Kyle had always had the ability to focus his concentration solely on that which needed to achieved at the time, and his Military service had only enhanced it. You couldn't afford to be thinking about your Sweetheart back home when you were embedded in a crumbling building, with other soldiers screaming, shooting and dying as mortar shells exploded all around you; otherwise the odds were you wouldn't survive to see her again. Although Zai had broken through his mental barriers, and remained constantly in his thoughts, as did the task ahead that evening, Kyle's inbuilt coping mechanisms remained strong enough for him to make it through the day at the station without arousing suspicion.
Whether the woman had responded to his email, he wasn't aware, and wasn't about to take the chance of accessing messages through the Police Department system. He'd provided enough information, for her, if she wished, or had second thoughts in regards to her role in Lisa Sharp's impending death, to contact him; although he realised that he hadn't mentioned his role in the Sheriff's Office. She probably assumed him a Deputy, which after her previous experience with Brock, Edwards and Noakes, had made Kyle even more surprised at her willingness to demonstrate trust, in her acceptance of his offer. That spoke to him of how deep her pain, and desperation to find someone with whom to share it, truly ran. As deep as his own.
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His shift completed at 8pm, Evans experienced the familiar thrill that came with the knowledge of what he was about to do. There was no emotion as such, no regret, remorse, or hesitation; his mind switched immediately to the new task at hand, the moment he'd exited the station. Kyle checked his watch, and drove back to his cottage to park the vehicle out front, then removed his gloves and gym bag, and jogged to Lisa Sharp's student apartment to await her imminent return from Cheerleading practice. This was the most dangerous part of the game, but Kyle was a man practiced in remaining invisible, and had a contingency plan if the presence of potential witnesses caused his first to not be viable.
However, luck was on his side, and the streets were quiet when Lisa Sharp arrived, and parked in her allocated space. Seconds after she'd stepped from the vehicle, and with her back to him, Kyle had emerged from the shadows, and before she'd even had time to become aware of his presence, the twenty-year old woman had been chloroformed, arms wrenched behind her back, cuffs snapped to her wrists, and bundled into the back of her own car. Kyle grabbed the keys, and slipped into the driver's seat.
The journey to his cottage was only a short distance, and the girl didn't awake until he'd lifted the rug to reveal the trapdoor, dropped her down the hole and heard the thud of her body hitting the dirt floor, then climbed down after her, bound Lisa's legs, arms and feet with rope; trussed like a Christmas turkey, with the bitch on her knees; wrapped a chain around her neck, attached the end to a hook in the wall, and struck her across the face.
By the time her eyes fluttered open, they were already blackened and bruised, and her nose broken, and Kyle almost laughed at her expression. It was one of shock, pain, and incomprehension. Her pupils widened, and she stared straight at him, but apparently without seeing, and her mouth fell open. She maintained that pose for a moment or two; then she screamed. And Kyle did laugh.
The scream quickly turned into sobs and squeals, and the girl's body jerked back and forth against her bounds in an attempt to escape, until her energy dissipated, the chain around her neck drew blood from the soft flesh it dug into, and her body went limp in a gesture of defeat. "What do you want? Please. Don't rape me." Every woman's worst nightmare. Lisa Sharp's whispered words were barely audible through her swollen lips, the blood that dripped from her shattered nose into her mouth, and the pants of terror and pain with which they were accompanied.
"You're not here for me to rape, bitch. I wouldn't want to catch anything. We're here to talk about Cole Douglas and Aziarah D'Amici. You know who she is, don't you Lisa? The girl your boyfriend raped. The one you gave permission to rape. Why the fuck do you deserve mercy or compassion when you refused to offer any to her?"
The young woman's head shook in the harsh grip he'd taken of her hair, and her eyes widened in confusion. However, it didn't take long for her to begin to comprehend Kyle's meaning; the removal of fingernails with a pair of pliers was a great motivator; and soon enough Lisa Sharp was grovelling, pleading, begging, screaming, sobbing and apologising for everything she'd ever done to cause pain. As well as for that she hadn't.
Not once did Kyle himself demonstrate mercy, compassion or care; not even when the girl coughed up blood, then fainted from the agony of his steel-capped boot smashing into her already broken ribs. All he'd done was collect a glass of water from the bucket which sat in the corner, threw it in her face, and continued when she regained consciousness.
Eventually, it was over.
The woman had admitted to the immorality of her acts, and repented for each and every one; she'd dump Cole, and if Kyle wished, even agree to wear a wire, and have him admit to his crime. To help put him away, and assist Azairah D'Amici; to atone, and make things right. Just, please, please, don't hurt her any more. Let her live, let her go free. Allow her the opportunity to make amends.
"Justice, without mercy."
