Run (3 page)

“I’m an author. I was doing researc
h for a book I am writing.” (A little white lie since very little writing had actually occurred.) “I ran across several unsolved murders with similarities. Teenage girls, beaten, raped, mutilated -- several with signs of torture; bodies dumped in public areas where they would be found. All small, slight, with dark hair and eyes. The first of these murders was 30 years ago. I have found murders matching that description every few years here in the Delaware Valley and more across the country, particularly in Washington D. C. and Phoenix.”

Agent Clark
e replied, “There are a lot of girls killed every year … unfortunately many go unsolved. That doesn’t mean they are connected.”

“I understand that, but there is something different about these cases. These girls are so much alike and what happened to them is so much alike. Please just take a look at it. I hope I am wrong, but isn’t it worth checking just in case I am not
?”

I pulled out my researched lists, charts, pictures, and diagrams. I got the feeling he didn’t want to see them, but I pushed them in front of him making sure that the pictures of my girls, as I had begun to think of them, were showing.

He didn’t seem very enthusiastic about looking at them, but he pulled the papers towards him and put a pair of reading glasses on.

“I didn’t think there was any connection at first. But then they were all so similar. All those girls. I figure that whoever killed them must have started in his early twenties or maybe as
an 18-19 year old and …”

He held a hand up to stop my rambling and I shut up. We sat there
, him reading and me practically vibrating out of my chair with nerves, for what felt like hours. Finally, he looked up from his reading. I couldn’t decipher the look he gave me.

“I’ll be right back
,” and Agent Clarke was gone out the door.

I guess
ed I was supposed to wait there.

Several minutes
later, Agent Clarke was back … with another man. A man that took my breath away. I know it sounds cheesy to say that, but this man was different. This man was tall with short, dark hair and intense brown eyes. His face was more intriguing than handsome. He reminded me a little of the actor, Daniel Craig, but darker. He pulled up a chair to sit across from me with Agent Clarke. My eyes were drawn to his hands which he folded in front of him. They were wide and strong with scars on his knuckles. I was pretty sure that those scars didn’t come from punching a solid object in a fit of teenage angst as mine did. He looked dangerous. He was also incredibly attractive. I should make it clear that his being attractive was not a plus in my book. When I am faced with an attractive man I lose all poise, my tongue gets tied. I do much better with average or even pretty men. So, needless to say, I was not happy that an attractive FBI agent just sat down across from me. I could feel myself getting red.

“This is the mystery solver, huh?” He was getting less attractive. Agent Clark
e chuckled. Yeah, yeah, hysterical.

“Ms. Marshall
, this is Special Agent in Charge Jack Moore. Agent Moore, this is Charlotte Marshall, the woman I told you about. She has an interesting theory.”

I wasn’t sure
, but I think I was just insulted.

“Agent Moore, I know this sounds crazy, but I think these
girls’ deaths may be connected. They have so many things in common. If you will just look at what I put together here I think you will find that there is something to this. These girls deserve justice.” I could feel myself getting a little crazy. Yeah, my theory was out there, but I just wanted them to listen to me.

Agent Moore sat back in his chair and looked at me for
a long minute before replying. “I think it is entirely possible that you watch too much TV.” Although this was something I had thought myself, I started to speak to defend my position. “However, you bring up some good points in this report of yours. There are some disturbing similarities between these cases. We have a profiler here in town looking at another case. I will ask him to take a look at your research here” (a small smirk crossed his face when he said research … he was rapidly becoming unattractive to me. I don’t like arrogant men, no really I don’t) “and see what he thinks.”

I felt I was being m
ostly humored, but at least they had looked at it.

“Thank you, agents.” I included both Agent Moore and Clarke in my nod. “I appreciate your time.”

We rose from the table simultaneously. I suppose we were all anxious to leave. Agent Moore held out his arm for me to precede him from the room then walked me back to lobby. In the lobby I turned to thank him again and say goodbye. He handed me his card.

“If you think of anything further
, Ms. Marshall, please give me a call.”

I thanked him and tucked his card into my wallet where my doctor
’s and hairdresser’s cards also resided. Five hours after I walked into the building, I was headed out. My research was in the hands of the FBI. I couldn’t ask for anything more. Right now I was starving. My plan for the evening was to go home, make some dinner, catch up on my TV, and try to forget about my girls.

Chapter 4
: March 25, 7:00am - March 28, 2:00am

The next day it was business as usual. I got up.
I took the pictures off my wall and placed them along with all the data I had collected together in a binder, and put it in my laptop bag. I had done all I could. Agents Moore and Clarke, along with the profiler I had not met, would take care of the girls now. I had writing to do.

At 11
:00, I met my friend, Tammy, at the gym. I was determined to get back to my usual schedule.  Tammy is one of those friends that you can say anything to and she will take it in stride. She is about 10 years older than I am with two kids, both boys. She has always been one of those people with great life advice. So as we stood next to each other on the elliptical, the events of last week came pouring out.

Last week I had given
Tammy an excuse about why I had to miss a few workouts. Today I was honest. I told her everything. From finding Emily to my obsession with finding others, to Agent Moore. We laughed together about my OCD personality and obsessive tendencies. Tammy gave her opinion that Agent Jack Moore was into me. Tammy tends to think every single guy I meet is into me. Considering the extent of our conversation, I was fairly certain that if Agent Moore felt anything for me it was annoyance. Talking about our potential future date; however, passed the time on the elliptical. Good friends always make you laugh, make things more lighthearted. Even when talking about emotional or difficult things, they have a way of making them normal. Right now that was exactly what I needed. I wanted to pretend that everything was fine, that the girls were being taken care of, that I could forget about it, that I could just go back to being me … a 31-year-old, single, author.

