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Deadly Whispers: The Beginning...: Deadly Whispers, #1
Deadly Whispers: The Beginning...: Deadly Whispers, #1
Deadly Whispers: The Beginning...: Deadly Whispers, #1
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Deadly Whispers: The Beginning...: Deadly Whispers, #1

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A series of brutal murders shakes the city of New Haven, Ct. All the victims, young professional women, are found dead, left without a heart. Special agent Stacey Loggins is on the hunt for this monster, a bloodthirsty killer who knows her every move, and who challenges her to a deadly game. He is the king; she is the pawn. Stephi Loggins, Stacey's only sister, has disappeared. She has exactly seven days to decipher the mystery surrounding these murders. If in seven days she can whisper in his ears his name, Stephi will live. If she's wrong...The pace has been set. Time is running out. Who will win the deadly game?

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 29, 2017
ISBN9781386761020
Deadly Whispers: The Beginning...: Deadly Whispers, #1
Author

Peter R. Vergara

Peter Vergara, nacido en New York, pero residente desde 1967 en Manati, Puerto Rico. Posee un Bachillerato en Justicia Criminal. Autor de nueve libros en diferentes géneros literarios.. Actualmente casado con Lynette Martínez, una mujer maravillosa que es la luz de su vida. Residen en Manatí, Puerto Rico.

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    Deadly Whispers - Peter R. Vergara

    Prologue

    1980

    1999

    2000

    New Haven, Connecticut

    Basset Street, New Haven, Connecticut

    Stephi

    The Killer Basement

    Priscilla

    Woburn, Massachusetts

    New Haven, 7:00 a.m., Sunday morning

    The clock is ticking...

    Running...

    A broken doll...

    Peter R. Vergara Ramirez

    Prologue

    THE NIGHT WAS BEAUTIFUL.

    The moonlight illuminated the forest completely, giving it an unreal ghostly aspect, like the old stamp of a horror story.

    There was total silence.

    Or almost.

    The only sound was the song of a lonely owl. If like with this, he could alert the small creatures that lived there, of the imminent danger approaching them at gigantic steps.

    Suddenly, the fragile figure of a woman erupts violently in the silence of the night. I can’t deal with this anymore.

    She was running desperately between the dense vegetation, violently tearing the clothes she had on, bruising her skin with the tree branches. Her face and arms were covered in blood, but all she can think of was going deeper into the bushes, taking advantage of every shortcut, she could find.

    However, she didn’t know where she was. She couldn’t distinguish absolutely nothing.

    Only a small ray, diverging from the moon, illuminated the place where she had stopped running. She looked in all directions, looking futile for something, maybe a light or a sound, that could guide her. She was confused, totally lost in a world unknown to her. She was trying to get as far away from the evil creature that was stalking, he; the monster that wanted to bury her in the abyss.

    Her heart was beating furiously, without control. She tried vainly to calm herself, to get her ideas in order. She was trying to find a way out. Tears of impotence, of real horror, were streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t control the trembling of her body, a body that was trying to survive, to escape from the hell.

    She had to do it; at least try.

    First, she had to overcome the panic that had taken hold of her. She couldn’t allow him to defeat her, to win at the end. She escaped before. She would do it again.

    God, please help me. I ask with the little strength that I have left. Don’t let him catch me. Once you helped me; please do it again! she prayed.

    Her body refused to take another step. She was tired of running away. She had to rest, even it for just a minute, to restore her energy and keep going. Running away, to preserve the life that he wanted to take away from her. She tried to perceive a sound.

    Nothing.

    A sepulchral silence invaded the night. Even the owl was silent.

    God, allow me to have lost him. Give me a chance to repair the damage that I once inflicted on him, she said with anguish, looking up above.

    However, who was stalking her wasn't thinking of giving her any opportunity to escape. It was the moment long waited for. The time of reward for all his sufferings.

    A light sound, almost imperceptible to the human ear, made her body tense, prisoner of a great fear, and again, her heart rocketed to an unsuspected level. Little by little, she turned around to look.

