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    Water
    Water
    Water
    Ebook82 pages1 hour

    Water

    By Claudio Hernández

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    Synopsis "WATER":

    He was called "Coñingan" for his peculiar way of solving serial killer cases. Detective Sean Rickman had no powers or a gift with which to see the killer's face, but he had a good intuition and an intelligence far superior to others. However, in the fall of 2020, in the midst of a pandemic and great storms, there was a killer ahead of him. So much so, that the detective was unable to pursue any theory or hypothesis as bodies appeared drowned in streams, near the lush Maine woods. A killer, with a mental power and a dark way of thinking that no one had ever shown before, knew Rickman's every step, ahead of the detective who never caught a cold. Who was capable of killing young women without leaving any trace, despite his rampage against them? What mental power did the killer have that surpassed all human intelligence? Serial killers are always more intelligent than we all think. The killer had been nicknamed "WATER".

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBadPress
    Release dateJun 22, 2021
    ISBN9781667404769
    Water
    Author

    Claudio Hernández

    Sobre el autor: Crecí y empecé a escribir influenciado por el maestro del terror y el thriller, Algunos libros míos son: "Los inicios de Stephen King", "La caja de Stephen King", "La historia de Tom" la saga de zombis "Infectados", "Miedo en la medianoche", "Toda la vida a tu lado", "Arnie", "Cementerio de Camiones", "Siete libros, Siete pecados", "La casa de Bonmati", "El Sanatorio de Murcia", "Otoño lluvioso", "La primavera de Ann", "El hombre que caminaba solo", "Tú morirás", "Muerte en invierno", "El club de los tres", "El callejón de Anglés", "El vigilante del Castillo" y "El frío invierno"

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      Book preview

      Water - Claudio Hernández

      WATER

      Claudio Hernández

      First eBook edition: May, 2020.

      Title: WATER

      ––––––––

      © 2020 Claudio Hernández

      2020 Cover design: Higinia María

      ––––––––

      Safe CreativeCode:2005093919022

      All rights reserved.

      No part of this publication, including the cover design, may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, chemical, mechanical, optical, recording, on the Internet or photocopying, without prior permission from the publisher or the author.

      I dedicate this book to my wife Mary, who puts up with childhood stuff like this every day. And I hope she never stops. This time I have embarked on another adventure that I started in my childhood and that, with tenacity and support, I have completed. Another dream comes true. She says that, sometimes, I shine.... Sometimes... And here I am again... But in this second edition there is a very important person for me, and she is Sheila, who has read all my works, and on this occasion-as on many occasions-has been in charge of correcting the entire manuscript.... And to my father Angel, who is watching over me from heaven....

      WATER

      1

      Always, somewhere, the sun must shine; but in Chamberlate, an amorphous opaque face seemed to smile from high in the sky blacker than a groundhog's ass. The mean light licked the cemetery, stakes included, and the Ash trees that surrounded it in really leafy woods stretched their canopies as shelters to the lost souls within, just as they did to the crows. Sean had on his beige trench coat that reached down to the toes of his shoes. They were so worn that they were now beginning to glow brighter than the mean glint of the one that came after the sun king. A cigar smoking like the chimney of a steamer was delighting the lungs of Sean, a retired old man who had been a detective; but what the hell, he thought he still was, why not? He rinsed his mouth with a great deal of saliva and spat a huge stream of thick mucous on a tombstone. The cross, which looked like a scarecrow with its arms outstretched and lax on a surface full of emptiness, ignored such filth.

      And with all that, it was only just beginning for Sean Rickman (nicknamed and known as Coñingan). Resting his chin - populated by a beard as gray as ashes - on one of his hands, specifically the right one, he stared at another of the graves and thought about how the stiff would be found down there, that is to say, underground. He was inclined to believe that he was simply letting time pass while the body decomposed amidst guttural noises, ignored grunts and sudden flatulence.

      And she thought of him.

      The killer.

      Then, suddenly the sky coughed a couple of times making the Earth shudder under his feet, and, at the same time let out a squawk like a pissed off dog.

      The rain, one of the heaviest of that fucking fall of '99 in Chamberlain, had resumed its project again to rattle the ground - and everything on it - with its big drops, to the rhythm of dozens of woodpeckers.

      Sean Rickman now looked up at the sky and said:

      -Shit.

      I knew why.

      2

      There are madmen everywhere in the world, but not like David Harring. His dark eyes seemed to cast a disciplinarily red light, but it was coldness they cast, like dark glints; yes, that was it. A deep gaze. Traumatized and disturbing. Unsettling even to the lost or avid gazes of those who were locked up in a mental institution. Her straitjacket was her: Melissa Harring, née Aarons. And they didn't at all suggest that she was from Maine: neither by their names nor by their customs. They were just strangers, and their accent was far from southern, praiseworthy of their desire to belong to a quiet town.

      Every night, when the sun was crashing down on the rocky mountain peaks, bleeding out, he would lift his right foot and rest it on a lame one-legged stool. The fucking dog - that is, Dan - had nibbled him like a bone. Then, he'd let the toothpick scamper all over the quarry of teeth while he meshed his scraggly beard. Deeply relaxed, he thought about how well he was doing. How he loved her and what a fuck he was going to get that night, whether Melissa wanted him to or not.

      He was a sewer rat. Or worse:

      A shit crushed by the dirty boots of the county sheriff. Who, truth be told, was a drunk duped by gambling debts and Chamberlate's scum? As corrupt as the politicians of the world. Only he was ignored. But why were all the sons of bitches - well, scumbags - so lucky to occupy such ostentatious positions?

      David was one of them. A lawyer by profession, he had left behind the problems of his clients -mostly lunatics and obsessed with the law- to change his life completely, except for being the biggest asshole in the world, but that had different connotations: bastard, disturbed, pathologically jealous, murderer....

      It all fell short when he was in front of her.

      And his ability to be as nice as a butler in the face of stupid Jehovah's Witness smiles didn't make Melissa think otherwise of him.

      Son of a bitch.

      And Dan started barking at the sun, which had left the bloody trail drifting.

      3

      There was a madman on the loose and Sean knew it. Every evening, like a grieving wife, he would visit the cemetery under a blanket of water. He'd cough like a maniac and light up a huge cigar that would bring him out of that pitiful state

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