Intensification and The House: Pen Pals and Serial Killers - Stories Three and Four

By Jo Michaels

Story 3:
Detective Hank Reynolds has just been handed the case of a lifetime. Another reality TV star has gone missing, and it’s up to the Atlanta police department to find her before it’s too late. While he’s digging around, he discovers there have been nearly twenty similar kidnappings in the surrounding areas over the last twenty years, and while trying to find out more—and a witness that’s still alive—he’s dragged into a past he wishes he could erase. His dreams become nightmares about the women, and his sanity unravels. Even his eyes begin to play tricks on him, but no hallucinations are as devious as the antics of the killer—who’s always one breath away—waiting for the chance to strike again.

Story 4:
This house is cursed, and everyone who lives there is in grave danger.

Ever wonder what stories you’d hear if walls could talk?

What if those walls witnessed unimaginable horrors?

Inside these pages is the story of one such house. What it sees, the people it meets, and what happens when a terrified spirit is invited to stay.

Story 1 – The Butcher
Story 2 – Marna, Fred, and Kimberly McDade
Story 3 – Lacy Mae Ritter
Story 4 – Mark and Olivia Cullpepper
Story 5 – The Writer

The House is a collection of short stories that ties in with the Pen Pals and Serial Killers series by Jo Michaels. You’ll find a couple of those characters named, and discover how one grew the teeth he used on the women he captured later.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo Michaels
• Release date: Oct 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463820025

Jo Michaels

Jo Michaels loves writing novels that make readers gasp in horror, surprise, and disbelief. While her browser search history has probably landed her on a list somewhere, she still dives into every plot with gusto, hoping "the man" will realize she's a writer and not a psychopath about to go on a rampage. Her favorite pastimes are reading, watching Investigation Discovery, and helping other authors realize their true potential through mentoring. She's penned the award-winning Pen Pals and Serial Killers series and the best-selling educational book for children, Writing Prompts for Kids, which has rocketed the kids that use it into several awards of their own.Most of Jo's books feature the places she's lived: Louisiana, Tennessee, and Georgia. That's given her a special amount of insight to what makes those locations tick. Her works are immersive and twisty, and she wouldn't want it any other way.

Book preview

***

Intensification

by Jo Michaels

Copyright © 2018 Jo Michaels

All Rights Reserved

Published May 4, 2018

License Notes:

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or re-distributed in any way. Author holds all copyright.

This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead.

Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design by Jo Michaels

Typeset for print and web by Jo Michaels

Edited by Tia Silverthorne Bach

Proofread by Ellie Oberth

All of INDIE Books Gone Wild

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

***

Claude’s gaze went right to the clock when he rolled over. Ten p.m. He grinned. That would give him several hours to do the things he wanted to do and still be back before it was time to get up and get moving for the day.

His feet made no noise as he padded down the hall to the garage, and the door swung open on greased hinges. Squeaky doors drove him bananas, so he was particular about keeping every single one in both his homes well lubed. Careful not to knock anything over, he made his way through the inky blackness to the other side of the room and the table where his tools hung. He pushed it gently from one end. A few wrenches on pegs banged together, but there was no noise otherwise. Every night he went out, he was more grateful he’d thought to put the slides under the legs. Once the table was moved aside, he stuck his pinky finger through a hole in the sheetrock and pulled.

The small door came forward easily and quietly, the hole the only indication there was anything there. Inside were the articles he wore every night: A gray coverall, a hoodie, high boots, and a baseball cap with his favorite team’s logo emblazoned on the front and back.

He chuckled as he pulled it on, the larger NY symbol turned toward the back. Fuck the Red Sox and the horse they rode in on; he’d be a Yankees fan until the day he died.

Carefully, he folded the pajama pants and tee he’d been wearing before and put them in the hidey-hole, closing the door softly. His boots were in his hand, and he waited until he was safely in the alcove of the side door before slipping them on his feet. It wouldn’t do to leave prints from boots he wasn’t supposed to have anywhere inside, just in case the police decided to investigate him and come digging around.

Hands in his pockets, he stepped to the sidewalk, casting his gaze both directions before turning left, scurrying down three blocks, and going right. His house was the fourth one on the left in the cul-de-sac, a large Tudor that backed up to an expansive wooded area. He’d had it painted gray and installed an impressive privacy fence with a high gate, and he always left a few lights on inside to make it look like someone was home. Before he went up to the door, he grabbed the mail out of the box, snickered at the fliers inviting him to shop at one store or another—they really didn’t want him anywhere near their establishments—and threw everything in the neighbor’s recycling bin.

