Suicide Serial Read online

  Chief Lunkser said with a smile, “Well, Detective, I knew you were smart but I never knew you spoke Russian.” He looked over at a disheveled Jake. “How about you teach something to your friend here, like how to tie a tie or get a haircut and a shave sometime.”

  Jake instinctively straightened out his tie, but couldn’t think of a witty comeback.

  “Maybe now we can get some real closure for these families that are involved. I’ve scheduled a press conference tomorrow to let the public know we have a serial killer on our hands before this leaks out or someone else gets killed...or kills themselves…thanks to this psycho.” The chief picked up his phone and began to make a call before sending them on their way. “Anyway, good work, you two. We can do some more on this in the morning, until then, Jake, for God’s sake go home and get some rest. You look like shit.”

  Jake felt like shit, too. His fever had crept up even more and he was feeling like he was burning up. His skin felt clammy and uncomfortable. It took him what seemed like forever just to get the car started and make it home. Jake was looking forward to a nice shower, a shave, and some cold medicine.

  He parked his vehicle in the garage and entered. The house was still and calm. Everyone was sleeping soundly. Patrolling the house, Jake checked in on his little family. The kids were snoozing away in their rooms. His wife was out cold and bundled up under the covers of their king size bed. He unholstered his weapon and locked it away in the small safe that rested on the top of his dresser. With children in the house, long gone were the days of tossing his firearm in the drawer in the nightstand beside his bed. He stripped off his shirt and wandered into the kitchen. The tile floor was freezing cold to his naked feet. Jake reached up into the cabinet and took out two cold medicine pills. Each one of them seemed like the size of a quarter.

  “Whoever designed these things is pure evil,” he thought, “haven’t these guys ever heard of a sore throat?”

  Walking over to the sink, he filled a glass with cold water and painfully downed the two pills. Just then the light in the garage flashed on and then quickly back off.

  “What the heck?” Jake said as he moved to go check it out.

  Chapter 5

  Jake swung open the door to the garage, grabbing the baseball bat he kept tucked away in the corner. He crept around, looking for intruders. The garage was eerily quiet. Suddenly, the garage door sprang to life and started rising. Jake spun around, startled, and the overhead lights cut back on, blinding him. He felt a stunning coldness as something hard and heavy smashed against his skull. Dropping the baseball bat with a clatter and crumpling to the floor, his world went black.

  “Oohhh God…my head…what the f…” Jake trailed off in his mind.

  Everything was still spinning and blurry. For a moment he thought maybe the tripped down the stairs after taking the cold medicine. He wanted to rub his head, but discovered that his arms had been bound tightly behind him with duct tape. The sticky tape clung to his hair and skin and every tug against his restraints was agonizing.

  Straining with effort, Jake managed to kick out his legs and sit upright. He could barely manage to breathe, much less talk, as a he had been gagged with a cloth wrapped in duct tape all the way around his head. He could just barely make out what looked like a crowbar lying on the floor near a small pool of blood. In the dim, featureless garage a man approached. A passing car’s headlights briefly illuminated the inside of the garage. For a moment, Jake was able to see him as he approached and his eyes adjusted. The man was wielding a huge knife, and spoke to Jake with a harsh, deep voice.

  “I guess there’s no need to pretend anymore is there Detective?” said the man out of the darkness. “After all, kudos to you on cracking the case.”

  The man was bulky and about six feet tall. He wore dark jeans, a black hoodie with rolled-up sleeves, a ski mask, and had on green surgical gloves. Jake could smell the overwhelming odor of cigarettes coming off the man as he drew near.

  “I was wondering if anyone would ever figure it out. I left my mark with all of them, but I had a feeling the last one would be the easiest to find.”

  Then Jake felt the rope around his neck. It was tied into a noose. Jake began struggling against his restraints. He tried desperately to force words through his gag but the only sounds that came out were muffled and unintelligible.

  The intruder just continued walking towards him and said, “There’s no use fighting me, Detective Harris. Or should I call you Jake? You know how this works by now. Cooperate or I will kill them all.”

  The man thumbed the point edge of the gleaming butcher knife. “I’ll save your sweet little daughter for last. It would be my first kill, actually. Who knows, I might rather like it. I’ve never actually killed anyone. I just love watching you sheep kill yourselves. There’s really nothing quite like it, knowing you have someone trapped, and making them choose their life or someone else’s”

  The man walked over to Jake and placed a white colored stone chess piece of a knight on the hood of his car. It resounded there with a small, metallic thump.

  “That should do. Now, Detective, if you don’t mind, please stand up.”

  Jake fought the instruction in his mind. How could he do this? How did this bastard get in here and get the drop on him? His mind reeled as he tried desperately to find a way out of the situation. With all his strength he fought the restraints binding him. It was no use. He was going to kill this son of a –

  There was suddenly a glancing pain in his side. The man had slashed him with the knife, not enough to seriously injure him, but enough to hurt like hell. He tried to shout out, but the man cupped a gloved hand over his mouth.

  The intruder waved his finger shamefully and in a sing-song voice said, “Jaaaaake. Are you listening? I’m starting to think you aren’t taking me seriously.”

