Abomination Read online

  Abomination

  A Novel By

  E.E. Borton

  © 2011 E.E. Borton Entertainment Group, Inc

  Kindle Edition

  © 2011 E.E. Borton Entertainment Group, Inc. All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  First Published by Authorhouse. 03/18/2011

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this book are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Table of Contents

  1

  Public Profile

  2

  Built To Kill

  3

  And Then There Were Three

  4

  Doubt

  5

  Puppets

  6

  Zydeco

  7

  Treasure Island

  8

  Chow

  9

  What’s Up, Doc?

  10

  Unquenchable

  11

  Hard To Swallow

  12

  Unit 731

  13

  Broken Promises

  14

  The Vigilant

  15

  Little Miss Sunshine

  16

  Red Team Reunion

  17

  Dancing in the Kitchen

  18

  Leverage

  19

  Without Remorse

  20

  Knuckles

  21

  All for One

  22

  My Brother’s Keeper

  23

  Choices

  24

  Rain

  25

  Options

  26

  Green-Eyed Monster

  27

  True Believer

  28

  Benefits

  Acknowledgments

  Bringing a world to life in a novel is considered a mostly solitary endeavor. In my case, nothing could be further from the truth. It took a village to create this book and it would’ve been a more difficult road if not for a special group of people. Thank you seems inadequate.

  Crystal, Dave, Tina, Tim, and Anthony, you are the real heroes who chose a thankless job, but are the best at what you do. Nobody will ever be able to take that away from you.

  Robin, Z, Hopper, and Gordon, thank you for always believing in me, offering your encouragement and support when I needed it the most – which was often.

  Jennifer, Ashley, and Bug, I can’t imagine my world without all of you in it.

  And to my parents, Kathy and Larry.

  There are many others who played an important role in motivating and inspiring me to create the work you’re holding in your hand or reading on your screen. Thank you for staying the course and keeping me on it.

  Credits

  Jennifer Ziegenfuss, Editor

  Natalie Elzinga, Cover Design

  Gordon Frazier, Business Development

  Maureen Ratteree, Author Photo

  For Jennifer and My Grandfather

  1

  Public Profile

  He hated himself for what he was going to do to her. She did nothing to him except be the perfect choice. She was going to experience excruciating pain and a horrible death in a few hours simply for being blonde, blue-eyed, and young. He leaned in closer to look deeper into his own eyes for answers. A moment later, the bathroom mirror exploded after a bone-crushing punch when the answers didn’t come. Not a single shard of glass penetrated his knuckles.

  Peter Arrington walked through the broken glass on his bare feet and into the hallway of the abandoned farmhouse in Harrisonburg, Virginia. He arrived in the familiar town two weeks earlier looking for a place to hide from the people looking to end his life. The list grew longer when he discovered the FBI was joining the manhunt. In the back of his mind, he wondered what was taking them so long to stop him.

  The FBI wouldn’t find him in time to save Laura Ackerman’s life. She was dead the moment Peter selected her photo from a list on his computer screen two days earlier. He thought finding the perfect young woman to satisfy his uncontrollable urge would be difficult on the run. He was very wrong. It was as simple as typing a few words in a social networking website. In a matter of seconds, he had dozens to choose from who fit the criteria.

  He had no idea why she was the one; she just was. Something electrified in his brain when he scanned the photos and found hers. There were some he considered more beautiful and accessible, but the urge didn’t overpower him until he saw her. Two months earlier, he would’ve been disgusted at the thought of hurting any woman. Two months earlier, he was a proud, decorated, and highly successful United States Marine. Seconds before he destroyed the mirror, he saw a pathetic, weak, and unrecognizable face. He agonized over what he had become, but agonized more not knowing why.

  Since the need to satisfy his urge started building momentum two days earlier, he fixated on Laura. She made the mortal mistake of publicly displaying her life for anyone to see who had access to a computer and an internet connection. Everything he needed to stalk his victim from a safe and concealed distance was at his fingertips. Along with over a hundred photos, she announced to the world on a daily basis every move she made. He knew everything about her including where she was going to be later in the evening.

  Peter was angry with her for reasons he knew, but he wanted to kill her for reasons he didn’t. His anger towards her was based on her obvious lack of understanding that there were bad people out there. His feeling of anger was more paternal than pathologic. Where was her father to demand she stop posting private information about her life? Where was he when she needed him to protect her from the real monsters like the man staring at her photos? But as with every other detail of her life, she wrote to friends about her estranged father who left the family a year earlier. There would be no heroes to save Laura.

