The Story So Far > Chapter 29

Download the story so far by downloading here!

Chapter 29- Cole - The Facts of the Case

I stare up at the cluttered walls of my home-office with exhausted annoyance. I am the kind of tired that is painful, my body wants to sink into my bed and turn off, my mind however can’t stop thinking about the Heartbreaker. 

About Daisy. 

How could she have been so adorable, so beautiful and sweet and thoughtful as she was today? I spent hours with her, talking about everything that doesn’t matter, tv shows and the differences between here and England. She rested her legs on mine and I couldn’t resist caressing her thighs as though they belonged to me. 

How is it possible that someone who listens with so much care, who tends to old and fat labradors, could possibly be the Heartbreaker?

I almost…. Think perhaps there could have been a mistake. It’s a sneaking thought, one that sits like a rotten grape in a bunch and contaminates the collection over time. 

I look at each murder for hours trying to imagine Daisy’s delicate hands over the blades, her fingers pressing the plunger on the syringe, her beautiful face watching as people died these horrific deaths and it just… doesn’t match. 

But she admitted it. She admitted it. I know she did. Even though I don’t have the recording, I know she did and I know the cold callous look in her eyes when she said it. 

So why can’t I see it?

I close my eyes for a moment and entertain the idea that maybe she lied to me. I don’t know why she would but… I entertain it anyway. Could she be the superfan- HearBeatz22? They seem unhinged in a weird, obsessive way, without the sadism that is required of an actual serial killer. 

Perhaps. It would explain the confession. But not how she managed to arrive that day at the office without being picked up on any camera. 

I don’t have much time to dwell on it: my phone rings and I immediately think it’s her. But when I look at the name lighting up the screen a jolt of confusion burrows through me. 

“Eliza?” 

Her voice is slurred. Weepy, almost. A tone to it I’ve never heard before. 

“Cole? Can you come get me?” 

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment not believing I’ve heard that correctly. “What?” 

“I’m sorry to ask,” that eerie, uncomfortable tone sneaks back into her voice once again. I don't like it. “You’re the only person I know who’ll be awake. Do you mind?” 

I look at the clock, is she serious? Is this a ploy to get my attention? She seemed so sure, so carefree in the shop this morning. She can’t be trying to drunkenly booty call me, can she?

“I get it if you can’t,” she continues her voice slurring with alcohol-slick sweetness. “It’s just I drank more than I thought… and my date… can you come?” 

Pinching my nose, I hope to God that my serial killer girlfriend doesn’t get the wrong idea about this. “Yeah- where are you?” 

Simultaneously, I listen and gather my things to go pick Eliza up. I change into my rarely worn jeans and a freshly ironed t-shirt from the pile, grab my keys and leave. 

Daisy will find out about this, and I know she’s not going to be happy. Which isn’t great when my sole objective at the moment is keeping the mass murderer happy in our ‘relationship’. I’ll just have to hope she understands kindness. 

The streets are silent but for the occasional taxi and night bus as I make my way to the club that Eliza said she was at. I knew she liked dancing when we were together, she’d go to salsa with her friends and nightclubs whenever she could, but she’s never come home as drunk as she sounded. 

I don’t think I’ve ever heard her as drunk as she sounded. I find a parking space and cut the engine as I call her quickly. Not wanting to get out of the car, I call her immediately back when it goes to voicemail. 

When the third ring goes to voicemail, I’m officially annoyed. If she’s dragged me here only to get herself a cab, I’m going to be furious. 

I tug open the door with a huff and stalk over to the doorman. I flash my police badge to get inside, I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m too angry to feel guilty. 

The club stinks of sweet cloying booze and sweat. Undulating bodies pulsate on the over-crowded dance floor and I’m fairly sure that this isn’t the kind of dancing Eliza used to do with her friends when we dated. Or, atleast, I hope not. 

She’s nowhere to be found anywhere inside, I even ask a random woman to check the ladies stalls. 

By now, my temper is at an all time high. I get that she was drunk, I really do. Alcohol makes you do stupid, selfish shit. We’ve all been there but dragging me out of…. My office… at this time of the morning, begging for help only to get a taxi home is absurd. 

I step out into the cold night air once again, grateful not to have to be in there any more than necessary. 

My car looms in the darkness on the other side of the street, making promises of home but I try one more time to call her as I move away from the muffled beat of the club. 

It rings. 

Not just in my ear, but behind me as well. 

I pivot on the balls of my feet towards the twinkly cheerful tune: a dark, dank, alleyway down the side of the club. She wouldn’t be down there. She used to be an officer for God’s sake. 

I hang up, and the ringtone ceases. My heart sinks but I call once more, and the ringtone starts up, a tiny illuminated light right in the far corner. A slight blue search light in the darkness. 

My heart is in my throat as I run down the alleyway. It’s not long but it feels like forever as my feet throw me towards the ringing phone. 

I don’t see her until I’m nearly upon her. 

Crumpled like an empty glove. 

Her head is propped up against the wall of the alleyway, so that her chin rests directly on her chest. I turn on the torch on my phone with a voice command as I reach for her to check for a pulse: soft, faint, but there. 

In the torchlight, I can see the blood and suddenly it's all I can see. Down her cleavage between ripped fragments of her dress neckline. Her skirt is bunched up to the top of her thighs and her legs are covered in mud and crusting blood there too. Her face, soft, gentle, like she’s sleeping. But swollen around her eye, cheekbone and nose, the skin mottling in blues under the drips of crimson. 

Training kicks in. “What’s your emergency?”. I tell them. “...Unconscious….”. They’re coming. 

“Eliza. Eliza can you hear me? It’s Cole. It’s Cole. Wake up for me.” 

Nothing. My insides cramp up. What the fuck happened? 

I search the wall behind her with my torch, a smear of blood behind her. Gentle fingers search her hair.

Her fingers twitch. 

I slip my hand in hers, wincing in the knowledge they are crusted with blood. Her nails, torn in jagged edges, filled with her attacker’s DNA. 

“Well done, Eliza. Well done for fighting.” I bring her hand to my lips and press a kiss to her skin, my body trembling with adrenaline. From the need to beat somebody to a pulp for doing this to her. “Do you hear me, E? You fought so well. I’m so proud of you.” 

She groans, her head rolling on the wall as the street beyond the alley lights up in blue flashes. 

“E? You’re safe. You’re safe. It’s Cole,” I repeat again and again. I lean forward to hold her head still. “Who did this, E?” 

“Cole?” The world is almost indistinguishable, smushed by her immovable jaw. I lean closer to hear what she has to say as the ambulance draws to a halt behind me. The scurry of footsteps and slamming doors.

One more word. Before she loses consciousness. One before she’s inundated with paramedics. One word that stops the world turning. 

“Daisy.”