A Whisper To A Scream Read online

  A Whisper To A Scream

  Lauren Hammond

  Copyright © 2011 Lauren Hammond

  Smashwords Edition

  For Amy who introduced me to the phrase country-fried like a turnip green.

  A Whisper To A Scream © Lauren Hammond 2011. All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be used or reproduced whatsoever without written permission except for quotations written in articles or reviews.

  For information contact [email protected]

  ISBN: 9780983868125

  The characters and events in this novel are fictitious and are completely derived from the imagination of the author. Any similarities to real people either living or deceased are completely coincidental and are not intended by the author.

  Prologue

  February 1993

  Enormous snowflakes fell from the sky like bricks being tossed off a twelve story skyscraper. A layer of thick frost covered the windows of every vacant car on Mavenhurst Drive. Hannah liked the cold. It reminded her of the way she felt inside, frozen and empty.

  A stifling gust of hot air blasted from the vents in Hannah’s 1990 Sunbird. Fumes from the exhaust expelled from the tailpipe crawling along the snow-covered streets like a swarm of insects. Hannah had been parked, waiting in front of the sandy brick suburban townhouse for the last hour, but to her, that hour felt like a decade. Hannah had never been a person with patience.

  Fidgeting, she drummed her fingers against the steering wheel; the soft thud of her fingertips against the hard rubber rang out like the echo of horse hoofs against a cobblestone street. She checked her face in the rearview mirror, and smoothed back wisps of her auburn hair, tucking the loose pieces underneath her white knitted hat.

  A cry filled up the confined space. A needy incessant cry that turned into a howling wail, coming from Hannah’s two month old infant in the back seat.

  “Hush now.” There was nothing soothing or loving in the way she’d said the words. Even though the baby was a part of her, Hannah felt nothing for the tiny infant boy. She didn’t possess any motherly instincts.

  She recalled a visit to her obstetrician months ago where she’d been surrounded by a group of happy and excited mothers to be.

  “How far along are you?” A friendly woman next to her had asked.

  “Twenty weeks,” Hannah replied with a smile.

  The woman rubbed her bulging belly which as Hannah remembered was grotesquely large. She must be close to her due date, Hannah thought.

  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I could love anything more than this little peanut inside of me.” The woman leaned closer and had lowered her voice. “Not even her father.”

  Hannah laughed. It was a fake laugh, but apparently believable to the kind woman because she had laughed right along with her.

  A part of Hannah hoped that she’d feel something for the child growing inside of her. She’d hoped that maybe as her pregnancy progressed, she’d grow to love another person for the first time in her life. But that didn’t happen. And towards the end of her pregnancy Hannah contemplated ripping the child from her stomach herself just to get it out of her.

  Even after he was born and she held her son in her arms she still felt nothing. Her son stretched in her arms, mini limbs flailing as his tiny mouth opened to let out a yawn.

  After she’d left the hospital with the infant, Hannah thought she’d try to force herself to fell some sort of attachment to the tiny human being that was half of her. But she couldn’t. Every time she looked at her boy the only thing she could think was how much better off his life would be without her.

  Hannah always knew that she was hollow inside. She was a cold fish that lacked a soul, had no conscience and she never felt remorse for her actions. But she didn’t expect the empty feeling that swallowed her on a daily basis to affect the way she felt about her own child.

  On the drive over, she knew she had no choice. She’d tracked down her son’s father, followed him to Minnesota, and now she sat in front of his townhouse with their son waiting for him to come home.

  Hannah was pulled from her thoughts when red tail lights reflected from her right side mirror. She slid down in her seat as car doors slammed and a man and woman’s laughter echoed in the frigid night air.

  She listened intensely as another door slammed and in seconds she was out of her car with the baby carrier on her arm. She climbed a set of cement steps and set the carrier down in front of a door with the address 16 Mavenhurst Drive hanging on it in gold letters. Then she reached into the pocket of her heavy fleece coat and removed an envelope and placed the letter on the chest of her infant son who was now fast asleep.

  Hannah crouched down and examined the baby one last time. She brushed a finger against his round cherub cheek. Inside she wished that her experience had turned out differently. She wished that she was capable of loving her son the way a mother should. “Goodbye my beautiful boy,” she whispered.

  Then Hannah rang the doorbell several times, sprinted down the cement steps, got into her car, and took off into the darkness.

  Chapter 1: Inside My Head

  The urges started when Adam Jacobs was ten years old. He sat on the toilet, observing as his father stood in front of the bathroom mirror, eliminating line after line of thick, white shaving cream. It reminded him of the homemade frosting his mother spread across a batch of freshly baked cupcakes.

  His father brought the razor down and cleaned it off in a pool of water that rested in the sink. “You see, son,” he said as he elongated his neck, bringing the razor back to it, “this is what you’ll have to do when you become a man.”

  Adam’s eyes followed the razor—the sound of scraping flesh throbbed in his ears. He closed his eyes as the scraping continued. One line. Two. Three. Then….

  “Ouch!” his father yelped.

  Adam opened his eyes. They widened as droplets of blood oozed down his father’s neck. Adam’s insides swirled at the sight of it. His veins pulsated. He wanted to rub the blood between his fingers.