That evening I caught up with some television.
I tend to watch TV when it is not really on, you know I watch season 1 when the show is in season 5. That way there are always new episodes for me and I don’t have to wait when there is a cliffhanger. So yup, watched some TV, ironed out the characters for my book, and spent some time playing with my babies (I’m single, my babies are Max and Kitty). If the names and faces of my girls played on repeat in my head, no one else needed to know about it.

The next couple of days I threw myself into my book. I had lunch with friends. I was determined to get back
to life. It wasn’t right, though. However much I acted as I normally do, nothing was the same. I dreamed of dead girls asking me for help. I felt like eyes were following me everywhere. At night, in bed reading, before I went to sleep, I was filled with an air of foreboding as if there was something about to happen. I kept hearing noises, which I told myself were nothing. I told myself I just had spent too many hours thinking about murder and now I was jumpy. My dreams were keeping me on edge. My nerves were frazzled; I figured I just needed more space, more time. Whatever obsession it was that drove me, why these girls were so important, I couldn’t say. I thought that it would pass if I just gave it time. So I was giving it time.

Saturday and Sunday
are my errand days. So Saturday evening I was at the Centerton Shopping Center. As part of my trying to avoid the girls I had decided to do some much needed organizing. I was out now at TJ Maxx and Bed, Bath, and Beyond. 250 dollars and 5 shopping bags later, I was headed home. I planned to organize my cards and pictures. My condo was covered with boxes of pictures. Yes, I was in avoidance mode, and honestly, I knew it. Although it had been staying light later, I had been at the stores for a while so it was now fully dark. I drove the 15 minutes home singing and dancing in my car and planning how my closet was going to be completely redone before I went to bed tonight.

My condo is the last one
on the end next to a basketball court and playground. I pulled in and backed into the last parking space before the park as I always do. Rounding the front of the car, I was singing under my breath and doing a little hip wiggling. When I opened the passenger door the five shopping bags made me pause. Should I be sensible and make a couple of trips or try to carry everything all at once. Ha this is me … of course, I would try to carry everything at once.

I started up the walkway to my front door juggling the five bags, my purse, and keys. I can’t tell you what first caught my attention. Maybe it was shadows stretching much further than usual
. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter what caught my eye, either way the light above my door was out. I always turn my light on when I am going to be out after dark. Now standing there weighed down with bags I was frozen in place. Fear and reasoning fought for preeminence in my mind.
I just forgot the light … did those shadows just move … stop being ridiculous Char just move … God help me
. I was gripped by panic, my heart was racing, my hands were shaking. I felt eyes on the back of my neck. I knew I was overreacting, it didn’t matter. For a long second I stood there frozen, and then I was scrambling up the steps to my front door. Fumbling with my keys to get in, the door resisted me, refusing to open. I expected at any moment to feel someone grab me from behind.
Open, door, open
. Finally, the lock turned and I stumbled inside. I locked the door behind me and threw the deadbolt. I stood leaning against the door, panting. Once inside in the light my panic seemed a little crazy. No one had attacked me, I hadn’t seen anyone. My heart rate returned to normal; my knees seemed steady again. Max stood at the top of the stairs tail wagging and head cocked to the side as if to ask me why I was taking so long.

I calmed enough to move away f
rom the door. I still took Max with me to check every closet, window, and bathroom (behind the shower curtain) in my place. Convinced I was safe and secure, I took up my organizing projects. While pulling things out of the closet and sorting through the bags I had dragged in with me, I kept up a one way conversation with my two babies. I didn’t want to be alone. I finally went to bed after 2am having exhausted myself enough to sleep.

Chapter 5: M
arch 28, 2:00am-March 28, 8:20pm

My heart was thudding in my chest. My feet pounding the ground. Branches snagged at my shirt and tripped my feet. I had to keep running. Keep going
… keep going. The ground rushed up to meet me, and my breath left in a rush when I hit the ground. When I looked behind me I could see him coming … gaining on me. I scrambled back to my feet. Keep going Char … keep going. I tripped again … my foot was caught. I looked back to see a deceptively small hand wrapped around my ankle. Attached to the hand was a long slender arm … above that Emily’s eyes staring at me.

Her eyes followed me into daylight and I sat strai
ght up in my bed panting, sweating, and heart racing. I have always had vivid dreams, but the dreams I was having lately were unreal. They haunted me with the terror that I imagined those girls feeling.

_____

Kathy and I have a long-standing tradition of going to the art museum. Before she was married, before I ever wrote a book, she and I would spend Sunday afternoons at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I love every square inch of that building. Our visits have become less frequent in the last few years, but we still enjoy a Sunday afternoon perusing the Art Museum.

Our favorite areas are the
ancient section and the weapons section. The two of us wander through a section talking, laughing, and pointing out our favorites. We have been there so many times, but have never seen the whole thing in one day. We tend to meander a little too much.

As we wander
, we talk about the art, our jobs, and our families. As with Tammy, I opened up. The whole story came pouring out. All of my fear, my obsession, Emily. Kathy listens to me ramble and jump from topic to topic. At the end of it she does what BFFs always do. She put her arm around my shoulders; she told me that I am okay -- that I would be okay. Then she makes a joke about me and my obsessive tendencies.

By
5:00, when the museum was closing, Kathy and I were starving. We crossed back into New Jersey and stopped at the Marlton Diner. We laughed and kibitzed for hours. We finally parted ways at 7:30. Before she left, Kathy gave me a fierce hug. I held onto her for a while, feeling particularly emotional. There is nothing better than a good girlfriend to make all things seem better.