    To confront finally the killer who was chasing her in dreams since she was a child. Someone or something emerged from the bushes; a shadow that seemed familiar. Slowly, he was closing in on her. The dim moonlight allowed her to see the shining metallic object that he was holding in his right hand.

    The cold blade that would destroy her body, was prepared for the final chapter. She was the one chosen. Her knees gave way under her; she would stop fighting. She knew there was no mercy for her.

    A ripping scream, inhuman, came out of her mouth when she finally saw his face. A face she remembered from her childhood. A face she knew she had to see again that night. Then, she was lost in the black hole of unconsciousness.

    She didn't feel anything else...

    1980

    MARGARET WAS VERY PRETTY.

    Attractive, dynamic, an honor student. She was elected class president that year. The kind of girl that any parent would be proud of.

    Her shiny black hair framed her graceful face. Her expressive brown eyes hinted of the beautiful woman she would become.

    That night, a night she would never forget, she had left her house to go study with Sheila, her best friend and classmate, at her house. They were taking advantage of the quietness of the night, because her friend's parents were in another wedding anniversary. They were celebrating like every year, eating out in an exclusive restaurant outside their hometown and afterward visiting the local theater to enjoy the latest hit.

    They were alone in the family room that Sheila's parents had built in the latter part of the house. Margaret, or Margie, like her friends called her, was observing Sheila, the most sincere and good-hearted person she had ever met. She was smiling and thinking to herself of all the guys that were like flies after her, because she was a gorgeous blonde, with big blue eyes and a body that was very attractive for her young age. She always awakened the animal instincts of every young kid about to become a young man.

    The outside temperature was cold, very cold, on that dark night of the month of March.

    They had warm clothes on, but that didn't stop them from turning on the heater in the family room, that was in the back, as it was built annex to the house.

    Does it still bother you... you know that kid, the son of the... Sheila asked her friend.

    He doesn't give up. He's a hardheaded bull, Sheila. He has tried a thousand times to please me in every way, but I keep repeating that I don't want his friendship. Even though, he keeps insisting, responded Margie very upset.

    Why don't you tell your parents? she asked again.

    Because I don't want to worry them. Anyway, the stupid asshole will tire of bothering me and would look at some other girl, another girl he would like better, said Margie.

    That he likes. You're crazy. Have you really looked at him? You have to recognize that he is not attractive, with those eyeglasses with thick lens that look like a bottle and that hide most of his face, said Sheila. And he is a klutz. He doesn't know how to express himself when he is in front person. When he finally decides, he gags so much, that it's a pity, she added.

    Did you see the other day? Butch threw his lunch all over the cafeteria floor, and the poor kid was the laughingstock of all present. It was such the frustration and anger that he felt that he couldn't say one e word. He limited himself to stare with that strange look he possesses, as if he was empty inside, said Margie.

    If he would have said anything to Butch, with all and thick glasses, he would have smashed his face. Remember, he is the football captain, and he wasn't going to allow that the school clown do anything against him, said Sheila with admiration, remembering the guy that she was crazy about.

    Apart from everything we have talked about, he looks very intelligent. At least, that's what the teachers comment, said Margie.

    And who wants an intelligent boy, as attractive as the first day of your menstruation every month, when there are so many tall and handsome boys around? responded Sheila, making noises with her mouth.

    Well, you can say whatever appeals to you, but overall, I feel pity for him, because I find him so insignificant, so meaningless, that I think he will be a loser all his life. I can assure you of that, affirmed Margie convinced.

    Have you noticed?

    What?

    The way he looks at you? asked Sheila.

    It's really... sinister, you know.

    It gives you the creeps, a little bit of fear, I don't know... as if he was different, strange. He really scares me! said Sheila, trembling.

    You are a fool! Since the day, you watched the movie Halloween, you still dream that Michael Myers chases you around the house with a gigantic knife, said Margie, making fun of her friend.

    Keep making fun of me, but I swear, that boy is really frightening, replied Sheila with anger.

    Let's stop talking about this, or I will end up believing that the madman of Halloween is coming for us tonight and he is going to strangle us, cut us up in pieces or plunge a knife from side to side of our bodies! Margie was still making fun of her friend.