It had been nearly a week since he’d been able to come home, and he could almost hear his beauties calling out to him. His hand shook as he put the key in the lock and turned, his excitement threatening to boil over and consume him whole.

Claude dashed in and spun to engage the deadbolt, also sliding the long chain into place. Once it was locked, he allowed himself to relax. He peeled off the hat and boots, leaving them near the door, and the next to go was his hoodie and coveralls. No clothing was required in his home, but he preferred to keep the boxer-briefs on. Sitting on chairs in the nude just made his balls sweaty, and he wasn’t about to suffer discomfort needlessly.

As he walked through the kitchen, he swatted Alice on the ass and whispered in her ear, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I have something to take care of first.

She giggled in response, and he checked her wires to make sure she was secure before moving on to Nadine.

How are you tonight, my love? he asked, caressing her beautiful, brown face.

I’m excellent, Claude. How are you? Her sweet voice was like milk and honey to his ears, and he kissed her on the tip of her nose.

Wonderful. Glad to be home. After checking her wires as well, he ignored the other ladies calling out to him and went for the door to the basement. He glanced around to be sure no one was watching before pulling his key out of its hiding place under the potted plant.

Door finally unlocked, he gave it a hard tug, enjoying the cool hiss of air as the seal broke. He stepped through and pulled the door shut all the way, re-engaging the locks, before hitting the switch to turn on the light. The LEDs nearly blinded him, and as soon as they came to full strength, she started screaming.

Again.

There was no need to rush or yell back, so he whistled as he made his way down the steps to her cage, laughing to himself the whole time.

When he rounded the corner, something whizzed past his head, and he ducked back into the stairwell.

Easy now. You sure you want to throw things at me, sweetie? He’d been working on his Southern gentleman accent, and his drawl was nearly perfect.

Fuck you! Let me the fuck out of here, you fucking psycho! Her cage bars rattled.

That’s not a nice way to speak to me, darling. I saved you.

Fuck that! Her voice was so shrill, it echoed off the soundproof walls and bounced around like a pinball.

He winced and leaned out around the jamb so he could see her. There was nothing else nearby for her to throw except excrement—which he knew she wouldn’t touch because she wasn’t that kind of woman—and her hands were empty, so he stepped all the way out and smiled at her. Sharon, I’ve missed you.

She backed away from his side of the cage, flattening her body to the back bars, her eyes wide and fixed on his approaching form, feet spread in a wide V to keep from stepping in the mess she’d made in the corner.

That was the reaction that made him feel most powerful—when they moved away as though they could sense something dark inside him.

"Who are you, and why the fuck am I here?"

My name is Claude, and you’re here because I want you to be.

What do you plan to do with me now? Keep me in this cage forever?

No. I have bigger plans for you. He moved to a shelf and lifted a photo, turning it so she could see. You’ll be joining the others.

Her jaw dropped. You’re a sick fuck. Wh… what the hell did you do to them?

Saved them. From a life of ridicule and struggle.

Like hell you did. They’re a—

He launched himself at the bars. Shut. Up.

Maniacal laughter sprang up and out of her.

Don’t you dare talk about things you have no knowledge of, or I’ll end your life right now.

That’s what you plan to do anyway, right? So why should I give a shit if you care what I’m saying or not? It was obvious she was trying to sound tough, but she was scared. Her voice wavered.

Because what you say is the line drawn between whether you enjoy your death or have a really fucking hard time of it, bitch. He snarled as the last word dripped from his lips and smiled when she flinched.

As he tracked a path around the outside of the cage, she moved, too, keeping her body on the side farthest away from him. The way her thigh muscles moved under the fabric of her tights made his cock hard, and he wiped drool off his chin. Her breasts were magnificent creatures, rising and falling every time she panted. Though she could use a washing, she was still the most alluring one he’d taken.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered as he moved.

Fuck you! she screamed.

I can’t wait to add you to my collection. You’ll be my prized possession. I already have room décor decided for you, and it’s just like something you’d pick for yourself. I can hear you thanking me now. He lifted his voice a few octaves as he mimicked her. ‘Oh, Claude, I love every part of it so very much! You’re the best ever.’ And then maybe you’ll give me a kiss.

"You know nothing about me, and there’s no way I’m ever going to kiss you."