  Because she had little or no guidance from others who did understand there were monsters out there lurking in the shadows, Laura sealed her fate with her final message. She announced to the world her roommate in the home she rented from her uncle would be out of town for several days. Peter knew exactly where her home was located. A day earlier, he simply waited for her to leave the restaurant where she worked and then followed her home. She ended her last message by writing she was looking forward to a quiet evening with no distractions and a long bubble bath.

  Peter steadily paced back and forth through the long hallway in the farmhouse as the sun set behind the rolling Virginia hills. He was losing his battle to suppress the urges and images of tearing into her soft flesh. There were milliseconds of time when he thought of grabbing his gun, holding it up to his head, and pulling the trigger. But as quickly as those thoughts surfaced, they were pushed down again. After less than an hour, even the flashes of welcomed suicide disappeared. Nothing occupied his mind except easing his addiction by putting his hands on Laura. He needed to get closer to her.

  She lived eleven miles away in an old one story ranch house on ten acr
es. From the numerous photos, he knew he could easily get to her without drawing attention or leaving a witness. Laura’s aging uncle couldn’t keep up with the dense foliage creeping across the yard toward the house, and neither could she. Thickets of trees lined the property including the long isolated driveway. He knew her nearest neighbor was an old woman who only went outside to get her mail. He read one of her earlier postings stating it didn’t matter how loud her Fourth of July party became, the yelling would be a whisper by the time it reached her neighbors.

  Peter drove his Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows down the country back roads to the entrance of a closed lumber yard. A poorly kept logging trail, unused for six months, bordered the back of Laura’s property. It was three miles from the entrance of the closed business to her home. He parked at the yard and started running down the dirt road in new boots he was only going to wear once. He planned on burying them, and the rest of his clothing, with her.

  Even for a conditioned athlete, running fully clothed in heavy boots along a soft dirt road would take at least twenty minutes at a strong pace. Peter was at the edge of her property in ten; he was barely winded. In his original plan, he’d enter the house at two o’clock in the morning when she was more likely to be asleep. Looking at his watch, already battling the urge to get to her, he knew he couldn’t wait four more hours.

  He stopped his trek through the dense woods when he saw the warm glow of lights through the windows at the back of the house. There was only twenty feet between the last tree and the back door leading to his prize. Peter slowly and expertly maneuvered around the entire perimeter. His Marine training helped him remain concealed and undetected. Laura’s car was the only vehicle in the driveway. The young tenants had little use for expensive window coverings which allowed Peter to verify there were no visitors inside. He assumed the only covered window was the bathroom. He took a deep breath thinking of her soaking by candlelight in the tub, oblivious to the danger at her back door.

  At that point, Peter no longer cared about why he was there or why he wanted to drain the life out of an innocent girl. In his head, she wasn’t innocent. Even though she didn’t know he existed, she did something so terrible to him the only way he could recover was to rip her apart. He didn’t know what she did either. He only knew he had to do it with his bare hands. A bullet or knife would rob him of the full cleansing effect of the experience. He had to feel each tear, each break, and hear each scream. It was the only way to ease the tormenting and excruciating pain that started as a mild headache two days earlier. And it wouldn’t subside until he felt the life leaving her body.

  There was enough resistance left inside him to wait outside for a few more minutes. He was hoping it would be enough time for them to find and stop him. He prayed for law enforcement assault teams to flood the woods. He looked up into the clear night sky pleading for helicopters to zero in on his location. But as the minutes passed, so did their opportunity to end him. He erased the thoughts and rose out of the darkness – it was time.

  He closed the short distance to the house with blinding speed. Without slowing down, he blasted through the thick wooden door into the kitchen. Debris and splinters peppered the floor and walls as he continued into the hallway to the only room with a covered window. The bathroom door was open, and she was exactly where she posted online she would be: reading a book in a bubble bath.

  The sound of the exploding door startled her, but the monster she saw standing in her bathroom terrified her. Laura knocked over several candles lining the tub as she grabbed the sides trying to stand after she heard him crash through the door. Her book was face down in the water between her legs. His ghastly appearance caused her mouth to freeze open, but she remained silent. From his hiding place in her backyard to the doorway in the bathroom, his normal human appearance was replaced by something she had only experienced in the pages of a book. Very much like the one slowly sinking to the bottom of her tub.

  Staring at her naked body, Peter was filled with ecstasy laced with rage. He was so close to tasting her that he began to hyperventilate. Still silent, Laura leaned back as if she were trying to force an invisible escape door to open behind her. The door didn’t open as Peter stepped towards her, but she finally was able to scream. It was music to his ears.

