Even now, he could still feel his presence.
Miles slumped against the toilet, his mouth dry. The pitter patter of rain drops outside the window bled through the air, distracting him from the remnants of the shuddering scream that escaped his lips mere moments ago.
Miles inhaled again. The stench of puke made his stomach clench tighter as if preparing for another round of vomit.
Despite his repetitive intake of breaths, his heart refused to calm. Miles gripped the toilet seat. He hunched over as a wave of nausea flooded over him. The world blurred in and out. Lines crossed. Dots encroached his vision.
"I hate you with every ounce of my life!"
His father's voice echoed through the silence. Miles jerked away from the toilet. His skin burned hot, the blood spilling from a wound.
His throat closed over. The air turned to lead in his lungs before a boom splintered through the air. He scrambled towards the other wall. The heavy-set footsteps echoed against the tiled floor.
Thud. Thud. The sickening rhythm continued, bypassing the curtain of night. Miles' heart stopped. He pushed at the wall, willing for him to fall through, sink through- anything just to get away. The tall, lean shadow danced along the tiled floor.
Growing. Suddenly, he saw him.
His right eye widened, breath short as the leering figure snarled at him.The figure raised a hand to slap him.
Miles hugged himself. Knees drawn, head cowered. A few seconds passed by. Nothing. He no longer felt the sting of a wound. He pulled the hand of his night shirt up.
There was no wound. Only long dried scars that told his stories. Miles swallowed, blinking. No one else was in the toilet.
Had he been thinking that his father was here?
Sweat slithered down his skin, doing nothing to quell the growing heat in his chest. The rain drops continued to pester the window, knocking as though wanting to enter. Miles ran a hand through his damp hair.
Shadows continued to dance at the near walls. Waiting. Watching for a crack, for a break. And somewhere down the rabbit hole of his once sealed memory, an image swallowed him whole.
Miles sat, huddled against the wall. He could barely sleep a wink.
The dark shadows sat by the objects of his room-a single cupboard filled with mostly threadbare clothes. A bed -indented at the side- and a small reading table with a flickering lamp.
His eyes were heavy. They were congealed with crust. They closed, almost falling into the abyss of sleep. With the rattle of the wind, he jerked awake, eyes wide.
He needed to be alert. His stomach tightened as his shaky hands formed fists. Miles swallowed.
The clock ticked by, a chiming menace that only drew on his despair. He waited, eyes glued on the door as if his life depended on it.
His wellbeing really did depend on it.
Miles waited and waited. Seconds stretched to minutes, minutes stretched to hours. Even though the darkness huddled so close to him, he still remained. Maybe his father would forget. Walk past his dark room and forget that he was here. That he was alive, even.
Miles looked at the clock. 10 pm. The dim lights flickered in the blanket of darkness. His father came home by 8, after which he would proceed upstairs to Miles room.
Maybe.... Maybe he did forget.
The clench in his stomach loosened. He inhaled again, the familiar smell of damp wood clogging his nostrils.
One more hour.
His back straightened. His breath was cold in his chest, heavy like a soaked towel. The room stunk of sweat as the windows were closed. He couldn't even bear to crack the windows open.
Anything could give him away.
Once 11pm chimed, he knew. His father had forgotten. Miles limbs ached all over from sitting for so long. He allowed himself to take a deep breath. A small sigh of relief escaped his chapped lips.
The lump in his throat gave way. One night down, many more to go.
Miles grabbed the torchlight from where it sat underneath his bed. He switched it on, the small, flickering light banishing the coming shadows. At least for a while.
Miles placed it upright on the floor next to him. He patted underneath the floorboards underneath his bed, the familiar faint tapping sound disturbing the silence. He continued until a particular floorboard groaned.
Miles cracked it open, careful to not make a sound as he lifted it. He pulled out the worn box in it before dropping the floorboard back in place. Miles unlocked the box, revealing a stack of his drawing books.
Miles carried the one at the top of the stack. He flipped through it until he got to a fresh page.
Sitting there, with the flickering torchlight scorching the darkness around him as he sat huddled over his drawing book- there was a simmering wave of peace that enveloped him.
It always left him with a giddy feeling he couldn't explain. Having a pen, brush or pencil to draw, seemed so..... right. Like everything he was going through would sort itself out.
Miles made a single stroke. His shoulders tensed again, sparking with that familiar crackle of anxiety. His ears perked. The peace was forgotten and all he could do was stare at the door. Waiting, listening.