    Talking about this, do you remember if we closed the door when you came in? asked Sheila seriously. Don't worry. When you went to get the sodas, I checked all the windows and doors of your house, except the ones in the basement, because I couldn't find the light switch. They were all locked, affirmed Margie.

    The basement light hasn't been working for a few days and daddy hasn't had time to fix it, admitted Sheila.

    I hope Michael Myers doesn't dare come in your house tonight. The rat’s downstairs will eat him alive. It will be their dessert! answered Margie laughing aloud, making her friend laugh with her.

    Very funny girl, very funny. They were taking a sip of the sodas that Sheila had brought from the refrigerator, while sitting in the comfortable chairs of the family room. It was a normal size room, with a pair of chairs, a very comfortable sofa that was an invitation to sleep, surrounded by bookshelves from wall to wall. There was a small black desk and most important: a brand-new color television. You could go into the house through a narrow-carpeted hall full of family pictures. This room had a window, with a view to the lateral part of the house, where there was a two-car garage, the barbecue grill used for all their cookouts on those hot summer nights and a small room used to store the mower.

    The nearest house was a little far away, divided by a picket fence that was placed there by a married couple that had bought the empty land in between, but had not yet built a house.

    It's true that it's pretty chilly outside. I still don't know how you dared come out on a night like this. It's possible that we have snow tonight, said Sheila.

    You know that tomorrow we have the science test, and we have to study. If not, I would have stayed home and watched Fantasy Island on TV, said Margie.

    At least Tattoo is funny, contrary to our dear friend, insisted Sheila to bother Margie.

    Please, let's not talk about it anymore.

    Ok, but don't say I didn't tell you.

    I won't.

    Let's see, the test is about... the heart, isn't it?

    Correct. Per our textbook, what is the heart? asked Sheila.

    It's a hollow muscular organ, that makes the blood circulate, responded Margie.

    Good, girl, good. Tell me, what protects the heart?

    That, I also know. It's like a thorax cell that protects it like an armor.

    But it can be wounded, right?

    Yes, it can suffer trauma and wounds, either by use of firearms or sharp objects.

    And, if Butch doesn't invite me to go to the movies this weekend my heart could break, said a laughing Sheila.

    Don't be ridiculous! You know he's never inviting you. You're too smart for him. Guys these days don't girls that know the scientific name of what they have between their legs!

    And I bet you know what he has, know-it-all!

    Let me look in the dictionary. They burst out laughing.

    The night was cold and dark. It penetrated the bones.

    He felt all his body freeze, but he couldn’t stop admiring Margie, observing, and listening, through the family room window that had view to the backside of the house.

    He couldn't stop recreating in her beautiful face, on her shiny black hair that fell to her shoulders. Shoulders as white and smooth as her face. A face adorned with the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen in his short but hard life, brown eyes, full of life and happiness.

    She was perfect. He was sure.

    She had to be his. No man would possess her, not while he was alive.

    Those lovely features, the delicate body, that soft perfume that emanated from her body when she walked, would be his and only his. He was never going to allow that another man look at her, looked at those captivating eyes that were like a Michelangelo painting.

    He was infuriated. He had lost his mind. He couldn't think straight. He had heard part of the conversation between the two bitches. He heard them making fun of him. He felt humiliated in the most deeply imaginable way.

    He loved her. Yes, with all his heart, but that didn't give her the right to laugh about him, to joke about his feelings. Feelings that were born in his soul.

    He had to fall for her. Out of so many girls, and he had to fall for the one that would never love him.

    He adored her. He had no fault in being who he was or looking like he did.

    He had enough. He was fed up with her, with her refusal, with the despondent way she looked at him, from top to bottom. Fed up with the way her lips curved in a mocking smile every time she looked at his modest clothes, telling him without words that he would never amount to anything.

    I'm too much for you. Look for someone of your own class. Don't dream with unreachable stars, because you can extend your hands all you want, but you will never reach me, you will never touch me. I am off limits to you.

    That's what he felt her eyes were telling him.