  He shot off the toilet and rushed to his father’s side. The blood called to him. He dipped his fingertip in a crimson drop glistening on the counter, but his father slapped his hand away. That was when Adam’s heart sank. The initial sight of the blood caused him more joy that anything he’d ever experienced.

  “Don’t worry.” His father smiled. “It’s just a little nick.” He couldn’t tell his father that he wasn’t concerned about him. He could never tell his father that he was fascinated by the sight of blood.

  After that moment, Adam’s urges escalated to a new level. He’d sit in his bedroom, repeatedly pricking his finger with a safety pin. He’d stare at his finger, watching the luxurious ruby red liquid flow from the tip, only to feel depressed when the clotting factor set in and his finger ceased to bleed.

  During school, he did his best to contain his urges. Yet, he wanted to be front and center every time a classmate fell on the playground. He had rushed toward Marnie Parker as she scraped her knee against the blacktop. “Ahh!” she wailed.

  Adam knelt down in front of her, fanning his fingers across the open gash on her knee. “Wow,” he gasped. He scooped up a dollop of blood and rubbed it into his palms.

  Marnie winced and slapped his hand. “Adam, what are you doing?” she cried. “That’s gross!”

  Adam shook his head. “No. It’s beautiful.”

  Tears dripped down Marnie’s cheeks. She slid against the blacktop, backing up into a chain link fence—terrified. “Stop it,” her voice quivered, “or I’m going to tell the teacher.”

  Adam’s blood lust was overwhelming. And it wasn’t long after the Marnie Parker incident that his classmates started to notic
e him lurking, waiting for someone to fall. Or Adam, even pushing down his classmates himself. He then decided to stay away from the kids in his class.

  He thought that if he kept to himself, he’d be able to hold his urges back. But staying away from his classmates had the opposite effect.

  By age twelve, he began experimenting with animals. Pricking his own finger, waiting for kids to hurt themselves, and his own diluted fantasies were simply not enough anymore. He wanted to see the life flow out of something living, to shiver in delight when he saw the red, sticky substance pour out of veins, like hot magma spouting from a newly-erupted volcano.

  His sister’s pet hamster, Eddie, had been his first victim. He strapped Eddie down with rubber bands on top of his biology book and cut into him eagerly with a pocket knife. Ah, Eddie. He didn’t even see it coming.

  Adam gasped excitedly as all of the hamster blood ran down the side of his text book. He watched, mesmerized as Eddie squirmed, squeaked, and took his last breath.

  After draining the creature, Adam sat back and examined it. He knew what he’d done was awful. But why didn’t he feel awful? Why was he so different? He was certain that nobody who was sane would understand him. And why would they? He enjoyed watching blood pour out of flesh. He was obsessed with killing and death. That was not and never would be normal.

  He stared at the dead rodent for a long period of time, waiting for the tears to fall out of his eyes. Normal people cried when they did something terrible, so why couldn’t he?

  It was simple. He was devoid of emotion. He was numb—like a living robot—programmed to act like a human, but wasn’t human at all.

  From that moment on, he decided to put on an act. He bought books on acting, practiced different facial expressions in front of the mirror, and adapted perfect manners.

  He had to pretend like he wasn’t a freak. And if he could do that and do it well, then maybe it would hide the monster lurking somewhere inside of him...

  A week later, he had sat in his tree house, binoculars in hand, canvasing the neighborhood for stray cats. Victoria, his kid sister, poked her head through the hatch. “Adam, what are you doing?”

  Adam lowered his binoculars as a trusting grin spread across his lips. “Nothing. Just bird watching.” That was an excuse he used often.

  “Have you seen Eddie?” Victoria asked, a tear dribbling down her cheek.

  Adam set the binoculars down. “No, I haven’t.” He got up and walked over to the hatch. “But I’ll help you look for him.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and patted it lovingly. Of course, he’d help her look—and after they’d been looking for a while he’d fabricate a lie about Eddie running away. Even if Adam didn’t help her, she’d never find the mangy rodent because Adam made sure that after he was through with Eddie, he flushed his body down the toilet.

  ****

  Months passed. Then years. By the time he reached the eleventh grade, he learned to perfect his little act. He exuded charm and charisma. He was also blessed with romance-novel good looks. Parents adored him. Girls flocked to him. And his teachers had nothing but good things to say about him because he was a straight A student. He even joined the football team and became a star athlete. Nobody would believe that the innocent young man he portrayed was capable of anything wicked and evil.

  Only Adam knew the truth. And it wasn’t until he was alone, left with his own morbid thoughts that the real Adam came out of hiding. He’d close his eyes and envision blood flowing like a river. He thought of the story in the bible, where as part of the seven plagues, God turned a whole river in Egypt into blood. He wanted to swim in that river. He wanted to feel the blood splash against his skin. Adam told himself that having these thoughts was the only way he could appear to be normal on the outside.

  He fought like a champion gladiator to control his urges and for years, he had kept them at bay. Then, out of nowhere, they resurfaced, hitting him like a slap in the face. He had sat across from his girlfriend Regina Taylor at the movies. He couldn’t look at her face. He found himself staring at her long, slender neck. She had such a beautiful neck.