Still, nothing.
Then, he exhaled. A breath of relief, satisfaction. Silence.
Now, the dark shadows were companions that understood. Understood how healing silence could be.
But, with a thunderous roar, the man of the house came in. Ragged alcohol filled exhales permeated the room. Blood zesty eyes and a frightening smile.
Miles heart stopped. At that moment, the silence with the shadows was shattered.
His scars, every single one almost throbbed, as if reliving the scenes. The mental gore that they were forced to witness, to reminiscence.
"You can never forget."
Miles hissed. Sparks of images burst in his sight. His frail thirteen year old-self coughing up blood. His weak attempts to flee his father. His soulless eyes as he watched his father raise the bottle.
Miles straightened, struggling to get back to his feet. As soon as he stood up, his legs almost gave way underneath him. Miles exhaled again, shaking his legs to give feeling to them. As soon as the numbness gave way, he hobbled out of the toilet.
Miles noticed the half empty cup that sat across from the other documents arranged on the table. He ran a hand through his hair, the sound of a piano spiking in the distant corner of his mind. Icy cold drops sped down his back.
The melodies of the past filled his mind. It grated against him with long steel claws. Miles sat down on the chair. He held his hand, forcing the trembles to still.
But it didn't.
Now, the image of his father with his sweet deceiving smile wasn't what wrapped his mind. In his stead, dark chocolate skin, bright blue eyes. His stomach lurched.
The very song Bella sang today was one of his father's personal favorites when Miles still lived with him. At the thought, a memory drenched him without his consent.
Miles hissed again. His arm throbbed, his skin now marred with a large gash at his forearm. He bit his lip, his world blurring.
Why was he so stupid?
He blinked up at the ceiling, the hot tears now freely flowing, turning it into a mess of browns and blues. The metallic scent overwhelmed every single one of his senses. He shakily finished wrapping the bandage around his forearm. Once he was done, he leaned against the wall.
How did he allow himself to oversleep? He knew the consequences of not bringing him his food on time. His stomach clenched for the umpteenth time as regret washed over him. His shoulders heaved, bobbing up and down as he tried to quench the cry building up in his core.
His eyes burnt, and an ache drilled into the centre of his head. His cheeks hurt and for once, he didn't feel like rising again.
He wanted to give up.
Then he heard it.
The sound of a piano rang through the air. Claps followed after as a deep baritone voice sung, most likely stilling them in awe.
His father. Miles swallowed. The songs scraped his body, tearing his skin deeper than any knife would ever go.
Blood roared in his ears, close to overshadowing the music that his father played. The pretentious life that he lived. Miles wondered one more time.
Would it be so bad if I just disappeared?
His father obviously didn't care. Not like he used to anyway. Miles smiled, the corner of his right lips tilting up to form a smile that closely resembled a grimace. Heat spiked in his wound, making him wince.
It's not like he'd been the star son, even when Bella and his mother were still here. No one had ever looked too close nor taken much of a thought as to how he was faring. Maybe then, they'd see the lies not adding up.
But, his father's reputation preceded him. Miles looked at the one-way soundproof window for a second.
The song -although sweet- became discordant. It made him draw his teeth back, flashes of other similar memories conjuring to mind. Sweat pearled his brow. Miles gazed at the rope lying by the corner.
If he just tied himself to the fan.....
He forced the thought down.
Miles forced himself to see a light at end of the tunnel. A light out of this house. He didn't know when but he was sure that he was going to leave. And he was going to be the best he could be. His father's words echoed in his head, drowning him.
"-you're very existence is a mistake. I wish you'd fallen harder when your equally worthless mother delivered you. Maybe then I wouldn't have to deal with you."
Shakily, he dragged his drawing books to himself. He picked up a pen. He drew. Blood splattered against the page. The pain in his arm spiked. His vision thinned. Despite it all, he drew.
His resolve grew. Like discarded embers, drawing up to become a mighty flame.
And he knew that without a doubt, he was leaving this wretched house.
That was almost 10 years ago.
Miles pulled out his drawing book before leafing through it. The faint crackling of the worn papers danced through the air as he was immersed in every single drawing. His fingers trembled.
Finally, he reached an empty page and he took his pen.
Then he drew.
***
"Three m-en. No witnesses-"
"-or connections." Alice finished the statement, nodding from where she sat by the table. The eye bags underneath her eyes were very vivid. Miles turned away from her before taking a look at the board.
