Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1) (17 page)

Sometimes, Chinese gourds were
associated with magical elixirs and healing. Vivian quickly tucked
the charm into her shirt, shivering at the cold tingle of metal
over her beating heart. Maybe it would shield her from the serial
killer.

Now it was time to leave this cold
remnant of the past behind, never to be unearthed again.

Sunlight spilled into the darkened
hall as she pulled open the door. As she emerged onto the porch, a
sigh deluged from her chest.

It was time to contemplate her next
move on nature’s chessboard. Of course, she was just a meager pawn
in Nikolai’s hand, but she could still draw out the killer. No
doubt he was already lining up his pieces to take out the next
unwary victim.

That unnerving prospect
didn’t dissuade her.
She always considered
strategy as her strong suit, anticipating her adversary’s move and
reacting before they even realized she was on the prowl. Of course,
she had never faced an opponent of this caliber before.

She skidded to a stop past the houses.
A slash of blazing orange cut through the fog.

“
Not another one,” she
breathed. It enthralled her from a distance, fluttering in the
wind. She broke into a sprint, closing in on a lone house blanketed
in mist. Just as she thought, another warning notice had been
affixed to the door. How strange that it was the only house besides
hers deemed unfit to exist.

Resting her hand on the door, she
wondered what this Victorian fortress concealed. Perhaps it, too,
had been raided by a reckless police force? There was no quelling
her curiosity now as those teasing fantasies took shape. Biting her
lip, she nudged open the door.

The kitchen was lifeless and gray,
virtually humming with decay. Everything about this place felt…
wrong and obscene. Just around the corner was a door tucked under
the staircase.

She pried open the cellar, greeted by
a void behind the door.

A cold draft wafted up from the bottom
of the stairs and whispered through her shirt.

Hands suddenly latched onto her body
like parasites, and she could feel him behind her. Vivian’s shriek
was stifled by hands. She could smell latex as his fingers groped
for her throat. She tried to scream as one of his arms hooked
around with a syringe. She managed to seize his wrist as the needle
arched toward the carotid artery pulsing in her neck. His trembling
hand struggled to plant a deadly kiss with the salivating
needle.

How many arms does he
have?
her mind screamed. His hot breath
vented on her neck with feverish heat. Vivian’s world was spiraling
into chaos and she couldn’t comprehend what was happening. A sudden
blow sent her spinning and she plunged down the stairs. Her world
completely blacked out before she tumbled into the first circle of
hell.

NINE

Vivian’s eyes weakly opened. Her limbs
refused to respond even as her vision blurred into clarity. Her
head lolled at a painful angle and brilliant lights scorched her
retinas.

A familiar sensation stung her wrists.
Panic electrocuted her in an explosion of neurons. She gawked at
the handcuffs sinking their teeth into her wrists. No. Leather
restraints.

She was strapped to a medical gurney
in what could only be the basement. A dental operatory loomed above
her, but it was unlike any she had ever seen before. Eight metallic
limbs outstretched above with needles poised to rend.

YOU CANNOT HURT ME ANYMORE.
Those words glared in front of her, bleeding. And only then did she
realize those words were carved into pale flesh. His flesh.
His

His chest inflated, distorting the
words.

“
Oh God,” she
cried.

A gas mask encased his head and
several rubber tubes arched from the mouth. A single breath retched
from the foul device. Vivian couldn’t see his eyes through the
foggy lenses, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was
peeling her apart with his gaze. Pale latex gloves stretched across
his arms, gleaming slickly in the light. A white trench coat draped
across his shoulders, pooling on the floor. If that wasn’t strange
enough, a back brace constricted his torso like a plastic cocoon.
Latex leggings and knee high leather boots contoured to his
stilt-like legs.

The echo of water pipes broke the
silence every now and again. The only light emanated from a faint
light bulb swaying in the obscurity.

“
How are you feeling?” he
crooned. Vivian could only whimper in reply, rendered speechless by
this bizarre creature.

“
I am so glad you could
attend our appointment today. During our last session you indicated
that you would like to try something…
new
. Psychoanalysis did not work well
so I have been developing an alternative approach.”

What is this? Does he
honestly think I’m a patient?

“
Recent studies indicate
that a mind-altering drug can coax the patient to dive into their
subconscious. In essence, the patient can discover and eventually
confront what torments them. Despite repeated sessions, something
lies at the core of your conflict, something that has eluded the
two of us. Perhaps tonight we will break through. I think it would
be valuable if we tried this, but only with your
consent.”

No. This is some kind of
twisted role-playing.
Is this what he did
to all his victims? Possess them and play doctor?
He paced around the gurney, meticulously rubbing
his hands together like one of those flies that feasted on decay.
He breathed harshly.

“
Do you consent?” he
uttered.

“
Fuck
,” she whimpered. “
Fuck… Oh,
fuck
…”

He gently took hold of her left arm
and a gleaming syringe poked its head between his
fingers.

“
You should relax the
muscle,” he whispered. She barely even felt the needle puncture her
radial vein. She feared to struggle and wreak permanent damage. She
only whimpered in defeat, wondering when this wretch would begin to
exact torture.

Her eyes danced across the scalpels,
surgical scissors, and needles strewn on a metal tray. Orange
bottles of pills were arranged ceremoniously on shelves.

