My antagonist for Lucky Thirteen did not come easy. The majority of serial killers a white males between the ages of 25-45. Be careful what you research on the Internet. I have expected multiple agencies to knock on my door. But that was the information I found. Very few women commit serial murder. However, that's what I wanted: female and stark raving mad, bat-shit crazy. I am having a hard time getting just the right picture in mind for my antagonist. I have four possible pics below, after the excerpts from the book. You have to help me decide. Your votes will choose what Latrice might look like.
As the public
health facility closed, Ray Gautier loitered on the street, hood shielding his
face, but eyes alert. He waited until the tall, muscular woman with short dark
hair came out. She saw him and vigorously walked over. "What's wrong?"
she demanded. "What are you doing here?"
"She wants
a bath," Ray babbled. "She won't stop bugging me for a bath. She's
giving me such a headache."
"A bath?"
The woman held her hands in the air and shook her head. "I don't want her grimy, moron. She has
to be spotless, clean, pure. You
haven't touched her or anything, have you?"
He knitted his
eyebrows together. "What do you mean?"
"You're a
man, a pitiful excuse, but a man. You know what I mean."
"Oh."
Ray shook his head. "Momma's voice wouldn't allow me to do that."
"Be a good boy." A half smile
crossed her face. "Listen to your momma."
"Oh, I do."
"I hope so.
Mommas give good advice. Let me clarify one thing. When's your birthday?"
"January
13th."
Latrice shook
her head. "Not a Gemini. Mommas usually give good advice, just like me. You
didn't listen to me very well with the Dupree kid. He's crazier than you. You
should've picked someone less volatile."
"Are you
still mad at me?" Ray looked at the ground and shuffled his feet.
"No, you
got me what I wanted. In addition, the little thug is off the streets. How's
Larkin's cut?"
"Healed,
and only a tiny scar. I snipped the stitches just like you said to. I'm sorry."
He bit his lip like a little boy. "Don't be mad at me. You're the only
person who cares about me."
"I'm not
mad. Do you need more money?"
"Yeah. She
really likes Mexican food. Oh, did I tell you she wants a bath?"
"Yes,"
she hissed. She took out her wallet and handed Ray three crisp one-hundred-dollar
bills. "I only have three hundred on me. Go get a big washtub and some
bath gel that smells really good. Connect a hose to the faucet in the bathroom.
And pick her up something clean, but cheap, to wear. I have a special garment
for her day. And take a bath yourself. You stink." The woman started to
turn away.
"When?"
"Huh?"
She whipped back toward the hooded vagrant.
"When is
her day? Why is it so special?"
"I already
told you why. She'll culminate the purification process. She'll bring forth he who will stop the chaos."
"And the
voices?"
"Yes, Ray.
I promise your voices will stop."
"When?"
"Halloween."
"How? Will
you give me some new medicine?"
"Something
even better. Trust in me, Ray." For a moment Ray thought he could see a
forked tongue and he envisioned Kaa, the snake from The Jungle Book.
Latrice's voice
went on in its hissing fashion. "The voices will stop forever. I promise. I'll
take care of you just as soon as Larkin has fulfilled her purpose." Latrice,
her dark maroon scrubs swishing, stalked away.
The vapors from
her voice hung like ice shards in the fall air. Ray shivered.
He crumpled the
money in his fist as he realized the voice of insanity had just spoken to him. He
did not want anything Latrice had touched. As he walked down the street, he
handed the cash to a homeless bum who wondered why someone as bad off as he was
would give him three hundred dollars...
23
Looking
Death in the Eye
Wearing
a long inky robe, the figure that stood before Ray and Larkin looked like a
ghost from the Spanish Inquisition. The very comparison terrified Larkin. She
shuddered, her face blanched, her eyes stretched wide.
Latrice, in a
smooth, even voice, said, "What's wrong, my little lamb? Are you afraid? I
promise tonight you'll help bring the world to where it should be. You must feel honored to have been chosen."
"Chosen
for what?" squeaked Larkin.
"Ah,
relax, my dear. I have something for you that'll relieve all your concerns. Now,
you must get dressed."
From a hanging
travel bag, Latrice removed a medieval patterned wedding dress. Brocade flowers
outlined the rounded neckline and the deep V waist. Long flowing tippets draped
delicately over tight-fitting sleeves beneath.
"I'm not
getting married," said Larkin defiantly.
Latrice scowled.
"No, no, you're not, dear," she agreed. "Just put it on. Unlock
her wrist, Ray. If you choose to be uncooperative, I can have Ray dress you. Would
you like him to see you naked, dear?" Latrice said condescendingly.
Ray unlocked the
cuff and gently, discreetly rubbed Larkin's wrist in assurance. If you only knew what I would like from Ray,
she thought. Her jaw clenched.
Larkin slipped
behind the curtain and put on the dress. It was an exquisite article of
clothing, made of the finest linen and silk. If she were donning it for another
reason, she would have been ecstatic. The dress would have been exactly what
she would have chosen for her wedding.
Larkin stepped
out, Ray drew a sharp breath, and Latrice cooed, "Oh, my! You are perfect.
Come now." She motioned with her fingers. "I have something for you."
She thumped a syringe.
Larkin backed
away. "I think not!"
"Come now.
Everything's fine. This is just a little artificial relaxation."
"You are not sticking me with that needle. I have
been locked up and chained up, but I refuse to be doped up."
Latrice's
demeanor changed abruptly as she commanded, "Ray, hold her."
"No. I won't
hurt her."
