I Can Barely Breathe

  I Can Barely Breathe

  August Verona

  Copyright © 2015 August Verona

  All rights reserved.

  Distributed by Smashwords

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Getting into the mind of a serial killer is no small task. I had to toss compassion, the value of human life and my conscience aside to explore the secrets of a sex-crazed psychopath. That being said, reader beware… what lies beyond the prologue is dark and disturbing, bloody, ruthless and extremely sexually graphic. If you can’t handle graphic content, go no further. To those who feel they can, good luck and enjoy.

  -August Verona

  In fiction, there are many different versions of planet Earth. This is merely one of them. The events in this story take place in a parallel world that is much like our own, but also very different.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One: Seven Years Later

  Chapter Two: Duty Calls

  Chapter Three: Nine Thirty-Two

  Chapter Four: Push

  Chapter Five: Almost Like Magic

  Chapter Six: A Day at the Fair

  Chapter Seven: We’re Not Finished

  Chapter Eight: Just in Time

  Chapter Nine: What Are the Odds?

  Chapter Ten: Wake Up

  Chapter Eleven: Heaven

  Chapter Twelve: What We Accomplished

  Chapter Thirteen: I Never Would Have Guessed

  Chapter Fourteen: Scars

  Chapter Fifteen: What I’ve Always Wanted

  Chapter Sixteen: The Truth Hurts

  Chapter Seventeen: A Last Letter Home

  About The Writer

  Prologue

  The sun had already disappeared over the horizon, leaving the small Colorado town of Sorrow’s Sky covered in late evening shadows. What remained of the sunset diminished in a slew of purples, pinks and yellows. It was the time of day any photographer or painter would appreciate; the natural beauty of sunlight hitting the atmosphere at just the right angle could take anyone’s breath and make it short for a time.

  Due to the surface temperature being in the midsixties, many folks were out enjoying the scenic view. So when the triangular-shaped lights appeared over the south side of town, it wasn’t long before phones started ringing.

  The lights seemed to visit the small community a few evenings every month. They would move intelligently and maneuver in ways that defied belief.

  The townspeople watched as the triangular craft’s lights switched from a bright white to a beautiful dark blue. It kept its distance, never flying over any buildings, only the forest. It danced in the sky for thirty-five minutes. Most of the viewers naively thought it was putting on a show for them and saying hello. Very few, if any, entertained the notion that something far more sinister was happening. Either way, the people of Sorrow’s Sky had been chosen.

  The futuristic flying machine eventually stopped in midair, sputtered a bit from side to side and then, accompanied by the gasps from the townspeople, quickly fell to Earth. There was no explosion, no bright flash of light, only the sound of branches breaking as it collapsed through the trees and then a hard thud once it hit the dirt.

  By the time the police and military arrived at the crash site, the inhabitants of the spaceship were gone. No traces of blood were found, only an empty shell with loads of technological devices that were clearly not from planet Earth.

  Military scientists worked day and night to reverse engineer not only the craft but the communication systems, tablets, weapons, computers and tools. The US government never had a secret agenda. Their plan was to eventually share the technology with the entire world, making one hell of a profit and transforming the world into a better place at the same time. Once the work was completed, the new gear was marketed and sold to Colorado residents, then soon nationwide.

  The beings were never found.

  Chapter One

  Seven Years Later

  October 12, 1962. Carver Thorton, a twenty-seven-year-old man who spent his whole life in Sorrow’s Sky, gripped the steering wheel of his hardtop ’57 Chevy. She was cherry red, in used condition. The interior looked newer than the exterior, due to the fact that she had seen her fair share of weather. Carver had debated buying the car in the first place, considering he didn’t have a garage to store her in, but, in the end, he and the car seemed to be a perfect match.

  Though the highway was lonely, Carver always felt a rush of relief after leaving the nearby big city of Cosmos, Colorado. It was eight miles northeast of Sorrow’s Sky, just past the large cemetery that lay between the two settlements. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, looking for scratches. His blue eyes searched his clear skin to find he was not injured. The five o’clock shadow on his face appeared darker by the minute, despite the fact it was three in the afternoon.

  Women always found him attractive, which, in turn, never really worked out too well for them. Carver had a well-defined jawline; he was tall with short brown hair under his black fedora. Folks always said he looked good in the newest fashion trends. He was blessed, some might say, intellectually and physically.

  “The devil in a Sunday suit” was how he would secretly describe himself. He knew better than anyone that something had always been off in his mind, but he was very good at hiding it. No one knew the real Carver Thorton but Carver Thorton himself.

  His fingers loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his white shirt. His suit jacket was laid neatly over the back of the passenger seat. Carver tapped out a cigarette from a soft pack of Morleys and placed it between his lips, unlit.

  As he entered Sorrow’s Sky, his tires kicked up dust from the dirt road. The town council never had a reason to pave them; with only five thousand residents populating the burg, it was never really high on the to-do list. The buildings were aged; storefront windows were covered in the same dust, and the town had an overall gothic feel, with a rich history of life, love and death to go with it.

