Netted- Inside Out Read online

  An ambulance kicked on its sirens and buzzed past as they pulled onto St. John’s road. They followed the narrow road around, passing the urgent care entrance, surgery, and then outpatient care entrances. They pulled into the parking lot near the main entrance and backed into a spot next to a handicap sign.

  Boris scowled. Since Morgan had popped up, he’d been needy and irritatingly vague about the case. From what Boris could gather, they may’ve been hot on the heels of a psychopath who owned a group of people or ran a cult, meaning Paul was potentially twenty or so times more dangerous than a simple online date gone wrong. Boris ground his teeth. If that were the case, he’d need to know for the sake of his safety and, even more, his family’s wellbeing. “Detective, if I’m going to help in anyway, or any further, I need you to work with me.”

  Morgan glared at Boris. “I don’t get what you mean.”

  “I’ve never—”

  “No one has ever, until they have. Paul is a different type of maniac. One who’s everywhere and nowhere at once. You’ve read the file, haven’t you?”

  “Of course, I have. But I feel like there is more at play then what you’re sharing.”

  Morgan smirked. “If I had a dime for every time I’ve heard someone say that, I’d use the money to flush Paul out; we wouldn’t be wasting time right now. You’d be pushing papers over your desk, waiting for your chance to be detective and I’d,” he chuckled, “be better at dealing with my wife and other personal issues.”

  “Detective, I—”

  “What is that you need to know that’s not in the case file? Huh?”

  “There’s nothing in the file about a group of people that follow him! Only thing in there is about Marla and how she attacked Dale. About all the blood at the scene that wasn’t just his and how we don’t know who the hell owns the house because that woman is dead! Oh and don’t get me started on the realtor… who’s still MIA. The only thing about Paul is that Dale claims Marla mentioned him being on his way and possibly paying her for his body. That’s it. That’s all. Who the hell is Paul and, moreover, who was Marla to him? And, even moreover, who the hell is Jessica and what does he want with her? You didn’t just blow in here for an assault case, Morgan. I know that for sure isn’t the whole truth. Please, tell me what the hell is going on.” Boris glowered at Morgan, who sat in the driver seat with that unmoving, stern, frown.

  He sighed. “Paul must be put down. It’s as simple as that. He's taken hundreds of lives for his own sick pleasure. It’s not for money. It’s not for fame. It’s simply because he can. This man is a modern-day demon stuck here on our earth and he’s feeding.” Morgan bared his teeth. He cringed and sighed deeply. “And I’ve been after him since 1992.”

  “Wow, that’s a—”

  “Long…damn…time,” Morgan interrupted. “I know. But a clever psycho like Paul has figured out how to survive by blending and flourishing off the naive. He’s a Manson of our time that isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.”

  Boris looked forward, gazed out the window. The case file didn’t mention anything about a Manson-type murderer. Paul owns a… cult? In this day and age? Boris knew about Marla offering Dale up to someone named Paul. True. Human trafficking was a horrifying practice, one that only sick fucks partook and got rich off innocent lives. But a cult? Those people that haunted Dale’s dreams were a part of a very real, seemingly thriving…

  He gulped.

  Cult?

  “Now are we going to sit here and gossip or are we going in there to interview the star witness; the first person to slip away from Paul in one piece?”

  ***

  St. John’s Hospital bustled as men and women dressed in scrubs rushed up and down the hallways and in and out of automated doors with patients in wheelchairs or on movable beds. A food cart rolled up the hall full of metal-covered dishes that smelled a lot like bacon drenched in maple syrup. Doctors in white lab coats sipped coffee as they sat in offices along the hallway, while blue drapes were spread out like dividers in some rooms, hiding resting patients from the busy hall. Morgan stopped in front of a mahogany-toned nurse who’d been flipping through a file.

  “Miss?”

  “Good morning, sir. I’ll be right with you. Doctor!” she called out, before circling around the counter and heading for an office off to their left. Morgan turned to Boris.

  “Do you know where his room is?” he asked.

  “No. Ms. Hall said they moved him from trauma to the ICU.”

  Morgan nodded.

