The Dicer

By A. B. Kayge

Homicide Detective Cal Miller is being taunted by the infamous serial killer, whom the media has dubbed as "the Dicer." Unfortunately for Cal, things become very personal, and he is put on a leave of absence with "the Dicer's" most recent kidnapping. When another body turns up, and he is no closer to finding the killer than he was almost a year ago, Cal and his partner, Kenzi, are at a loss. Can Cal and his partner Kenzi find this killer before it's too late?

Content and trigger warnings: abuse, graphic violence, harassment, kidnapping, and language. Please be aware that these themes are in this book, and you are being forewarned ahead of time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885051682

Book preview

Prologue

It was quiet and dark; the only thing that she could hear was the rain pounding down on the rooftop with the occasional clap of thunder. Her breathing was shallow and hard. The room was nothing but concrete and steel, which was cold and unwelcoming. She had no idea of how long she had been there, but it felt as though this was the only place she had ever been. She had begun to wonder if everything she had ever experienced outside of this room were just dreams.

She had been in and out of consciousness all day. She could see flashes of light behind her eyelids and didn’t want to open her eyes for fear that it was him. After gaining the courage to open her eyes, she could see through the small windows at the top of the room that the light was lightening, crawling across the sky. Coughing really hurt, but there was no way to suppress it. Giving in, she took the deepest breath possible and let a cough out that sounded like a sick dog barking. The problem was that once she started, it was almost impossible to stop. With each cough, she could feel the cold steel of the surgical table against her lower spine and the backs of her knees, which had been elevated off of the table.

She turned her head as lightning struck and saw that he was standing beside the table, watching her suffer. She wanted to cry out but knew there was no possible way with all of the coughing she was doing, and besides that, no one would hear her. She had no clue who he really was, what he really looked like, or what his voice really sounded like. During the time that she had been held captive, each time that he came in to see her, he would wear a black oversized sweatshirt and pants with the hoodie always pulled up, and he always used a voice changer. She guessed this was just in case she was ever found or able to get free; she wouldn’t be able to identify him.

She was coughing so hard that she began choking. He sat watching her with interest; blood was seeping between her lips and beginning to pool on the table below her. She was not able to wipe the blood from her lips, as ever since she had been brought there, her wrists and ankles were strapped to the table. He reached out and lightly touched the corner of her mouth with two of his fingers; pulling his hand back, she could tell that he was examining the warm red substance against the sterile white latex glove he was wearing.

Her coughing was finally beginning to subside when he began the routine she had become so accustomed to. Without a word, he flipped on the blinding light above her, rolled the small steel instrument table up next to him, unfolded the white cloth that held all of his tools as he had so many times referred to them, and after much deliberation finally picked one up. She didn’t have to see which one it was as she knew that none of his tools was something she wanted around her. After a moment of looking it over, he put it back down and picked up another one. She was praying just like every time before that he would just untie her and let her go or that she would wake up, and this would have all been a really horrible nightmare. Deep down inside, she knew that neither of these would ever happen, so she tried to go somewhere else in her mind.

After picking up several tools and then putting them back down, he finally found the one he wanted. Turning toward her, he began running his fingers down her right side, counting her ribs until he found the one he wanted, the sixth one down. He took the razor-sharp scalpel and cut her skin from her breastbone to as far as he could go down her side, following the top of her rib bone. Listening to her screams, he repeated his procedure with the bottom and side of her rib. Pealing the skin, tissue, and muscle off revealed her pure white rib bone that was lightly tinted with blood. He watched her eyes fill with tears that spilled over as he reached his hand inside of her, grabbed hold of the bone, and yanked it out.

Her screams pierced through the air like a rabbit being swallowed whole by a snake. He held her rib bone up to the light and examined it. As he had done so many times before, he held it up in front of her.

Look at it.

Sobbing, she refused to open her eyes and see another part of the inside of her body.

Look at it, he demanded.

She knew that he would get mad and would become more violent if she didn’t, but she couldn’t open her eyes to look at it.

I said look at it, he said in a menacing tone as he jammed three of his fingers into the void in her side.

Her eyes flew open as she screamed again in pain. Seeing her bone made her feel sick, and before she knew it, she began to vomit. She was amazed that she could throw up since she hadn’t had any food in a long time.

