Girl on a Mission: The Dead Do Speak
Chapters 59 & 60
Previously on Girl on a Mission:
Detective Jerry grapples with anxiety following his high-stakes press conference, determined to uncover the Play Dead Killer's victim-selection method. Meanwhile, Liza arrives at the hospital to devastating news—her father, Boyd, lies beaten and in a coma, targeted by the mob. Determined to save him, she urges Uncle T to hunt down Boyd's mysterious trafficking contact.
Chapter 59
Jerry was gazing at a picture of Esta Flannery. Sitting in a conference room by himself, he had all the victims’ pictures tacked on a large corkboard. Esta’s file sat open on his lap, his right leg across his left.
She had been beaten to death, but Jerry often wondered if the Play Dead Killer knew she had expired when he started cutting. Carving her up like a Thanksgiving turkey. He had to have known by the time the first incision was made that she was dead. Postmortem. All the cuts and slices were made postmortem, which offered less blood than Jerry was certain the killer desired. All the other murder scenes were covered in blood. Blood smeared on the walls and a pool of blood beneath the victim and of course there was the calling card too, the words Play Dead written above the victim’s head.
“Why you, Esta?” He looked across the corkboard. “Why any of you? What was it that drew him to you?”
Jerry clucked his tongue when the thought hit him. “No forced entry brought the conclusion that the killer knows the victim, but does that mean the victim always knows the killer prior to the murder?” Is it a requirement for him to know his victim beforehand?
Now he was focused on Esta’s picture. He shuffled her file onto the conference table and stood up, his stare never leaving Esta’s eyes as he crossed his arms, running his tongue across his teeth.
I think someone’s in the apartment. Mrs. Kensington’s ghost had proclaimed a thousand times, followed by “Oh, it’s you,” which culminated in Jerry’s first confirmation that the Play Dead Killer knew his victims, but Esta said nothing like that. If she knew who he was, could she not have said something? It seemed like she didn’t know who he was, although the M.O. had been the same: no forced entry and the term Play Dead written above the victim’s head.
Why did he take the time to get to know his other victims but not Esta? What’s different about her? And if she didn’t know him, how did he gain entrance into her apartment?
“Speak to me,” he said to Esta’s picture, although he knew she wouldn’t. Esta had taken her spirit and travelled into the unknown after speaking with Jerry. She had even said so at the time. Said she waited for him to arrive before crossing over and then she was gone. Gone with the wind. Jerry was certain that if she had additional information, she would have told him. All the other ghosts were in a state of panic and, unfortunately, were still in that same state of panic, reliving the events in a constant, looping nightmare.
He wished they would cross over too, which was the worst part about such a brutal murder. The soul becomes trapped in that nightmarish loop. Stuck in the moment's energy where confusion is the only thought process, not knowing that all they must do is accept what has happened and turn to the light.
“Unfinished business,” Jerry clucked off his tongue. He gazed over the other victims’ pictures, then went back to Esta with her dark hair and olive skin and deep brown eyes.
He had a hunch that Esta was the key and that if he discovers why or how she was selected, it’ll lead him to the Play Dead Killer. Jerry turned around and went back to the conference table, sliding the file in front of him. The time had come for him to re-interview Esta’s family. Perhaps there was something he missed on the first go around. He also wanted to speak with a few of the victims who haven’t crossed over yet. He knew it would be difficult to gather new information from them-typically they were on repeat with the little information they knew-but he believed it was worth the shot.
The only problem was that all the victims’ apartments and homes had either been rented or sold. All expect one.
Which means he was going back to see Mrs. Kensington.
Chapter 60
“I must prepare you, dear,” said the nurse to Liza. “You may not recognize him when you see him.”
The nurse-Lauren Oliver-was a small little lady with short, curly black hair and thick glasses all scrunched up on top of her nose. She was compassionate but came with a veneer that Liza was certain could squelch any adversity that came her way. The old tough as nails type, although compassionate when required. She even took Liza’s hand and guided her to Boyd’s room.
Liza had a ton of questions, specific questions, but couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “What happens now? Did the doctors say anything about his condition or how long the condition will last?”
“With such situations, we can never tell. The next few days are critical to his recovery. He may come out of it at any moment. It’s best to stay optimistic.”
Liza nodded, eyeballing the door the nurse was leading her to. The ER was a hive of activity. The hospital was very busy tonight.
“Are there any relatives that can be here with you?” Laura cleared her throat.
“My uncle will be back a little later.”
“I was referring to your mother.”
Liza cleared her throat. “Unfortunately, she passed a few years ago.”
“Oh dear. My condolences.” She gripped the doorknob and opened the door to the sound of the vitals monitor registering Boyd’s lifeline. The room was bright, clean, and pristine. A curtain separated Boyd from the rest of the room. Laura patted Liza’s hand.
