The Man on Little Sweden

by Sam Harding

  “Don’t hold back,” Kathryn says, leaning across the table and taking my hands into hers. She must feel me jolt at the feel of her touch, but she smiles when she sees I don’t pull away. “Who is Micah Donovan?”

  “I’m –” I pause, swallow and then start over. “I’m from a small town in Okanogan County. I grew up in a home where I considered it a good day if I was only beat once. I considered it an even better day if mom went without getting hit. All I can really remember about my childhood is either coming home from school and getting my ass kicked by my father, or my father coming home from work and kicking my ass – and mom’s.

  “If she didn’t have dinner ready on time, if she said the wrong thing, if she didn’t have the house at the right temperature – he beat her. Then he’d beat me. Sometimes with a belt buckle, sometimes with a – sometimes with a bat. It just depended on the day, on how mad he was, on how much he had to drink –”

  I feel Kathryn’s grip tighten on my hands but I decide to keep going. There’s no sense in stopping now. “He put mom in the hospital when I was fifteen with a brain bleed. Somehow, she recovered. When I was sixteen, I saw dad go after mom with a bat – hard, and I don’t even know why. I promised myself I wouldn’t let him put her back in the hospital, so I went into my parents’ bedroom and found dad’s .45 in his sock drawer.

  “When I came back into the living room, I yelled my dad’s name, his first name was Cory, just before he hit mom with the bat. He turned around and told me to ‘shut the fuck up’ and then he realized I had his gun. He was about to call me a pussy, but never got the chance. I shot the son of a bitch until the gun ran out of bullets. Seven shots.”

  Kate is staring at me with eyes the size of dinner plates. “You mean –”

  “Yeah, Kate. I killed my own father.” Now I take a long drink and set the glass down. “Now you know why I didn’t want to say anything.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  I look at her with a skeptical look. “No, you’re not.”

  “I am. Micah, you saved your mother’s life. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Micah—you saved her! You saved your own life too. You were a hero.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I say, finding myself relieved to not be looked at like a monster. “The cops ruled it a justifiable homicide, but it’s still not something I’ll ever forget. The man was a son of a bitch and I hated him more than anyone, but he was still my father.”

  “Where’s your mother now?”

  “Remarried to my uncle, dad’s brother, in Spokane. Unlike dad, he’s made something of himself: big-time lawyer only the rich and famous can afford. Even in a place like Spokane, he keeps busy, although there’s rumor he doesn’t go about things in the most legal of ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mom always told me not to believe it, but rumor is he’s got a few fixers working for him. Guys who go around covering up the crimes of his clients. That type of stuff.”

  “The ‘my baseball bat says you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary’ type stuff?”

  “Exactly.” I sigh. “But, mom’s happy and I think my uncle genuinely loves her. So whether he’s a crook or not, I don’t push it, for mom’s sake.”

  “Do you speak much with her?”

  “Not like we used to,” I admit. “I joined the army at the age of seventeen, and always kept in touch with her whenever I could, even when I was deployed. After the army, I visited mom, and even took time to see her after becoming a cop, doing my best to ignore conversations between my uncle and his friends. But since Dani’s death – I just haven’t taken the time to see her or talk to her. I know that’s wrong and selfish. It’s just been hard – but I’m working on it.”

  “Maybe he’s not as big of a crook as you think, your uncle.”

  I shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. Like I said, as long as he keeps mom safe and happy? I don’t care.”

  “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you more,” Kate says, squeezing my hands again. “Maybe it’ll be easier to talk to her once you finish this case.”

  “Maybe,” I say, forcing a polite smile. I notice I don’t want to pull my hands away from Kate’s and I’m actually afraid she’ll let go. So far though, her grip has only tightened. “Don’t think I’m fucked up?”

  “Oh, you’re super fucked up.” She says. “But you’ve yet to convince me you’re a bad guy. All I see is a good man doing his best in a shitty world.”

  “Kate –” I say, my voice trailing off. “Your father’s analysis of the killer. He said he believes the killer was abused as a child. Remember that conversation about his theory?”

  Kate nods.

  “If you think about it, he was describing me.”

  “But he wasn’t.”

  “But could he be?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if things were different? Could I have been like the Butcher if I hadn’t have become a soldier and then a cop? Did that save me from becoming the kind of monster I’m now chasing?”

  Without saying a word, Kathryn releases my hands, stands and walks around the table. Before I can say another word, she puts my face in both of her hands, bends down and kisses me on the mouth.

  I kiss her back and stand up, never breaking away from her. I pull her close to me, not daring to pull away and I can feel she’s doing the same to me. I bend down and grab her legs just below her ass and lift her off the ground. She wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. We continue to kiss as I carry her away from the table and towards the bedroom, sheer impulse guiding my every move.

  I decide then and there that even though a part of me feels guilty, an even bigger part of me knows both Kathryn and I need this more than anything in the world. I know Dani would understand, and a part of me even hopes she would be happy for me.