Are you still fighting, or are you ready to give in yet? he asked.

She didn’t respond, just dry heaved and cried.

I guess that means you want to continue to fight. You are a very curious creature. I have never had anyone fight longer than a couple of weeks, and you, my dear, have made it way past that. He turned back to his table and began to go through his tools again.

She was in such excruciating pain that she was praying for death. Her head was swimming with confusion, pain, and regret. She had finally made her decision; she couldn’t take anymore.

Struggling to accept air into her lungs, she tried to talk, I ca—

You what? he asked, puzzled.

Reaching deep within herself, she struggled to gain composure and to ignore the pain long enough to talk. I have made—She gulped in air and fought back more nausea—my decision.

Well? He waited. What have you decided…to live or to die?

Die, she said, beginning to cry again.

You have made a wise decision. Well then, I will get everything ready, he said, replacing the tool and leaving the room.

*****

The burn in his legs was really beginning to set in as he pushed harder and faster. It was just starting to turn dark when his phone began to ring. He cringed, knowing that the only phone calls he received at home were from his mother, sisters, or work, and right now, none were calls that he wanted to receive. Contemplating whether to continue with his workout or answer the phone, he slowed down the treadmill and grabbed the towel he had laid over the top of the machine. The phone was relentless.

Mopping the sweat from his forehead, ears, and neck, he picked up the receiver. Yeah, he mumbled as he tried to steady his breathing. K, be there in a few, he said, snapping his cell phone shut. Shit! he yelled, slamming his fist down on the top of the treadmill.

Twenty minutes later, he had showered, dressed, made it to the address given to him on the phone, and was stepping out of his car. The permanent scowl affixed to his face kept the majority of people away, but tonight it wasn’t working. He had taken less than ten steps from his car when he was bombarded by reporters.

Is it the work of the Dicer?

Detective, is it Shelly Blake?

Have the parents received a video yet?

He ignored all of their demanding questions as he pushed his way through the sea of blood-hungry reporters; he bent down as one of the uniformed officers held the tape up for him to proceed down the alley.

Damn, I hate how reporters give these psychos names, he said, running his hand over his face and squatting next to the body. How bad is it, Kenzi?

Kensington Monroe had been his partner for the past five years and had been through a lot with him.

She was put through more than any of the other girls have, she replied with regret and remorse. You look like crap, Cal.

Can’t help it. This jack-off has me up all night. She was put through more because he had her longer than any of the others.

Yep.

Is she missing any body parts? Has anyone notified her family?

We’ll have to wait for the official ME report, but yeah, I can tell that she is. Don’t think anyone has been to her parent’s house yet, and someone better get there soon. You know that the video will be delivered any time now if it hasn’t already.

I hate doing it, but I’ll go. We need to get that video before they watch it. You don’t want any parent putting in a DVD, and it being their kid begging for death and being slaughtered before their eyes.

See ya at the station, Kenzi said to his back.

He raised his hand over his head and gave a quick wave as he was already engrossed in his thoughts. He jammed the key into the ignition, turned it over, and started back down the street toward Shelly’s parents’ house. Like always, he drove like he was in a high-speed chase.

How do you tell a parent that they have outlived their child? he thought to himself as he tried to will his stomach to quit turning. This was the part of the job that he despised.

Cal became a cop right out of college ten years earlier, and even with his degree in human psychology, he didn’t understand how someone could be so sadistic.

God, please don’t let them have watched the DVD before I get there. No one should have that image be the last one of their child, he thought as he took a right, going fifty miles an hour on two wheels.

Shelly was the fifth victim that the Dicer had claimed. Right after each of the bodies had been discovered, an overnight delivery company delivered a package to each of the victim’s parents. Each of the packages had contained a disk and nothing else. They all saw the same image; their daughters would be strapped to a steel table with a camera looking down upon them. The girls would apologize to their parents for being so weak as to choose to die. After they begged for forgiveness, they would be tortured until they begged for death and eventually murdered. After life had fully escaped each of the girls, the disk would end.