Oh, but I do, Sharon. I do. I watched you for months on television, and then I followed you, always in the shadows where you couldn’t see me. That prick you were fucking wasn’t worthy of you, darling. His hand snaked out and caught her hair, and he pulled her to the bars closest to him. You’ll never have to worry about not having the right man again, because I promise to take care of you for all time.

Killing someone isn’t taking care of them. Tears streamed down her face then, and her shoulders sagged. Please, Claude. Please. Let me go?

Pulling her head back, he yanked on her hair so her face tilted up and the skin on her throat grew tight, the pulse banging away just under the surface. His teeth ached to sink into the supple flesh, tear at it, but he knew if he did, her corpse would be ruined, and he wanted her in his collection very badly.

He inhaled, savoring the last remnants of her perfume.

Please, she whispered.

No. It was a simple answer, and he watched her for a reaction. That always told him the most about the women—how they responded when they didn’t get something they’d begged for.

Rather than grow angry, she softened, and her shoulders shook.

Weak. Just as I expected. His fingers opened, and he dropped her, letting her sink to the floor. Tomorrow, Sharon, dear. Tomorrow!

After bringing her some food that he left on a paper plate near the cage, he replenished her supply of water bottles, removed the trash and pile of filth, and then whistled his way back upstairs, setting the bag by the door for depositing in the neighbor’s bin.

Claude’s ladies were waiting, and he had big plans for the evening. Lots of research to catch up on.

He locked the door and stowed the key after once more making sure none of the women were watching, and then he went to join Ginger on the couch. Mind if I have the remote? he asked.

Not at all, Claude.

Taking it from her hand, he was careful not to knock her wire around and damage the limb again like he’d done the week prior. It had been a bitch to repair, and he just didn’t have the time to dick around with it. Plus, she was a whiner when she was injured; it was better to be more diligent.

With a click of the red power button, the television came on, and he activated the DVR, looking for the latest episodes of She Wants to Marry Him.

Carefully, he put one arm around Ginger and pulled her close, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. He kissed her blonde hair and laughed when the photos of the women on the show scrolled across the screen, their names emblazoned underneath. Remember when you were on this show?

She nodded in agreement, sending waves of sweet-smelling perfume up to his nose.

I bet you do. That dickless wonder didn’t know what he had in you, did he? His voice dropped as he inhaled and remembered the past.

Her head moved left and right.

Let’s see what happens tonight.

For two hours, he caught up on episodes he’d missed, using the notebook on the coffee table to write down details he thought might be important later.

He tossed the pad back on the table, turned the television off, stood, and adjusted Ginger so she looked like she did when he arrived, caressing her chin with his thumb. You’re so beautiful. It’s a shame you didn’t win that one, but it was probably because you’re so stupid.

She giggled and gave him a winning smile.

Returning to the kitchen and Alice, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed himself to her back and rear. She was still firm, and he liked it. Her roundness made him ache with desire. He buried his face in her hair but pulled back when he got a whiff of something unpleasant.

Moving her hair to one side, he examined her neck, and found a small patch of skin had peeled back, revealing the stuffing he’d packed her with. A little more digging in the hole found the culprit of the horrendous smell. It was a tiny patch of mildew. There had to be more based on the strength of the odor, but he didn’t have time to do a full-body inspection. She’d probably just been near the sink too long and needed to dry out.

Alice, darling. You’re positively rotting from the inside out. I’ll need to move you, okay?

Her head moved up and down.

Perhaps Hailey would like to take your place. I’ll just go ask her. Be right back. He sprinted up the stairs, flipping on the light at the landing, and making a hard right into the master bedroom. There, he found Hailey lying on the bed with Juniper nearby, one hand covering one of Hailey’s breasts. Time to move, ladies! I need Hailey dressed and downstairs to take Alice’s place. You want to do that, sweetheart?

Of course, Claude. Anything for you, she answered.

He dug a pretty dress out of the closet and helped Hailey into it, and then he lifted her over his shoulder and carried her down, careful not to bang her head on anything.

Alice was unhooked from the wires, the dry sponge taken from her hand, and she was placed on the floor nearby. Hailey was buckled in, the sponge put in her right hand, and a clean plate fixed to her left with some Velcro strips he kept in a nearby drawer. He positioned her so it appeared she was applying the sponge to the plate.

Good girl. Make sure it’s spotless.

Of course, Claude.

After carrying Alice upstairs, stripping her naked, and arranging her in the bed with Juniper, he pressed his back to the wall to admire his handiwork, deciding quickly that one of the hands was too high. He adjusted the appendage so it was between Alice’s legs and sighed.

Perfect.

