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Hidden Bloodlines

By Karen Van Den Heuvel

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Chapter 1

“Victoria prosecuted the wrong man.”
Sandy Forrester pressed the cell phone closer to her ear, trying to hear the strained voice as she dropped her bags just inside the hotel room door. She was out of breath. Traffic leaving Denver was hectic, but she’d made it in time for the wedding festivities at Eustis Park’s historic Preston Hotel. “Dennis, is that you?”
“Yeah, but Victoria is in danger.” He coughed.
“What kind of danger?” Sandy grabbed the door jamb to steady herself while her eyes rested on the pad and pen on the end table next to the bed. Carefully stepping over her bags, she grabbed the writing tools. “Did you hear me? What kind of danger?” Her voice rose an octave.
No answer.
“Dennis, are you all right?”
“No. I need help.” His raspy voice was barely audible.
“Where are you?”
“At the hotel, in the spa. Please come. Warn Victoria.”
“What’s wrong?” The line went dead. What’s going on here? Victoria couldn’t have prosecuted the wrong man. I saw him. I worked that case. That man was pure evil. He’s put away. How can Victoria be in danger? From whom? An accomplice?
Sandy scribbled one word and checked her watch. 2:17 p.m. The rehearsal dinner was at 6:00.
She tried to steady her hands while dialing Victoria. “You have reached Victoria. Please leave a message. Beep.”
“It’s Sandy. You must be at the bridal tea party. Call me. It’s urgent.”
I’ve got to get to Dennis. He’s not one to cry wolf, and he needs help. But what is wrong with him? He sounds injured, but why contact me? Why not just dial 911? Unless Victoria is in imminent danger…Victoria please call me! Sandy called the front desk. “I believe one of our wedding guests may be hurt at the spa. Can someone meet me there?”
“Absolutely, ma’am. I’ll send our wedding coordinator over right away. She’s a medic.” The voice of the gentleman at the front desk radiated concern.
“Thank you.”
Running out the door, she dialed Peter. Voice mail again. “Hey. Was hoping I didn’t get your voice mail. I just received a strange call from Dennis. He’s at the spa.” Sandy paused, contemplating the worst. “And I think he’s hurt. Call me as soon as you get this.”
Sandy grabbed the purse she’d dropped to the floor and jumped into the elevator she left minutes ago. I was just admiring this Otis elevator. Now I wish I could get this old thing to move faster. She dug through her purse hoping to locate her pepper spray while the elevator made its slow descent. She found the spray and let out a sigh of relief. Dennis’s call scared her. Thankfully, I have some protection.
Remembering that the spa was on the ground floor of the Manor House, adjacent to the main building just on the other side of a courtyard, Sandy turned left out of the elevator. Finger on the trigger, she kept her pepper spray poised to shoot. As she passed the tour office, from the corner of her eye, she saw the historic display case. Something looked wrong, but now was not the time to worry about that. When in town, she always made it a point to stop by to admire it.
Sandy was aware of every sound, the footsteps of people on the floors above her as well as the creaks and other strange sounds familiar to old hotels. She had the feeling that she was being followed.
A quick look around the breezeway confirmed she was alone. Sandy walked through the Dreamer’s Coffee Shop glancing in all directions and opened the exterior door. She shivered as the cold gust of air hit her. It was noticeably colder than it had been when she first arrived. The cold front was moving in fast. The fancy jacket she’d worn in anticipation of the rehearsal dinner wouldn’t keep her warm no matter how hard she held it together. It was useless in these temperatures. Come to think of it, so were her silk skirt and pumps. How she longed for her down ranch coat and jeans.
Sandy hurried out the door and turned left, trying to limit her time outside in the howling wind. The covered walkway offered little protection. Icy rain combined with snow stung her cheeks, her lashes weighing down her lids with the weight of the mix. As she approached the entrance to the spa, new sounds assailed her—the hissing, clinking, squealing, and shuddering of the boiler room attached to the spa. Far from comforting, the noise did nothing to calm her already frayed nerves.
She peered into the front window but was met with only darkness. This isn’t right. What is Dennis doing here, and why is it dark? This is creepy. Sandy looked around for the woman who was supposed to be meeting her there. I hope she gets here soon. She double checked her pepper spray to make sure it was ready to shoot and patted the outer pocket of her purse for her cell phone. It was there. She took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. Before she had the chance to turn the knob, the door creaked open.
“Dennis?”
No answer.
Stepping forward, Sandy tripped and fell over something large. Arms flailing, she managed to catch herself before her face hit the ground, and pushed herself up, standing shakily. She grabbed her phone and pressed a button to shine the light on the object she tripped over. She sucked in her breath.