  Carver cracked his window via the hand crank, just as he heard three loud bangs coming from inside the trunk. He could feel the cool October breeze, and he breathed it in, then lit his smoke. The moon was high over the Victorian houses and modernized castles, directly above the old clock tower—the tallest man-made structure from here to Cosmos.

  Sorrow’s Sky had a few wheat fields; a few parks with green grass, tall trees and benches; lots of houses—big and small—to accommodate the population; and, in most places, its alleyways between the homes were paved with bricks. Police headquarters was a building shared with their neighbors, the firefighters, whose building shared a wall with the town’s bank. Carver sped past just in time to see the bank manager locking up for the night and a few officers outside having a smoke break.

  Three more bangs on the trunk.

  Carver checked his rearview mirror. “Bit of a fighter.” He smiled.

  As he turned onto his road and saw his house up ahead, he felt a small sensation of adrenaline. After all, the fun always began once he was safely inside. The single-story redbrick home had been in his family for generations. It had large windows, red shingles, two brick chimneys on opposite sides and sat on a large property of green grass with a red barn hiding at the edge of his land. Giant oak tree
s sprinkled their acorns throughout the property, a healthy food source for all the squirrels.

  He pulled a ways past his driveway and then put the car in Reverse, backed in and put it in Park. He pulled the keys from the ignition and climbed out, walked to the trunk and popped it open. She was beautiful. Her hair was long and blonde, her eyes a pale green. A strip of duct tape covered her lips, and her hands were bound behind her with a black zip tie. She couldn’t have been any older than nineteen.

  Carver never took from Sorrow’s Sky; he went to Cosmos to hunt. He had more of a selection there anyway, and he didn’t need the police snooping around his town. He liked the pretty girls, young, no older than twenty-five… usually. And, of course, the most important detail: his victims had to be in a dress or skirt. He found it funny really. Everyone was so scared of the serial killer who plagued the area, and all they had to do to protect themselves was put on a pair of jeans.

  Carver had snatched the girl just outside of Cosmos Community College. He had parked near a shaded area, then opened his trunk, smooth talked the pretty girl into approaching his car—this was where his good looks come into play—then threw her in and taped her mouth and tied her hands. It was always easy. He was good at it.

  Feeling the cold chill in the air and staring down at his prize, he watched a tear roll along her cheek. Her dress was a bright yellow and was short enough to show off her smooth thighs and her perfect backside. He took a few steps toward his shaded mahogany front door and unlocked it, keeping an eye on the trunk most of the time. He pushed open the door and got a fresh scent of his living room. That familiar rush of air always felt like home.

  As quick as he could, he grabbed the girl, lifted her up and discretely carried her through the threshold, just like a newly married couple… or at least close enough.

  Carver set her down and pushed her forward, and she stood on shaky legs. He closed the front door while still maintaining a firm grip on one of her forearms. She looked around frantically, searching for a place to run.

  It was nice inside, homey. The living room was connected to the dining room; the two rooms came together to form an L shape. In the living room, two matching tan chairs complemented the couch. A glass coffee table held some magazines, coasters and a half-finished puzzle; the image was shaping up to be a roller coaster speeding through the top of its loop. On the wall in front of the couch was a large picture window, covered by dark curtains. To the back of the room, a carpeted hallway led to three closed doors.

  The blonde looked to her left and scanned the dining room.

  A large wooden table and chairs filled that room, with a blue pot as its centerpiece, filled with a green-leafed plant; it looked watered, cared for.

  As Carver forced the girl forward, she arched her neck to get a peek at the nearby kitchen, probably looking for a weapon. He guided her quickly through the room and down the hall. He chose the first of the three closed doors and scooted her inside.

  The room was clean. White curtains that let in a healthy amount of light covered the windows. The floor was red tile. The only object in the room was an odd wooden stand. Carver pulled a knife from his pocket and clicked it open. She squealed a bit, staring at its sharp serrated blade. He turned her to cut the zip tie, freeing her hands from behind her back, then pivoted her around again, pulled out a new zip tie and bound them in front of her, to her dismay.

  He walked her backward—noticing her large breasts jiggling with every step—and pushed her up against the stand. It had two thick, long wooden prongs that jetted out, a woman’s shoulder width apart. He adjusted their height and positioned her underarms over them; it was designed to hold her up during loss of consciousness, taking advantage of the zip tie that held her wrists together. Without it, the feat would not be possible.

  The girl begged and pleaded through the tape over her mouth. Carver ignored her cries. He was ready. He stepped back and looked at her, admiring her natural beauty. His fingers touched her just above her right knee and slid up her smooth thigh, then pulled down her panties, causing her to cry some more. Carver assumed correctly that she was the type of girl who constantly got noticed. She was the beautiful blonde who everyone paused for when she entered a room, even the women.

