It don't have a title yet...will do that part last once it's done. So those who like free reading...here you go. By the way pardon the typos and stuff...as one of my creative writing teachers in college once said..the first draft is always bullshit...now...read on...
The news report ran the caption across the screen of Jarret
Bragman’s television.
“Kenard O’Conner, almost known as The Summerdale Strangler
has been executed by lethal injection. He was pronounced dead at 12:04 AM this morning in front of three dozen
witnesses; those mostly the relatives of the victims he has murdered in the
past decade. O’Conner was convicted and sentenced to death for the nine murders
he committed twenty-six months ago in the Applewood Slayings that rocked this
state to its core. After a multi-state manhunt, O’Conner walked into the FBI
headquarters in Boston to turn
himself in with…”
Bragman, hit the mute button on the television and sighed.
He knew the rest; in fact he knew almost all of this. Special Agent Jarret
Bragman was one of the leading investigators in to the Summerdale Strangler
case. Spending nearly five years of his life, tracking down this monster, only
to have him elude capture and to give himself up. Jarret felt cheated in not
being the one to catch him. He wanted nothing more than to be the one to lead
him in handcuffs to the execution chamber. Yet, he couldn’t do it and it ate at
his soul. This was his first big case since graduating from the FBI
Academy and he wanted to prove
himself. He guessed that it shouldn’t matter. His investigation did help bring
him down, but not much. He confessed to the dealings, along with others. And
the trial – if one could even call it such – was nothing but a farce. He pled
guilty to everything and not even flinched when the state attorney asked and
was given the death penalty. He only smiled, bowed to the court and hummed a
bit of show tunes as he was escorted out of the court room. The stint on
death-row was a short one, less than one year. Being under twenty-four hour
guard, to ensure he did not cheat the state out of its due justice. The week
leading to the execution was chaotic in the slightest. Many wanted to partake
in the witnessing of the execution. A lottery was drawn up and many asked could
it be televised for other victims who could not attend. Just to have piece of
mind. The judge refused outright.
He was glad the monster was dead. The case was closed and
now it is time for him to be assigned to something new. Turning the power off
on the televison, Jarret laid down and quickly drifted off to sleep.
“Agent Bragman,” the voice said. Bragman looked to see a
woman in a FedEx uniform standing before her, carrying an envelope. “I have a
letter for you, Sir.” Jarret signed for the letter and she left, leaving him
looking at who sent this. He was not expecting anything. Opening a drawer to
his left, he put on some rubber gloves and a breathing mask. Once he was felt
safe, he looked at the address. It was from a mailing service out of Atlanta.
He opened it and saw there was another envelope inside it. He also could feel
something heavy inside it. He opened the other envelope to see a key fall onto
the desk. He set the key aside and read the letter accompanied it.
Hello Agent Bragman,
Or should I just call
you Jarret Dylan. Agent Bragman is just so formal. And I for one really don’t
see that we should be so formal with each other. Granted, you been after me for
so long. I think we can pass such things and be quite personal…”
O’Conner. He thought.
This has to be from him, sent with instructions that it was to be delivered to
him after his death. He continued on reading.
…and be as frank and
comfortable as possible. I have to say, that I was hoping that you could had
caught me over the years. I figured since our first meeting in that bar in
Landover, that you could figured out that I already killed my latest victim.
The one you found headless in her bathtub. I figured you could have detected
the smell of the blood.
Well anyway, it does
not matter. I wanted to write you because; I have to say that over the years of
playing the cat-and-mouse with you and your comrades in the FBI and state
law-enforcement, You were the closest to knowing and understanding my methods
and my mind. Oh yes, I known so much about you in so many ways. I had many
chances to eliminate you. But, I respected you for your sense of duty, sense of
honor and the determination that few had shown. And your respect towards your
fellow man was admirable. You and I are allot alike, Jarret. Oh yes, it’s true.
Soon, you will find out how much alike we are. Enclosed are a few things that I
left to you. I know that many of my estate items is caught up in lawsuits with
my “friends” and I really wanted you to have this before the vultures pecked
over my other possessions. They are the true criminals. Lawyers. I should have
killed more of them. Call it a public service. Anyway, this contains a key to a
safe deposit box and I left instructions into how you can obtain what is stored
there. Rest assured, you would not want to just turn it in for some cold-case.
Seriously, why bother? I am already dead. And why waste time with further
investigations. I will not say anymore. I await you once you obtain my
material. I believe it will be worth the trip and effort.
Till then, I remain.
Kenard O’Connor.
P.S. I know that the
agency has a standard practice of wearing gloves and masks when handling
unknown correspondence. Let me assure you, I did not put any anthrax or richen
in this material. Why do that? So you can remove the mask and gloves. Ta Ta.
Jarret set the letter down and removed the gloves and mask.
