Dark Mind Page 2

  Sergeant Lani Candena flipped open his laptop computer, eyes serious and focused, smile forgotten as he cracked his knuckles one by one, and he waited for the operating system to boot up. The recognizable jingle welcomed him as the desktop icons popped into view. He sat for a moment looking at the folder that read: Working Investigations.

  It remained empty.

  He imagined the unobtrusive file folder full of working investigations, crime scene photos, statements, and persons of interest, but only in his mind.

  Kauai had three homicide cases over the past ten years, but the perpetrators hadn’t received swift justice. The murderous trail had turned ice cold almost immediately – they were officially cold cases.

  Lani clicked on his email – nothing interesting. The spam software apparently hadn’t been doing its job. He couldn’t get his mind on work; it was preoccupied with his application sitting in human resources at the Los Angeles Police Department.

  Growing up in and around Honolulu made Lani even antsier to get to the mainland. Island fever raged inside him. He never fit in with the locals or even the small town police department being a half-breed, dad a native islander and mom from a small farm in Iowa.

  There were cutting and hurtful names he had endured growing up, but none of them tainted his dream to become a cop. He spent the first eight years at Honolulu PD, but jumped at the chance to move to Kauai to catch drug dealers, solve a homicide or find a missing tourist. It plagued him daily as big dreams, but with little reality.

  Lani’s thoughts of becoming a big city detective were interrupted as Faye bustled through the doorway of her small workspace. Her floral dress shifted on her robust body as she approached the sergeant’s desk. “Lani, here’s a message for ya. Seems some tourists have seen too many movies.”

  Lani ignored the pink message note as it floated onto one of his textbooks. “Explain Faye.” He replied patiently.

  Rolling her eyes dramatically, waving her arms as rolls of fat jiggled in progression, Faye finally spat out, “Some tourist called in to say that a kidnapped girl from the mainland was seen at a property over in the northeast area.”

  Lani raised his eyebrows slightly, but showed no other emotion.

  The jolly woman continued, “No one else is available to check it out because of those college kids up at Princeville causing a fuss.” She giggled at Lani’s subtle reaction, but she knew his moods well. “Looks like you’re it. Directions are on the message.” Faye returned to her desk, picked up the phone, and said in a sweet voice, “Kauai PD how may I direct your call?”

  Lani picked up the message, quickly read it, and realized the cottage was near the Blackman’s property. It instantly piqued his interest. He knew that they were growing marijuana, but couldn’t catch a break for probable cause.

  Maybe now he could?

  The large clock on the wall read noon as the second hand slowly clicked away the time.

  Food first and then check out the cottage?

  Lani thought more about it… He had a large breakfast and lunch could wait.

  He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieved his service pistol, a Glock 19, and returned it to his holster on his side. It was the only time he actually felt like a sworn police officer – armed, ready to protect and serve. After shutting the drawer, he adjusted his gun belt against his dark blue uniform, grabbed the message slip, and left the office.

  Faye gave him an absent, theatrical wave as his extremely tall, muscular frame disappeared out to the parking lot.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday 1205 Hours

  “Who are you?” The man demanded with a slight British accent as he thrust the rifle harder into Emily’s back. “I said… who are you?”

  Slowly Emily stood up straight, keeping her hands held high and in view, and assessed the situation. She turned to face her accuser. He stood tall, not quite six feet, blonde hair clipped meticulously, no facial hair or tattoos, and with the steely blue, dead eyes not likely to forget. He didn’t resemble most child abductors or predators, thought Emily. That observation unsettled her.

  “I’m lost. I was out hiking and got completely turned around.” Emily tried to muster some tears with her sweet tone, even though she wanted to shove the rifle butt into his face dropping him to his knees.

  The man didn’t blink. “What were you doing?” He gestured toward the bottom of the outside wall.

  “What… what do you mean?” Emily wished that her headset was still active and that Rick could hear the conversation.

  He took another step toward Emily and jerked the earpiece from her head, crushed it in his fingers and tossed it on the ground. He aimed the barrel at Emily’s face and motioned. “Move.”

  With no other choice and to bide some time, Emily walked around the cottage and up a well-used path with uneven stepping stones.

  * * * * *

  Rick tried to use the Internet and email from his so-called “smart” cell phone to get any other emergency services to listen to his request on the island about the little girl being held hostage. He tried the local FBI office and SWAT, but just got voice mail with the standard message.

  No luck.

  Is it true that everything is slower and more laid back on the islands? Even a kidnapping?

  He clicked the high-tech walkie-talkie back on. “Em, we have to go in without backup. Stay where you are.” He waited. “Em?”

  That intuitive voice in his head kicked into high gear. He realized that Emily didn’t have her headset and he knew something was wrong. Now, his stomach churned through various layers of acids and knotted the abdominal muscles.

  Rick took a higher path through the overgrown jungle, hiked for a couple of minutes, and doubled back to the house. The rain began to pour, warm and inviting, a strange contrast for any kind of weather.

  Two large wooden boxes sat next to the house filled with garage items, lumber and spray cans.