Pictures of all three crime scenes were pinned to the board. Two of the crime scenes were clean, completely spotless. While the other was covered with dirt, clothes and mud but judging from the disarray of that particular house in general, Miles was fairly certain it had nothing to do with the killer.
"No signs of st-ruggle. It's safe to say that the-y were most likely kill-ed in their sleep."
"But how did they suffer so much damage without it even affecting their beds? It's like-" Alice paused.
"-they were microwaved inside out."
Miles could hear the slight tremble in her voice. A sliver of ice slid down his back too.
How could it be?
He cleared his throat.
"Unfortu-nately that isn't the only anomaly -the ice on the win-dows speaks for itself." Miles turned away from the incident board before sitting down on the chair directly across from Alice's.
"But how was the ice formed?" Alice pressed, waving a hand in the air. "You mentioned something about liquid nitrogen before. Could that be it?"
Miles rubbed his chin, deliberating. He brought out his little notebook from his pocket. He flipped through it. "I did believe before. But what wa-s it used for then? It obv-iously wasn't used to put out the fire."
"Or for breaking in. A warning, maybe?"
"I don't thi-nk so. But eve-n if it was, warni-ng for what?"
Alice sighed, massaging her temples. "All these questions are giving me a headache."
For once, Miles agreed with her. "The on-ly thing that conn-ects these men is their assault and eventual m-urder of a minor." Miles passed one of the papers- that was stacked beside him- to Alice. Alice took it.
"Tom Gates kille-d a six year old boy with a hammer." Miles stomach turned.
The acrid taste of bile coated his tongue. He swallowed, ignoring the look that Alice shot at him. And the stone that dropped down his gut.
"Wesley Kyles raped a 12 year old, Tina to de-ath and allegedly, he'd ra-ped others too. Andrew, on the other ha-nd, beat a 16 year sex worker by the name Sop-hia till she was unco-nscious. She was rushed to the hospital. Unfortu-nately, she also died."
Dominic's scrunched face flashed in his mind.
Alice handed him back the paper, eyebrows lowered. "You believe this.... serial killer is burning up anyone who murdered a minor?"
"I belie-ve so."
Another beat of silence passed between them. Miles stared at the picture of his father again on the incident board. He was smiling in the picture, playing the piano. His stomach twisted.
The haunting melody echoed. His breath shortened. And he could faintly hear it. The scream. Bleeding. Pain filled. Tortured.
"Miles!"
Miles jolted. His gaze snapped to Alice who was looking at him with narrowed eyes.
"Focus, we don't have time for this." Alice hissed.
Miles nodded, his forehead creasing.
"So i said-" Alice glared at him again, obviously annoyed that she had to repeat herself. "-patterns don't cut it. We still don't have anything to show Chief when he comes next. We need concrete evidence. And fast."
Miles was silent for a moment. Alice grunted.
"Well?! You obviously have a plan. Spit it out!"
Miles ignored her. "I told Chi-ef yesterday that any assa-ult related calls should be dir-ected to us."
Alice raised a brow and Miles took it as his cue to continue. "If wh-at we say is true, it's saf-e to say, we won't ever ca-tch the killer unless we get the-re first."
"I don't understand."
Miles let out a sigh. "I mean, peradv-enture we get a call or report filed in which a minor could as well have be-en hurt or killed in fact. We step in and appre-hend the criminal."
Alice finally caught on, "So, you're planning to use them as bait?"
Miles nodded. "Then if our seri-al killer is as serious about it as they seem, they'd sh-ow up right whe-re we want them."
"But, getting this exact call would take a while-"
The loud creak of the door cut Alice off. Miles' gaze snapped towards the doorway.
Officer Isaac hunched over, heaving. "We got one. And it's urgent."
Miles and Alice shared a look.
***
A scream tore through the air. It bounced among the trees, a chilling echo that reverberated in the lonesome environment. Miles swallowed.
Miles with Alice and two other officers ran past the white faced mail man.Another scream. Scales lined Miles' back. He blocked the images that pushed through the his mind.
Alice pounded on the door. "Police! Open the door!"
Suddenly, the blood curdling screams stopped. There was silence.
A silence that Miles knew -without a doubt- was unsafe.
"Ram it." Miles to officer Isaac who was carrying a battering ram. Once. Twice. On the third try, the door was knocked back. It screeched as it toppled down, clattering to the ground. Alice and the other two officers swooped in.