  Then the man placed the knife point at Jake’s abdomen and scowled, “Stand up now or I will skin your family alive!”

  Jake stood, shakily, and tried to maintain his balance. With a little laugh, the man tightened the rope, removing the slack, as he directed Jake up an aluminum ladder that had been set up in the center of the garage. Once Jake was several rungs up, the man secured the rope to one of the legs of the nearby wooden workbench.

  “Ok Jake, now, kill yourself. Go on. I’m waiting.”

  Jake had no other option; kill himself or let this maniac murder his family. He thought about the pain they would go through if he died, he thought about not being there to see his children grow up. Then he thought of what might happen to them if he failed to satisfy this mad man’s twisted delusion. Jake ultimately decided he had no other choice; he had to step off the ladder and strangle himself.

  Still, the fear of death is a powerful one, and Jake hesitated for a moment. Suddenly there was a loud bang, and the ladder was instantly swept out from under his feet. The man had kicked it out from under him.

  “Sorry, Jake. I got tired of waiting.”

  The man looked around nervously; perhaps afraid he had caused too much noise. He frowned as he watched Jake begin to choke to death.

  “Hmmm. Perhaps killing is not really that fun at all. Oh well. Goodbye, Detective.”

  Jake’s life flashed before his eyes. He always thought it was just a Hollywood catch phrase. He remembered graduating from the police academy, meeting his wife for the first time, mourning the death of his father, getting married, getting his detective shield, and both of his children being born. The only thing he could feel was the total resistance of his lungs to take in air. He struggled with all his might, working his mouth frantically to try and scream for help, but couldn’t make a sound.

  Tears clouded his vision but he saw the man quickly leaving the garage and heading outside the house. Jake kicked his legs around, trying to find anything he could use to raise himself up on. The cars were too far away and his foot did nothing but slide across the smooth surface. There was nothing he could do.

  His face began to turn blue
and his vision was once again fading to black, “This is the end,” he thought. In his last sliver of consciousness, he heard a loud crack, felt himself dropping, and then heard a noise that sounded like every single object in the garage was falling over at once, drowning out everything else.

  Then, almost as quickly as it had left him, the world reappeared. The lights of the garage were on, and his wife had sat him up and was struggling to take the noose off his neck. She tore the duct tape off his mouth and he spat out the cloth gag. Jake coughed and gasped, still struggling against the duct tape which bound his hands together.

  “Oh thank God, you’re alive!” Heather cried, “I heard the crash, and-and when I ran in here and found you – I th-th-thought you were dead.”

  She buried her head into his chest and bawled. The rope was still loosely around his neck, and had left a deep purple mark all the way around it. Breathing was incredibly difficult, but he was astonished that he was still breathing at all.

  “A guy came in…” Jake was barely able to grunt out, “Hit me over the head with that –“ He motioned with his head towards the crow bar. “He forced me to do it. I would never do it on my own. You have to know that.”

  Heather nodded her head between sobs and buried her face in his chest. Jake looked around. Everything was spinning, but he could see that the leg on his workbench had broken under his weight. Like dominoes, everything on the shelves from paint cans to boxes of nails had fallen off and onto the floor.

  “Thank God…for poor workmanship,” Jake said as he tried to laugh, but barely managed a raspy wheeze.

  Heather grabbed a utility knife up off the floor. She had used one before when helping out with some of the many weekend projects they were always finding to do around the house. She slid the blade forward and nervously cut the duct tape binding Jake’s hands. As soon as his hands were free, she handed him his trusty Glock. Jake was still shaking, but managed to check the weapon and get to his feet.

  He could hardly believe what had happened. It was like a nightmare come to life. He held his side and propped himself up on the hood of the Crown Vic. Wearily; Jake placed an arm around his wife and began to stumble forward. With a little assistance from Heather, Jake headed back inside the house to guard the children. She had already phoned the police, and they would be there any minute. Jake would have been proud of his wife if he had seen her in action. She had grabbed the gun out of the safe first and her cell phone second. She had told 911, “Officer down!” over and over as she tried to get them to arrive faster once she found Jake bound and bleeding on the floor of the garage.

  Thankfully, it looked like the man had left. Perhaps he got spooked by the amount of noise kicking the ladder over had caused or was just convinced that Jake’s death was imminent. Whatever the reason, Jake was glad the man had fled and that his family was safe. He guided his fingers tenderly around his neck where he had been hung. There was an indention about one inch wide all the way around it. Just touching the area was excruciating, like he had been burned.

  In the distance they could start to hear approaching sirens. Finally, help was arriving. Jake tucked his weapon into his pants and staggered over to open the front door so the police would know that entry was safe. His hand touched the door knob and he passed out again.

  Within moments, sirens and flashing strobe lights permeated every square inch of Detective Jake Harris’ home.