  He knew he couldn’t fully enjoy his work at her house. There was the off chance someone might stop by to visit, or her roommate could’ve cut his trip short. He needed to get her back to the abandoned farmhouse where they’d be alone and free from any interruption. It took every ounce of restraint for Peter not to devour her where she sat. As her screams echoed off every wall in the house, he delivered a nose-breaking punch, rendering her unconscious and quiet. He closed his eyes as he licked her blood off his knuckles. His transformation to an uncaring, unsympathetic, and uncontrollable demon was complete.

  2

  Built To Kill

  An FBI fugitive recovery team, along with SWAT and sniper units, was assembled in a sheriff’s department briefing room. They had been hunting UA Marine Peter Arrington for nearly a month before tracking him to an abandoned farmhouse in Virginia. The agents knew he’d be taking his fourth victim within 12 hours.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Ryan Pearson, and I’m a special agent with the FBI. I’d also like to introduce agents Dallas Chase, Michelle Dobbs, and Thomas Freeman,” said Ryan as the three agents rose in the front row. “We’re part of a federal task force with only one job: find Peter Arrington.”

  “Is he the reason we have three missing women in our county that hasn’t seen a murder in nine years?” asked local Sheriff Bill Parker in a slow southern drawl.

  “Yes, sir,” responded Ryan, knowing he wouldn’t be a welcomed visitor in the normally quiet town. “We have overwhelming evidence he’s the guy responsible.”

  “Give it to me straight. Are they dead?”

  “Until we recover the bodies, I can’t say for sure. But I can say, based on the evidence, it’s very unlikely they’re still alive.”

  “I gotta tell ya, I find it a little troubling we haven’t been allowed access to any of that evidence,” said Sheriff Parker.

  “Sheriff, you’re not going to like my answer, but that information is classified.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. We’re a close community and we look out for each other. Always have. I know each of those missing girls and their families. I’d like to go to them with something more than it’s classified.”

  “I understand your concern, but –”

  “No, sir,” interrupted Sheriff Parker. “You don’t understand my concern. I tried to get help three months ago, but I couldn’t get one damned FBI agent to give me the time of day. Now I’ve got over twenty of you armed to the teeth and jammed in my briefing room. My boys and I have barely slept since Laura Ackerman went missing three months ago. Who the hell is Peter Arrington?”

  “Sheriff, we don’t have much time,” said Ryan with a stern tone. “Most of your questions will be answered once we have him in custody. But right now we need to focus on stopping him from killing again – and he will kill again. According to a fairly regulated timeline of the abductions, he’s due. He seems to be a creature of habit. He’s also incredibly elusive.

  “We believe he’s bringing his victims to the farmhouse alive,” said Ryan, standing in front of a corkboard displaying photos of each missing girl and a layout of the farmhouse. “He’ll spend one day, maybe two, at the house and then he’ll disappear. He’s taken each victim exactly six weeks apart to the day. We have surveillance teams already posted in the field. If he sticks with his method, he should be returning late this evening.”

  “Jesus Christ!” blurted Sheriff Parker. “He’s out there right now looking for his next victim in my county, and you’re going to let him take her? This is bullshit! We need to be warning people, not sitting on our asses. This information needs to be on every television and radio station within a hundred miles. I thought you federal boys would have yo
ur shit together. Do you not understand I have an obligation to protect the citizens who elected me to this office?”

  Ryan walked to the table where the sheriff and his deputies were sitting. He knelt down beside Parker’s chair. He wanted their undivided attention.

  “He cuts them until they lose enough blood to where they can’t fight, but are still conscious and aware. He wants them to watch his work. He viciously rapes them several times before he starts to disembowel them. Again, he doesn’t remove any vital organs that will kill them instantly. He only takes the parts he can play with while they’re alive. He’ll continue to rape them, but he’ll start using objects and tools to do the job. When the anger subsides and he grows tired after a day or two, he’ll lie down beside them. He’ll hold them like a caring father holds a sick child. He wants to be the last thing they see and feel before they die.

  “Our best opportunity to stop him is tonight and in your county. If we hit the streets trying to warn the public and show our cards, he’ll know. And if he knows, he’ll disappear. Peter Arrington is a fucking ghost. And he’s not the Casper kind. He’s the kind that comes right out of a nightmare. But disappearing doesn’t mean he’ll stop killing. What you don’t understand, is he has to kill.

  “Your jurisdiction stops at the county line. Mine stops at the border of Canada and Mexico. This is a federal case and you were invited to this briefing as a courtesy. If you interrupt me one more time, you and your boys will spend the rest of my visit in your own fucking jail. Is there anything about my tone that makes you believe I’m not serious?”

  The sheriff pressed his lips together and leaned back in his chair as he looked at the federal agents surrounding him. He knew he was in no position to argue. He needed to say his piece to look good in front of his deputies, but even they were ready for him to stop talking.