One inhale of the air froze Miles' lungs. The coppery smell snaked around him, squeezing him in place. His body refused to respond. Both his eyes burnt. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
"You disgust me!" His father slapped him. Hard.
Blood splatters were scattered across the floor. Red dots.
He could almost hear the familiar tune of dropping blood. One. Two. His younger self counted, a tremble in his voice. A large gash in his leg. A volume of silenced screams.
A loud shout jerked him out of his stupor. He blinked before registering the scene before him.
Officer Isaac and Daniel were wrestling the man off of his wife who in then was still attempting to choke her.
Miles ran to them, joining Alice to pull the woman away from her clearly psychotic husband. He kicked the man square in the face. The man toppled back. Hooking his arms underneath her back, he pulled her away, putting distance between them and her still thrashing husband.
Her eyes were swollen, busted lips and her pale cheeks were coated with blood; both fresh and dried. A cry echoed in his head. He inhaled, grinding his teeth.
"Despicable." Miles could hear Alice mutter beside him. The woman flinched in his arms.
"He...." She whispered, her face contorting with unconcealed pain. The woman coughed and blood spewed out of her mouth, staining Miles jacket. He helped her sit up, the familiar crackle of heat searing his chest.
No one deserved this.
He noticed the hollowness of her dark blue eyes. "Is an ambul-ance on its w-ay here?"
"Yeah, they'll soon be here." Alice said in answer, a phone to her ear.
The woman stared at him, unfocused. Her lips parted, revealing equally bloody teeth. Then a tear slid down her cheek before another coughing fit began. More sprays of blood. He rubbed her back, his throat tightening. He wished he could free her from it. The pain. The sorrow.
Somewhere in there, he could smell it. See it. Taste it.
That fear for herself. The fear as her life flashed, before things went so horribly wrong.
That same suffocating fear gripped him -before he ran away. The fear of living in a house that could very well be your grave. She held his jacket or attempted to. Her frail hand fell but he caught them.
She inhaled visibly. Her forehead creased, her mouth curling.
"He... kille-d...hi-" Before she could finish, she slumped, suddenly cold in his hands. Panic set in.
The sound of loud footsteps bounced through the stale air. Alice appeared beside him with two paramedics. In a joint effort, they carefully laid the woman on the stretcher before carrying the woman away.
Like every other time, he felt an ache. A sharp prick that may not have drawn blood, but something deeper. His conscience? His soul? He still didn't know. A wave of anger toppled over him.
It swallowed him, immersing him in the red-hot waters.
Miles lifted himself off the floor, not minding that he stank of blood.
He walked to where Officers Isaac and Daniel were still holding the man down as he thrashed, shouting all sorts of vulgar words. Miles exhaled.
His muscles locked. His movement, the crazed look in his eyes, the cut on his lip. Everything reminded Miles of him. Miles throat closed up, suddenly wanting to run for the heels.
For a second, he saw his father in place of the man. Snarling. Smiling. A caricature of blood lust that almost froze him in place.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, boy. You're nothing more than a fool. "
He willed himself to continue, not fleeing. Even though his muscles locked. He reminded himself, he was doing it for them. For her. For himself.
His father's image disappeared, the man back in sight.
"You got it all wrong!" The man shouted again. He shook in his handcuffs as if trying to find a way to burst out of his chains.
Of course. They never are the problem. The heat spread down Miles' arms. His jaw ticked.
"How did w-e get it wrong?" Miles was careful to keep his face and voice blank. It took everything within him not to knock him out.
The man's eyes became pleading, rounding as if finding someone who now understood him. He jerked his head towards where he was with his wife before she was taken away.
Now, only a couple of bloodstains remained.
"Miranda, she needed to be taught a lesson! They needed to be taught a les-"
"W-hat did you do to the child?"
The man suddenly grew quiet. The heavy smell of weed clung to Miles' skin, burning his nostrils. His temper flared.
"Answer me!"
The man cracked a smile, revealing one gold tooth. He laughed. The cackle solidified the sheets of ice that grew down his arms. The silence grew heavy. The burden more cumbersome.
"Miles!"
Miles turned abruptly, noticing Alice standing at the opposite end of the scattered living room.
"Come on, I think I've found him." Alice walked into the next corridor.
"Watc-h him, till I co-me back." Miles muttered to the officers. The man gave him an amused smile, as if sensing his growing unease.
Miles walked down the living room, picking his way through scattered glass, torn books and a growing clutter of broken ornaments.