  “Okay, sorry about that,” the nurse, Nurse Macy on her pale badge read, said as she sat back on the stool behind a computer. “How can I help you?”

  “Yeah, we’re here to see Mr. Dale Tilson.”

  “Reason?”

  “Police matters.” Morgan pulled his badge from his breast pocket. Boris removed his from his pocket.

  “Oh okay, sure.” She typed quickly on the keyboard. “He’s in the ICU. You just go up this hall and make a left until the hall ends. Then make a right and go straight until you see the elevators. Take it up to the fifth floor. As soon as you exit, there will be another nurse’s station. They’ll be able to take you to his room.”

  “That’s a lot of directions,” Boris said.

  “I can call up there and see if someone can come down to help you if you’d like?”

  “Sure,” Morgan said.

  She picked up the phone and dialed. “Hi, Tonya? Can you send a volunteer down to the front? Officer…” She looked up at them.

  “Detective Morgan and Officer Boris,” Detective Morgan said with a raised brow.

  “Detective Morgan and Officer Boris are here to see Dale Tilson. Um-hum. Thank you.” She hung up. “She’ll be down in a sec. Feel free to have a seat over in the lobby.” She pointed to the host of chairs in the room situated adjacent to where they stood.

  Morgan nodded. “At least we won’t get—”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Boris turned to find a familiar face, glaring at him through tears. Mrs. Fulton stood in the doorway of the lobby with a heaving chest and hands balled at her sides.

  “Mrs.—” Morgan started.

  “Don’t! Don’t you dare! How dare you show your face around here? Where were you?” she shrieked. “Where were you when they took him?”

  “I—”

  She charged at Morgan and slapped a heavy hand across his cheek. “Where were you?” she screamed again.

  “Whoa, whoa,” Boris said, going for her.

  Morgan put an arm out against Boris’s chest and put another hand on his own cheek. “It’s okay. She’s in pain.”

  Mr. Fulton thick hair flopped as he jogged down the hallway from the direction of the restroom signs. He grabbed her from behind. “Diane, honey calm down,” he beckoned. “You can go to prison for this!”

  “I don’t fucking care!” She kicked and screamed and flayed at the hips until she and her husband went down to the floor.

  “Sweetheart,” he pled as tears rolled over his nose and onto her cheek.

  “No!” she wailed. “No.” She curled under the man’s weight and stopped fighting. She cried like a child who’d just found out their pet died.

  “Sweetie.” Jim’s voice cracked. “It’s okay, baby. It’s going to be okay.”

  “No,” she muttered.

  Morgan started again. “I’m sorry, Mrs.—”

  “Shut up!” she shrieked. “You useless fucking cop. You let them take him. You let them do this to my brother! This is your fault,” she growled.

  “Diane.” Mr. Fulton picked her up and cradled her in his arms as he carried her to the seats inside the waiting area. He spoke carefully and softly, sure to keep her coddled in his hairy arms. “Let the man do his job...” was all Boris could pick up.

  “Uh,” a man behind them prompted them to turn. Astonishment covered his pale face. The boy had to be no more than twenty as he stood slender and frail, his scrubs nearly hung off his body. �
�Are you—are you here to see Dale Tilson?”

  Still holding his cheek with his mouth hanging open, Morgan nodded.

  “His room is being cleaned for the next patient.”

  “What do you mean?” Morgan asked with a strained voice.

  “I mean, he’s gone. They think he left about an hour ago… between the nurses’ rounds.”

  “Well where the hell did he go?”

  “We don’t know. He didn’t check out. He’s just…gone.”

  Chapter One

  Has it been three weeks already? Jessica thought as she stood in the window of Sister Green’s Bodega Trailer watching Hazel push a dolly with boxes that towered over her slender frame through the snow. She trudged, stomped, huffed, and even took a second to pull her sunglasses onto her thick long hair that looked sandy brown in the strained sunlight. She slouched and kicked the dolly with her snow boot. Then she stood there and pouted with her hands in the pockets of her signature leather coat, something Jessica bet costed more than her old home, the beat-up farmhouse she had once shared with Granny.

