Officer James slammed his door shut and revved the engine. The dispatch’s words were still burning in his ears.
“Assault in progress at Blue Moon Motel in Albany, suspect should be considered armed and dangerous. Caller is a man, with a young boy. The assailant is thought to be female. Immediate response is required.”
This was the fourth call this month. Each time, a woman had been described as attacking the patrons of that motel. Each time, they would be too late. Four rooms had been covered in blood and the body of a man was found each time, neck sliced deep. Each one had called 911 and described the attacker as a woman with a knife.
James wouldn’t be late this time. The lights flashed and his tires squealed as his car ripped out of the station and screamed down the local roadway. With each yellow line he passed, images from the past cases flashed through his mind. The gore, the fear on the corpses’ faces, the broken doors, and the disturbing lack of evidence. Whoever this woman was, she was professional, that or a ghost.
He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Not this time, not ever again. Tonight, I stop her.” The motel was ten minutes away. James felt like he was crushing the gas pedal under his boots. The world flew by in a blur. The few other cars on the road that night seemed to scramble onto the shoulder to avoid the reckless police car shrieking past.
Every second mattered. Each tick of James’s watch was another second closer to the motel, and another chance for someone to die. James clenched his jaw tight. It began to ache with the pressure, but he didn’t notice. He had a job, and a promise to himself that hung in the balance.
He made the ten minute drive in seven minutes. The tires groaned as he slammed on the brakes. With a jolt, the car came to a halt in the gravel parking lot. The blue neon lights of the motel cast an eerie glow over him as he jumped out of the car. Yellow light spilled out of an open door on the second floor, at the top of the stairs.
Heart pounding, Officer James raced across the gravel, spraying pebbles in his wake. He leap up the stars three at a time. He could hear a young boy yelling.
“Help!” He was young, and his voice shook with fear.
That was good; it meant he still had time. James burst into the room, gun drawn. “Freeze!”
James pointed his gun at the back of a dark haired woman, dressed in a dirty blue housedress, torn white stockings, and a dropping red bow tied carelessly in her hair. She stood a few feet in front of a man in a white shirt and jeans. Behind him, hugging his leg, was a young boy.
“Turn around lady,” Officer James ordered, trying to control his breath and hold his gun level.
Slowly, she looked over her shoulder at him. James caught his breath. Her eyes, they seemed dead. They were faded and sunken into her head and outlined buy mascara that had run down her face and stained her skin. Her cheeks were covered in dark streaks. In her hand, she held a bloody kitchen knife.
“Drop the weapon,” James ordered.
“Please, I want my son back,” The woman said, her voice young, but hallow and unnerving. “He’s got my son.”
“That’s not true, Mark is my son,” The man said desperately. “I don’t know where your kid is.”
“Don’t listen to him Thatcher, you’ll be back with me soon.” The woman smiled at the boy, her teeth gleaming in a sinister way.
“Let’s talk about this, put down the knife and we’ll try and sort this out,” James instructed, trying to keep everyone calm. “I can help you find Thatcher.”
“I’m not waiting, those other boys lied to me, but I know I’ve found him now,” The woman screamed! She turned back and raised the knife up.
“Don’t move, or I will shoot.” James was beyond anxious at this point, it seemed like he would have no choice. She wasn't a professional, she was insane.
“I’m coming to take you home!” The woman ran forward, knife ready to draw blood.
Once, twice, three times, James’s gun kicked in his hand, and three cracks filled the small motel. The knife fell onto the dresser with a clang and the woman slumped to the floor. James was breathing hard, the smell of sulfur wafting in his nose.
“Let’s get out of this room,” He finally said, gesturing for the man and his son, Mark, to follow. The man picked up his shaking son and carried him out of the room, shielding the Mark’s face as they passed the dead woman.
At his car, Officer James radioed the station. “Bring in the team, the boy and his father are safe. We have some work to do.”