Devil's Cradle Read online

  Devil's Cradle

  By Drew Avera

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED COPYRIGHT 2014 DREW AVERA 1

  February 16, 2012

  "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead," that's the quote from Admiral David Farragut that poured into my mind as the call came over the radio. "Possible abduction at 419 North Forrest Glen Avenue, suspect is armed and dangerous, he has a teenage girl hostage, proceed with caution..."

  "Looks like we're pulling an all-nighter, Jimmy," the fat ass detective said from the driver's seat.

  "I thought I told you not to call me that, Detective Swenson," I retorted as I pushed my glasses back up onto the bridge of my nose. The heat of the Chicago night made me sweat like a whore in church. I shifted in the passenger seat as we took a hard left onto West Peterson Avenue.

  "Ease up, Jimmy," Swenson said as he wiped the grease left over from his hamburger onto his pants leg. "We're partners now, you and me."

  "Thanks for reminding me," I said sarcastically. I hated this guy. Swenson was known to be a shady cop. Of course in a place like Chicago, shady came with the territory. "Unit 53, ETA three minutes," I spoke into the radio.

  "Roger, Unit 53, ETA three minutes. First on scene, please standby for backup."

  "Affirmative, Ilene, we will standby for backup as directed."

  "We don't need no damned backup," Swenson said as he looked in my direction. "We're two guys with guns against a punk with a knife. We can roll in and shoot that son of a bitch before he can blink twice."

  "Dispatch said to hold tight, so we're holding tight, Swenson," I said irritably.

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he said as I looked out of the window as 419 North Forrest Glen crept into view on my side of the road. The dull streetlights casted shadows in every direction, the perfect hiding place for the kind of vermin we were after. Swenson shoved the shifter into park before the car was fully stopped and stepped out of the dark blue cruiser. "The hell with waiting, Jimmy, let's do this."

  "Patience, Swenson. We wait for backup as directed. We don't want to be limited on resources if this lunatic gets out of hand and hurts that little girl," I said.

  "He might hurt her anyway; he's probably got a knife to the poor girl's throat right now. We can't just sit on our asses and wait!" He was right; I knew it in my gut that if we waited then she was dead. I cussed under my breath and reached for the .38 service revolver in my shoulder holster.

  "Dammit, Swenson, let's go," I ordered as I approached the front door of the apartment building. The door was about three shades of brown with a rusty doorknob that had an old fashioned lock on it. The door was ajar and Swenson stepped in first with his weapon drawn. I realized that he was too bulky for me to look past him as he slowly crept up the hallway. "Apartment D," I reminded him in a hushed tone as I tried to peer from behind him anyway. Swenson stopped and stood across from the door and waited for me to close in. Once I was near the door I listened for any sound that might clue me into what was going on. I could hear some deep mumbling which I suspected was our guy. I also detected a faint whimper that I figured must have been the victim. My heart ached for her, but if she was making a sound then at least she was still alive.

  I looked at Swenson and nodded; he took the cue and flung his heavy boot into the door, crumbling it into splinters where he kicked it. I dove into the living room of Apartment D and was horrified by what I saw. The suspect was a Caucasian male about six feet tall with blond hair. The victim was a sixteen year old Mexican girl with long black hair. She was seated in a hard backed chair with duct tape holding her down. There was duct tape on her mouth with one side of it peeled back so she could speak from the corner of her mouth. Her shirt was cut so that the flesh that covered her collarbone was visible just below the neckline and I could see a cut that followed her collarbone about an inch in length. Every detail of this image was committed to memory in less than a second as I leveled my weapon at the suspect head.

  Even with two weapons drawn on him the man did not flinch, instead he held the knife up to his lips and licked the blade. I thought maybe he was high and that he was making a crude phallic gesture with the knife when I realized that there was blood on the blade, the girl's blood. This psycho was licking her blood off the blade in front of us. "Freeze, mother fucker," I said with as much authority as I could muster. He stopped moving for a moment and turned his head to face me.

