Death Masks: Author's New Updated Edition

By Kim Richards

Let’s hunt a serial murderer!
Bill Cristo reluctantly takes up an exercise routine. One evening, he takes a jog and comes face-to-face with a killer. His local metro park is no longer safe for anyone. Unsure of why he survived that first encounter, Bill is determined to catch the murderer before anyone else dies. Then they set their sights on his girlfriend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim Richards
• Release date: Jun 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952564017

Kim Richards

Kim Richards lives and writes full time in Northern California. She has several novels published, short stories, and chapters in books on writing. As a former small press publisher, she enjoys the process of making books: brainstorming, writing, editing, formatting, publishing, and promotion.

Book preview

Chapter One

Hidden among a row of low, dying bushes, a pair of hungry brown eyes watched a jogger pad along the dirt trail. Each of his steps left small puffs of dust in his wake. His wispy breath led him forward, visible in the evening air.

The concealed one mentally reviewed its potential victim checklist.

Small round ear buds were jammed into the man’s ear canals like corks in wine bottles. His pale face was screwed into tight concentration as his lips moved in soundless singing along to whatever he listened to. His chest heaved with the labored breathing. He jogged alone—check.

Reddened lips, belonging to the same face as the eyes, parted in a smile. It moved just enough to release a thin cloud of steaming breath billowing into the frosty autumn atmosphere. The crouching predator considered the jogger’s movements. Then shifted position to one of readying to spring, like a cougar on an unsuspecting rabbit. The idea of taking a lucky foot from this rabbit brought low laughter. It was a bit too large for a key chain however.

The sweetness of anticipation grew unbearable as the jogger came along side. It took massive amounts of self-control to wait until he passed a few feet before leaping into motion. The predator matched strides with the jogger, taking joy in his unawareness. The bite of a fang would bring on his fate.

Slender fingers tightened around a palmed cylindrical object. Leg muscles pumped. Lungs sucked in gobs of fresh air and delight grew with the closing distance between the two beings. An already wildly thumping heart leapt with adrenaline. A thin, gloved hand reached out for the jogger’s shoulder, while the left foot shot out in a sideways sweeping gesture.

It took less than a second for the young man to fall. Impact with the hard ground cut off his yelp. He rolled on his back with wide eyes. His fear, thick and tangible, mingled with the stench of rotted leaves and dust as the syringe’s needle pushed into his skin, taking a moment to pierce the earliest layers of flesh.

Standing back, emotionless brown eyes watched him thrash and struggle to scramble to his feet. The poor bastard looked drunk. It waited, breathing steadily as the jogger’s cries faded and his body fell back among loose sticks, pebbles, and crumbling leaves. The predator strode a few steps forward to stand over the man’s shuddering form. It bent low, leaning just enough to peer deep into the wide pale blue eyes of its now-paralyzed victim. Then it grasped the man’s ankles and dragged him into the shadows, among the low foliage, and set to work.

* * * *

I hate doctors, Bill Cristo told the woman sitting next to him in the waiting room.

She nodded and turned back to her cell phone.

Both of them waited for over an hour now and, even though the chairs were comfortable enough, boredom made time pass slowly for him. He sighed and decided to read the news on his own phone.

Eventually, a side door swung open and a nurse emerged.

Bill?

He rose, tucked his phone into his pocket, and picked up his laptop case before following her. It was time for their preliminary checklist.

She led him down a short hall and stopped next to a scale. The nurse, a cute brunette of about twenty-five, wore a stethoscope about her neck. Its two slender, black tubes joined just below her collarbone and rested neatly between her small breasts. She lifted the round tip with her fingers and pressed it to Bill’s chest. Her lightly made up face took on an expression of concentration, while her rouged lips moved in silent counting.

After the usual weigh-in, height, and blood pressure check, she escorted Bill to an exam room. She gave him about ten minutes privacy to trade all his clothes for a baby blue paper gown.

Forty-five minutes later, per his doctor’s instructions, Bill stood barefoot on an elaborate treadmill. He shivered in the icy, antiseptic air while a nurses’ aid attached little round, black probes to his bare chest and back. Her fingertips jarred him with their icy touch.

Tiny wires sprouted from the center of each probe, amassing together like so many roots as they fed into a nearby monitor. Next, she stuffed a clear plastic mouthpiece between his lips. A double set of accordion tubes connected it to a secondary monitor. Bill decided the whole contraption looked like a perversion of scuba gear and laughed.

The nurse’s slender hand hovered over a central panel. She pushed several buttons and then flashed Bill a mischievous smile.