  He knew the routine as his mind ran through all of their covert investigations and all of the close calls they had together. The scenarios never failed him or kept his adrenaline from surging. It was the part he hated the most – the thought of losing Emily if something were to go wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  He pushed through more enormous plants and found himself on far side of the property just as Emily entered the house with a man that had a shotgun sighted at her head.

  * * * * *

  Two tattered wicker chairs sat on opposite sides of the porch in front of two sash windows. The screens around the sitting area used to keep most pesky mosquitoes away had long since deteriorated, curled and ripped vertically from age and constant humidity.

  First step, then the second onto the porch felt like a carnival fun house with sloping sides and uneven movement from the weight of two people.

  The blonde man pushed Emily’s left shoulder with the barrel of the gun urging her into the house. The rickety screen door squeaked as Emily slowly pulled it open, it slipped slightly off at a strange angle due to neglect.

  Darkness greeted her with an unknown agenda.

  She contemplated her next move and waited for an opening to pounce – the sooner the better. The man didn’t expect any resistance from a woman who appeared submissive and frightened – all the classic victim behaviors that Emily was not.

  The brightness outside wasn’t enough to overexpose her eyesight inside the cottage. The interior windows covered with heavy black drapes and lack of any luminescent made for a creepy entrance. Slasher movies with chainsaw murderers flashed through her mind.

  The hair stood up on the back of Emily’s neck even before the pungent smell of old garbage, booze, and human body sweat hit her senses. The putrid odor kept increasing as she moved deeper into the living room and made her swallow hard to keep from gagging. She knew if she continued into the house it would be next to impossible to escape – too many unknowns not in her favor.

  Elements of surprise slowed her pac
e. She counted down the seconds and inventoried the thrift store furniture consisting of a broken down couch with protruding springs, two overstuffed, mismatched chairs, and a small fold out table with two straight back chairs.

  Pieces of mangoes, pineapples, and empty beer bottles covered the table; the fruit had turned dark around the edges allowing flies to feast on the blackened remnants.

  “Company.” The British man announced as the screen door slammed shut behind them, the broken door still wobbled on its rusted hinges, squeaking for a few seconds.

  Emily’s odds for escape now doubled with two people in the house, instead of just one man with a shotgun.

  Her uncertainties now realized.

  Trapped.

  Small steps forward, left foot, right foot, then pivoting to the left and spinning around to face her attacker, Emily pounced on the man, pressed against him close enough to smell his sickly sweat, and shoved the shotgun upward blasting off a shot through the ceiling. Splinters and chunks of drywall sprinkled the living room like an early snow dusting of winter in the mountains.

  The room echoed from the blast. A couple of seconds passed before the world had normal audible sounds.

  Emily knew she couldn’t over power the man, but she used her quick self-defense moves to her advantage.

  Momentarily stunned, the man blinked twice and before he could retaliate, Emily slammed the heel of her right hand into his face making direct contact with his nose. Blood instantly spurted from his membranes and she felt the slippery, warm liquid on her hand spattering her face and white t-shirt.

  Rage and adrenaline pumped through her body and catapulted her forward as she landed a solid right hook on his jaw. He didn’t stand a chance and dropped to the floor. The shotgun flew, completing one full revolution, end over end, and rested next to the sagging couch.

  Fighting the urge to kick his face repeatedly for what he had done to the little girl in the basement, Emily took a set of plastic zip ties from her pocket, rolled the bleeding man on his side, and expertly looped his hands. She pulled them tight – too tight. She didn’t care. He moaned, dazed by the blitz attack.

  Just as Emily turned to find an entrance to the basement to find Cassie, a large, muscular man with dark tattoos that seemed to ooze around his grubby white tank top grabbed her by the neck and pushed her backwards onto the couch. Her fall wasn’t cushioned and she could feel every sofa steel spring jab into her back. Pain pierced her spine. The hulk of a man pressed his body against Emily and squeezed the air from her lungs.

  Paralyzed.

  He groped at her sides and her jeans in a frenzy of excitement.

  She couldn’t move her arms or wiggle her body loose from his enormous weight thrust against her one hundred-fifteen pound frame. Slowly turning her head to the left, she saw the dark inked flesh of his right shoulder and sunk her teeth deep into the muscle. The powerful human jaw cut through soft tissue and then sliced through the muscle. He cried out in agony with an animal wail, retreating long enough for Emily to slide out from under him and hit the uneven wooden floor. Emily crawled toward the shotgun and prayed that it had another bullet in the chamber.

  Before she could reach the gun, she was tugged roughly by her hair, dragged a couple of feet backward, picked up like a rag doll, and thrown to the floor on the other side of the room. The huge man with a long ponytail stood in front of the door blocking any means of escape for Emily.

  Bleeding from his shoulder, red ooze seeped further down his shirt as he stood staring at her with a wide, terrifying smile on his face, reminiscent of the inbred family member intent on wreaking havoc on any unsuspecting visitor who happened upon their place in the woods. It piqued some type of sick, twisted game to him. He was oblivious to his partner lying on the floor whimpering softly and didn’t care if he were alive or dead. His focus was on Emily as his personal sadistic plaything until he killed her.

