Dark Side of the Cloth by Brooklyn Cross
Dean left his Hummer a mile down the road, hidden in an old pasture field. The only structure left was a dilapidated barn that he could park behind. Going cross country, he jogged toward his destination, loving the feeling of moving silently through the night. The ability to blend in with the shadows to avoid detection only enhanced the excitement of the hunt.
He wasn’t a fan of suburbia. There were way too many cameras and eyes that could catch him in the act. Sure, the cameras were easy enough to take care of—Sexy did all the heavy lifting on that end, but the unwanted eyes could turn into undesired kills.
Extra kills meant extra work, Dean thought, as he jumped, clutching the top of the six-foot wooden fence, and swung his feet over to land softly on the other side. He stayed crouched and surveyed for the best entrance point as small puffs of his breath rose steadily into the air.
The home was dark, which he knew it would be. This mark was on a schedule that worked like clockwork, and every Friday was always the same. Out to dinner with whomever, she was fucking, and then back here for a nightcap.
Dean glanced at the time. He was still on schedule, so he jogged to the back door and peered inside. A small box on the wall caught his attention.
“Hey Sexy, does my mark have an alarm system?”
“House 333 does have an alarm.”
“Disable it.” A soft beep could be heard from inside the house, the light turning from red to green.
“Alarm disabled.”
He proceeded to pick the lock, his eyes always searching for someone that could become a nuisance. With one more twist, the loud click announced that the lock sprang free, and he slipped inside the modest home.
It had taken him a while to put all the puzzle pieces together. But, the last time Whitney was in for confession, the same day Yasmine had visited him, something clicked. There was something off about how she said she’d come in to pray for her husband because he wasn’t doing very well. Her words seemed harmless enough at the time. But that wasn’t it, and he could sense it. It was time to find out the truth.
His night vision made it easy to navigate through her home. Pausing, he stared at the calendar on the wall in the kitchen and then proceeded to open every cupboard and drawer.
Since he’d come to town, many people had passed away, which was expected people died all the time. But there was something about the nonchalant way Whitney had accepted the deaths of those children. That had been his second major flag. The fact she was a perpetual adulterer had been his first, but he still only had those two clues. Not exactly murderer-worthy material.
Moving into the living room and dining room, there was much of the same. Things were excessively neat to the point of anal. No photos of family were present other than one of what he assumed was her son.
That’s when he took a step back and looked at the house as a whole. The house's layout was strange, as if walls had been removed and new ones put up, breaking up the once comfortable flow of the space. He ran his hand along the wall that seemed out of place and softly knocked at random intervals. A hollow sound stopped him in his tracks. He stared at the pink floral wallpaper and didn’t see an edge, so Dean followed the wall into what seemed to be a closet. White, wooden louver doors covered the space and were not much of a deterrent.
“Hey, Sexy, are there any hidden video recording devices in this house?”
“There are multiple hidden devices, all of them motion activated.”
“Disable all videos, wipe any I have already tripped, and kill any silent alarms.” This was a lot of tech to have for a real estate agent.
“All tech has been disabled.”
He placed his hand on the handle and gave it a gentle tug. There was a wall of games and books, but the arching wear mark on the wall told him a different story. He felt like he was in an escape room as he pulled on each book to see what the release was and eventually found it, built into the metal statue in the shape of a cock.
Well, isn’t that fitting.
He stepped back and let the door silently swing open. Taking a moment, he inspected the frame and pulled out a small metal piece that would be strong enough to act as a wedge. He had no interest in getting stuck down here. The stairs were concrete, and he stepped carefully, not sure what other traps he may find. Once Dean reached the bottom, his eyes went wide as he stared at the wall with photos of the town, specifically the photos of the men from the town.
He wandered closer and inspected the faces, some he recognized, some he didn’t. Many had red X’s drawn through them and others with checkmarks. The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he came face to face with his image.
The hunter was being hunted.
His fist clenched tight as he stared at a line drawn to Yasmine and a haphazardly scribbled note that said, “she needs to go.”
Dean turned around and inspected the rest of the basement. He crouched down and stared at the clear glass tanks. A shiver raced down his spine as he stared at a wide variety of poisonous spiders.
“What the fuck?” Dean whispered.
In the far corner of the basement sat an assortment of scientific equipment. There were microscopes and beakers set up on a table that looked recently used. This woman was more fucked up than anything he could’ve conjured in his mind. Moving on, he found a safe that was tucked away under the stairs, and he knelt down admiring the sleek modern choice. Safes were not his specialty, but he’d spent enough time hanging out with Morry to get a handle on what to do. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the right tools with him.
He was pretty certain of what he was going to find. With a set-up like this, she had to have an escape plan—all killers did. A Plan-B if your life blew up around you.
“A vehicle is approaching your location, silver sedan, lone female occupant.”
That was her.
Dean jogged up the stairs and took his small wedge out of its holding place. Carefully, he made sure the doors were back in place. The beams of light shone into the living room as she pulled into the driveway. Dean was extra careful not to leave a trace. Even a small lump of dirt would give away that someone had been present to a person this meticulous.
Convinced he was in the clear, he opened the back door and closed it behind him.
“Hey Sexy, turn on all systems to the house, make sure time-stamping has not been affected,” Dean said as he fiddled with the lock and got it back into place just as the alarm began to beep when Whitney opened the front door.
Dean ran back the way he came, springing over the fence and disappearing into the dark once more. As he jogged back to Sexy, Dean rearranged his list, and Whitney had just moved to the top.