"Hold her. Now!" Latrice snapped. Ray
stood still.
Latrice grabbed
Larkin's wrist, but Larkin squirmed away. It took several minutes for the
former Marine to subdue the smaller woman. During the struggle, Larkin saw Ray's
hand at his back, but she managed to shake her head.
Shit! Shit! Shit! raced through Ray's
mind. God, I'm really praying. Please don't
let that kill Larkin. This is my fault. I'm an idiot. Please help me keep her
safe.
With a sharp
movement, Latrice twisted Larkin's arm, pinning her against her body, forcing
the other arm straight. With her free hand, the nurse injected something directly
into Larkin's median cubital vein located in the crook of her elbow on the
straightened arm. It took over a minute to inject the liquid. The solution was
not enough to render her unconsciousness; but becoming like a rag doll, Larkin
slumped onto the bed.
That done,
Latrice glared at Ray. "You useless, crazy bastard! Bring her with us and
don't argue."
He lifted
Larkin gently in his arms. "Be brave," he whispered. "I'll take
care of you."
"I know, but be careful," Larkin
whimpered, her words slurring. "She'sh shtark raving mad." Unable to
fight for herself, her head drooped onto Ray's shoulder.
Well, that explains why the victims didn't struggle,
he thought. It has to be some form of tranquilizer.
With all the blood drained, a tox screen was near impossible on the victims...
Raiford Gautier
hunched over his drawing table reviewing his latest blueprint. He rubbed his
arms with his hands to warm them as the room had become cold. Pounding on his
door brought a scowl to his brow. "Stop banging! I'm coming!" he said
as he bounced down the stairs and headed for the door. "That had better be
Chris coming to babysit me early."
Raif jerked the
door open and tried to slam it closed just as fast as he stared at the muzzle
of a hand gun in the grasp of Latrice Descartes. Before he could shut the door,
the barrel exploded in his face. The bullet caught the edge of the door and
then the right side of Raif's head. He fell backward with a thud.
A faint scream
came from the townhouse next door. "What was that?" Carol Johnson
asked her husband as they lay in bed.
Lieutenant
Terry Johnson jumped up. "A gunshot. Get Sheena and stay in the bathroom."
He reached atop the highboy, snagged a black case and spun a combination,
grabbed his nine millimeter, and popped in the clip. He raced to his front
door.
"Terry, be
careful!" Carol cried.
"Dial
9-1-1."
Latrice stood
over Raif and gloated, "I'm finally rid of you. Now, I can finish what I
started." As she started to fire another bullet, this one into Raif's
chest, the Johnsons' door flew open and Terry trained a gun at the escaped
prisoner...
Larkin fluffed
her wet hair with a towel and shuddered in the cold air. She heard a racket at
the front door. Cyclops arched his back, his hair standing on end. Warily she
dropped the towel and listened. Hearing nothing else, she descended the stairs
cautiously. She pulled her robe more tightly about her when she saw her front
door wide open, the lock shattered. She looked beyond the door to see Raif's
car pulled onto the lawn, leaving deep ruts in the pristine landscaping.
Larkin called, "Raif?"
as she reached the door. Her breath hung in the frosty air.
"You wish,"
answered a menacing voice behind her.
Larkin started
to run for the yard, but Latrice grabbed her hair and yanked her backward. Latrice
pinned the much smaller woman to the floor and brandished Larkin's own butcher
knife. "You don't get to die as fast as that weasel of a traitor, Gautier,"
Latrice hissed. "No. You're the final offering. I suppose your white
terrycloth robe will have to do as a sacrificial gown."
Larkin
struggled fiercely beneath Latrice's weight. A piercing yowl stabbed the air as
a large one-eyed black ball of fur landed on Latrice's face. The woman flung
Cyclops from her, but his attack gave Larkin enough leverage to get free.
She stumbled to
the fireplace and grabbed the fire poker. Latrice, blood streaming from her
face, advanced on Larkin. Larkin swung the poker with all her might. She caught
Latrice across the left arm, but the former Marine wrenched the poker from
Larkin's grasp.
As Latrice
hurled the fire tool across the room into a lamp, Ray's Mustang screeched to a
halt beside Raif's Nissan. Larkin screamed. Latrice punched her in the face. Larkin
fell to the floor, stunned and dazed.
Latrice
sprinted to hide behind the open kitchen door as Ray entered, weapon drawn. Larkin
watched the scene in a blur.
Seeing Larkin
on the floor, Ray momentarily let down his guard, starting toward her. Latrice
sprang from behind the door. She plunged the butcher knife into Ray's side and
abdomen again and again.
Larkin roused
and screamed. Ray toppled to the floor. His gun slid across the wood. Latrice
bragged, "And I got the twin, too, Momma. Now, the sacrifice."
Like a
slow-motion movie sequence, Latrice started toward Larkin again. As if by
reflex, Larkin inched to Ray's fallen weapon, clutching it in desperation. She
pointed the gun at Latrice who cackled like a classic cinematic witch.
You are the one who will end this echoed
in the frigid air, along with the sound of large fluttering wings.
Larkin closed
her eyes. She pulled the trigger until the gun made no more sound.
All was
silence; the air, comfortable. When she opened her eyes, Latrice Descartes lay
dead only inches from her.
Larkin dropped
the gun and crawled to where Ray lay still as death. She gathered the man into
her arms and sobbed, "Ray, don't leave me. Please, don't leave me."
Larkin did not
hear the sirens or see the police or rescue personnel burst into her house.
All went black.
Cover by Christopher Chambers.
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