  Jessica chuckled. Although she rarely talked to Hazel, she turned out to be rough around the edges, rarely saying much to anyone for that matter, but held the most responsibilities around the compound. From securing the perimeter, being Father Paul’s right-hand or second-in-command since Marla died, and being one of the three people, other than St. Pete and Orion, who could leave the compound with special permission, Hazel was a walking mystery. Although she didn’t waste much time talking to Jessica over the past three weeks, Jessica found comfort in her presence somehow as she was the curvy woman dressed in black that took her from the lake that night. The night she stopped being Jessica, the neglected, loner child with an abusive past, and became Jessica, the pretty girl who worked the bodega on Father Paul’s compound.

  Finally, she was separated from the world where guilt and oppression couldn’t find her.

  She chuckled when St. Pete came up behind Hazel with his dolly and threw his hands up as he griped. He pushed her dolly free from the snow bank. Hazel rolled her eyes and snatched the puff ball of his University of Michigan hat off his oily blond mop that went down past his neck and hid his ears. His matching coat shone bright yellow, brighter than the sun that hid behind the thick snow clouds. Jessica imagined that he’d said something snarky, as he always did, and forced himself to help. He smiled hard as they approached the trailer. His pale dimple dug deep into his bare sunken cheeks and the wrinkles on the sides of his deep dark eyes raised in amusement.

  Mr. Keys came up behind them with another dolly, pushing his entire boney, old body into it just to get it to budge. His tinted smile shone gray and dull as he laughed at St. Pete who appeared to tease Hazel, who, in turn, flipped him off. Jessica only saw Mr. Keys at the farm trailer, tending to the hogs and cows. Mr. Keys also held the keys to every sleeper trailer, business trailer, and the barn, hence why Father Paul named him Mr. Keys. The old man never seemed to need a coat, or long sleeves for that matter. His slender body seemed fine with his navy-blue mechanic’s shirt and work pants, all of which he wore with pride and without a word. Jessica suspected he was mute.

  Jessica held the door open, allowing them inside. She winced as the snow blew in, assaulting her cheeks and face with harsh wet winds.

  “Special delivery!” St. Pete announced as he, Hazel, and Mr. Keys pushed the dollies through the threshold of the trailer. “Where is my wife?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Sister Green scowled at him, as she flicked her blonde locks over her shoulder and rounded the counter. She’d been sitting atop it, looking over her favorite magazine, National GeoWorld. That issue, personally, created butterflies in Jessica’s gut. The headline read: ‘Cannibalistic Tribes: Where to Find Them and How to Avoid Them.’ Jessica was convinced that Sister Green stayed curious about the world, reading different books and even her Bible at times when the store was slow, which was often. It was either that or Sister Green spent time gossiping and allowing her laugh lines, which were etched across her pale face, to show whenever she scowled or gave a simple glare. Although Jessica spent most of her time in the store with the gossip-happy woman, she was overwhelmed by the inventory. She’d fight herself, stopping her hands from picking up peanut butter chocolate bars, dark chocolate candies, and those caramel covered candies that were dipped in chocolate. No matter how old she’d gotten, Jessica was fairly certain she’d never tire of that rich milky sweetness. But Sister Green steered clear and avoided devouring the junk that Hazel and St. Pete dropped off, almost biweekly. On Jessica’s first day, she stood out on the iced over walkway, waiting for Sister Green who never missed a morning jog. Even now, she wore lime-green yoga pants, a fitted black hoodie, and white tennis shoes instead of snow boots.

  “And close the door, you’re letting all the heat out!” Sister Green yelled at St. Pete.

  Jessica fastened the trailer door closed once Mr. Keys entered.

  They approached the counter single file and stopped short of Sister Green, who pulled on her red-framed reading glasses, which practically stayed on top of her head.

  St. Pete chuckled. “Where is everyone?”