    I will touch you whenever I want, my love, whenever I please, for the rest of my life. Suddenly, something inside of him snapped. Something inside of him was changing.

    Something he couldn't describe. It was like now he had a purpose. Like his life now had a meaning.

    He was feeling that all the good inside of him, everything that was pure in his soul was dying at that precise moment, slowly, as if years of suffering were ending, giving way to something new, powerful; a feeling of omnipotence that he couldn't define, as if he had life and death at his hands, like God.

    Tears were falling down his cheeks. Tears of anger, of frustration, of infinite pain that were washing away all the purity that was in his heart. He knew in his heart that these were the last tears he would shed for anyone or anything. The last time he would be weak, the last time he would love someone.

    He had never been loved. He would never love either.

    Wickedness took hold of his soul and instead of the pure and fresh love he had felt for Margie, hate was born. The biggest and most profound hate that any human being had ever known.

    The angry ruthlessness of a madman. The intense hate of a killer.

    A killer prowling for his first victim...

    1999

    CYNTHIA RICHARDS PARKED her 1999 Ford Explorer on George Street and turned her ignition key off. She was late for her aerobics session, as it was after 7:00 p.m., and she never liked to arrive late at any place.

    She looked at herself in the rearview mirror, and the image she saw satisfied her. She was seeing a young woman, attractive, 32 years old, 5, 5, tall and weighing 120 pounds. She had brown eyes, stylish shoulder length black hair, and clothes that spoke of confidence but very feminine at the same time.

    Conventional by nature, Cynthia worked as a marketing assistant for a very well-known advertisement agency. Her main goal in life was to become her unit's supervisor.

    She came from a family with limited economic resources, (her father was a taxi driver, her mother was a cook in a cafeteria) and she had to exert herself and struggle very hard to complete her education.

    She took courses during the day, and at night, three times a week, she worked part time at a McDonald's that was near the University of New Haven, where she studied.

    After she finished her studies, she worked for Lehman Advertising, a well-known advertising firm in Stamford, CT. There, making use of her great intelligence, and her enormous desire to triumph, her supervisors noticed her. They opted to give her an opportunity, long waited by her, in the marketing department, area where she had achieved the maximum honors in the university. She didn't disappoint those that had faith in her. In less than two years, she was promoted to assistant, with lots of compliments from her fellow workers.

    Now, at age 32, she had achieved a lot. She finally had an apartment all for herself that she could afford. Previously, she had rented an apartment with two friends from work, so she could live within her budget. It was in a very quiet neighborhood, near Anita Street, away from the city noise. She decorated her apartment with different pastel tones and was very, very proud of her masterpiece.

    All this, thanks to her work in the agency, that had rewarded her with a substantial pay raise and a bonus for her labor and dedication exhibited in a very important presentation.

    Now, with practically every goal met and a career on the rise that promised big expectations, she felt she had triumphed completely in life.

    Something her parents didn't accomplish, as much as they tried.

    Dam it! I'm late for my aerobics exercise and I haven't even changed clothes! She was still dressed in the outfit that she had worn to work that morning. A beautiful and expensive Armani dress, blue, with black high heels, that made her look slimmer than she was.

    A last-minute chore kept her in the office more time than usual, not enabling her to leave on time.

    She looked at the rear seat and her right hand reached out to pick up the sporty gym bag where she kept the outfit used for exercise. She got out of the car, not without first making sure the alarm was on.

    I'm going to have to hurry up. To top off, she had parked far away from the gym because there was a construction going on in an apartment building on the next block and the workers had drilled holes in the middle of the street, possibly to install the pipes that supplied the water.

    Every time the city decides to do something, they inconvenience people, but I guess this is the price for progress, she exclaimed. She was very upset. She was walking swiftly, with a lot of elegance, thanks in part to the long hours spent exercising and the tiring aerobic sessions.

    One... two... three, stretch your legs, she said smiling to herself, remembering the workout routine.

    She attracted admiration stares from men as she walked. Women looked at her also, not being able to hide the envy they felt when they saw such a well-proportioned and sensual body. She looked like a tigress ready to attack. However, in her personal life she was alone.

