Anonymous Dreams: Dreams and Reality, #16

By Hadena James

Snuff films are a myth. Everyone knows that.

When a serial killer begins rampaging through Kansas City, Missouri, the press dubs him The Lady Burner, because after he kills his victims, he sets their bodies on fire and burns down their houses.

The SCTU knows that the fires are just a forensic counter measure. He's covering his tracks; he rapes and strangles these women while filming it. He offers the videos up for sale on the dark web, forcing Aislinn Cain and the SCTU to track a killer through the sleazy digital marketplaces where someone can buy anything if they have enough money.

However, once inside the marketplaces, Aislinn realizes it's not just a case of tracking down the person selling the videos. There's an infrastructure in place that insulates the video maker, the seller, the distributor, and the buyers. Ensuring everything on the dark web, even the makers of snuff films, are anonymous

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hadena James
• Release date: Jan 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393594703

Book preview

From Hell

Iwrite these words to you from Hell. 

Was it Shakespeare that said, ’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?  If so, the bard had never experienced true love as I have.  For I have loved and lost.  Do not shed tears for this girl, for Leah was truly loved before death.  Loved so completely by me that I could not stand for her to live without me.  How vividly I remember her warm breath caressing my flesh for the first time.  Oh, how much it hurt the first time she pushed away from me and I realized I would never again feel her breath upon me.  How could I live knowing someone else enjoyed the caresses which rightly belonged to me?  I wandered for days thinking I should kill myself.  Alas, why should I die when she’d betrayed our love, not me? 

I decided it should not be me at all.  I continued to live, even if it was with a hole in my soul and heart. Life might seem duller now, but I endured it.  Maybe I could find others to love me to fill those holes.  No, it should not be me; it should be her that should die.

For nearly a week, I willed her to die.  I prayed for it night and day, but God had turned his back on me, and she continued to live.  So I took her life myself, with my own hands.  I was not interrupted, and I remembered something I’d heard as a child. God helps those that help themselves. 

I wasn’t stopped, so it was obvious to me that God had wanted me to kill her.  Could it be that her sins were greater than I realized?  I was doing God’s work, for if he hadn’t wanted her to die, he would have stopped me.  Perhaps God is angered when true love is rejected.

I tried to strangle her.  It isn’t as easy as it looks in the movies.  I held my hands around her throat until they hurt.  My knuckles white with the effort.  I released her neck, and after a few of my own heartbeats, she took a great gulp of air.  I tried again.  But again, when I let go, she gasped for air, breathing again on her own.

Had I been wrong? If God kept bringing her back to life, then he must not want her dead.  I searched the kitchen for a knife.  I stabbed her six times.  I stabbed her so hard the knife plunged through her body and hit the floor.  Still, we had not been interrupted.  No one came to her rescue.  I watched as she died there on the floor of her bedroom. 

Once she was dead, I lifted her limp form and carried it to my car. Again, God shined a favorable light on me.  No one stopped me from putting her in the trunk of her own car and driving away.  Nor was I stopped as I parked her car and left it there with her corpse inside.

I had been chosen, chosen by God, to dispose of lovers who disposed of true love.  For that is the nature of God — true, aching love.  He does not let bad things happen; he merely ensures the unrighteous, the unworthy, are smote.  Smiting the wicked is also the nature of God.  How much more wicked can a person be than to rebuke someone for loving them? 

I dare say you do not understand yet.  But perhaps it is because you have never loved.  I loved her so much, there were times that looking at her caused me physical pain.  When I told her, she laughed at me.  She made fun of me.  She told me she would never love me.  It would have been less painful if she had ripped out my heart. 

But she did not.  Instead, she berated and abused me, all because I loved her.  What a wicked creature.  Is it any wonder then that God did not interrupt us?  That He did not intervene and stop her from dying at my hands?  I set fire to her house after I left her in the parking lot to rot in her trunk, which was better than she deserved.

I think not.  As you read this, you have no doubt found the second woman God requested I smite for rejecting love.  I saw them at a restaurant.  I watched as he whispered quietly to the waitress and handed her a ring.  Then the waitstaff exited the kitchen carrying filled champagne glasses.  They sang a love ballad, and he knelt and asked his lady to marry him.  She told him she couldn’t; she did not love him.  He looked as I’m sure I did the day she told me she would never love me.  He shed tears; she got up and walked away.  How wicked of her!  I stood up and followed her.  I had finished eating, so I just left the change as tip.  God had brought me here to show me my next project.

