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    Intensification
    Intensification
    Intensification
    Ebook171 pages2 hours

    Intensification

    By Jo Michaels

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Detective Hank Reynolds has just been handed the case of a lifetime. Another reality TV star has gone missing, and it’s up to the Atlanta police department to find her before it’s too late. While he’s digging around, he discovers there have been nearly twenty similar kidnappings in the surrounding areas over the last twenty years, and while trying to find out more—and a witness that’s still alive—he’s dragged into a past he wishes he could erase. His dreams become nightmares about the women, and his sanity unravels. Even his eyes begin to play tricks on him, but no hallucinations are as devious as the antics of the killer—who’s always one breath away—waiting for the chance to strike again.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJo Michaels
    Release dateAug 22, 2018
    ISBN9780463034293
    Intensification
    Author

    Jo Michaels

    Jo Michaels loves writing novels that make readers gasp in horror, surprise, and disbelief. While her browser search history has probably landed her on a list somewhere, she still dives into every plot with gusto, hoping "the man" will realize she's a writer and not a psychopath about to go on a rampage. Her favorite pastimes are reading, watching Investigation Discovery, and helping other authors realize their true potential through mentoring. She's penned the award-winning Pen Pals and Serial Killers series and the best-selling educational book for children, Writing Prompts for Kids, which has rocketed the kids that use it into several awards of their own.Most of Jo's books feature the places she's lived: Louisiana, Tennessee, and Georgia. That's given her a special amount of insight to what makes those locations tick. Her works are immersive and twisty, and she wouldn't want it any other way.

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      Book preview

      Intensification - Jo Michaels

      Intensification

      by Jo Michaels

      ***

      Intensification

      Pen Pals and Serial Killers - Story Three

      by Jo Michaels

      Copyright © 2018 Jo Michaels

      All Rights Reserved

      Published May 4, 2018

      Smashwords Version

      License Notes:

      This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or re-distributed in any way. Author holds all copyright.

      This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead.

      Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

      Cover design by Jo Michaels

      Typeset for print and web by Jo Michaels

      Edited by Tia Silverthorne Bach

      Proofread by Ellie Oberth

      All of INDIE Books Gone Wild

      The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

      ***

      Claude’s gaze went right to the clock when he rolled over. Ten p.m. He grinned. That would give him several hours to do the things he wanted to do and still be back before it was time to get up and get moving for the day.

      His feet made no noise as he padded down the hall to the garage, and the door swung open on greased hinges. Squeaky doors drove him bananas, so he was particular about keeping every single one in both his homes well lubed. Careful not to knock anything over, he made his way through the inky blackness to the other side of the room and the table where his tools hung. He pushed it gently from one end. A few wrenches on pegs banged together, but there was no noise otherwise. Every night he went out, he was more grateful he’d thought to put the slides under the legs. Once the table was moved aside, he stuck his pinky finger through a hole in the sheetrock and pulled.

      The small door came forward easily and quietly, the hole the only indication there was anything there. Inside were the articles he wore every night: A gray coverall, a hoodie, high boots, and a baseball cap with his favorite team’s logo emblazoned on the front and back.

      He chuckled as he pulled it on, the larger NY symbol turned toward the back. Fuck the Red Sox and the horse they rode in on; he’d be a Yankees fan until the day he died.

      Carefully, he folded the pajama pants and tee he’d been wearing before and put them in the hidey-hole, closing the door softly. His boots were in his hand, and he waited until he was safely in the alcove of the side door before slipping them on his feet. It wouldn’t do to leave prints from boots he wasn’t supposed to have anywhere inside, just in case the police decided to investigate him and come digging around.

      Hands in his pockets, he stepped to the sidewalk, casting his gaze both directions before turning left, scurrying down three blocks, and going right. His house was the fourth one on the left in the cul-de-sac, a large Tudor that backed up to an expansive wooded area. He’d had it painted gray and installed an impressive privacy fence with a high gate, and he always left a few lights on inside to make it look like someone was home. Before he went up to the door, he grabbed the mail out of the box, snickered at the fliers inviting him to shop at one store or another—they really didn’t want him anywhere near their establishments—and threw everything in the neighbor’s recycling bin.

      It had been nearly a week since he’d been able to come home, and he could almost hear his beauties calling out to him. His hand shook as he put the key in the lock and turned, his excitement threatening to boil over and consume him whole.

      Claude dashed in and spun to engage the deadbolt, also sliding the long chain into place. Once it was locked, he allowed himself to relax. He peeled off the hat and boots, leaving them near the door, and the next to go was his hoodie and coveralls. No clothing was required in his home, but he preferred to keep the boxer-briefs on. Sitting on chairs in the nude just made his balls sweaty, and he wasn’t about to suffer discomfort needlessly.

      As he walked through the kitchen, he swatted Alice on the ass and whispered in her ear, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I have something to take care of first.

      She giggled in response, and he checked her wires to make sure she was secure before moving on to Nadine.

      How are you tonight, my love? he asked, caressing her beautiful, brown face.

      I’m excellent, Claude. How are you? Her sweet voice was like milk and honey to his ears, and he kissed her on the tip of her nose.

      Wonderful. Glad to be home. After checking her wires as well, he ignored the other ladies calling out to him and went for the door to the basement. He glanced around to be sure no one was watching before pulling his key out of its hiding place under the potted plant.