Kyle had whispered as he'd shaken his head, then shoved the point of the hunting knife he'd held to her throat all the way through, with enough force to sever vertebrae and for the point to bed itself an inch into the mortar of the wall behind her. The serrated edge of the blade opened up a jagged hole, through which bright red arterial blood sprayed, and coated the cheap vinyl raincoat Kyle had attired himself in, and soaked into the dirt floor. The girl's dying scream whistled and gargled and gurgled through the newly formed orifice, without reaching her lips, and didn't cease until the light faded completely from her eyes.
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An hour later, the once beautiful and vivacious, twenty year-old cheerleader, with the long-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, perfect white teeth, and a body the subject of many adolescent fantasies, appeared more like a caricature of a Jackson Pollock painting; naked and beaten with legs spread and the word 'SLUT' carved deeply into her abdomen, fingernails ripped out, face bruised and smashed, ribs broken, knife wounds and rope burns on her skin, and head barely still attached to her shoulders by a few strands of raw, red flesh; splayed out on the grass of a small park, two blocks from Brock and Cole Douglas' residence.
Kyle had removed his blood-soaked raincoat at the Cottage, stripped off Lisa Sharp's clothing, then wrapped her lifeless body in cheap black garden plastic, and placed her in the trunk of her car. He was taking another chance, he knew, driving into the centre of Eden, and not dumping her corpse in a storm drain, or a shallow grave in the forest, where time and the elements would assist in washing away evidence, but Lisa Sharp was different from the others. Lisa Sharp was a message.
There were no regrets for the acts he'd perpetrated on the young woman, or the agony he'd forced her to endure; she'd deserved it. Just a sense of satisfaction and an easing of his internal anguish.
It was only when he'd jogged the five miles home, washed the remnants of the blood in the basement away with buckets of water, threw the clothing, both his and Lisa's, in the lit fire pit outside, and checked his email that Kyle felt anything but calm and in total control of his emotions. His fingers trembled when he saw the message from Zai, and he took a deep breath as he read it.
She understood.
He released the breath he'd been holding, and closed his eyes. She understood, but did she?
He wanted to reply to her, to answer everything that had been said, that she was right, and to let her know that Lisa Sharp was now dead; that he'd done it for her; but he couldn't. Kyle Evan's was scared. Now that he'd carried through with his promise, how would Zai react to the reality of it?
Her own murder had been one of opportunity, and happenstance, but his had been premeditated and violent. Once she woke up to the morning news; where it'd surely be the lead item; what would she think? Would she run, would she think that she'd gotten in too deep? Would she consider him crazy, and the violence scare her away? Evans wasn't concerned about her contacting the police, but that the depravity of his acts may have lost her. Was his concept of Justice without Mercy the same as hers.
The best way not to receive an answer you don't wish to hear, is to not ask the question, so instead of responding in full to the email, Kyle Evan's replied with only four lines:
TO: a.damici@xxxxxx.com
FROM: Anon66
Subject: RE: Don't be afraid.
It's done, Zai.
For you. For both of us. For Justice
The café on Emery St, Friday. I'll be there. I hope tonight's events did not turn you away.
If so, please forgive me.
Kyle
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The next few days passed in a blur. The town of Eden had never seen a crime like it. Ironically, on discovery of the murder of Lisa Sharp, and its brutality, Sheriff Brock Douglas immediately called upon the services of Forensic Investigators from the metropolis of Rome; something which he'd refused to do in the case of Azairah D'Amici.
There was barely time to breathe or think in those following days. The station was a madhouse, and along with his concerns that despite all the care he'd taken, and his own knowledge of forensics, he may have left evidence which would lead directly to him, he had to deal with a media circus, and assist in the logistics of the investigation. His own shock and disbelief that such an atrocity could occur in Eden was on par with that of the entire community, and he'd offered to do anything that he could to assist.
The high-point of that period, and something which caused him to struggle to keep a grin breaking out on his face, was the expression and demeanour of Cole Douglas, when he'd been called into the station. His eyes were reddened from tears, and his face the same colour from anger, and he'd screamed, and ranted, and threatened violence as he'd demanded his Father discover who was responsible. Cole Douglas would rip the animal apart with his own bare hands. Kyle only wished that he'd had the opportunity to film the performance, and send it to Zai.
Zai.
Kyle hadn't contacted her since that night of the murder. On the Friday, he dressed in a pair of jeans and a blue and white open necked shirt, and entered the Emery Café fifteen minutes before the appointed time. A quick scan of the room had revealed Zai had not made it before him, and Kyle wasn't certain if she come at all. Underneath the casual exterior, as he selected a table in one corner and ordered a coffee from the waitress, the man experienced a combination of nervousness, fear, excitement and adrenaline that he hadn't felt since he'd come under Sniper fire in Kabul, and watched his buddy's head explode like a ripe water-melon as Kyle dived for cover. The next shot had missed him by an inch.
Would she come?
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