    I wish that Christmas was here already so I can invite my parents to spend it with me and rejoice in the festivities, like when I was a kid and dreamed of a perfect world. A world where Santa Claus came down the chimney of our modest house in Hamden, she remembered with nostalgia, evoking unforgettable moments, far away in time, but not in her memories. There were still some months to go before Christmas, so she had to forget about that for now.

    I feel lonely. Even though she was satisfied with the success obtained, she was feeling a deep emptiness in her heart. The sacrifices made since childhood, to become what she had become, didn't leave her time for a relationship nor friendship, much less a social life.

    I feel attracted to Dempster, but I have never known any girl in his life. He's a little bit strange, like he was always thinking about who knows what.

    I have a feeling that I'm going to die of old age, in a wheelchair, with the company of my French poodle, if I continue on this desolation path, she thought with sadness.

    I don't know why I worry so much. I am young and pretty. I still have a lot going for me. I have legs that are not toothpicks and a behind worth looking at, she pepped herself.

    I have a long life ahead of me. She was near her destination, Ladies Golden Gym, when she noticed, very upset, that there was an open hole in the street that obstructed her path. She had to stop.

    Damn it, I have to go around the street to cross the next one! She crossed over the street, careful not to trip over anything. When she got to the end, she noticed a security roadblock and the entrance to a dark alley. –

    What the hell! A few more steps and I'll get there.

    She would never get there.

    There were very few people around. Maybe one or two walking around at that time, and they were on the other side of the street. A bit far from her, that was walking towards her inexorable destiny.

    That's why nobody, nobody at all, noticed the shadow that emerged abruptly from the darkness of night, from the deep of the alley. Nobody heard the choking scream that Cynthia uttered, when she felt strong hands like steel tongs that took her by surprise, and without giving her a chance to react, thrust her in death's antechamber.

    Someone, with better hearing than others, who was turning around George St., thought he heard something, a strange noise, but couldn't determine what it was. He looked back, but all he could see was a street where construction was taking place, holes in the street and security roadblocks.

    They should be for the pipes, he thought.

    However, if he had turned around a few seconds before, he would have seen a sinister figure, incarnation of evil, as black as the night, that violently took hold of a woman and forced her into the alley.

    Cynthia knew, deep inside of her, that there wasn't going to be another sunrise for her. She knew at that precise moment that all her dreams ended there.

    She could see it in his malign eyes, which she recognized vaguely. Eyes that bored into her, that reached the depths of her soul, as if they were already recreating in the pain inflicted on that body bursting with life and illusion.

    She felt it with each stabbing that went through her body, in every movement of the sharp blade that penetrated her insides, a blade that was destroying her hopes.

    Pain, an indescribable pain ripped through her body. Tears of impotence, of desperation, were streaming down her cheeks, mixing with blood, while slowly she was dying. Her body was being turned, making her look like a rag doll.

    She couldn't scream. No sound came out her mouth, because the bastard had a hard grip on her throat. He was destroying her, not only her body, but her very self, her dreams, her hopes; her everything.

    The son of a bitch was laughing cruelly, while he kept on stabbing her. Her body looked like a strainer with so many holes in her.

    Inside, out, inside, out. The son of a bitch unloaded his diabolical fury in every stab he inflicted in her stomach, in her chest, in all places except her heart.

    That, he would not touch... not for now.

    Slowly and inexorably, Cynthia was losing strength. What little she had wasn't enough to stop what was written, what her killer had decided from before.

    Death seized her. God had forgotten her. At least that was what it looked like. She wouldn't see her parents at Christmas. She wouldn't be supervisor as she hoped. She would never have a lover to comfort her on lonely nights. She would have nothing, because she had just lost everything.

    Finally, very slowly, she closed her eyes, taking with her the image of the monster that had just murdered her. A murderer without a conscience, a murderer who was observing her with a mocking smile while he cleaned the long bloody blade, in Cynthia's expensive Armani outfit.

    She had finally seen him, but the secret of his identity died with her.

    Why did you kill me, you son of a bitch, if I never did you anything? she asked in that final moment, looking at the cold eyes that were observing her.