O’Connor was right. Why go through all this effort, just in some act of spite
from beyond the grave. He looked at the key. It had a number etched into it:
392. He looked at the other paper. It was an official letterhead from
Chesapeake Bank. It was instruction in how to obtain a safety deposit box. Jarret
saw the address and sighed. Of course, it was a two hour drive to Virginia
Beach and the bank would be closed by the time he
arrived there. So he decided to set out the next day. He looked at the key. It
wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But what secrets did it contain? What evil
could it hide? It was in a bank vault. It couldn’t be much. Or could it?
Around noon the
next day, Jarret arrived at the Chesapeake Bank. Parking his agency issued Ford
Focus, got out of the car, grabbed the binder with the letter and checked for
the key. He started to walk toward the entrance, with a woman heading towards
the same way, pushing a stroller. The automatic door opened and he allowed the
lady to enter first. She thanked him and pushed past.
The bank looked like more an office building than a bank - rows
of cubicles, with people discussing their business and to the right were
tellers processing transactions. He walked toward an empty cubicle. There was a
man sitting there, dressed in a maroon colored suit with white tie.
“May I help you?
Jarret replied in saying, “Yes, where are the safety deposit
boxes?”
The man pointed his finger in the direction to the far left.
“You go through that corridor and you will find a lady who can assist you with
that.”
Jarret thanked him and walked towards the direction
indicated. He walked pasted the two guards who were standing on either side of
the corridor. The nodded as he past and there was an older aged woman in a
light blue pants suit sitting at a mahogany desk. He walked to her and she
looked up, smiling pleasantly.
“Good morning, how may I help you?”
Jarret took the set and withdrew his folder, producing the
key to it. “I am here to open up box 392
please.”
The lady keyed the number on her computer terminal.
“May I see your identification please,” she asked?
He withdrew his wallet with his driver’s license and handed
it to her. She scanned it and entered his name into the system. “Everything is
in order, Mr. Bragman. I will escort you to the vaults now.”
Standing up to follow her, Jarret walked to the secured
area. The lady entered a keycode on the pad opened the door. “This way please.”
Inside the vault, there were countless drawers, shelves and
safes. Turing to a corner, he can see rows numbered 300-500. After a few
moments of walking she stopped at #392.
“Here we are. 392,” she started to say. “This particular box
only has one key, which you possess. I’ll give you some privacy while you
access its contents. Just press this button on the wall whenever you are ready.
I will collect you.”
“Thank you,” Jarret said as she turned to leave. He looked
at the box, and began to wonder what was in it. The box was not very big, yet
to him, it felt like something as big as the building. This man, this killer,
has done so many things. Could it be a confessional or a list of all his
victims? Items he taken from those he killed over the years? Steeling himself,
he took the key and inserted it into the lock.
Here goes he said to himself as he turned the key. The lock
clicked and he pulled the drawer forward. The drawer was almost empty except
for huge, black book and silver chain with another key attached to it. Attached
to the key was a small note. He took the note and opened it.
Hello Jarret
I knew you would come.
Even from beyond the grave. I knew you would. Well this is just a sample of
what is to come. This key is a storage unit that has many wonderful things, but
I won’t tell you all of that just yet. Good things come to those who are
patient and wait. However, I have given you something to keep you busy. This
book is one of my personal journals. A diary of my life so to speak. There are
plenty more of these you will find once you reach my unit. And I have left
clues in this very book to locate it. But in the meantime, enjoy it as you get
to do something that very few have ever had the glace in doing. Knowing me…for
me.
K
Jarret looked at the book; black, worn with time and usage.
He thumbed to the first page of the book. It only had 4 words.
Deus amat. hominem occidit
He knew this was Latin but would have to wait to return to
the agency to translate it. He knew that this should be turned into authorities
for analysis. However, he felt cheated in not catching this man and if he could
learn how and why he escaped capture, it could help in any future cases where
he would not fail. Taking the book and chain, he closed the drawer and walked
to the panel where the button was to call for the lady. He felt the weight of
these items dragging him down, almost making it difficult for him to walk or
even breathe. Calming himself, he pressed the button. It would be a few minutes
before she arrived. And then he would read this journal, find this storage unit
and find some closure to what has tormented him for so long. But, for now, he
only had this book. What would be in it? He walked towards the woman as she
approached.
“You can have the key back ma’am. There will be no need for
it,” Jarret said as he gave the box key to her. “You can close out the
account.”
Minutes later, he was in his car, hearing the baseball
broadcast, but not paying attention. He thumbed through the pages of the
journal. Looking at the numerous entries and seeing pictures, sketches and
clippings. Suddenly, his cell phone rang. He looked at the Caller ID, it was
the office. He answered the phone.
“Bragman here.”
“I will be there in an hour,” he said as he hung up the
phone and started the car. For now the book would have to wait, as he placed it
on the seat next to him. He had more current matters. He drove out of the
parking lot trying to force himself to think of the task at hand. But, he
couldn’t. He will have time for the book of The Summerdale Strangler. But, it
will come later. He had plenty of time for it.
**