Here we go, she said, starting the treadmill.

Before long, Bill’s legs ached from the perpetual jogging motion. Just as quickly, he ran out of breath and labored hard to continue, wheezing as he sucked each lung full of air. His feet grew heavier with each step until he stumbled, falling in a heap to the cold, tiled floor.

Several of the probes popped off with a light sucking sound. The respirator nearly tore off his lips as it flew from his clenched teeth. Embarrassed and burning with exertion, he picked himself up, ripped off the remaining probes, and avoided looking into the young woman’s face.

Are you okay, hon?

He nodded.

A few minutes later, Bill winced as the pretty nurse jabbed a needle into the thick vein at the soft inside of his elbow to draw his blood. He watched with morbid fascination as the red liquid flowed into the glass vial as easily as that gurgling fountain they kept out in the waiting room.

She moved forward to stand over him. She caught his gaze with hers and held it for the few seconds it took to withdraw the needle. She pressed a small square of gauze over the puncture site.

Bill watched her separate the vial from the syringe, cap it and set it into a test tube tray on the counter. Then she handed him a small paper cup and pointed to the men’s room.

* * * *

Bill waited in the exam room nearly half an hour, wearing nothing except for the gown and a yard long paper cloth draped across his lap. It covered the necessary parts but stopped on either side of his thigh, leaving his wide ass open to the frigid air. It did little to prevent his butt skin from sticking uncomfortably to the vinyl-covered cushion of the examination bed. Yeah, there was a thin sheet of paper to sit on but it ripped the moment he hoisted himself up on it. He frowned, swung his bare feet in small circles, and concentrated on looking through the partially opened blinds.

Outside, the sun dipped low beyond the tree line. He thought about dusk coming so soon this time of year. Another month or so and it’d be dark by the time he got off work every night. It must be the same everywhere during the winter months but it’s easy to think such things only happen in the Midwest.

A light clomping sound, followed by voices and rustling papers came from just outside the exam room door, drawing Bill’s attention. The silver knob twisted, followed by the door swinging open just enough to let in a middle-aged man dressed in black slacks, black tie, and white shirt underneath a hip length white jacket.

He paused at the foot of the exam table and smiled warmly. Good afternoon. I’m Doctor Murdoch.

Good afternoon. Bill shifted his weight and tried to tuck the corners of the paper blanket down.

The doctor moved over to a computer display mounted to the wall on a long jointed bracket. He typed on the keyboard and stared at the screen for a few moments.

Then, turning his attention to Bill, he said, So, we’re just doing a general health exam today. Is there anything you want to bring up? I’m sorry about the fall earlier.

No. I just need this yearly physical for work. It’s part of their ‘let’s keep everybody healthy so we don’t have to pay out as much insurance’ scheme.

The doctor stared at the computer again and clicked the mouse several times.

Looks like all your lab work’s done. Good. Cholesterol: not so good. You didn’t do as well on the stress tests as I’d like.

He turned to face Bill. I’ll be blunt. You have one big problem which causes a bunch of little problems, especially if we leave it untreated.

Really? Bill’s mind raced through the possibilities. Cancer? Heart attack?

We’re talking blood pressure problems, limited muscle movement, pain, risk of diabetes and heart failure, psychological, issues and shortening your life.

Bill’s thoughts fixed on the mention of heart failure. His father died from it. Bill learned back then how heredity is a risk factor.

Come on. I don’t smoke or do drugs. Sometimes I grab a beer but not everyday. I’m as healthy as a horse and we both know it. Bill folded his arms across his sparsely haired chest.

You’re as big as a horse, pardon the pun. The doctor pointed his index finger for emphasis. You’re overweight.

Bill bristled at that. Oh, please! Stop trying to scare me. A few pounds isn’t life threatening.

"A few pounds! You are a hundred pounds overweight. That’s much more than a few. Yes, it is life threatening, especially in your later years. You’re not going to be thirty forever. The older you get, the worse it is for your body and the harder it is to do something about it."

Bill pressed his lips together and stared at the floor in silence. This was all stuff he heard before.

Do you get any exercise? Trips to the car and back or typing on a computer don’t count. Doctor Murdoch wiggled his fingers in imitation. I’m talking about real exercise. Work out at a gym, swimming, tennis, jogging.

Bill looked at him and shook his head. He always intended to sign up at one of those health clubs. Somehow it never happened.

What about diet? I bet you live on fast food and what’s in the snack machine.

Bill frowned.

Seeing Bill’s expression he continued. I thought so. This is so typical of guys in your profession. Put some of that brain energy into body energy before your sedentary lifestyle kills you.