Again, he backed up to the wall and peered at them. His cock got hard immediately as he watched them play with one another, giggling, kissing, and rolling on the bed, but he shook it off. There was no time for that right then. He had to get back before his time expired. Kissing each lady on the head, he scurried out and down the steps, his hard-on dropping the moment he stepped off the last one.

Well, my lovelies, I’ll see you all tomorrow! We’ll have a splendid party soon! I’ll bring champagne, and you can welcome Sharon with open arms when I bring her up.

They cheered.

He quickly dressed and hurried out the door, being sure to lock it behind himself, before jogging back the way he’d come.

Quickly and quietly, he snuck through the garage door, changed, and slipped back into bed.

At six a.m. sharp, the alarm sounded, jolting Hank out of a deep sleep. He rolled onto his back, one hand absently slapping at the offending noise. Finally, it stopped, and he groaned. It was like he hadn’t slept in weeks, and it was starting to take a toll on him. A decision was made then and there that one of the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed would be taken that night. Just one night of rest was all he needed to trudge on through another few weeks of restlessness.

He peeled himself out of bed, pressed the button on the coffee pot, and headed for the shower. Music poured out of his mouth, and he took the detachable sprayer and held it in front of his lips, filling the small space with crescendos and a strong, natural vibrato. It was his favorite time of day, before dealing with the people from the office, before having to get into it with victims calling about some bullshit that might or might not have happened in the middle of the night; in that moment, he was just a man with music in his soul and warm spray from his shower microphone.

Once he was clean, he stepped out and toweled off, going to the kitchen to pour a huge cup of the coffee he could smell from the bathroom. He gulped at it, loving the way it burned as it made its way to his stomach. A sigh tore out of him. Perfection.

His routine was firmly established, and the next half hour was spoken for as he trimmed his beard, brushed his teeth, and dressed for the day in slacks and a button down, strapping his gun holster over his torso. He always grabbed his wallet and badge as he left the bedroom, and those went in his back pockets. Then, he filled his travel cup with more coffee and left for the day. On the drive to the precinct, he checked his voicemail. There were three calls: One from his ex-girlfriend inviting him for drinks—delete, another from his partner about the upcoming softball game—save, and a third from someone he didn’t know from some online bullshit magazine asking for a quote about the rich-girl kidnapping—delete.

He sighed and threw the phone on the passenger’s seat, leaning back with two hands on the wheel, and finished driving to work while yelling at other drivers to pay attention to what they were freaking doing before they killed someone. Some days he was so tempted to hit the switch on the light bar so people would move the hell out of the way and he wouldn’t have to sit in traffic.

Pulling into the lot, he parked in his designated spot and got out, nearly empty coffee thermos in hand, to go up to his office. His partner was already there.

Morning, Hank said.

Dude. Phones are still blowing up over that rich-girl model that went missing. Cap says we need to nail this bastard soon. Tony thumped the desk with his forehead. Sorry. Good morning to you, too.

Do we have any new information?

No. That’s the thing. There have been a million and one ‘hot tips,’ but none of them check out, ya know?

Falling into a rolling chair behind a desk facing Tony’s, Hank shook his head as his anger bubbled. Don’t know what Cap wants us to do about it if we don’t have any damned leads. The guy snatching these women might as well be a goddamned ghost! Unless there’s more than one, and if so, they’re goooood.

I know. You’re preaching to the choir, man.

I’m just so fucking frustrated with it all.

Well, what do you want to do today? Beat the streets?

We’re gonna have to. Frustrated, he pulled the file folder over and flipped it open. A pretty brunette smiled out of the photograph. Missing nearly a week, she’d disappeared while grocery shopping at a local store, one with no exterior cameras. He read over the report once again, but the only thing that stuck out to him was that she’d been on TV on some reality show about marriage. A few cases with eerie similarities had come over his desk the previous two years, but they’d already gone cold due to lack of evidence and witnesses, and his mind whirled. He wondered if anyone else had thought about that. I wonder if it’s a pattern.

Their captain stuck his head out the door and barked at them, Get in my office. Now!

With a sigh, Tony and Hank rose and went through the glass door into the chaos beyond.

Take a seat, boys.

They did, neither of them saying a word, Hank still clutching the file.

I need you two on top of your game. This fucker has everyone terrified to take a step outside.

