Red Silk Scarf (36 page)

Contemplating the
next sunrise was impossible; the granules of time were gone.
 
No one except herself heard the sounds coming
from the bathroom, faint noises bringing with it an eerie feeling that
announced her predator’s presence.
 
Waiting for everyone to leave was worse than what was to come.
 
Just a few minutes longer, enough time to
guarantee that everyone she cared about was out of harm’s way, the core of her
plan all along.

Making sounds
that would warn the killer of a pending attack would not matter.
 
Knowing she was coming, he too was
prepared.
 
Raising the gun claimed from
the couch, cautiously she headed toward the bathroom, on the way making mental
preparations for facing the monster that would appear any second.
 
Repetitious rehearsal's she’d replayed during
sleepless hours, the finale the only uncertainty left unrehearsed.
 
Not knowing what it would be like to die
alone, like Ben, what mattered most was that she did so with honor.

Facing the shower
curtain, arms outstretched, fingers securely locked on the trigger, the nozzle
of the gun slowly moving the material aside gradually revealed her enemy.
 
He was a well-dressed startling handsome Caucasian
man of average height between the ages of thirty and thirty-five with
generously proportioned muscles finely tuned; a description that fit most
serial killers and the reason they gained their victims trust.
 

Surprisingly, the
sight of him brought about an enormous rush of relief.
 
If her competitor were someone she knew
someone she loved, it would have seriously damaged her emotions that were
surprisingly under control considering she was looking into the eyes of
insanity.
    

A puzzling elated
sigh pumped up her chest.
 
She was
right.
 
Her suspect was indeed the man
barely visible in one of the photographs of Elaina and a male friend, the same
young man in photos of Pamela.
 
So young
and handsome was he, at first she believed him to be Elaina’s son but, evidence
proved otherwise.
  

Surprise has a
way of eliminating confidence and Cassidy's ran for cover when a sudden jerk
brought with it a terrible tearing sound as he ripped away the shower
curtain.
 
Penetrating her now were eyes
bulging from fear, and the lack of oxygen.
 
Red silk scarves were securing wrists and ankles that were black, blue,
and bleeding from the bindings.
 
Another
scarf served as a noose wrapped around the woman's neck firmly anchored to the
shower nozzle.
 
His victims’ stiffened
toes were the only means of preventing the short stature woman from dangling to
her death.
 
Just like Elaina.
 

One had to wonder
how such elegant silk could be capable of torture.
 
The revelation a horrible shock that brought
about a gasp of disbelief from Cassidy's constricted throat.
 
“Margie!”
 
Reflections collided within her skull, dear God, the children!
 
Mark!
 
Sullivan!
 
Unknowingly the killer
had made the biggest mistake of his life.
 
Margie couldn't die, wouldn't die, not on her watch.
 

           
For the first time Cassidy felt an
all-encompassing emotion, the brutal, poisonous sting of vengeance.
 
Until recently, she never knew the true
meaning of love, or sacrifice, a new dimension of life that made one capable of
anything.
  
The kind of love first taught
by a friend, and then by a lover, each different, each unique.
 
Suddenly Cassidy understood why Ben gave his
life for hers, why Margie said she’d always love Mark more, and why Margie’s death
would destroy Sullivan.
  
Instantly
Cassidy came to terms with her love for Ben, and her love of Sullivan.
 
Heaven help her, just like Margie, she’d
always love Sullivan more.
 

Sacrifices are
never too great for the sake of love, she concluded.
  
Bursting before her was Sullivan's face etched
with panic when dragged forcefully from the apartment, a portrait of
trepidation in the truest form, not for him but for her.
 
Fool that he was he really did love her.
 
Now she understood that no one feels fears
deadly strike until a loved one’s life is threatened.

 
Revelations banished in an instant when the
killer easily plucked from Cassidy's hand her only means of defense.
 
Laughter of a lunatic echoed within the
confines of the shower, his words surfing each wave, “I do love the look of
fright on women's faces.
 
Yours
especially delights me.”

Creeping in
taking control was something intangible, a mode of insanity no human believes
possible, and if so would deny.
 
A realm
of insanity that forces people to say and do things unimaginable known to trigger
deadly adrenaline, and the animalistic need for survival.
 
It was happening, happening to Cassidy Ilene
Brady of all people.

Eyes ballooned
from insight found Margie's that were silently pleading for life.
 
Her facial color, a mixture of gray and blue,
warning she was steadily failing.
 
God
only knew how long she'd suffered from the intrusive crimes the killer may have
already committed.
 
If her persecution
didn’t end soon death was eminent.

With the
intensity of lightening soulless, conscious-less eyes challenged those of
insanity forcing the killer to lurch from the shower in response.
 
Considerable weight collided with Cassidy's
body hurling her fragile frame with a bone crushing, mind numbing thrust against
the wall.
 
Though breath shot from her
lungs and pain stabbed multiple areas of flesh and bone miraculously strength
prevailed.
  
A fist delivered a crunching
blow to her attackers face.
 
A moan split
the air.
 
As he staggered backwards,
Cassidy raised her leg, a calculated move that brought great satisfaction when
her knee connected with layers of muscles forcing the mighty warrior to his.

While the killer
tried to regain composure, Cassidy’s desperate eyes sought Margie’s unconscious
body, her toes no longer a life support.
 