  "The ritual has only begun, officer. Please allow me to finish," he said with a peculiar accent. There was a slight lisp to his voice as he spoke and it reminded me of a snake.

  "Put down the knife, asshole," Swenson barked. The man held the knife above his head with the blade pointed in the air and made some whispering sound before he brought the knife down and held the blade to his left forearm. "I said put it down!" Swenson called out again, still he held the blade and I watched as he dug the tip of the knife into the flesh of his arm and cut into himself about the same length as he had cut the girl.

  "You heard the man, drop it before I drop you!"

  "I'm not finished, officer!" He shouted back as he stared at the blood oozing out of his arm. The blood began to drain down into the palm of his hand as he hid behind his victim. "It's your turn,

  Princess," he said as he pulled the rest of the duct tape from the mouth and shoved his bleeding arm towards her.

  "No!" She cried as he pulled her hair and shoved her head towards his blood. I couldn't believe my eyes, this monster was sick.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Swenson asked in disbelief. We were unable to pull our eyes from the disgusting thing that we were seeing. The girl fought with all of her might against the attacker. We couldn't shoot him for fear of hitting her. We were powerless, I knew we should have waited for backup, I thought to myself. I stared at the face of the Devil himself, his wicked smile curled his lips and revealed his blood stained teeth. I grimaced at what was about to happen, my stomach turned in knots. I could taste the bile entering my mouth as I watched, muted by my own fear of what was happening when suddenly a barrage of blue entered my field of sight and I could see the bloody arm tear away from the girls face.

  I shook my head to collect myself and every sense seemed to return to me at once. I could hear the sirens of the police cars outside and I could see the flashing blue lights that seeped in through the windows. I ran up to the girl and could see one of the night shift officers cuffing the madman while he had him pinned onto the floor. I looked down at her bloodied face where this man had shoved his arm into her face, forcing her taste his blood. Swenson began to cut the duct tape to free her hands. She immediately lifted them to her face and began sobbing harder. I reached out to console her by laying my hand on her shoulder and her upper body collapsed into me as Swenson finished cutting her free. "It's all right now, Sweetheart," I whispered as more officers stormed into the room to drag the man we would come to know as Cason Letum out of the apartment.

  "Why did he do that?" the girl asked with tear filled eyes.

  "I don't know, but he's in custody now. He'll never hurt you again."

  Swenson followed the others out of the apartment while I sat there with the victim and waited for the ambulance crew to arrive. I looked up to see Cason eyeing the girl like the vile creature he was. I shifted my body to block his view and to keep her from seeing him. "My name is Jim, what's your name?" I asked.

  "Samantha, but everyone just calls me Sam," she replied as her small hands clutched onto my back. I could feel her shivering in my arms and I wrapped my arms around her tighter. I was without words and this was the only use for me that I could find at the time short of putting a bullet in that bastard's head for hurting this little girl. I held her close to me until the EMTs arrived a few minutes later and I was shuffled out of the room by the med
ics. I walked out of the building towards the blue Ford Crown Vic where Swenson rested on the hood.

  "Helluva night huh, my God, who does that?" He asked rhetorically. I couldn't put my finger on it either. This kind of sickness was the stain that marred humanity. I reached into my jacket pocket and retrieved another Motrin in an attempt to head off the headache that would follow seeing something like this. I swallowed the pill dry and looked up as the gurney exited the building with Sam strapped down for a ride to the emergency room. "Hop in, Jimmy. We’ve got to go and get the report and notify her parents." Damn, things weren't getting any better, how do you tell someone that a psychopath almost killed your daughter. I watched the doors to the ambulance close as I climbed into the passenger seat. Sometimes this job was too much to handle.

  July, 7 2021

  "And how does that make you feel?"