She’d parked her car right next to mine in the lot; she sat in it as I walked to mine.  I wrote down the plate number just in case we should become separated as I followed her home.  But we did not.  She didn’t even seem to notice me.  I strangled her with a belt this time.  It worked better than my hands.  It wasn’t faster, but when I let go of the belt she did not gasp for air and live.  I poured gasoline on her body and set it on fire.  She deserved nothing better.  Wickedness should get used to fire, as the wicked will burn for eternity.

Do you not agree?

Agamemnon

One

Isat in the conference room in our office in the basement of the Tower in the FGN.  I was waiting for Fiona, who was doing computery stuff.  With the death of Parker Carr, the FBI and US Marshals had found a cache of user information from dark web sales of child pornography set up by the cult that had caused our last big news serial killer to suffer a fractured psyche and dissociative identity disorder.   The FBI had raided most of the users’ homes, but Fiona was involved in an elaborate plan to capture some of the people involved in distributing child pornography. 

I didn’t understand much of it.  I was there to provide her an escort, as she was setting up a meeting or something to get physical material, as opposed to streaming material.  By working backward from the users’ computers, they had identified new sellers.  I think that was how it worked.  It wasn’t my normal line of work, but it beat doing nothing, which was what we’d been doing the last two days. 

Our unit was waiting on health tests and a plethora of paperwork before we would be allowed to spin up and go hunt serial killers.  Gabriel had broken his leg falling down the stairs as we departed the airplane the day we got home.  The doctor thought he’d probably fractured it at an earlier point and the break had been a compounding result.  Now, we were all scheduled for full body MRIs, CTs, and x-rays so something similar wouldn’t happen to the rest of us,  because apparently breaking the femur is a really painful and tough recovery.  They were stabilizing all his vitals and keeping him doped up in a hospital bed before doing surgery.  He was looking at six months for recovery.  I couldn’t imagine not having Gabriel as our team leader for six months. 

I’d been offered the position temporarily and passed on it, recommending it be given to Lucas.  But for some reason there was apparently room for debate on giving it to him.  Not that it mattered, because we were all going to require super physicals before being allowed back into the field beyond what Fiona and I were doing at this moment.  She’d been arranging for the purchase and pickup for a handful of days now.  Something about needing credibility — she’d tried to explain it, but she might as well have been talking in Klingon for all I got out of it. 

I’d learned that she had been a hacker who tested the security of computer systems before being recruited to the NSA.  Those consulting fees had been how she paid for college.  I’d found that interesting.  Even before she got a degree, she was good enough with computers to be able to test network security from the outside.  Apparently, she also had experience with dark web purchases for services and goods. 

Okay, we have a location, she informed me.  As well as a time.

Great, I said, not convinced either of these things were in fact great.  What did you buy?

A DVD of rape pornography, she told me.

That’s distressing.  Simulated rape or actual rape? I asked, trying not to raise an eyebrow.

I think it’s real rape, she said.  Which seems like a good reason to try to get the distributor and producer out of the market. 

We are meeting the producer? I asked.

No, we are meeting no one, she told me.  It’s a dead drop.  We will head to the location; you will stand away from me and look inconspicuous and see if anyone jumps out at you as being suspicious.  Most of the time, they keep eyes on the dead drop location and each DVD will have a codeword on it to prove its authenticity.  Our codeword is Cucumber.

There isn’t a person who we tell the code word to?

We don’t tell it to anyone.  I go through the DVDs in the stack until I find the one with Cucumber on it, and that is the one I bought.

Oh, well, I was still slightly confused.  Dark web stuff made me feel stupid.  I had never even visited the dark web, nor did I have a client to access it.  It didn’t seem like the kind of place I should visit.  Then again, Fiona had found a fan club for me there, with a chat room and message board and other weird things.  Like pictures taken of me without my knowledge.  Nothing compromising, but it was bewildering to know someone was taking pictures of me without my consent.

Okay, so I may not actually get to put anyone in handcuffs today. I said.

Correct, she answered.  But we could get lucky and the sentry posted to watch the dead drop will be conspicuous. 

Where and when? I asked.

A bench at Worlds of Fun after 3 pm.

That is several, several hours from now.  I pointed out, holding up my phone.  It was currently eight in the morning.

Yes, it is, but we have to get undercover officers in place to watch the dead drop.  They will watch to see if anyone shows up or hangs out or does anything suspicious like tape a DVD to the bottom side of a bench.

That will catch the guy who films rape porn? I asked.

No, that will get us the person who is putting the rape porn in the location.  Good chance that person won’t know anything about who is making the videos.  However, once we identify the distributor, we can track them and hopefully find the maker.

That sounds like a lot of work. 