  He took off her underwear and smelled them, breathing in her flowery scent, then placed them in his pants pocket. Carver moved his hand to her hairless vagina. It was soft, just as he’d expected. She jolted a little when he touched it. Wanting desperately to test a long-standing theory, he pushed two fingers deep inside and kept them there. His other hand brought the blade to the young girl’s throat, and slit it hard and fast, severing her carotid artery. She screamed and choked and thrashed her body violently.

  He smiled as he noticed that with each thrust of her body, her pussy massaged his fingers. Her pelvis worked her outer lips over his flesh, forcing his digits slightly out, then slightly in, putting pressure on all the right spots. The blood had soaked into her dress and ran down her stomach. It dripped from Carver’s hand and fell to the red tile below. He didn’t dare pull out. He waited until her movements got slower and softer, her breath shorter, until finally her body ceased to caress his.

  With her head drooped down and her body propped up, he kissed her forehead and slid his bloody hand out from between her thighs. Carver quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He pulled his erect penis from his briefs and used the blood on her vagina as a lubricant to slide inside her. To him, there was nothing greater than the first moment he would feel a girl’s insides pressing against his throbbing member.

  He fucked her dead body, ripped the duct tape from her mouth and sucked on her lower lip until his semen filled her up. Carver held the girl’s lifeless fresh corpse close to him. He felt connected to her, like she was more than just his victim, as if they had known each other in a previous life. He felt at peace, because, in that moment, he loved her.

  Chapter Two

  Duty Calls

  Carver stood in the hot shower, as blood dripped from his body, pooled around his feet and then went down the drain. He always felt so satisfied after a kill. It made him feel like a man.

  It was around 3:45 p.m. After putting on a casual suit and tie in preparation for his trip to the police station, he pulled his laminated ID card, connected to a lanyard which hung on his mirror, and placed it comfortably around his neck. The card read:

  Carver Thorton

  Special Investigator

  Sorrow’s Sky Police Department

  A small square image of his smiling face was in the bottom right corner.

  He exited his bedroom and strolled down the hall, peeking into his murder room. The girl’s body still stood propped up on the wooden stand. He felt a little arousal pulse through his veins, due to the large amount of blood that had soaked into her dress and ran down her legs. Ignoring those impulses, he pulled a key from his pocket and locked up the room.

  The chime of his doorbell made him freeze in place. He backtracked down the hall and entered his living room. When he opened the front door, he was relieved to see a uniformed police officer standing there.

  “Come on in, gentlemen. I was just heading to the station.”

  Two men shuffled in. The officer removed his hat. His face was round, and his eyes were a dark brown; they complemented his pale complexion. The other man stood proper, holding an electronic tablet in his hand.

  “No need. We’ve got a case. There’s been a murder,” the man with the tablet said.

  His name was Kattic. He was also a special investigator. He and Carver had known each other only a short while, not even a full year, since the strange cases started up. Kattic’s dark hair was parted to the left, and the product in it made it look wet. He was tall and skinny with a salesman’s smile, always showing off his white teeth. He was smart. He knew things he couldn’t possibly know, and he was always right.

  The officer was Thomas Mallic, Carver’s childhood friend. They were like brothers. Tom had a temporary
limp in his left leg—shot in the line of duty during a routine traffic stop about six months prior. He was a family man with a wife and a newborn son at home, and he took his job very seriously; they all did.

  Carver hesitated, as he remembered his victim’s face while slitting her throat. “What happened?”

  “Who knows? It’s over in Arpac Hills. All they told us was it’s not a pretty sight,” Tom answered, heading to the kitchen. “You got any whiskey?”

  “Yeah, fridge.”

  Carver looked into Kattic’s eyes. “You think it’s the serial killer?”

  “Could be.”

  They both knew better. Carver hadn’t been in the cemetery in over two years, since his uncle’s funeral. And he certainly wouldn’t be so sloppy as to leave a crime scene for anyone to stumble upon. He wondered if maybe someone was trying to copycat his murders.

  “Let’s roll,” Tom said, putting his regulation hat back on and shuffling painfully to rejoin his two coworkers.

  Outside, the sun was shining, and the sky was blue with white cumulonimbus clouds scattered about. A green 1950 Plymouth business coupe kicked up a little dust as it rolled down the road. While the men walked by Carver’s backed-up Chevy, Kattic reached up to the open trunk and closed it.

  “What’s that about?” Kattic asked in a monotone.

  “Groceries,” Carver answered.

  They approached the black-and-white squad car. It was a similar design to Carver’s Chevy and had a single red light on top, which sat still and unlit. Kattic sat in the back while Carver hopped in the passenger seat. The interior was roomy. An old CB radio was connected under the dash, and a brightly lit yellow laptop sat ready to use in between the two men in the front seat.

  Tom put the car in Drive and then quickly hit the brakes, allowing a young boy on a hoverbike to glide by; his small craft was a good three feet off the ground. Carver tapped on the radio dial and scrolled through the static to a station. An old blues song chimed through the speakers. Tom eased on the accelerator, and they began the drive to the crime scene.