“Dennis?” She bent over and shook him. Frightened by his failure to respond, she started to punch in 911, but never made it beyond the 9. Someone grabbed her arm so hard she could feel the welts start to rise.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Sandy froze. There was something familiar about the voice. “Who are you?”
Her breath caught as the attacker stabbed her in the arm with a hypodermic needle. The burning sensation spread as the drug was forced through her body.
All her life, Sandy had been known as the strong one. Abandoned by her mother as a toddler, she rode on the back of her father’s horse before she learned to walk. She worked the ranch with her dad and was stronger than most, but it wasn’t enough this time. She could not break free. The pepper spray had fallen to the ground and was totally useless. She twisted around but only saw a ski mask. Panic engulfed her.
The drug took effect quickly. She went limp, and as she fell to the floor, she felt like a rag doll on a roller coaster, a helpless, hopeless rag doll.
Unable to move, Sandy watched as the man with the ski mask stepped over Dennis and taped her eyes open with duct tape. Why is he doing this to me? What is he forcing me to watch? Isn’t anyone there to help me? Dennis, wake up! Help me please! The masked man lifted her seemingly lifeless body; hysteria bubbled up inside her. He carried her into the boiler room where the walls and ceiling were covered in plastic. It reminded her of the time the painter prepared her living room before he sprayed the doors. But there was no paint or any brushes for that matter, so why the plastic, unless…In the center of the room, Sandy noticed a gurney. But this wasn’t a hospital. And why was that black tool box sitting on the table next to it? It was like…
Eyes held wide open by duct tape exuded panic. Sandy tried to scream, but the drug made that impossible. She could not move a muscle. Even if she could scream, not a soul would hear her over the deafening noise from the machinery. He had chosen this spot carefully. In that split second, Sandy knew who had drugged her…the Raven.
The man who had killed at least fourteen women. And now she was to be his next victim. She had been given his drug of choice—pancuronium bromide. It paralyzed the body, while leaving the senses fully aware. How could this be happening? Victoria had just successfully prosecuted the Raven. Charles Ramsey was behind bars. Who was this? Sandy’s heart sank as she remembered Dennis’s call. He said Victoria had prosecuted the wrong man.
Frantic, Sandy started through her mind’s case files. I saw the photos of Ramsey’s basement—the “operating” table, black tool box, spattered blood, jars of hearts from countless victims, and plenty of adrenaline and pancuronium bromide for who knows how many more victims. There were witnesses who put him with the victims. Did he have an accomplice? Sandy’s mind raced, but she came up empty. Her thoughts went from the horrors of the case to precious memories of her beloved father. There was no doubt, she’d be with him shortly. Please, Lord, protect Victoria, give her wisdom, and give me the strength for what is next.
“I always like my victims to experience the full effect of my work.” Out came another hypodermic needle and a large fishing hook. “A little adrenaline should make sure you stay awake.” The man hummed as he injected her again, pulled out the needle, and lifted the hook. “This is to make sure you don’t swallow your tongue. Don’t want any complications, do we?” He pulled her tongue out and secured it to her chin with the hook.
Lord, help me. Dull my pain. Take me into your arms quickly.
“And now for the unveiling. Ta da ....” He pulled his mask from his face and grinned.
How can it be? It isn’t possible. Not you! Sandy’s mind shouted silently. How many hours did we spend together? Does it add up to days? Weeks? Months? How could you! He opened his black metal tool box and she could hear him hum above the machinery. Her eyes felt so dry. She needed to blink desperately.
Carefully he laid the tools on the table as he broke into song. Sandy recognized the song. It was his favorite, the theme from The Titanic. He had played it so often, she had caught herself more times than she could count, singing it herself. It had gotten to the point where there were times she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Now it would be the last song she heard.
He smiled as he turned first with the scissors. She tried desperately to move, to run away, but all she could do was watch helplessly as he cut off her fancy jacket and favorite silk blouse. He continued to sing.
Sandy watched as he placed the scissors into the tool box and picked up the mini saw from the table. He brought it over to her with that lopsided grin, revved it up, and turned it off.
Sandy had read enough case files to know what was next. Horrified, she realized how much he enjoyed torturing his victims. I never so much had a glimmer of this man’s true character. How could that be after I spent so much time in his presence? His preparations seem almost like an act of worship. How could I not have sensed such evil?
He put on a full face dentist’s mask and turned on the saw. Sandy screamed silently as he cut her chest open, slowly, precisely.

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