Yeah. Sure.

Bill accepted a few booklets on diet. He had no intention of reading them but didn’t want to waste any more time being lectured. He felt like a kid in the principal’s office. He quickly dressed, paid his co-pay, and left. As he shuffled out to his car, his stomach growled.

Time to feed the fat guy, he joked with himself. It was a failed attempt at humor.

He climbed into the front seat of his red Lexus ES Hybrid, bumping the rear view mirror with his elbow as he tossed his computer case over into the passenger seat. He reached up, grasped the mirror by the edges, and adjusted it. He paused at his reflection, taking notice of the pudginess in his cheeks and chin.

Okay, so maybe I’ve gained a little.

He started up the car and made a decision.

Hey you, he told the raven-haired, blue-eyed fat man in the mirror, We’ll go for a compromise. I want tacos; you need salad. So, we’ll have a taco salad for dinner. Makes everyone happy.

He smiled and the mirror man smiled back.

* * * *

Later, when Bill got back to his apartment, he walked into a darkened, silent world. No lights. No television chatter or music belying anyone’s presence. He must’ve beat Dixie home. He shrugged and flipped on the lamp next to the living room couch. Its yellow light filled the room with a pale glow. Then, after a quick visit to the kitchen, he settled into his recliner, remote in one hand and Coke in the other. He perused the channels for something interesting to watch, eventually settling on streaming an old B-movie.

He awoke much later, unsure of how long he dozed.

With a heavy sigh, Bill decided to head for bed. He fished around the recliner cushions for the remote and found it tucked down one side. He pointed it at his smart TV and clicked the off button. The screen darkened to a steel gray.

He struggled to get up from the chair, feeling stiff and sore in spots. He decided that must be from the fall.

I’m such a klutz.

He turned off the light, pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness before taking the stairs up. He strolled down the short hallway and into the bedroom he shared with Dixie.

His girlfriend’s motionless form lay curled on its side beneath the sheets. Her discarded running shoes and warm-ups lay crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed. Bill wondered what time she came home. It bothered him when she stayed out so late but she laughed at his concern, telling him, I’m a big girl.

Bill brushed his teeth, then stripped to his underwear and slipped between the sheets next to her. He put his arm around her slim waist and kissed her on the cheek. She murmured something in her sleep and then snored softly.

Poor thing. She’s exhausted.

Bill watched her deep breathing and wondered if she pushed herself too hard. She always did in the autumn. Something about the gloomy approach of winter, spurred her on to an almost fanatical exercise binge every year.

Bill expected it to happen but the season snuck up on him this time. He understood once December showed its face, she became moodier and more withdrawn. Her vitality drained with each passing day. He once researched seasonal affective disorder over the internet in hopes of finding solutions to make her feel better. Instead, his attempts enraged her and he came off as a callous bastard.

Dixie’s right, though. He rocked when it came to anything tech related but definitely wasn’t an expert in psychiatry. He was wrong to diagnose her and confront her with his findings.

Bill sighed. I suck at this relationship stuff. He snuggled into her and drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

Morning came as its usual self. Bill rocketed out of bed when the alarm shrieked. He showered and dressed for work before waking Dixie for her turn in the bathroom. She opened her soft brown eyes and smiled at him. He found her mussed up blonde hair and the curve of her exposed shoulders incredibly alluring. Too bad work scheduled a meeting first thing this morning.

As he bent low to kiss her, she flung her arms around his neck. The sheet slid away, exposing the twin peaks of her nipples.

I want you. She nipped at his neck with her lips.

That’s all it took for his body to respond.

I have a meeting. He half-heartedly tried to pull away.

Yes, you do. Dixie ran her hands across his shoulders and down his chest. She unbuttoned his shirt as she spoke in a suggestive tone. I intend to meet with you repeatedly.

Their lovemaking escalated upon itself, with each caress accelerating their desire for one another. As always, she insisted on being on top but Bill didn’t mind. He loved to watch her hourglass shaped body swaying above him, everything he loved best displayed within reach. She reached up both her arms to sweep her blonde hair off her shoulders and up to the top of her head, a motion which thrust her breasts forward. She let out a little moan which triggered one of Bill’s own.

Afterward, they lay in one another’s arms. He stroked her soft hair while she toyed with what little chest hair he had.

Not much grass on the playground, he joked.

Don’t need any. Can I ask you a question?

Sure; but only if I get to ask one in return. He beeped the tip of her nose with his finger.

"Do you ever get