They stopped in front of the curtain. She could see him, although it could be anyone in the bed. The situation was unreal, staring at her father and the tube wedged in his throat, keeping him alive. His life dependent on machines. Laura stepped behind the curtain and examined Boyd’s monitors and tubes. She raised her head to Liza, then checked something on the monitor and came back around the curtain.
“Try to talk to him. He can hear you, so let him hear your voice.”
Liza nodded again. She felt numb. Not here. Out of her body. Tears threatening to unleash. She sucked them back with a deep inhale.
“I wish someone could be here with you.”
“It’s fine.” She turned to Laura. “Thank you for your help.”
She nodded. “Go on in. I’ll leave you be for a while. The hospital has some questions and points of care to go over with you or a family member. Maybe when your uncle returns?”
“Why? What are the questions?”
“Just things we need an adult to answer.”
Liza blinked away her tears, then cleared her throat. “I turned eighteen today and can answer any questions you have.”
Laura gave a smug smile and a nod. She put her hand on Liza’s arm. “Understood. We can get to that later.” She looked at the curtain. “Remember to talk to him.”
Liza nodded and Laura gave her one last look before shuffling through the door that she closed with a soft thud.
Liza watched her go, then turned back to the curtain. She stood in the same position for a long while, gazing at the figure behind the curtain. She wanted to see him, but stepping past that curtain felt like it meant everything. That-once again-life was about to change on a dime and not in the direction Liza hoped it would change. Beyond that curtain was an undetermined future that Liza had no control over. When she woke up this morning, the day brought a sense of hope for the future, but now that future seemed bleak.
She stood there for a long while, knowing that once she steps past that curtain, the new reality would come crashing down with vengeance, and she wasn’t certain if she wanted to face it just yet.
But she had to. There wasn’t any other choice in the matter.
Liza stepped to the curtain, then stepped past the curtain, gritting her teeth when she saw him.
A tube down his throat, his eyes swollen shut and looked like grapefruits. A large gauze bandage was wrapped around his head with split skin and cracks around his eye sockets. His lips were thick and swollen with purple welts; his bottom lip was split down the center. His entire head was ballooned to an inhuman size. Laura had said that whoever did this had broken his face. Broke his arm too, and he was missing several fingers on both hands.
They tortured him. Tortured and beat him to a bloody pulp and left him for dead. If Uncle T hadn’t been looking for him, they would have succeeded in their endeavor.
Liza stepped closer to her father when she felt the first tears drip off her eyelashes, rolling down her cheeks. She took his hand-the one that wasn’t in a cast-and her hand twitched when she realized his thumb and forefinger were missing; the hand bandaged and wrapped in gauze.
Her jaw quivered, her lips did too. She squeezed his hand.
“I’m here, dad.” Her words came out pressured and tearful. “I’m here. Not gonna go anywhere, okay?” She looked at the vitals monitor. Boyd’s heart beat intermittently but consistently. Turned back to Boyd. “I’m with you now, dad.” She huffed a breath and wiped her eyes. “Let’s just get you up and awake and get you back home.” She squeezed her free hand into a fist. She leaned in and kissed him on his bandaged forehead. “Whatever it takes… let’s just get you home.”
Liza released his hand and wiped her tears. She gasped and then gritted her teeth, forcing the rage down her throat. Suck it up, she thought. And never reveal your emotions. When she successfully swallowed her tears, Liza went into caretaker mode. She eyeballed the bedside television, and her first thought was that she wished the hospital she had been in had them. A thought she dismissed a second later.
She looked at her father. Liza didn’t know what to say or do. Her mind was drawing blanks with every turn of a thought. She had no clue how to act or how she should act, questioning every thought and choice. “Let’s watch something.” She stretched the television closer to the bed. “If we can find my favorite channel, I can give you the rundown on all the new music.”
Liza sniffled back her tears and turned on the television. It took her a while to find her favorite station. Oddly enough, amid all the turmoil, Liza considered this a big win.
“There we go.” She moved the television so that they could both watch before she shuffled around the bed and sat in one of the three chairs in the room. There was a video on by a hair band. “Don’t worry about them,” she said. “Sooner or later, they’ll be dinosaurs.” And she laughed. Laughed because she had no idea what the hell to do. Boyd was in her periphery, and she watched him through it, pretending to watch the television, but all the while watching him and how bloody, bruised, swollen and broken he was. A giant pit gnawed in her stomach.
She looked at her father. A single tear rolled down her cheek to her quivering jaw.
“If you happen to see my mother in there…, can you please remind her it’s my birthday? I’d really like to see her right now.”