  Paramedics put some gauze on the cut on Jake’s stomach, wrapped his head in bandages, put an uncomfortable plastic collar around his neck, and put him on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance. They flew across the dark, empty streets with sirens blaring, driving at top speed. The ride was bumpy. When he regained consciousness, Jake looked out the windows at the houses as the ambulance flew by them. He was relieved that the police had arrived, and now his children and wife were en route to the hospital in a marked cruiser in front of the ambulance.

  Finally arriving at the hospital, the paramedics wheeled him into the first available room. A team of doctors and nurses stood ready, prepared to treat any injury. They were used to getting the occasional gunshot wound or stabbing, but all of them put their game faces on whenever a police officer or rescue worker was injured.

  The nurses and doctors quickly checked him over for wounds, and collectively breathed a sigh of relief when it became clear he had escaped from serious harm. Jake tried his best to suppress a shout as nurses cleaned the knife wound on his side with antiseptic. A young doctor came in, injected something that felt like it numbed the area a bit, and proceeded to hastily stitch him up. Jake was transported to radiology and the technicians there slid him over to the CT scanner. The exam didn’t take long, and he was quickly brought back to his previous ER room.

  The young doctor that had sewn Jake up before entered the room with a clipboard and began flipping through his chart. “Well, Jake, looks like you got banged up pretty good, but you’re going to be just fine,” the glasses-clad young doctor said in a very comforting way. “That cut on your side wasn’t very deep, although I must say you will definitely have a scar there. The CT scan on your head revealed no fractures or internal bleeding, but there is significant soft tissue swelling and a moderate concussion.”

  Heather spoke up, “What about his neck doctor? I know it hurts, but will it leave any…permanent damage?”

  The doctor lifted the bandages on Jake’s neck and took a closer look at the ugly purple scars.

  “Hmmm. Well, I think that these may leave a scar too, but I am doubtful that he will have any permanent or lasting physical damage from any of the injuries he has sustained. It will probably be difficult and uncomfortable to talk and eat for a while though.”

  Jake squirmed around in his bed. He hated hospitals. This was one of the last places on earth he wanted to be right now. All he could think about was slapping the handcuffs on the person responsible for this. The doctor carefully flipped through his little chart and noted a few more things before turning to leave.

  “Oh, and Jake, we noticed on admission you had a bit of a fever. We did a quick test, and it looks like you got the flu, buddy. Haven’t you ever heard of a flu shot? I hear they give them away for free down at the precinct now.”

  The doctor smiled and walked out of the room, leaving Jake and Heather alone for a moment.

  Heather asked, “Jake, what is going on? Who would have done something like this to you?” Jake thought for a moment. Really, it could be just about anyone that he helped put behind bars.

  That was a lot of people over the years. Some of them had a similar physical appearance as the suicide serial killer, but he couldn’t place the rough, scratchy voice at all.

  Jake muttered, his voice torn and raspy, “I don’t know, honey. It really could be just about anyone I’ve arrested before, and maybe even one of their family members or gang buddies.” Jake thumbed around with his IV line a bit, “But I honestly don’t think it was anyone I have ever met before. I had never heard this man’s voice before in my life, and it was very distinctive.”

  Jake began to get angry just thinking about the man. How could he violate his home and threaten his family like that and get away with it? Jake’s hands tensed up into fists and the heart monitor he was hooked up to began to beep faster and faster.

  “Babe, you have to calm down. Your heart is racing a hundred miles an hour!” Heather said as she placed her hand gently on his fists, caressing them slowly to help him relax. “I know you will get this guy. Me and the kids will be safe. Chief Lunkster already talked to me and has protection set up for me and children to be under watch 24/7 until this freak is brought in.”

  Jake relaxed a bit and considered what he knew about the suspect so far. He was about six feet tall, heavy-set, didn’t have any visible tattoos, and wore a ski mask to conceal his identity. The only clues they had found so far at all the crime scenes were chess pieces and one small note. None of the victims seemed to be connected in any way. Jake’s mind picked at all the details, b
ut he couldn’t think of anything new. Everything was all scrambled up from his near-death experience.

  Jake’s train of thought was derailed as the door to his hospital room swung open, and his friend and partner Stacey walked in. Tears were in her eyes as she said, “Oh my god, J! Are you ok? What happened to you?”

  She rushed forward and started hugging him like she hadn’t seen him in ages. Jake grimaced as her hug threatened to cut off his oxygen supply. Stacey finally released him and explained, “The chief called me and told me you had been attacked and were in the hospital. I rushed over here as soon as I heard!”

  Jake was about to speak but pain caused him to grab at his throat. Even whispering was hard when you had nearly been choked to death.

  Heather leaned over to Stacey and said to her, “He’s ok, Stacey. Jake thinks that the guy that attacked him is some serial killer you guys are after.”

  Heather looked over at Jake with an expression of mock anger, “I haven’t heard anything about any serial killer in the news though!” her features softened as she continued to explain, “Apparently this guy ambushed Jake in the garage and knocked him out. When he came to, he was hanging from a noose. The workbench the attacker tied the rope to broke, and it woke me up. Probably woke up half the neighborhood as well. At first I thought a bomb had gone off or something. I ran in there and saw Jake lying on the floor and blood everywhere. He wasn’t breathing at first.”