration.

"Don't be surprised. You know better than that."

"Control your boyfriend, Black," Faucalt warned when he was done barking orders on the phone. "We're doing you a favor, remember that. We have the choice to reject it but considering you're on the losing side, you're eligible for our mercy. Be f*****g grateful."

Cara faced him, confidence reeking despite the insults. "Then, it's a deal. Swear you'll keep your word and I'll do mine."

"Cross my heart, Black." He made a silly gesture to his chest, beaming like the sun. The turn of events clearly set his mood light and cocky. He may think Cara made accomodation out of fear but the deal would bring more favor to her than it might to them. They're chasing a dead lead, after all.

"Now that we're finally on the same page, I'd like for the two of you to–"

A tight knock on the door interrupted Faucalt. Four of them looked at the young CSI officer standing in the doorway, looking apprehensive and needed of urgent attention. His unsteady gaze scattered to them, obviously unsure how to address the emergency.

"Uh… mind if I interrupt?" he asked, stepping forward. He carried a small ziplock bag behind his back. "You really need to see this."

He hesitated but immediately held out the bag, allowing them to see the single content occupying it. Sudden ring in Cara's ears drowned Moore's soft curse, Faucalt's hiss, and Eric huff of breath. Everything blurred as she stared at the wilted, dry yellow dandelion, a cold chill riding up her spine.

"We found them on the guest room, inside the small coffee cabinet. It was hidden under a false drawer tied beside a small doll. The doll… well, you'd recognize it once you see it."

Cara could no longer listen properly. Chest bobbing up and down, she took the bag and examined it, feeling a zap of energy that indicated the man's presence in the item.

"There's a note, too. Look at it from behind."

She did and indeed, a small roll of paper was flattened, with a note saying…

'She's a ferocious, feral tiger that needs to be put down, tamed for her own good. I'm simply doing the job some of you were too incompetent to do. You'd understand me, Detective, once we meet. And I really, really, wish for that to happen soon.

By the way, how's your head? Did you have it check? Wish you already did. Can't bear to see you in that state. Sorry again, Detective.'

- MK