    She never finished the question. Her time had ended in this life.

    The ruthless killer observed her, unmoved, while she exhaled her last breath, a hoarse death rattle.

    In his eyes, there was no mercy, no feelings, just a deep hate, born deeply in his soul.

    His lips creased in a bitter grimace. This was a beginning. He started where he had left years ago,

    He bent down over her dead body, still beautiful in her death, and proceeded to perform a small operation, with another blade that he had hidden inside his clothes. Bloody for anyone, but necessary for him. Within a few minutes, he got up, satisfied with his work.

    How beautiful you were, just like her!

    I will keep this for my collection, with the others, and soon I will have the most valuable of all, the one that will keep me company for eternity. The one that has been in my fantasies since childhood. After looking around one final time, convinced that no one had seen him and there were no witnesses to his crime, he walked away quietly, as if nothing had occurred, like a normal person that had taken a dog out for a walk, and once he had accomplished his purpose, he went back home. He had a job to achieve; settle an unfinished business that he had postponed for years.

    Nothing and nobody was going to stop him.

    He knew that she would be at the end of the road.

    This was a beginning. The beginning of an era.

    The time of terror, that would violently scourge like a hurricane the quiet streets of paradise; that would leave a trail of dead bodies.

    A real blood orgy.

    The hunter was looking for the prey that had escaped him.

    The prey had a feeling that she was being stalked.

    She was there, in New Haven.

    The nightmare had begun... again.

    2000

    TOTAL CONFUSION REIGNED.

    Detectives ran from one side to the other, while the yelling was continuously growing. Policemen entered with suspects, leading them to the interrogation room, some of them from the lowest social scale. They were uttering insults to those who had detained them.

    Even a few prostitutes, some which were not over fifteen, and had been arrested in that morning's bust by the vice-squad, had joined in the existing disorder, screaming vile and unmannered language to those who even dared look at them.

    It was a situation not describable by words. The frightful killer had struck again.

    The offices in the police station were crammed with people coming in and out, while the police agents answered telephone calls that had not stopped coming in since the killing of the last victim, Denise Gonzalez, found that week in her apartment; her body totally mangled.

    Many concerned citizens had called, some which said they had seen the elusive criminal, but none of them could remember details with precision.

    Per the facts provided by the witnesses, the perpetrator was tall and skinny, fat and thin, white, and black; inclusively a ninety-year-old lady who could barely see, said she thought it was a woman because of the tight black clothes. No one agreed on anything.

    Police were increasingly disoriented.

    There was not a single clue that would lead them towards clarifying the savage slaughters that had occurred, which had already reached a chilling sum of eight young women.

    All this was happening in the New Haven general police headquarters, a city in the state of Connecticut which had always distinguished itself for its historical richness, crib of the famous and antique Yale University, and the Peabody Museum of Natural History, among other things.

    Captain Ed Powers, tough detective in charge of the homicide division, with more than twenty-five years of experience in the service of the law, was the one who yelled the most.

    Snyder, Martinez, to my office, now! he exclaimed furiously. The two agents stood up like springs from their desks and entered the captain's small office.

    Close the door and have a seat! said Powers in a nasty mood. 

    Lieutenant Lee Snyder, thirty-seven years old, single, six feet tall, two hundred pounds, and whose facial expression reminds you of a soldier of the old German army, had an abundant history of solved cases, and several recommendations for his excellent police work.

    With fifteen years of experience in the force, last eight as a homicide detective, he was the most likable candidate to replace the man standing in front of him, captain Powers, when he retired, which was right around the corner.

    Next to him was Jason Martinez, a detective in the homicide division, only three years of experience, the so-called amateur. A man close to six feet tall, with tanned skin, which briefly resembled some Caribbean ancestor. He weighed one hundred and eighty pounds, had an athletic body, and was as quick as a puma. His fellows considered him a private person, who only in few occasions emitted an opinion until he had weighed all the benefits and inconveniences of the situation.

    He was analytical by nature, which made him a great acquisition for the police.

    "If Susan and I would have been able to have children, I would have liked them to have turned

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