Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #17
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Chapter 1
People kept going in and coming out of the red brick building that housed the lawyer’s offices. People who didn’t know they were getting screwed, trusting a stranger with their lives. It was such a stupid choice since the outcome was hanging in the balance of an unjust system. What a joke the entire law system was. They didn’t help anyone. They let killers go free. Lawyers, judges, courts, laws – it was all a load of crap!
Hoping that no one would notice a middle-aged man entering through the glass doors with the embossed letters saying, ‘Mathis Attorney at Law,’ Charles Gross strode into the waiting area.
His business man’s appearance was fooling them. Smiling politely and opening the door for a woman that was leaving, he looked around. No one even gave him a second glance. His average height, medium build, and short greying-brown hair made him invisible. Either that, or people were all self-absorbed and didn’t care about anyone else. The woman didn’t even say thank you to him for holding the door. All the people in the building seemed to be full of themselves.
Standing by the door for a moment, he let his eyes adjust to the dimmer interior of the bustling law office. Two people were sitting in the waiting area.
Two people’s lives dangling in the balance of justice; today he planned to help the balance even out.
Charles took a seat on a swank couch, waiting until everyone left except for the receptionists. . .legal assistants, whatever they called themselves.
Busy, behind a massive half-moon shaped polished wood desk, they passed papers to each other and shared jokes. They didn’t even notice he was there.
Their absorption in each other and their joking annoyed him intensely.
He couldn’t help the inner rant tearing through his brain: Wasn’t he a person? Didn’t they realize that he had feelings too? Who the heck did they think they were? The giggling self-absorbed twits didn’t care about anyone but themselves, it seemed to him. In his mind they couldn’t be more obvious about how little he mattered to them.
Standing, Charles walked calmly over to the desk, waiting patiently to be noticed by the three young women. He studied them while he stood there.
One was a young petite blonde, with ringlet curls that reflected the light every time she moved her head. She had deep blue eyes that twinkled like she was continually laughing at you. The woman to her right had dark red hair that danced like fire. She was tall and had jade-green eyes that looked misty and secretive. To her right sat a short, slightly plumb girl with long dark brown hair that was pulled up in a ponytail. Her eyes were as dark as coal, and looked like they hid many secrets.
Which one was it? he wondered, as he watched them. Which one made the mistake?
He stood there, observing them for a minute or more. Finally, the petite blonde glanced up and saw him standing there.
“Oh, hi,” she chirped happily. “Can I help you? Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I don’t have an appointment,” Charles said, smiling broadly. “I think you can help me.”
He let his eyes flick from her to the other two women, typing on their keyboards, and then returned his attention to her. Reaching inside his dark gray suit jacket, as if to retrieve a letter or a business card, he held her gaze. Instead of paper Charles pulled out a cool length of steel. In his hand he held a .45 caliber revolver. Cocking the hammer, he slid his finger onto the trigger, leveling the barrel at the blonde’s head.
The smile vanished from her pixie face. Fear shone from her deep blue eyes and her bottom lip quivered.
Aw, the satisfaction of revenge, he thought, forcing himself to keep a straight face.
“Actually, I think you can all help me,” he announced, raising his voice so all three receptionist could hear him. “First, I want you all to unplug the phone lines from the back of your phones. Slowly now, no one wants to get hurt.”
They did as they were told. He couldn’t help but laugh at their ignorance and fear. Little robots, he thought, they have turned from nitwit giggling women into robots in an instant.
“Is there anyone in the offices?” he asked the redhead.
“N. . .no,” she stuttered. “They’re out to lunch.”
“Well, that’s fine with me,” he said with a mocking grin. “I came to see you ladies.”
Charles’ heart danced happily in his chest as they gripped each other’s hands and whimpered. He wanted them to suffer, to feel how terrifying it was for a woman to be at the mercy of a deranged man. . .to have to do whatever they were told. He wanted them to fear for their very lives.
“Now, I want you all to clear your computer screens. We’re gonna play a little game.”
They glanced at each other, their eyes brimming with fear.
Was that how she’d looked in the end? he wondered fleetingly, swallowing hard against a lump in his throat. My beautiful wife, my August.
