Lauren
Authors: Laura Marie Henion
Lachesis Publishing
www.lachesispublishing.com
Copyright ©2008 by Laura Marie Henion
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Lachesis Publishing, is an infringement of the copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
I would like to dedicate
Cop's Daughter—The Series t
o my dad. Your expertise, experience, knowledge, and technical support are greatly appreciated. Your love and encouragement is immeasurable. I love you!
The moment Lauren stepped outside her front door, the heat hit her in the face. It was as if she walked into a sauna. By the time she reached her vehicle, tiny droplets of perspiration formed on her brow.
It was a hot, sticky summer morning. Nearly 85 degrees and it was only 6:00 a.m. Today would be a scorcher, as people congregated on the streets and the day went on.
There was no way Lauren was going for a jog this morning. Instead, she headed to the workout club she belonged to and the first kickboxing class of the day. She brought her change of clothes to the location, in midtown. At this hour, the streets bustled with early morning risers on their way to work. Lauren drove along the busy streets, absorbing certain scenes around her. Some people stopped at the local coffee shops and newsstands, while others made their way to the subway stations and mass transit.
When she arrived at the workout club, she saw a few other cops she knew. “Hey, Phelps, you made it! What a shocker,” the instructor yelled, as he got ready to start the class.
The instructor was brutal, and he pushed each of them past their limit. He was also a martial arts expert and Marine. They didn't come any tougher than that. He even looked the part, with his short military haircut that revealed a few too many scars, scars from injuries that must have inflicted some long lasting effects. He seemed like a nice guy outside of class, but when the session began, he was the enemy.
Glancing around, Lauren noticed a few others, some off-duty cops making their way inside the gym. She gave a nod or a quick smile in acknowledgement, as she retied the laces on her shoes.
The “How are ya's” and “How ya doings?” made her feel good, and part of the group, despite the fact being a homicide detective caused her to miss quite a few classes. However, others were in the same boat.
Lauren recalled one Saturday afternoon, when she attended another detective's family party. Jose Mendez and his wife, Maria, were celebrating the christening of their first child, a baby boy. Matt was there, as well as a bunch of other cops she knew. She knew some merely by their faces alone. As big as the department was, it was like being part of a large family. Everyone seemed to have each other's backs. It was a great feeling to be part of such an organization.
"Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks. Where ya been?” Matt, a detective who worked in the Missing Persons division, asked as he stretched out.
"I had a few homicides, and I couldn't fit it into the schedule,” she told him, and Matt smiled.
"Well, you're here now. You working today?"
"Yep. I'll leave from here."
Tony yelled out teasingly, “You two finished talking back there? I would like to start the class."
Matt nodded ‘yes.'
The class went for a good hour and fifteen minutes. Lauren was glad she made it today, and she felt the burn.
She'd taken a shower when she finished, then headed to work.
It was the middle of the week. Lauren was happy about making it to the gym every day. It had even put her in a more positive mood, despite the humidity in the city.
She was headed to work at the 53rd Precinct, when she got the call from dispatch.
"Yeah, what do ya got?” she asked, as the dispatcher filled her in.
Glancing out the window, she noticed the large groups of kids attempting to open the fire hydrant. It was barely 9:00 a.m.
The homicide commander asked her to assist in a homicide another detective had already responded to. She drove the unmarked police car to the Bronx, near the Metro North Railroad Tracks and St. Mary's College.
She was ready to begin her day, hoping to find a lead in the latest case she'd been working on. The case had actually made the eleven o'clock evening news at the beginning of last week. As usual, it disappeared as the media moved on to more eye-catching news, and stories that were sure to increase their audience numbers and ratings.
Lauren had made a promise to herself to stay in the positive, upbeat mood despite her present drive to yet another homicide, and probably the start of another case. She got herself in the right frame of mind. This was life as a homicide detective in the city of New York.
She drove down the side streets, then deeper into the territory that always seemed to harbor riffraff, bums, hookers, and drug dealers. Many abandoned and stripped vehicles sat scattered around the area. Garbage coated most of the roadway and dirt covered ground along the railway tracks. Empty metal garbage barrels sat in the same spots as they did five years ago, when she first had the opportunity to visit this side of the tracks.
In the cold winter evenings, the homeless added garbage, or whatever they could find, to the barrels and lit them on fire for warmth. The winter was brutal for those who lived on the streets. Lauren knew every time the weather forecasters called for frigid temperatures, there would be bodies to collect by the morning. Some of the first dead bodies she saw as a rookie cop were victims of the New York City winters.
Lauren pulled the unmarked police car alongside the patrol cars. The thoughts of winter months almost made her forget about the current heat wave. She inhaled the air-conditioned coolness one more time and stepped out of the car. It was another crime scene, another wasted life. It would be her job to figure out what happened and who did it.
In an instant, the coldness penetrated against her back. Her whole body ached, and her eyelashes felt extremely heavy as she attempted to open them. Her body was numb, almost as if the sensations were separate from her flesh. She immediately noticed the sounds around her.
She heard the music playing in the background and recognized the song, although she wasn't certain of the name.
It was an old rock and roll song, popular but not really her kind of music.
What a stupid thing to think about at this moment.
She tried to focus on an object around her, something, anything that could help her correct her vision, but the room was dark, and she couldn't focus no matter how hard she tried.
She smelled something strange. Was it roses? She tried to take in her surroundings, and felt like she floated.
Her mind seemed to be playing tricks on her. Were they illusions?
She tried hard to focus, but the strength, the control, just wasn't there.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She rubbed her eyes, squinted, then widened them, trying her hardest to focus. She saw small figures, the size of children, lined up against what she assumed was the wall. Their hair was wild. She could tell from their shapes, as well as their shadows, against the wall.
She wondered where she was and tried to remember how she got here. The last thing she recalled was the attractive guy at the bar. She couldn't remember his face. As she tried to remember, the pounding in her head increased.
It was as if she had a bad hangover or the beginning of a horrid stomach virus. Her stomach continued to churn, the nausea increasing as she attempted to regain her composure.
Her mind spun out of control. She wanted to hurl.
"That damn music. Stop playing that damn music!” she cried out, but there was no response.
The song continued to play over and over again.
"
You're mine ... and we belong together ... yes, we belong together ... for eternity ... eternal ... eternity."
She wanted to cover her ears with her hands, but as she tried to move them, she seemed to be doing it in slow motion.
Suddenly, there was a bright light illuminating the dark room.
She tried to adjust her eyes to the light. As the door opened, a tall, thin figure stood there watching her.
Her heart pounded inside her chest. Her body shook—the fear enormous inside. She blinked her eyes once, twice. Was he moving toward her?
He rocked back and forth.
No.
He danced as he made his way closer to her.
The small child-sized figures she couldn't make out earlier were now clear as day.
They were anatomically correct dolls. Females with long, wild hair, set up in sexual and compromising positions, or just chained against the wall. Some wore full-leather get ups, with links of chains that attached to their waists and wrists with handcuffs. She shook her head, in both fear and confusion.
He hummed to the music then began singing the words.
"
You're mine ... and we belong together ... yes, we belong together ... for eternity ... eternal ... eternity."
Lauren Phelps stepped out of the car, only momentarily paralyzed by the excessive heat. It seemed worse down here under the tracks, surrounded by garbage. An instant later, her phone vibrated against the front pocket of her dark dress pants. The small sensation traveled down her thigh right into her short, black ankle boots. She was shocked she actually enjoyed it.