Cal raced his 1975 Porsche 911 down roads with little to no traffic and hugged corners as fast as he could without flipping his car. He had inherited his car when his grandfather had passed away ten years earlier, and Cal had been named after his grandfather. He had helped his grandfather restore the car when it had been found as a rusting heap of junk. There were too many sentimental memories for Cal to be able to get rid of the vehicle.

He played over and over in his head the death that each of the girls had finally succumbed to. Each one was different. The first victim had been strangled; the second shot between the eyes; the third had been suffocated with a plastic bag; the fourth’s throat was slit; and from what Cal could see of the fifth victim, Shelly Blake, had her heart ripped out of her chest.

This serial killer was hard to profile as none of the victims had anything in common. All of the girls looked, acted, and ran in different crowds. They were all unique in their own way. He was almost to her parents’ house when he realized that each of the deaths had been different, just like the girls. Each death was as unique as its victim. Cal had finally had a breakthrough as to what they all had in common, individuality.

He screeched to a halt in front of their house, right as a delivery man was climbing back up in his truck. His heart was pounding as he jumped out of the car and sprinted up to the front door. Shelly’s father opened the door right as Cal made it to the front porch.

Mr. Blake, did you just receive a package that you weren’t expecting?

Yes, he replied as all hope began to leave his face.

Did you open it?

Yes, it’s a disk.

Did you watch it yet?

No.

Cal released the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

Mr. Blake, I need to speak with you and Mrs. Blake, and I need that disk. He could feel his stomach begin to lurch into his throat as the thought of explaining to her parents that they weren’t going to see their daughter again.

Mr. Blake nodded and stepped back into the foyer, indicating to Cal to enter the house. Cal followed her father down a long hallway that held various pictures of Shelly from each year and milestone of her life into the kitchen, where Mrs. Blake was washing dishes. His throat was beginning to close off as he could feel a panic attack coming on.

Who was at the door, Jack? she asked without turning around.

Liz, baby, we have a visitor.

She turned around and gave a slight smile that didn’t touch her eyes. Hello, detective.

Liz, let’s sit down, Jack said as he helped her walk over to the table.

Cal walked over to the table and sat on one side of Liz as Jack sat on the other side. He didn’t speak for a long time, mostly out of not knowing what to say. Shifting his eyes around the kitchen, looking at pictures of a young Shelly helping her mother cook. This was what he hated, seeing the pain that people went through as they found out they would no longer see their loved ones.

Mrs. Blake, Mr. Blake, I regret to inform you that we found Shelly’s body.

You have to be mistaken. We never got a DVD. It’s not my baby. Shelly’s not dead, Liz replied as tears began streaming down her face.

Are you sure that it’s Shelly? Jack asked

Yes. I just came from where they found her. I verified that it was her before I came here.

But we haven’t received a DVD. It can’t be her! Liz repeated. Yes, we did. Liz snapped her head toward Jack as the words came out of his mouth, I signed for a package, which contained a DVD right as Detective Miller pulled up.

No, it can’t be her. We haven’t seen what’s on that disk, so it could be something else, she pleaded with her husband.

Baby, you know that the detective wouldn’t come here to tell us she was dead if she wasn’t.

I want to see the DVD. That will prove to you that it isn’t her.

Mrs. Blake, you don’t want to see that. That image will haunt you for the rest of your life. You need to remember Shelly the way she was the last time you saw her.

He’s right. You and I both know that it devastated you every time that Shelly got hurt as a kid. You don’t want to see what that psycho did to her.

Liz rose and walked over to one of the pictures of them covered in flour. It was one of her happiest memories of teaching Shelly to cook. They had both been dusted in flour after Shelly had turned the mixer on high when they were trying to make a homemade cake. Both mother and daughter had laughed so hard and loud that Jack had to come to see what had happened. He snapped the picture of Shelly sitting on the counter at the ripe age of seven with her mother standing proudly behind her. Flour made their hair, faces, and clothing white.

Liz lightly touched the photo and then crumpled to the floor, knowing that her daughter would no longer laugh in the kitchen with her anymore.

Cal walked out of the Blake residence an hour later, carrying the disk with him. He was utterly drained and didn’t want to see the horror of what she had gone through but knew that he had to if he was going to catch this guy before he killed another girl.

Chapter 1

The following week was uneventful. Cal had obsessively watched the video over and over again,