“
Let us begin…” he said.
“Close your eyes. Disconnect.” Left with no other choice, Vivian
shut her eyes and retreated to a safe, warm place in her memories.
She breathed deeply, trying not to imagine the figure in white.
Instead, she pictured her family celebrating her graduation from
high school. They were so proud of her as she sauntered across the
stage and received her diploma. Distant relatives had arrived for
the festivities and brought all manner of gifts and delights. She
could still taste the graduation cake and its lacy
frosting.

How she longed to surround herself
with family again, sheltered by their unconditional love and
protection.

“
You’re doing wonderful,”
his sleek voice crooned. He glided past the operating gurney and
rested a cold hand on her shoulder.

“
Now tell me… What is your
name?” She cringed at his touch. She could feel it oozing through
the fabric of her shirt, burning her skin like a corrosive
virus.

“
Vivian,” she
stammered.

“
Vivian. What a beautiful
name.” He circled her from behind, where she couldn’t see him.
“Tell me, Vivian. Is something bothering you?” She held her breath.
How should she answer this demented fiend?

“
Nothing is bothering me,”
she whispered. Sweat trickled down her neck.

“
Don’t be afraid to open
yourself up to me, Vivian. I’m here to help you. You can trust me.”
He scooped up a clipboard.

Vivian’s entire body
lurched with shock.
Oh God. He’s going to
write a diagnosis. This is how it starts, just like the other
murders.
The pencil touched down on the
paper, grinding ominously as he carved the first words. She tugged
at the restraints biting her wrists, her body squeaking in protest.
He began to write furiously, wielding his instrument with surgical
precision. He stared intently behind his gas mask at what could
only be her death sentence that he was dictating.

“
Oh God
,” she cried. The frenzy of his writing seemed to escalate if
remotely possible. “Don’t come near me!” Suddenly, his body lurched
forward and he became still.

“
It’s finished.” His head
slowly reared up, the lenses of his gas mask yawning open like
empty sockets. The pencil slipped from his hands, the tip eroded to
a blunt stump from the pressure.

Tears pooled in Vivian’s
eyes.
Fuck you, Nikolai
, she thought.
I should have never
listened to you. My blood will be on your fucking hands.

He hobbled toward her like a mannequin
suspended by wires, each leg unhinging with a violent twitch,
plodding his course across the damp cellar floor.

A tear streaked down Vivian’s
neck.

“
God, help me.”

She would never reunite with her
parents or graduate from college. A degree in nursing would forever
elude her once his scalpel pressed against her cheek. She was
damned to perish in this killer’s cellar, and her life would be
dissected on the pages of a newspaper that reveled in tragic
news.

His hand came down with unrelenting
speed.

“
Here. I drew you a
picture.” Vivian opened her eyes. She gaped at the drawing
scratched into the paper. It depicted a child sitting in the
corner, drenched in shadows. “Is this how you feel?” he gently
asked.

Vivian was rendered speechless. She
expected the killing blow to rain down any moment now, but
mercifully it did not come.

“
Not exactly,” she
whispered. “Can I draw a picture, too? Of how I feel?”

“
Of course, Vivian. That
would be very helpful.” He reached for the leather restraints on
her left wrist.
Yes.
The other restraint uncoiled from her chafed wrist.

She looked down at the pencil in her
hand and studied the blank piece of paper.

“
Aren’t you going to show
me how you feel?”

“
Oh, I will.” She spun
toward him and rammed the pencil through his hand. A scream
exploded from his lungs like a beast vomited out of
hell.

He flung himself backward and fell
over an instrument stand with a piercing crash. Vivian frantically
reached for the scalpel gleaming on a tray and began to saw through
the ankle restraints.

The killer scrabbled among the
equipment scattered across the floor. He slowly extracted himself
from the chaos and flowed to his feet. Vivian finally cut through
the left ankle restraint. Her head swung up when she heard a moan
from the killer.

Blood caked the white glove fitted to
his gnarled hand. He was shoving the pencil further through his
palm like an odd appendage.

Vivian screamed and her legs pumped to
escape, but the right ankle restraint sent her crashing to the
floor.

“
You hurt me,” he croaked.
“Again.” His head swung toward her. “It feels so
exquisite.”

The ankle restraint snapped as
Vivian’s scalpel tore through.

“
Stay away from me!” she
screamed, raising the blade in her defense. The killer didn’t
advance, wallowing in the darkness like an animal content in its
lair. Vivian slapped for the gun at her waist, but it was
predictably absent. She retreated toward the stairs, not once
taking her eyes off the freakish silhouette.

With a cry, she tripped over cables in
the dark. She thrashed as they twined around her ankles like
slippery, black serpents. Finally, she scrambled on her hands and
knees up the staircase.

Her shoulder rammed against the front
door, plowing through the wooden barrier into the street. She was
instantly shocked by the tingling air. Dilapidated houses leered
back at her as the sunset burned through the broken windows. She
looked down at the needle mark on her body, and she felt a cry of
anguish welling up in her throat. The vein jutted prominently. She
clutched it tight, trying to bury the affronting object under her
skin.

I need to get out of
here
, her mind roared. She bolted before
the kidnapper could come prancing up the stairs.

Apartments and alleys faded out of
existence before her eyes. She blinked and vistas of bleakness
replaced the outskirts. She clutched her head as the wind buzzed,
blazing a trail of agony into her skull.

The world around her was fast morphing
into something unrecognizable, donning the façade of an industrial
complex furnished in rust. The city was a vacant steel prison, a
distant shell of society with a population barely host to souls.
Her throat closed down as the metallic taste of vomit surged
forth.

The downtown landscape bobbed up and
down, and the outskirts receded in a tide of decay. She barely felt
her toes touch the streets as she ran.