Free I Can Barely Breathe by August Verona Page B

you,” she
said in a monotone. She lacked any expression on her face, and her
arms hung loosely at her sides.
    “My God,” he said with his hand over his
heart. “What can I do for you?” Tom noticed a pink scar on her
neck. Her eyes looked tired and a bit sunken in. “Are you all
right?”
    “I am now. I had to walk from Thirty-Second
Street.” It almost seemed to the detective that, when she talked,
she struggled to get out each word. “My feet are a little
tired.”
    “Well, come in. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Tom asked, as he stared at her bare feet. They were dirty and had
dried blood on them.
    She walked to the chair and sat down; her
dirty yellow dress clung to her body. Tom found her very
attractive, and, despite already having had two orgasms this
morning, he felt aroused. It wasn’t every day a pretty girl found
her way to his office.
    “I need to report a murder,” she said,
cocking her head to one side.
    “Oh my. Whose murder?” he asked. His eyes
went from her breasts to her lips, then down to her thighs.
    “My murder. I was killed by the serial
killer. He raped me and slit my throat in his house.” She was very
matter-of-fact, and her fingers caressed the scar on her neck.
    Tom leaned back in his chair and considered
her words. The chaotic events seemed to be happening more
frequently, and a small part of him didn’t doubt the girl; she
looked like she’d been through Hell. “How are you here now?”
    “I’m not sure. I awoke in a shallow grave in
his barn.”
    “A barn on Thirty-Second Street?
    “Yes, do you know it?”
    “I do.” Tom had known that house since he
was a kid, when Carver’s parents had owned it. He knew every square
inch of that property. “The man who lives there, did you run into
him while you were there?” Tom flipped a photo around on his desk.
Someone had snapped it during an investigation where a little girl
had gone missing. In the picture, Tom, Kattic and Carver were
leaning on a police cruiser.
    “That man is not who you think he is,” she
said, pointing to Carver. “He’s the devil. He raped and killed me,
and he did it with a smile on his face.” Her tone was elevated, and
her words were carefully pronounced.
    “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.
I’ve known this man since we were kids. He works here at the
station.”
    A large bloodstain suddenly covered the
girl’s dress. Her hands turned red, and her legs shook.
    Tom felt a shutter run through his body. The
girl’s stare was the coldest stare he’d ever seen, and he was no
longer interested in admiring her beauty. In that moment, he felt a
slight bit of fear.
    “Where the hell did that stain come from?”
Tom asked.
    She looked down at her breasts and slowly
examined the stain. Her head tilted up, and her eyes were quick to
follow, as they locked with Tom’s gaze. “I don’t know,” she
whispered.
    The wound on the young girl’s neck ripped
open, and blood once again gushed out of her, down her breasts,
over her stomach and onto the chair. Her hands tried to stop the
flow, and she struggled to breathe. The young beauty died once more
in a matter of seconds. Tom, with clammy, shaky hands and an
extremely high pulse rate, got up and dialed a number on his office
phone, while simultaneously closing his office door.
    “This is Kattic.”
    “It’s Tom,” he said, his voice jittery. “I
have a dead girl in my office. Can you help?”
    “I’m upstairs. I’ll be there in two.”
    “Oh, and, Kattic”—he paused, almost not
wanting to break the news—“she told me that Carver is the serial
killer.”
    “We all have our roles to play, Tom. I’ll
meet you at his house, after I deal with the body. Go now.”
    The call ended.

Chapter
Fifteen
What I’ve Always Wanted
    Carver and Julia sat at his kitchen table,
sharing a pitcher of orange juice. She had arrived around eight
with breakfast from the bagel shop down the street, and they had
spent the morning talking. Her blue