It is; it’s why more of these criminals aren’t caught, she said.  First, it’s very hard to get a reputation built to buy these types of things.  They don’t just sell to anyone.  I’ve had to buy drugs and gain access to some extreme bondage porn and spend time in chatrooms establishing who I am to get this.  Then, everybody involved is separate from everyone else involved, so that if one person gets busted the entire ring doesn’t go down.  Do you remember the headlines grabbed when the Silk Road went down?  Well, they learned and evolved from it.  Just like they’ve learned and evolved from things like streaming live child porn; streaming makes it easier to track both buyers and sellers.  Now they use old-fashioned DVDs or Blu-rays for it.  It’s harder to track where a physical copy was made, especially since the physical copy is not handed off but done via dead drops.  They used the postal service for a long time, but that became easier to track and people who sent out tons of packages were flagged.

But wouldn’t legitimate home-based businesses send out lots of packages? I asked.

Yes, and some eBay and Etsy sellers no doubt had some packages opened and inspected along the way, but sometimes even legitimate sellers dabble in illegal stuff, using the dark web and a real business to cover their tracks.

I think I’ll stick to chasing serial killers. I told her.

In a manner of speaking, it is easier to capture serial killers, she said.

So, there is a code word, right? I asked.

Yes.

So, there will be multiple DVDs available.  Will they all have the same stuff on them?

Usually yes, but not always. 

Is there a way to steal the entire cache? I asked.

Hm, I don’t know, she answered.  If they are watching the drop, probably not.  If they aren’t, then probably.

Why does it matter if they are watching or not? I asked.

Because if I steal the entire cache, I lose my credibility on the dark web as a buyer and connoisseur of illicit materials.

What if I do it? I asked.

What do you mean?  She looked at me skeptically.

We know where the dead drop is, right?  What if Xavier and I went now to the location and ‘accidentally found the cache’ and walked off with it.  Then you could go at three to pick up your DVD, and it would be gone, You could message the seller later and tell them there were no DVDs and you want a refund or whatever. 

How would you accidentally find the cache? she asked.

It’s at a theme park.  There are going to be thousands of people there today.  Xavier and I would look like just another couple out having some fun.  I could engineer to ‘accidentally’ find the cache, wherever it was.  It isn’t like Xavier is scrupulous, so when I found it, he could steal it.  This has an added bonus element to it.

What?

If someone is watching the dead drop, Xavier and I aren’t exactly the most inconspicuous couple.  Surely anyone watching the dead drop would recognize Xavier or myself.  Actually, Lucas is more noticeable than Xavier.

Gotcha, she said.  If you can do it without blowing my cover, I might agree to it.

I think we could do it without blowing your cover, I said reassuringly.

I would prefer you do it after I grabbed the DVD,  Fiona said.  If it is authentic, then grabbing that DVD could mean helping prosecute a rapist. 

If I steal the DVDs, you have the transaction screen shots with the code word in it, meaning the DVD with that code word would still be available. 

You know you can’t raid every cache I get the location of, right? she asked.

Yes, that would make it obvious that you were passing that information to the police.  However, we can raid this one.

You just feel the need to be active and doing something, don’t you? 

Sort of, I sighed.  Serial rape falls under our purview, so technically, it could be our case if it is authentic.  I said after a few moments of thought.

It would only fall under our purview if you could prove that the person involved has committed multiple rapes,  Fiona told me.

True, but I imagine they have. 

Why? she asked.

Because they are making money and controlling people, I said.

Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.

Two

At 2:30 pm, Trevor got into my car and drove to Worlds of Fun.  Lucas, Xavier, Fiona, and I were all a few minutes behind him.  Trevor was working for the NSA as a cryptographer, and no one knew him from Adam.  He was the perfect person to go grab the DVD, code word Cucumber.  Lucas was unwilling to let him go alone, though, which was fine.  Xavier and I would hang out somewhere nearby. The DVD was on the underside of a snow cone stall.  Apparently, the best way to get it was to buy a snow cone, drop something, reach under the machine, grab it from the bottom of the machine and walk away.

The only way that worked was if Cucumber was the DVD closest to the top of the stack on the underside of the snow cone stall.  Xavier and I were going to stand in line behind Trevor while Fiona kept an eye out.  After watching Trevor perform his sleight of hand with the DVD, I would do the same, grabbing everything left. Trevor would be on his way to the exit with Lucas waiting at the car for him.

If all ran smoothly, Fiona, Xavier, and I would leave the park only minutes after Trevor.  Total, the operation would cost the four of us a couple hundred for parking, entrance tickets, and snow cones, but it seemed like it was for a good cause.  We parked a few cars down from Trevor.