      Door finally unlocked, he gave it a hard tug, enjoying the cool hiss of air as the seal broke. He stepped through and pulled the door shut all the way, re-engaging the locks, before hitting the switch to turn on the light. The LEDs nearly blinded him, and as soon as they came to full strength, she started screaming.

      Again.

      There was no need to rush or yell back, so he whistled as he made his way down the steps to her cage, laughing to himself the whole time.

      When he rounded the corner, something whizzed past his head, and he ducked back into the stairwell.

      Easy now. You sure you want to throw things at me, sweetie? He’d been working on his Southern gentleman accent, and his drawl was nearly perfect.

      Fuck you! Let me the fuck out of here, you fucking psycho! Her cage bars rattled.

      That’s not a nice way to speak to me, darling. I saved you.

      Fuck that! Her voice was so shrill, it echoed off the soundproof walls and bounced around like a pinball.

      He winced and leaned out around the jamb so he could see her. There was nothing else nearby for her to throw except excrement—which he knew she wouldn’t touch because she wasn’t that kind of woman—and her hands were empty, so he stepped all the way out and smiled at her. Sharon, I’ve missed you.

      She backed away from his side of the cage, flattening her body to the back bars, her eyes wide and fixed on his approaching form, feet spread in a wide V to keep from stepping in the mess she’d made in the corner.

      That was the reaction that made him feel most powerful—when they moved away as though they could sense something dark inside him.

      "Who are you, and why the fuck am I here?"

      My name is Claude, and you’re here because I want you to be.

      What do you plan to do with me now? Keep me in this cage forever?

      No. I have bigger plans for you. He moved to a shelf and lifted a photo, turning it so she could see. You’ll be joining the others.

      Her jaw dropped. You’re a sick fuck. Wh… what the hell did you do to them?

      Saved them. From a life of ridicule and struggle.

      Like hell you did. They’re a—

      He launched himself at the bars. Shut. Up.

      Maniacal laughter sprang up and out of her.

      Don’t you dare talk about things you have no knowledge of, or I’ll end your life right now.

      That’s what you plan to do anyway, right? So why should I give a shit if you care what I’m saying or not? It was obvious she was trying to sound tough, but she was scared. Her voice wavered.

      Because what you say is the line drawn between whether you enjoy your death or have a really fucking hard time of it, bitch. He snarled as the last word dripped from his lips and smiled when she flinched.

      As he tracked a path around the outside of the cage, she moved, too, keeping her body on the side farthest away from him. The way her thigh muscles moved under the fabric of her tights made his cock hard, and he wiped drool off his chin. Her breasts were magnificent creatures, rising and falling every time she panted. Though she could use a washing, she was still the most alluring one he’d taken.

      "You are so beautiful," he whispered as he moved.

      Fuck you! she screamed.

      I can’t wait to add you to my collection. You’ll be my prized possession. I already have room décor decided for you, and it’s just like something you’d pick for yourself. I can hear you thanking me now. He lifted his voice a few octaves as he mimicked her. ‘Oh, Claude, I love every part of it so very much! You’re the best ever.’ And then maybe you’ll give me a kiss.

      "You know nothing about me, and there’s no way I’m ever going to kiss you."

      Oh, but I do, Sharon. I do. I watched you for months on television, and then I followed you, always in the shadows where you couldn’t see me. That prick you were fucking wasn’t worthy of you, darling. His hand snaked out and caught her hair, and he pulled her to the bars closest to him. You’ll never have to worry about not having the right man again, because I promise to take care of you for all time.

      Killing someone isn’t taking care of them. Tears streamed down her face then, and her shoulders sagged. Please, Claude. Please. Let me go?

      Pulling her head back, he yanked on her hair so her face tilted up and the skin on her throat grew tight, the pulse banging away just under the surface. His teeth ached to sink into the supple flesh, tear at it, but he knew if he did, her corpse would be ruined, and he wanted her in his collection very badly.

      He inhaled, savoring the last remnants of her perfume.

      Please, she whispered.

      No. It was a simple answer, and he watched her for a reaction. That always told him the most about the women—how they responded when they didn’t get something they’d begged for.

      Rather than grow angry, she softened, and her shoulders shook.

      Weak. Just as I expected. His fingers opened, and he dropped her, letting her sink to the floor. Tomorrow, Sharon, dear. Tomorrow!

      After bringing her some food that he left on a paper plate near the cage, he replenished her supply of water bottles, removed the trash and pile of filth, and then whistled his way back upstairs, setting the bag by the door for depositing in the neighbor’s bin.

      Claude’s ladies were waiting, and he had big plans for the evening. Lots of research to catch up on.

      He locked the door and stowed the key after once more making sure none of the women were watching, and then he went to join Ginger on the couch. Mind if I have the remote? he asked.

      Not at all, Claude.

      Taking it from her hand, he was careful not to knock her wire around and damage the limb again like he’d done the week prior. It had been a bitch to repair, and he just didn’t have the time to dick around with it. Plus, she was a whiner when she was injured; it was better to be more diligent.

      With a click of the red power button, the television came on, and he activated the DVR, looking for the latest episodes of She Wants to Marry Him.

      Carefully, he put one arm around Ginger and pulled her close, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. He kissed her blonde hair and laughed when the photos of the women on the show scrolled across the screen, their names emblazoned underneath. Remember when you were on this show?

      She nodded in agreement, sending waves of sweet-smelling perfume up to his nose.

      I bet you do. That dickless wonder didn’t know what he had in you, did he? His voice dropped as he inhaled and remembered the past.

      Her head moved left and right.

      "Let’s

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