  "How do you think that makes me feel?" I asked again. This therapy crap was getting me nowhere. I rolled onto my side and stared at the pompous little old lady seated across from me. Her glasses were riding low on the bridge of her nose and the red rims seemed to match her red hair and red lipstick. She obviously felt that she was above current fashion trends. “To know that the same monster that put his hands on you did the same to your sister, only she wasn't able to come out of it alive. How would you feel?"

  "We are not talking about me, Sam," she said through thin lips. "We need to work out this anger you have."

  "No, we don't," I said. I wanted to hold onto that anger for all it was worth. I wanted it to kill me if I was honest with myself. The truth is that I was to blame. I should have done something. Dr. Lander put down her notebook and removed the glasses from her face. With a sigh she leaned back into her chair before speaking.

  "We have been barking up the wrong tree haven't we, Samantha?"

  I just sat there leaning on my forearm on the large leather couch. I looked at the old woman and noticed how tired she must have been from years of listening to people like me. My heart would go out to her if I cared, unfortunately for her my heart was broken and nothing could be done to fix it. "I imagine we have, Catherine," I said finally.

  "Well, what within the realm of possibilities would make things better again?" She asked this question more times than I can remember. I always answered with the same response, “to kill the man who killed my sister,” but it was too late for that. "Sam, if you're ever going to get your life back in order, you have to face reality. Killing Cason Letum did nothing towards healing you."

  She was right, if anything killing him made things more unbearable. Now I was haunted with the last sight that I had of him sitting across from me in an interrogation room. He always walked around shirtless, exposing all of the ritualistic scars that were a constant reminder of each kill he had ever made. The truth was he was short one scar. That was until I placed a blade deep enough into his heart so that he would feel just how broken my heart was after what he had done to Sarah, my twin sister.

  March 15, 2020

  I watched the guards as they entered the cell block carrying the chains that they loved to use to bind me. Little did they know, but I loved the restraints, I loved the attention that they paid to me as I wore them. Most people viewed the chains as a sign of slavery, but I bore them as a ruler. I was a conqueror of all of my victims, even those who did not die by my deeds knew that I owned a piece of them forever. That always placed a smile on my face.

  "What are you smirking at, Letum?" the guard I called Piglet asked. I didn’t answer the questions that he asked and it seemed to get under his skin. That was an ironic thought to me considering that was exactly where I wanted to be, under someone else's skin, where the blood flowed, where the sins of man made him ripe. I savored the taste of those sins. My only regret was that those days were numbered all because that little bitch set me up. I could feel my heart rate increase so I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. Control was the key.

  Piglet placed the cold chain around my waist where my shirtless body met my dingy orange pants as his friend shackled my ankles. I smirked at the way both of them were on their knees like peasants who worshiped their god. I knew they didn't see it that way, but no god would want these ignorant shits to worship them anyhow. "Hands," the guard said briskly. I laid out my hands for the shackles and watched as he clasped them into place. I looked up to see Piglet standing next to the armed guard in the doorway. "Walk," the guard next to me instructed.

  "Where are we going?" I asked, breaking the solemnity of my silence.

  "You'll see when we get there, Letum," Piglet answered.

  "Just keep moving," the guard behind me said. I think I will call him Princess, since it's obvious that he is someone’s bitch. The guard with the gun will be Butch for obvious reasons. They led me through the cell block to a set of exit doors where we waited to be buzzed in. The locks released as the buzzer sounded and my little entourage led me through to another section of the prison. This area was new to me, and was much nicer looking. I loved the stark white walls of purity that lavished this little hell on earth. Nothing beats false advertising.

  "Stay here," Piglet instructed Princess; I stopped as well since he was holding the slack of my chains behind me. Butch stood in front of me with his rifle rested in his hands. I imagined the hilarity that it would be if I jumped at him and he decided to shoot me with Princess coming along for the ride. I wondered if they would blame me for the guard’s death, or if Butch would take the fall for being an idiot. It was an interesting thought, but not one that I wanted to explore. Guns are too impersonal of a way to die. I would much prefer to die with the warmth of another human’s body leaning in close enough that I could smell them, taste their fear, and bask in the aroma of their life.