He almost lost his nerve to go on, as their hands shook while they obeyed his orders. He couldn’t hear anything but his own heart beating; it seemed to be pounding ten times faster than normal. There was a strange roaring in his ears, and the room began to spin around him. Closing his eyes, he fought for control. My wife wasn’t given any mercy and neither will they, he resolved.
Looking at them through his unshed tears he knew he had to do this. . .for her. She needed to be vindicated. She deserved so much more. She deserved to be here with him, still living their happy life. Not abused, and dead, left in some dirty alley.
“Now, I want you to open whatever program you use to type up letters. Here are the rules of the game.”
Charles’ voice was husky with the struggle to contain his emotions. His pain and anger warred. He wanted to end this right now, to not even give them a sliver of a chance. But that would have been sinking to his level. That evil man. . .he would never be anything like him. Relaxing his grip on the gun, and taking a deep breath, he calmed his violent urges.
Pausing, he took an envelope out of his jacket, handing it to the blonde.
“What’s your name, blondie?” he asked with overly polite sarcasm that dripped with his blatant disgust of her.
“Wendy,” she whimpered, taking the envelope with a trembling hand.
“Wendy, there are three copies of a letter in that envelope,” he continued with the same mock politeness. “Please hand one to each of the other ladies and keep one for yourself.”
Wendy did as she was told – fear kept her obedient.
Amazing how that works, he thought to himself smugly.
“It’s time to tell you more about the fun game we’re going to play,” Charles announced, swinging the gun at each woman, just to show he meant business. “You will each type the letter into your computer. If you make any mistakes, you will die. It’s as simple as that. If you can type the whole letter without typos, you live.”
He laughed at the confused looks on their faces; even to his own ears it sounded harsh, and mirthless.
“Do you have any questions before we start?” he asked. “I would hate for you to die because you didn’t understand the game.”
Charles’ voice dripped with sarcasm and he really just wanted to end it all. He wanted to end them, and end his own pain. He just wanted to be with his precious August again, to be happy. He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to feel her beside him in bed when the darkness fell on the world. He wanted to know that she would be there when he awoke in the morning. God help him, but he missed her more than he ever thought was possible.
The redhead raised her hand slightly.
He gestured to her with the gun, his hand shaking slightly. He hoped they didn’t notice.
“You! What’s your name?” he asked.
“Summer,” she said softly.
“What’s your question, Summer?” He practically screamed at her, and was rewarded with a cringe.
“Why. . .why are you doing this to us?” she asked.
“Good question. Good question, Summer,” he said, as he laughed mockingly. “Let me explain. Three months ago this firm was involved in the prosecution of a man named, Maxwell Allen. You remember. . .the one who killed that family while they slept. Killed them all in cold blood. Well, to make a long story short, he was set free because of some typo, on some document. An important document apparently! The typo originated from this office, and one of you typed it! Which one of you, and which document, I don’t know! So, I thought up this game to give you each a chance. Any more questions?”
Glancing at each other, the third woman raised her hand.
“Yes. You! Who might you be?”
He didn’t even recognize the voice that was speaking. It was so harsh and hateful that it scared even him. How could I become someone that would do something like this? he wondered inside. He decided it didn’t matter now; it was too late to turn back.
“Rachel,” she said, her voice quivering.
“What’s your question, Rachel?”
Charles sneered at her, pointing the gun at her head, leaning against the desk to intimidate her. He was surprised she had the nerve to continue.
“But. . .but why are you doing this?” Rachel asked. “Were the people who were killed related to you?”
He thought he saw a flicker in her eyes, something akin to sadness or sympathy. No, he decided, I must be imagining it. These women didn’t care about people. They let people get hurt, because they’re careless!
“Let’s see,” he said, tapping the barrel of the gun against his lips in a thoughtful gesture. “Yes, and no. No, I wasn’t related to the family that was murdered in their sleep.”
“I was,” he shouted, shaking the gun at them, “married to the woman Maxwell Allen raped and killed last month. Fortunately for him, he was shot when he pulled a gun on an officer that was trying to arrest him! But my wife is still dead, because one of you stupid, self-centered, excuses for women, can’t type! He was on the streets and attacked my wife, because of your mistake with the family murder case!”