  Not clear if he was a brutal psychopath or merely a caged wild animal that acted as the muscle partner in crime, Emily knew she was out manned, out maneuvered, and out gunned.

  She stood up shakily and readied herself in a standoff against her opponent. Her options were to hope that Rick would rescue her, probably not going to happen soon enough, or hand-to-hand combat with an overdriven testosterone, dominated Neanderthal, which was highly unlikely, or plan three…

  She tried to stand up straight to size up the fervent man as a sharp, searing pain exploded down the base of her neck to her lower back, like a lightening bolt, which caused her knees to quiver. Light headed with difficulty breathing, Emily remembered her early training at the police academy, which seemed like another lifetime ago. She kept her physical training updated even though she wasn’t a sworn police officer anymore.

  She pushed off with her left foot and took three well-placed steps, covered her face leading with her elbows, and crashed through the single paned, sash window. She tucked and rolled at the perfect time, hit the catawampus porch, bounced once, and continued down the two stairs to the soft, reddish dirt of the island.

  Continuing to roll to the side, she knew that the hulking man would soon be on her tail.

  As Emily caught her breath and happy to see that her arms weren’t sliced to ribbons, she saw some familiar shoes approaching fast. She rolled onto her back to sit up just as the front door opened with a crash that ripped the screen entrance from its hinges.

  A two-by-four swung through the air and made precise contact with the angry man’s chest, he dropped immediately to the ground with a dull thud that undoubtedly rattled his internal organs.

  Rick stood over the large man with a satisfied look on his face, steadying himself for another blow if necessary.

  The large man, face down, windless, remained knocked out cold.

  Rick tossed the board aside and helped Emily up, gently touching her cheek and wiping her hair from her face. “You okay?” His eyes said more than his simple words.

  “I’m fine.” Emily smiled as her body screamed in agony. “Let’s get these guys contained before the cops get here.”

  Rick grumbled. “I don’t think they’re coming.”

  “What?”

  “It’s different here.”

  “What do you mean?” She said slowly.

  “Island police protocol.”

  “They didn’t believe you?” Emily looked surprised.

  “It may be a while before the cops get here. Let’s get the girl to safety and leave the rest for the local cops to clean up.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Four

  Tuesday 1245 Hours

  Lani decided to stop by his favorite barbeque chicken restaurant and get the daily lunch special to go. There was nothing better than Hawaiian style barbeque chicken with a side of pineapple rice and garlic toast. He could get a home-style lunch and check out the call at the same time. If it were a false alarm, at least he wouldn’t go hungry and could take the time to casually look around the neighboring area for any marijuana plants.

  The morning message taunted his mind.

  He had received his fair share of prank calls and even some misinformed tourists with sightings that proved to be false like seeing sea monsters to Elvis, but never with a serious note to kidnapping, child pornography, or possible sex slave brokers. The man who made the call seemed to know police lingo, like perp, 10-66 for suspicious person or persons, and subject in question.

  Lani’s mind worked out different scenarios, but the aroma of perfectly seasoned chicken flipped his thoughts to reemerge to the present.

  Lani’s typical workday wrangled on as usual, without any complications or serious police work. Approximate estimated time of arrival to the property in question proved to be about fifteen minutes.

  * * * * *

  After the kidnappers were secured on the porch, Emily and Rick searched the house systematically and were careful not to touch anything or move any potential, incriminating evidence. Emily dreaded having to spend any more time in the house w
ith the retched stink building in intensity.

  The location of the basement entrance wasn’t obvious, but they’d tear apart the floor or the back of the house to get to Cassie if it came down to it.

  Emily bypassed the kitchen and stopped in the tiny hallway. Two closed doors across from each other remained closed. She could hear Rick rummaging around in the living room and kitchen area looking for an entrance.

  Deciding to open the door on the right first, the jiggly doorknob rattled in her hand as she pushed the door wider.

  Dark.

  The funhouse floor immediately put her on high alert and out of her comfort zone.

  Dizzying.

  Half expecting another monster to jump out at her, Emily moved with caution and focused on her quick fight or flight reflexes.

  A breath resounded from deep inside the room like air escaping an old, haunted artifact.

  Emily stopped, stood listening, that familiar instinct of danger bubbled to the surface. Hands and fingers tensed causing her arms and back to cramp with a throbbing ache. Her eyes adjusted to the darker environment, but the only thing she could see was boxes stacked high and heavy tarps. The tiny room seemed to be a storage area, no telling what was hidden inside the boxes that the police will eventually sift through.

  Whimper.

  This time Emily took a step toward the far corner.

  Movement.

  A white tarp shifted. A hell bound serpent seemed to come to life.

  Emily’s first thought was that there was some type of animal. Reflecting on the two men, it could be anything that would seek to tear her apart: smuggled, exotic bird… fighting Pit bull...

  From the struggle and hard bodily impact earlier, her hand shook slightly straight out in front of her body as she neared the tarp.

  Stillness.

  She grabbed the closest flap of the tarp and yanked it over the side as it fell to the floor.