Chained Guilt (Hidden Guilt (Detective Series) Book 1) (35 page)

She tapped her fingers on her forehead and waited a minute for him to respond.

“Nothing to say, huh?”

“You know I can’t take back that night. And if what you said really happened, I am truly sorry.”

“Ohhh listen at you!
I am truly sorry
. No, I don’t believe you. I believe
you are truly sorry
that I am about to blow your fucking brains out.

She walked over to her purse, pulled out a pistol, and slowly put the silencer in place. She returned to him and pressed the gun into his forehead.

“By the way, the name’s Brittany; that is who I am. Brittany Foy. Not bitch, hoe, stripper, slut, or any of the other names you pieces of shit refer to us as. And it damn sure isn’t Candy Cane. Stupidest stripper name ever, I fucking swear. It’s fucking Brittany. Just Brittany. But I would like to thank you, because there is a silver lining here, and I don’t want it to go unnoticed. Thank you for helping me understand what I was placed on this earth for. I’m ready to fulfill my calling—helping rid the world of douche bags like you. So thank you, John. I truly mean that.”

Then she fired two shots into John’s head. She watched with pleasure as the rise and fall of his body slowly stopped. Brittany stepped back and looked at John’s lifeless body. She thought after her first solo kill that’d she’d feel remorse or sadness but she didn’t. It made her feel empowered. Like she had taken something back that belonged to her. She sat down next to her victim and gently rubbed his hair. She took a paintbrush from her purse and walked to the wall behind the bed. She used the splattered blood on the wall to writ
e
MORE TO COME “BF” AKA WIDOWMAKER
!
Then she carefully removed the two pairs of gloves she was wearing and put the inner pair in a plastic bag. She tucked the bag, her gun, and the silencer back into her purse, grabbed her sunglasses, and left.

1

I glanced around the room. There had to be hidden cameras recording me, my emotions. This had to be some sort of sick reality TV show featuring me as the star.
This can’t be real,
I thought. But it was. After finally getting my Miranda back from the clutches of death, I somehow managed to lose another loved one to the same fate. I was happy and heartbroken all at the same time.

“Detective Porter, what’s wrong? Is everything okay? You’re as pale as a ghost,” the nurse said as she watched my reaction to the note she’d just handed me.

I didn’t feel like explaining to her that Stacy’s little note wasn’t some cute love letter; rather, it was a confirmation that she was every bit as sinister as Hilary had suspected all along.

“No, everything is not okay,” I replied. “Take Miranda back. Get her checked from head to toe.”

And then it was lights-out.

“David?  David, c’mon!  Wake up, kid!” Wilcrest shouted.

Florescent lights buzzed above me as I blinked my way back to consciousness.  My head pounded to the beat of my racing heart. I wasn’t sure what had happened.

“David, look at me. Come on,” Miranda said, leaning in close to me. “There you go. No, don’t sit up. Just rest there a minute.”

I had fainted. First time I’d ever done that. I guess the nurse had been right about my being pale as a ghost. I struggled to my feet despite the warnings from everyone around me.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I . . . I just . . . I don’t know. I fainted, I guess.”

We all shared a chuckle at my expense. Miranda was even smiling. Boy was it good to see her smile. I stood there for a second longer, trying to shake off the cobwebs.

“David, you should go back with Miranda,” Wilcrest said, shaking his head. “We’ll get started at the house. Go with your wife.

When I didn’t move fast enough to suit the captain, he continued. “That’s an order, son. I have every cop and then some looking for Karen and Stacy. We’re going to find them.”

“Yes, David, please come back with me. I don’t think I can be without you right now,” Miranda said, her voice shaky.

The cop in me wanted to question my partner, Detective De Luca, to see what things she might be able to tell me about her brief captivity and the basement where she and Miranda had been held. The father in me wanted to set the streets ablaze and hunt Stacy down like a bloodhound. I knew the hot trail she’d surely left behind would become cold rather quickly. I was hoping to capitalize on any mistakes she might have made in her haste, as snatching my daughter was probably a spur of the moment act of desperation. I trusted Wilcrest, and I knew the boys would give this the highest priority.

Wilcrest, however, was right. Miranda needed me as a husband right now and not as a cop. It would be a balancing act from this point on, because I knew I needed to spend time tracking Stacy down before it was too late. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to kill Karen if it suited her plans.

I sat beside Miranda and held her hand as the doctor ran test after test. My mind, however, was traveling at warp speed. Hilary had felt uneasy about Stacy from the moment she’d showed up at Miranda’s funeral.  I’d considered her out-of-nowhere appearance a bit strange, but no one could have imagined this. How could I have been so blind? It all made sense now—her eagerness to become a part of our lives, to move in with us . . .  And the pregnancy!
What about the baby? What did that mean for me now?

And now I would have to explain it all to Miranda, including the college fiasco I thought I’d left behind. I wondered how Miranda would react to everything when I told her. Karen’s kidnapping trumped all of it, and my wife had not even started the healing process following her own abduction. I had never taken advantage of the psychiatric counseling available to all police officers, but now seemed like as good a time as any—for all of us. I held Miranda’s hand as tight as I could and just stared at her. It seemed unreal that she was here next to me again.

“David, we’ve given Miranda a once-over. Other than what’s to be expected—dehydration and malnourishment—everything seems to be okay. I’ll have you bring her back in a few weeks, and we’ll take a look at the finger she lost. We can keep her here for a few nights, or you can take her home, but you’ll need to make sure she gets plenty of rest. She’s also going to need some type of counseling. Here’s my cell phone number. I don’t usually give it out, but I figured what the hell. Call anytime. I mean
anytime,
David.”

I took the business card with Dr. Peter’s information and stuffed it into my wallet. I reached out to shake his hand and thanked him for everything he’d done for my family.

“Please take me home, David,” Miranda whispered to me.

I hated seeing her like this. She looked so weak, so fragile. I walked beside her wheelchair as the nurse wheeled her out to my truck, Hilary trailing close behind us.

After we got Miranda buckled in, I rounded the back of my truck, tears streaming down my face. Right now, when all should be right in my world, everything was broken. Shattered. Would our family ever be whole again?

    
 
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Terry Keys is a novelist, songwriter and poet. He writes for Examiner.com and works as a project manager in the oil and gas industry. A native of Rosharon, Texas Keys spends his free time hunting, fishing and working out. He lives in Dickinson, Texas, with his wife and two children.

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