  “What are you talking about?” Sister Green looked at Jessica who shrugged right along with her. The bodega had been dead for the three weeks Jessica had worked there, except the morning of her first day, of course, when St. Pete and Hazel dropped off penicillin, gauze, IV hoses, and a new desk for Doc Viper’s Medical Trailer. The Doc strutted over from her compound-based practice in the trailer (no bigger than this one) with her chin high and her labeled (her handmade name tag read ‘Doc Viper’) lab coat open, showing off her silk shirt and long, black slacks. She didn’t bother speaking to Jessica or Sister Green as they stood behind the counter, flipping through the pages of old GeoWorld magazines. Doc flipped her long dark hair and dug through the drop off box. It wasn’t until she picked up a prescription bottle and her face twisted at the label. In her small voice, she said, “Well, if this is what he wants…” She tossed Jessica a faint smile, buttoned up her lab coat, lifted her box, and headed back out the door.

  “I thought the compound would be down here clearing you out. Usually Mondays are your busiest day because they know if we didn’t bring enough to restock, then special orders could be made and we’d have to drive out again. Have you been out there? It’s utter shit.” St. Pete looked over at Hazel, who brushed snow off the fronts of her jeans and rubbed the backs of her hands over her hazel eyes.

  “Hazel, anybody ever told you that you look like—” Sister Green started with her infamous mischievous smile.

  “Don’t say it,” Hazel warned with her eyes closed tight. It was like she was readying herself for impact.

  “Ms. Halle Berry!” Sister Green said. “You know you do with that gorgeous caramel tone and that beautiful bone structure. You are gorgeous, my little model!”

  Hazel rolled her eyes and took a box from the dolly. She set it on the floor next to the table near the door. After moving some magazines and books around, she reached down the side of her high boot and pulled out a hunting knife. She gripped the lime-green handle and flipped it open. Its silver blade gleamed in the yellow lights as she stabbed the box and pulled the tabs up.

  “Yeah, she does,” St. Pete added. “And that’s not the first I’ve heard of it. Blaze won’t let us forget.”

  “How’s my little China doll doing? I haven’t seen her digging around since we ran out of those chocolate bonbons she likes so much.”

  Hazel held up a pack of chocolate cupcakes wrapped in plastic. “Oh, you’ll see her today. I made sure we grabbed her some.”

  “Aw,” St. Pete coaxed as he cleared a spot on the counter next to Mr. Keys, who was separating and counting cans of peas.

  “Shut up, St. Pete,” Hazel said as she continued pulling macaroni and cheese cups from the box.

  Mr. Keys passed a silent smirk to St. Pete as he pulled boxes from the dolly and set them on the counter.

/>   Blaze. Blaze. A light bulb went off in Jessica’s head. Blaze, a cherry-haired girl, no older than Jessica, who came by the bodega once since Jessica started. She sported a worn-out jean jacket, long enough to reach her boney knees. Her honey-colored eyes smiled hard as she approached the counter, chocolate cupcakes in hand. She went on about how she was happy she didn’t have to work in the bodega anymore. Not only was it boring, it was lazy work. Nothing like her job out in the treehouse, waving her rifle around, which hung from her shoulder and down her side. She stuffed the cupcakes in her mouth and ate them both before she even reached the door to go back to guard duty.

  The memory made Jessica smack her lips. I’d rather be here in the warmth reading books all day then out there, bird watching. It wasn’t like anyone knew where to find the compound anyway. Jessica didn’t even know if she were still in Michigan or not let alone the exact location.

  Sister Green looked at St. Pete, who put a box on the counter in front of Jessica. With gleaming eyes, Sister Green asked, “Got something for me?”

  “Your stock?” He looked confused by her question. But Jessica knew what she was going on about; the same thing she went on about most days they stood around: cultural differences and in this case, she itched for anything of the pop genre.

  She stomped her foot. “Come on. You know…”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. I got it, Sister Green,” St. Pete said as he pulled a rolled-up magazine from his coat pocket. He handed it to her, and she accepted with a wide smile. “Anything for you.”

  Hazel smiled at the gawking woman as she unrolled the magazine. Her face lit up at the bright, colorful cover. ‘Who’s who?’ splayed across the heading in thick white lettering. A man wearing a fitted tuxedo and sleek back hair posed with a hand in his pocket and his gray eyes looking off as if he were too good to look into the camera. “Oh my... He’s so sexy. Yum!”

  “Who’s that?” Jessica asked as she took the blade of her box cutter to the tape that bound the box in front of her closed.

  “Matthew McConaughey!”