The room was completely silent. All three of the women’s eyes were pools of terror. They knew he was going to do what he said. Any small shred of hope they might have been holding onto was now gone.
“Okay, it’s time to start,” he announced in a falsely calm voice. “You will all start at the same time, so it’s all fair. When the second hand reaches the twelve, you will begin.” He motioned to the clock with the barrel of the gun.
All eyes turned to the huge clock that hung on the wall, to the left of the desk. Its massive hands ticked by the seconds, reaching the eleven.
Tick, five. Tick, four. Tick, three. Tick, two. Tick, one.
“Begin!” Charles yelled.
The only sound that could be heard was the clicking of keys as the women’s fingers typed rapidly. Their eyes were trained on the papers in front of each of them, occasionally looking up at their screens.
He moved behind the desk, glancing from screen to screen, watching for mistakes.
BANG!
The two girls jumped as Wendy’s head fell forward onto the desk. She was dead. Blood ran from the hole in her temple, onto its polished wood surface. Brain matter was splattered all over the desk and her computer. Her deep blue eyes no longer sparkled, but stared sightlessly at the other two women.
“One down,” he said.
Charles’ voice no longer carried even a shred of emotion. He was frozen inside. He thought it would feel better than this. Maybe, after this is over, he hoped, I’ll feel some satisfaction.
“Keep typing,” he commanded.
They turned back to the letter and their computers with tears streaming down their faces. Fingers flew over keyboards, and the clicking of keys echoed in the quiet room.
BANG!
Rachel screamed. She glanced up as Summer’s body slid to the floor with a thud. Blood ran freely from the hole in her head out onto the carpet.
“It’s just you now, Rachel,” Charles stated calmly. “Keep typing.”
Rachel was shaking as she turned her attention back to her task. Every few key strokes a sob escaped her throat.
“If you make it through with no mistakes, you’ll live.”
Time passed slowly as Rachel sobbed and typed.
He stood over her, watching the screen like a hawk watches a mouse before it strikes.
She finished the letter and lowered her shaking hands into her lap.
BANG!
Thump. The body hit the floor. Rachel opened my eyes to see the man’s body lying beside Summer’s.
She felt instantly sick, throwing up in the closest trash can.
After reattaching the phone line with numb fingers, she dialed 9-1-1.
“9-1-1 emergency, how can we assist you?”
The sound of the dispatcher’s voice made her grip the phone with relief. Help was coming now, but it was a little too late.
“I need police.”
“What is the nature of you emergency, ma’am?”
Taking deep breaths, Rachel found her voice to reply.
“A man… A man came into the office, and killed them. Summer and Wendy – they’re dead,” she stammered into the phone.
“I need you to calm down and speak clearly into the mouth piece. What is your name, and where are you? I’m showing the Mathis Law Office. Is that your location?”
“Yes, that’s where I am,” she said, speaking slowly. The room was spinning and she felt light headed.
“Ma’am? MA’AM!”
The dispatcher’s urgent voice brought her back to the present.
“Yes. . .” Rachel replied weakly.
“What’s your name? We have officers on the way. Talk to me while you wait. I need to know if there is anyone there, anyone threatening you. You need to try to calm down and tell me what is going on.”
“My, my name is Rachel. I, I work as a receptionist at the Mathis Law Office.” She paused, swallowed hard, and closed her eyes. She couldn’t think straight, looking at all the pain and death around her. “A man came into the office. He had a gun. He made us, made us play a game. He made us type a letter. If we made any mistakes, he said he would kill us.”
“Okay,” the dispatcher sounded sympathetic, but urgent now. “Is the man with the gun where you can see him? Is he still threatening you?”
“No. No, he’s dead. He shot. . .” her voice cracked, and tears started running down her face again. “He shot the two girls that work with me, and then he shot himself. I’m the only one here. The only one here, alive.”
Slowly the room got dark, and the dispatcher’s voice became more and more distant. Rachel’s lips felt stiff and numb, and her hands started to shake.
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