We made sure there were people between the three of us and Trevor when entering the park.  It seemed like it would have been smarter to have the cache on the outside of the park.  However, it was unlikely that the bottom of a snow cone vendor stand was looked under very often. I could be wrong, and it might actually be the most secure location.

Within seconds of us entering the park, my cellphone rang with a local number.

Aislinn Cain, I said into the receiver.

A guy bought a snow cone about 30 minutes ago, dropped something under the machine, then left the park.  We have someone tailing him.

Where did he come from? I asked.

Not sure, the voice said. 

Okay, we’ll see what we can find, I told the voice and disconnected. 

I’m sorry, did you say you’re Aislinn Cain, like THE Aislinn Cain? a boy in his late teens asked me.

Yes.  I answered.  I’m the only Aislinn Cain around.

This is so cool; can I get a picture with you? he asked.

A picture?  I asked.

Yeah, if I don’t get a picture with you, no one will believe that I was here when you took down a serial killer, he said, digging out his cell phone.

What’s your name?  Xavier asked him.

Richard, the kid answered.  My friends call me Ritchie, though.

Okay Ritchie, you do know that even US Marshals have to have days off, right? Xavier asked.

Well yeah, but you wouldn’t all be here if it was a day off.

You recognize all of us?  Fiona sounded skeptical.

Yeah, you’re Fiona Stewart and he’s Xavier Reece.  I don’t see Lucas McMichaels or Gabriel Henders, but three of you is still a good show of force.

We’re on our day off, kiddo, sorry, I told him. 

However, if you want a picture, we’ll be happy to take one with you, Fiona encouraged.  I tried not to roll my eyes.  This kid should try to get selfies with Nickelback, not the SCTU. 

You guys are my heroes, the kid said.  That would be great.

Why are we your heroes? I asked, trying not to sound skeptical.

Two years ago, my older sister went to a movie with friends.  They discovered her body in the river five days later.  You guys caught the guy.

Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Xavier said.  The part about your sister, not catching the guy.

We took a picture with the kid and sent him on his way.  I watched him walk off and join another group of boys, all about the same age.  I briefly thought there should be a special term for a group of 13- and 14-year-old boys.  Like a trouble of boys.  I didn’t see any parents, but surely, he had an adult with him.

Trevor had waited for us near the target vendor stall.  He got in line as the kid, who was possibly Kyle’s age and just now thinking about starting puberty, also got in line.  The three of us stood behind the group of hyped-up teenagers and Trevor.  Trevor was perfect.  After getting his snow cone, he dropped his change and multiple people bent down to help him retrieve it, including the kids in front of us.  The snow cone seller looked older than the teens who had wanted our picture.  He was probably 16 or 17 and the poor boy had enough acne for two or three boys his age, along with a scraggly darkening upper lip where he was attempting to grow facial hair, probably to try and buy liquor underage.  And he was partially suntanned and partially sunburned from standing near his snow cone stand day after day with only occasional shade from the umbrella, which was actually meant to shade the cart, not the person manning it.

During that hullabaloo, I saw Trevor reach under the machine and grab the DVD.  It reflected light for about five seconds and then disappeared into his man purse.  He took his change from the kids that had grabbed it and headed out of the park.  There were still two quarters under the vendor stall, and as Xavier and Fiona ordered, I bent over to pick them up and felt the bottom of the snow cone machine.  It was empty except for what felt like a plastic pocket attached to the bottom of the cart.

What are you doing?  The snow-cone-selling kid with lots of acne and a voice that hadn’t quite finished puberty asked me.

That man lost some of his quarters, I said, picking them up.  Did you know there’s a pocket on the underside of this machine? 

The kid threw a snow cone on Xavier and Fiona.  Yep, he knew.  I gave chase.  I had scars, smoked, and was older than him, but I kept in shape and easily caught up with him.  I tackled him like a linebacker attacking a quarterback; we both tumbled to the ground with me on top of him. 

A crowd was forming around us.  For his part, he didn’t try to fight me or struggle as I placed him in handcuffs and jerked him to his feet.  A security guard headed over, and Xavier pulled out his badge.

US Marshals, Xavier announced.  We just witnessed something strange and when we proceeded to ask your employee about it, he took off running.  We should contact the local police and go have a talk in the security office.

Right this way, the security guard said.  Xavier texted Lucas and told him about it as we walked the handcuffed kid halfway across the park to the security offices.

What’s your name? I asked once the door of the office had closed behind us.  Walkie-talkies were screeching, and people were shouting into them, trying to talk over others talking into them. 

Jesus Christ, it sounds like mass panic out there, the security guard said.

Yeah, it does.  I‘ll go with you and we’ll see what’s going on, Fiona said.  Xavier and I stayed with the snow cone maker. 

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