She could not waste a second retrieving the gun lying beside the toilet,
or thinking about her own safety, it was more important to release the scarves
before the killer attacked again.
 
Nails
tearing at silk frantically tugged and pulled.
 
“Dear God, please, please,” Cassidy, screamed.
 
“No more.
 
No more.”
 

Freed at last
just as Margie fell into a heap, powerful hands crushed Cassidy's ankles.
 
A forceful yank banged her head against a
tile wall with a painful thud.
 
Ribs
striking the edge of the shower stall brought on sufficient pain to render any
mortal unconscious.
 

Fighting the
final curtain Cassidy clung to memories of loved ones, the faces of her father,
brothers, the victims, and Sullivan, those of Dan and Michael, and lastly,
Ben.
 
Her handsome “Curly,” whose love
for her cost his life.
 
All of them loved
ones who would never recover from her demise who would forever blame
themselves.
 
People who loved her so much
they secretly tried to help, to protect, only to be sent away, so damn proud
and determined was she.
 
This was a hell
of a time to be sorry.

Even when he
easily lifted her body, admirable wills to live remained.
 
She believed herself to be thrashing the
killer with limbs that were in truth limp.
 
Feeling a falling sensation, she subconsciously failed her limbs
desperately trying to avoid the inevitable.
  
But, it wasn’t until her body found the mattress that shock pried open
her eyes to find, a naked body straddling her, hands holding a red silk scarf,
and the eyes of a maniac filled with repulsive pleasure.
 
In a flash, the scarf was around her neck,
tugging, pulling, a hard penis pressing against her pelvis, grinding, actions
that brought to the surface her promise that no Brady was going down without a
fight, no Brady.

Every particle of
her took on renewed vitality.
 
Nails
ripped skin. Fingers tore hair.
 
Teeth
like a sharks sought exposed fleshy areas.
 
In response, a hand striking her cheek jarred her brain then clamped
over her mouth and nose to rob life-preserving oxygen.
 

“You bitch!
 
I can't begin to tell you how much pleasure
killing you will bring.
 
None of them
ever fought.
 
None of them, but you, I
knew you would.
 
What a rush.
 
What a rush.
 
Keep it up, baby.”

Slowly he began
shredding lace, and silk, gradually destroying vulnerabilities protection.
 
Retrieving the pager, he hurled it against
the wall shattering it to pieces, shouting, “Stupid thing to do, little one.
 
Although in the beginning I didn't plan on
you, I must say, you were a delightful surprise.
 
It brought me great pleasure planting the
scarves that led you on a merry chase and kept you wondering.
 
No one would have guessed that your precious
Benjamin loved red scarves as well and got off on strangling sex.
 
He sure made good use of those he found in
his apartment.
 
I guess none of us are as
perfect as you,” his laugh that of a lunatic.
 
“Unexpectedly, you turned out to be the most important part of the
finale.
 
I don't have to kill Sullivan,
you and your girlfriend will.
 
Oh, yes,
when I'm through with you, she'll pay dearly, a plan that will ensure a slow
torturous death for Sullivan.

His father was
screwing my woman.
 
He changed her, made
her want a better life.
 
Can you believe
that, a whore wanting more, a cop wanting a whore?
  
When I offered her one more chance she flung
the scarf at me, a gift from her lover, she jeered.
 
An elegance I could never afford, she
screamed in my face.
 
Killing her came
easy, killing Sullivan‘s father, even easier.

 
Pursuing his daughter was my revenge.
 
The stupid bitch actually fell in love with
me, married me.
 
God, what a lousy lay
she was.
 
Do you know what I mean?
 
Of course, you do someone as proficient at
using her body for seduction.

Sullivan never
accepted me as a brother-in-law.
 
I guess
beating his sister probably had something to do with that.
 
Don't you agree?
 
After physically beating the crap out of me,
he was naive enough to believe he had removed me from their lives, and that my
vendetta would end.
 
I was too smart for
him.
 
When he moved his family, it took
me a while to track them down.
 
You have
no idea how much pleasure it brought me watching him self-destruct, much more
so than killing him instantly.
 
My plans
for his arrest for the murders of Elaina, his father and the prostitutes would
have worked if not for you.
 
Like father
like daughter, huh!
 
Ha. . .ha. . . ha.”

Each sound of
tearing fibers, each insignificant piece of costume removed was slow agonizing
torture, his glaring at her body made Cassidy want to puke, his flesh against
hers, his penis undulating, reminders of the terror yet to come.
 
Well, he was underestimating Cassidy Ilene
Brady.

The lack of
oxygen vacuuming the fight from her, made Cassidy's body limp.
 
Satisfied that she was unconscious, the
killer loosened the scarf sufficiently to allow slow resuscitation to ensure
she’d be awake when he took her, just like the others.
 

Frantically
clawing her way through the thick gloom, Cassidy felt him ripping off her
panties, the shock miraculously to her advantage.
 
A blow to his stomach doubled him over,
another connecting with his nose splattered blood onto her breasts.
 
As his hands fumbled for her neck, like a
wild animal she wiggled and kicked.
 
With
thoughts of using the pillow to blind his view, possibly increase the level of
his anger enough to rob his thinking, her hands came beneath the bulk and to
her shock found a gun.
 
A weapon she did
not know was there.