  Then, he closed his eyes and imagined her neck, creased with red, as the blood drizzled down the front. Regina caught him staring. “Adam,” she scolded, “Snap out of it and watch the movie.”

  “Sorry,” he said. He didn’t feel sorry. He was angry that she caught him and interrupted his fantasy.

  He shook off his dazed look and turned toward the projection screen. In those few seconds he had made up his mind. There was no way he could push his urges to the side. Just from sitting next to her in the movies that day, Adam knew that he wanted to—no—knew he had to kill Regina Taylor.

  Adam started his plan by just observing her. He was the ultimate strategist, plotting everything thoroughly. He kept himself out of sight, often wearing disguises; clothes he purchased from a local thrift store, wigs, sunglasses and shabby baseball caps.

  He’d wait until she left school, and followed her home. Then, he followed her to the mall. He made mental notes and familiarized himself with every aspect of her schedule until he had it memorized.

  Regina Taylor’s murder took ninety days to plan. Adam only needed thirty minutes to commit it. He loomed over her body, lying in an open hole in the ground. He watched as the blood flowed out of the gaping slash in her neck and out on to the muddy soil. He had satisfied his blood lust…. for now.

  Search parties formed after Regina went missing. Of course, Adam Jacobs was the first person the police questioned; being that he was her boyfriend. They even took him into custody as a suspect. Adam turned on his charm when questioned, flashing his brilliant smile, being polite and cooperative. But that didn’t seem to work the same with the detectives that were working Regina’s case, as well as it did everybody else.

  The detectives were fishing since no body was ever recovered. Adam had thought that out before he slaughtered her. Regina Taylor was buried in a rural area just outside the city in a place the detectives would never find because it was outside their jurisdiction. The entire Chicago police force ransacked Adam’s room, trying to find any sign of evidence. They had nothing. And luckily for Adam, his father was one of the most prominent defense attorneys in all of Chicago. Ultimately, Adam was released and no charges were ever drawn up. Adam proclaimed his innocence, even though it was a flat out lie.

  As his father escorted him off the premises, a short, round detective lingered in the parking lot. “I know what you are!” he shouted as Adam and his father passed him. Adam looked over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah. And what exactly am I?”

  “A monster…”

  Crocodile tears formed in Adam’s eyes. “Shut up!” Adam shouted, on the verge of fake hysterics.

  “You leave my son alone!” shouted his father. “You hear me!” The detective glared at Adam, turned around, and walked inside the building.

  When Adam arrived home from the police station, he shut himself away in his bedroom. Numerous questions bounced around in his brain. Did he feel sorry for killing Regina? No. Being that he was an emotionless robot, he felt nothing. Did he want to kill again? Yes. Without a doubt. But, did he want to be the monster the detective figured him to be? No.

  There were several instances when he tried to suppress his urges. He remembered one time in particular when he locked himself in the closet. Not even that worked. When the urge to see a crimson red river flowing from a human being overwhelmed him, he kicked down the closet door.

  He stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom and touched his face. “You’re a monster,” he said aloud. “No one can help you.”

  His father interrupted his thoughts when he strolled into Adam’s bedroom. “Son, we need to talk,” he said, plopping down on the bed.

  Adam immediately clammed up. The only time his father came around was when his mother called him at work and informed him that either Adam or his sister had done something wrong. He swallowed hard. “What’s up, Dad?”

  Perh
aps his father had heard about some evidence that would implicate Adam as the murderer of Regina Taylor. His heart began pounding. Perspiration formed under his arms.

  His father crossed his legs. “I’ve been given a job offer out of state. Your mother and I have discussed it and we’ve come to the decision that I should take it.”

  “Oh yeah.” A wave of relief washed over Adam. “Where at?”

  “Burton, Ohio.”

  “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then. Just tell me when I should start packing my things.”

  His father patted his arm and walked toward the door. “Thanks for being so understanding, Son.”

  “No problem, Dad.”

  His father walked out of the bedroom and closed the door. The way Adam saw it, Burton, Ohio would be his new beginning. A new town, a new future. He would be stronger. He told himself that he wouldn’t allow himself to succumb to the temptations that had overcome him in the past.

  Chapter 2: High school

  Katie Halston is the number one reason why I hate high school.

  “Book job!” Her annoying, loud voice fills the hall as her orange fist connects with my English Lit book.

  The mountain of books I’m holding topples over and spreads out along the faded wooden floor.

  “Hey! Fuck you leather face!” I shout as she turns her back to me.

  Katie sneers, glancing over her shoulder and waves at me. She looks like her typical self, fake blonde, curvy, overly tan. I once heard a group of jocks refer to her as sex on a stick, whatever that meant.

  “Fuck who Miss Graham?” A voice squeaks behind me.

  I cringe; sweep my books up off the floor, and spin around to face Ms. Winkle, my first period English Lit teacher. Sure, she appears to be a nice, sweet old lady on the outside, but on the inside, she is vicious and lethal. A real stickler for handing out detentions.