He entered the corridor. The walls were padded with red wallpapers, a number of family pictures hanging along the wall. The first one was of the man and his wife seated in a balcony, holding a newborn baby. Miles noticed the color in the woman's cheeks and the sparkle in the man's eyes.
A loving, happy family.
What happened?
As he walked down the corridor -his steps muted by the red carpet that spilled down the hall- he noticed something.
Clumps of a substance, he couldn't identify was scattered across the corridor. Miles bent down and picked up the first one.
His eyes widened.
It was a tangled mound of hair, sticky with blood.
Miles stood up again, allowing it to fall to the floor.
"Come on!" Alice beckoned to him, peeking out of the room at the end of the corridor. Miles jogged until he entered the room.
It looked like a hell hole.
The bed was slanted, indentations brushing the polished wooden floor. Teddy bear heads were scattered across the floor, balls of cotton and the discarded bodies forming a mess of rubbish. The same blood clumped hair balls, smaller than the ones outside also peeked among the mess.
Miles caught Alice's gaze before looking down at what was beside her.
His blood ran cold.
Miles walked towards it, his steps quiet.
The air was thick with the smell of fresh blood. His hands went slack at his sides as he stopped down.
The child looked about 7 years old. The boy was almost bald now, his hair most likely forcefully pulled out as Miles noticed the deep gouges forming at numerous places. His jaw was tilted to the side. Deep bruises formed under his eyes.
Miles leaned over him, pressing lightly against the boy's face. He didn't stir.There should have been firm bone beneath the skin. Miles felt sick, observing how the boy's face was now asymmetrical, his cheeks sunken as purplish bruising had formed around it.
He didn't resemble the angelic, green-eyed little boy that was in the pictures back in the corridor.
"This is sick."
"You don't even nee-d an autopsy to see that he died from tra-uma to the head."
Miles stood up before walking back to the living room. Officer Isaac and Daniel were conversing by the time he got there, the man was already unconscious. He called, pointing at the now unconscious man,
"Get hi-m off the ground. Unc-uff him."
"But-"
"Trust me."
The officers shared a look before hoisting the muscular man off the ground, removing the cuffs while still passing confused glances at Miles.
"Put him on the so-fa and leav-e him there." Miles pointed at the sofa towards the extreme end of the living room.
"We can't just leave him here." Officer Isaac piped up, looking at Miles as if he'd run mad.
"I know. B-ut there's no other way, we can get the killer. Th-is is our only chance."
They shared a look again before nodding. The right side of Miles' lips quirked up in a semblance of a smile.
"Isaac, keep him there, uncuffed. We ne-ed to make this look the part and after you do, get the CSI's on the line so th-ey can clear out the area." Isaac nodded, getting to work.
"Daniel, get the tec-h unit. I want cameras cove-ring all possible entries; door, windows. And a survei-llance van out front."
Officer Daniel nodded before walking away.
"What in the world do you think you're doing?"
Miles turned to see Alice, glaring at him with her arms crossed over her chest. He pinched his nose before answering,
"The plan." Miles was about to step past her when she blocked his route.
"I didn't agree to this, you know."
"You sai-d it yourself, pat-terns only get us so far. We ne-ed concrete evid-ence."
"And that means we're going to leave him here, uncuffed and alone? What if he escapes and hurts someone else?"
"He won't. There'll be officers stati-oned outside. He wo-n't get a foot out of this place without them kno-wing."
"This isn't the right course of action. We're leaving him here to lure the killer in. What if he gets killed? What will you say then?"
"Don't you thi-nk you're being a bit unreasona-ble?"
"Unreasonable? This is my case! And I'm not going to allow you to make me look like an idiot when this blows up in our faces!"
"Is that all you car-e about?" His words came out more heated then he intended them to be.
"This isn't abo-ut who's leading it. This is ab-out doing wh-at's nece-ssary to get the desired results. We need to do something diffe-rent. Fast."
"Believe me. I wan-t this sicko to get his punish-ment as swiftly as po-ssible." Miles said with all sincerity. "But th-is is the only way."
Alice looked like she wanted to argue but then she paused, chewing on her lip. In a less heated tone, she asked,
"So you really think, they'd come?"
Miles was silent for a few seconds before sighing. "They sho-uld. We've just got to wa-it and see."
Alice huffed, looking towards the snoring man on the sofa. "I really hope you're right. For your sake and mine."