Hank held up a hand. Whoa. Hold on a sec, Cap. I was just thinking that maybe this isn’t random and isn’t linked with those other two sloppy snatch-and-grab jobs from Fulton County. It struck me a few minutes ago that Sharon makes the fourth young woman that’s been kidnapped in what might be a series. All four of the women I’m thinking of have been on one reality TV show or another, and all have gone missing over the last few years. That suggests a pattern, right? I’m not sure ‘Jane the Wife’ has anything to be afraid of—as long as she doesn’t live in Fulton county. My guess is, those two will be solved pretty quickly. They’re lacking the finesse of the Sharon one.

"Right. Suggests. There’s no way to be sure of that, Reynolds. If all the women in your recollection had gone missing after being part of one show, we’d have something."

Truer words were never spoken, and he knew it; he just didn’t really like it all that much. A kidnapper had to be established several years and have a definitive pattern, but the cases they were working had no links between all the victims, only four out of six that he could see. It also seemed the reality kidnapper had only been active a little while, but if Hank’s suspicions were correct, the guy had snatched three other women who were in the public eye, but lesser known than the most recent. Reality kidnapper. Damn, I’m fucking clever.

My gut tells me we’ll catch someone soon, so I want you boys looking into everything you can think of, okay? Get out there and get me some answers. I need to assure people that my guys aren’t complete morons. Cap crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and waved his hands. Get!

Tony and Hank got up and left, neither of them with a spring in their step.

Let’s go, big guy, Tony said.

Wait a sec. I’m gonna grab another cup and look at something on my computer. Hank refilled his travel thermos, capped it, and then pulled up the previous three cases that were on his mind, scanning them quickly. He shut everything down and stood. Okay. Ready. Let’s do this shit.

They got into Tony’s black Impala and pulled out, headed for the grocery store the missing girl had been taken from.

***

Several people who’d been questioned already were cornered and interrogated again. A particularly twitchy night-shift bagger had the detectives’ full attention when someone bumped into Tony and said, Oh, sorry, sir. Excuse me.

Watch it. Tony didn’t look up.

Hank did, and he watched the man go, only one thing standing out—the backward cap he was wearing, and the white NY logo of the Yankees screaming in stark contrast to the black it was stitched to. After all, they were in Atlanta, and the Braves were the local team. Something about the guy gave Hank the willies, and he nudged Tony’s arm and pointed.

Yeah. What about him? Tony asked.

I don’t know, but that seemed a little odd. We’re not exactly in a place where he couldn’t have avoided walking into us.

There was at least six feet of space on all sides of the three men, and Tony glanced around. Yeah, I can see what you’re saying.

Should we…?

Nah. I think the guy was just texting or something. Look, he still is. Leave it.

Okay. Bugs of doubt crawled over Hank’s skin. Never had he wanted to chase someone down quite so badly. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the nervous kid. He looked ready to piss himself. I think we got all we need, kid. Thanks.

Scuttling off, the young man barely lifted his feet as he went, making it appear as though he was trying very hard to be inconspicuous.

What the hell was that about? I wasn’t done with him, Tony said.

He doesn’t know anything.

They spent the next couple of hours asking if anyone else was working the night the woman went missing, peppering the employees that might have seen something with questions, and then typing shit into the computers in the car.

Finally, Tony closed his eyes and sighed. I’m fucking starving. Can we eat?

Yeah. There’s a good taco place around the corner.

Thank fuck. He shoved the key in the ignition and blazed out of the parking lot.

They were sitting at picnic tables a few minutes later, huge tacos and a couple of sodas in front of them.

His mouth opened wider than should’ve been humanly possible, and he shoved a taco in, moaning as it crunched between his teeth. Mouth full, he said, You’re right. These are good.

Don’t be a pig, Tony. Hank chucked a napkin across the table before biting into his own taco. Cumin and jalapeno flavors burst on his tongue, and then it was followed by the sweet heat of the tomato salsa. He closed his eyes and savored it.

You look like you’re about to blow your load. Tony laughed.

Maybe I am.

They didn’t say anything else until their taco wrappers were empty and lying in crumpled heaps in the little red baskets. It was no holds barred then, and he talked a blue streak.

Sick of hearing stories about Tony’s many, many conquests when he was younger, Hank closed his eyes and sipped his soda, wondering how many times the missing lady’s apartment had been combed over. They’d been through it once. He rolled information from the several cases he’d looked at earlier around in his head like puzzle pieces, but nothing he knew seemed to click together in any way. Laurel Allen had gone missing from two counties over, Sonja Kowalski had disappeared just down the road from the grocery store where Sharon Smith had been abducted, and Stacy Madsen had been picked up clear across the city—and Atlanta was a huge city. There