The moment she
thought about their ability to solve crimes, she got a check in her spirit that
was so strong that she opened her eyes and looked around her. It was almost as
if someone had spoken aloud, but she knew she was alone in the bungalow.
“That’s odd. I
wonder where that thought came from,” she wondered aloud.
She pulled out
her bible and put on her glasses to read for a while. While she was reading,
again she got a check in her spirit. The thought came to her, “this rest will
not be for long.”
“What the heck
does mean?” She pulled her glasses off and sat nibbling on the end of the stem
of eyeglasses, lost in thought.
Laying her head
back against the chair in which she was sitting, she closed her eyes and before
she knew it, she was asleep and dreaming. Her dreams encompassed the energy draining
case they had just closed in which a white male had systematically chosen his
victims—females between the ages of 21 and 25, light-complexioned, with short,
close-cropped hair styles. He had abducted and raped them and then chained them
in abandoned buildings, with their mouths duct-taped, left to die.
Fourteen
women had been found dead in three different states before they finally caught
him—in the act of abducting female number fifteen. A witness to the abduction had
the presence of mind to videotape the attempt while screaming for someone to
call 911. The woman escaped and the man had fled, but not before video of his
car was made. When police arrived with the FBI, the woman and the witnesses
were able to give a good description and helicopter units were on the scene
within minutes. They had found him cowering in what appeared to be the next
abandoned building he had planned to use for his victim. In his car, they found
a knife, duct-tape, and a chain-ripper with a roll of chain links.
When questioned
about the deaths of the women, he was vile and spewed profanity venomously at
anyone with short hair. He wore his hair long and it was matted and tangled,
making him look like a mad-man in a horror movie.
The psychologist who had profiled the killer
had already intimated that the killer was someone who hated short-haired
females because they reminded them of men who might have harmed them when they
were younger. Eventually, they were able to ascertain that the killer had
witnessed his father, raping young, light complexioned black girls just for the
fun of it and had attempted to get him involved. During an attempt to rape
another victim, his father was killed when the victim fought back and stabbed
him to death. Watching from a hole in a wall where his father dragged his
victims, he could not get help for him before he died. Apparently, in his mind,
he was avenging his father’s death by raping the women and leaving them to die.
Tiffany groaned
in her sleep and then turned over into another position. She saw drops of blood
circling her and someone with a hood over their face holding a sword. Just as
they got close enough to raise the sword to strike, she woke up, drenched in
sweat.
Shaking like a
leaf, she got out of the chair to get a cold drink. She stood at the sink,
holding onto it for fear she’d fall, if she let go of it. Getting a glass out
of the cabinet, she opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. Her
hand was still shaking as she poured the water into the glass. Lifting the
glass with both hands, she was able to steady the glass in order to drink the
water, but she was so shaken by the dream that before she could finish the
water, the glass slipped from her hand and broke.
Stepping back
from the broken glass, she leaned against the wall and forced herself to stop
shaking before she attempted to get up the broken glass.
“Breathe,” she
told herself out loud, “Breathe!”
Spotting the
broom and dustpan in the corner, she retrieved them and swept up the broken
glass, but not before a splinter of glass pricked her finger and drops of blood
formed a circle on the floor.
She stood
frozen—thinking about the dream—and knew that something horrible was about to
happen, but she didn’t know what.
Using self-talk to
propel herself into motion, she made her way to the bathroom, cleansed the area
around the cut and applied antiseptic before wrapping her finger in a bandage.
Going back to her
chair, she picked up her glasses, spontaneously chewing on the end, as she
became lost in thought.
“Now is not the
time for panic,” she told herself. “Now is the time to reflect upon the
possibilities and prepare for the unknown.”
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