  Piglet stepped back through the door and ushered our little family into a room with a long wooden table. I noticed that it had hooks that would allow them to secure my feet to the floor. I imagined that after all of this time I finally had a visitor. How very nice. I loved company. "Sit down," Princess said as he pulled a wooden chair out from the table. He was kind enough to guide my ass into the large target on which it was about to sit. I was nervous that I might have to find the seat all on my own, but Princess pulled through like I knew he would. The guards bolted me to the floor and left me in silence for whatever it was that was awaiting me. I had to admit that I was intrigued, I hadn't had a visitor since my trial six years ago, and even then it was just my public defender. The idiot wanted me to plead insanity. Why on earth would I claim to be insane? I thought again to myself when I heard the door open across from me.

  She walked into the room with a dark blue skirt and jacket. I could see the purple blouse when she turned to face me. She was a tasty little thing. I could tell when I recognized her face. I noticed it in her eyes first, and then all through her body there was nervousness, like a virgin in the back of her boyfriend’s car. She sat down before speaking to me, "Cason Letum, my name is..."

  "Samantha," I cut her off and I could tell that it freaked her out more than she wanted to admit.

  "Yes, Samantha," she continued. "I'm here today because I want to ask you some questions."

  "Certainly," I replied as politely as I could. I made a gesture with my hands to let her know to continue.

  "I have a question about Sarah," she stopped speaking and I could tell that something or someone was troubling her. I decided to take her by the metaphorical hand.

  "You want to know why I killed her," I said gently, or as gently as that question could come across. She eyed me and I felt a pang of delight as her eyes welled up. "It's quite simple, Samantha. I killed her because I needed to finish the job." She reached up to the scar that was resting along her left collarbone under her blouse. I knew that she remembered our night together. "Had those damn cops not interrupted our lovely evening then poor little Sarah would still be alive."

  "Shut up," she said as she fought back the tears.

  "I'm speaking..."

  "I sai
d to shut the fuck up!" she snarled. Her knuckled were white as the flesh stretched taut when she tightened her fists. I sat back and look down at her. I was always puzzled by the sentiment of emotion. I believed in love, but it was a feeling that evolved in oneself. She was far too emotional about what I was saying. We sat in silence for several moments until I decided to speak again.

  "You know you robbed me don't you?"

  Her eyes darted up at me and I could see the reddening of her eyes spread through the rest of her face. "How in the hell did I rob you?" she asked.

  "I never got to do the ritual with Sarah because I thought she was you," I confided.

  "Is that supposed to make me feel better about what you did to me, and to Sarah?"

  "I wasn't trying to make you feel better, Samantha. I just wanted you to know that you wronged me."

  "You're sick," she said as she brought her hand up to her mouth. She closed her eyes and held them tight so that her forehead creased.

  "I've spent these last several years wondering how delightful her blood would have tasted. I had no way of knowing that you were twins. Had it not been for the picture on the refrigerator as I was leaving I may have never known," I continued as the tears ran down her face. "That realization made it so that I knew I needed to wait for you to return. Of course that was a bad decision on my part because it got me caught. The more I think about it, I really do believe you owe me an apology."

  Samantha's eyes opened in horror and I watched as her hand reached into her pocket and recovered a knife. My heart rate escalated at the thought of what was to come. Has she come to offer me her life in order to right her wrongs? I watched in slow motion as the knife blade opened and revealed the smooth metallic luster that was my only friend in this world. She stood up rather quickly and gripped the knife in her hand. Everything was happening in slow motion even though I knew things were occurring much faster. I could see the doors open as guards entered through my peripheral vision, but this moment belongs to Samantha and me. This was our ritual. This was the punctuation mark that would set everything right. I watched as she brought the knife down to my chest to make my tally marks reflect the true number of people whom I've touched. I swam in the essence of sheer delight as the blood seeped from my body and I made eye contact with her once more before she drove the blade deep into my heart.