  I lay Kathryn down on the bed and we begin to undress.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Same Misery

  I’m not sure whether or not I wake up on my own or if the stirring on the bed next to me is what pulls me from my sleep. I look at the Rockwell watch on my right wrist and am surprised to see the digital reading says its 11:07. I haven’t slept in this long since before I was a cop. Maybe all the sleep I’ve missed is now trying to catch up and make up for lost time. I feel the stirring next to me again and can’t help but think maybe sleeping in isn’t the only good thing to happen to me this morning.

  I roll over onto my back and slowly open my eyes little by little to try and adjust to the sunlight coming in through the windows on either side of the headboard. I see Kate’s naked back to my right, she’s sitting upright with her feet on the floor and her arms out like a T as she stretches and yawns. Just the sight of her naked backside arouses me again, and I can’t help but reach out and run my fingers down her spine.

  She shivers as I touch her and I can feel goosebumps form under my fingertips. She moans tiredly and looks back over her right shoulder, her face mostly hidden behind her hair. “Good morning, Detective.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Shultz.” I slide across the bed to get closer to her and then wrap my arm around her stomach. I feel upwards until I find her breasts and am pleased to see she does nothing to stop me as I explore.

  “And how did you sleep?” She asks.

  “Good.” The word surprises me, but it’s true. It just now dawns on me that this is the first night in three years that I’ve slept without being woken up at least once by my reoccurring nightmares. It’s also the first time in three years where I haven’t woken up feeling totally sick to my stomach. “Really good.”

  She leans down and kisses me on the lips. “Me, too.”

  She pulls away and I watch her as she stands up. The sunlight seems to glint off of her body as she stretches again, casting her athletic form in a yellow glow. I reach out and grab her ass, unable to stop myself. She jumps slightly, looks back at me, smiles, and then turns around to continue her stretch. My hand remains in the sam
e place, only now it’s not touching her ass.

  “I can get used to this,” she says.

  I momentarily think of Dani, but the guilt vanishes even faster than it had arrived. “Really?” I hope my voice doesn’t betray my excitement.

  “Waking up late in the morning next to someone who actually gives a shit about me?” She looks down at my wondering hand. “Yeah – definitely.”

  I sit up and swing my legs out from under the blankets and off the side of the bed. I instantly regret doing this. It’s as if Kate’s presence had caused me to completely forget about the state of my left leg, and I expect her to look at the stump inches below my left knee and shiver with disgust at the sight of the short metal rod sticking out. But instead, she takes a step towards me, pressing herself between my legs and against the bed. Her chest is only inches from my face and I can’t help but grab her from behind and kiss the soft skin between her breasts. I then look up at her, resting my chin on her chest.

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “What doesn’t bother me? Your injury?” She looks down at my left leg, her expression showing no signs of disgust or even pity.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why would it?”

  “Because –” I try to find the words, and then end up laughing as I say, “because it’s fucking ugly, that’s why.”

  Now her face turns serious, and I’m surprised by how angry she suddenly seems. I’m afraid she’s about to pull away, but thankfully she doesn’t. “There’s nothing ugly about that. The person who did it is ugly, yes, but your leg is not. If anything, it’s beautiful.”

  I look at her in shock. “Beautiful?” Not the word I’d use.

  “That leg is a reminder that no matter what, you are a survivor. You’ve been through more than any man should ever have to go through, and yet, here you are, still standing.”

  “Standing?”

  “You don’t need the legs you were born with to still stand tall, Micah. I know you know this because you live it every day. What happened to you was ugly and who did it is even uglier, but you are not ugly. You’re a fucking miracle.”

  I could argue with her, hell I could get into a really heated argument with her, but I choose not to. I don’t know if it’s because I like her so much or if it’s because I’m surprised to see the tears in her eyes. It’s clear to me, now more than ever, that Kathryn Shultz truly cares for me. In just a little over twenty-four hours, we have bonded like no other two people could in that short of time.

  Two tortured souls bound together by the torment of the same misery.

  Kate breaks away from me and walks across the floor a few feet before stooping down to pick something up. I watch her dig through my own clump of clothes on the floor before she finally stands with my prosthetic in her hands.

  “This design is really cool,” she says, looking it over. “Is it 3-D printed?”

  I nod. “Thought it looked better than a skinny metal rod.”

  “That’s Fenrir,” she says, running her finger along the cut-out wolf. She then traces the two traditional designs of the ravens known as, “Huginn and Muninn. Odin’s messengers.”

  “How do you know about Norse mythology?”

  “I studied it,” Kate said. “As well as Roman, Greek, Japanese and Egyptian. It was an elective class in college – probably the only one I actually liked.” She extends the leg out to me.

  I take the prosthetic and connect it to the metal piece extending from my nub. Even though the foot at the end isn’t real, because the prosthetic is integrated into my bone, I can actually feel it when my foot touches the floor. I can even feel the waviness of grass under the foot when I’m outside.

  I watch as Kate then goes to her own pile of clothes and grabs her leather pants. As she’s putting them on, I realize she doesn’t wear any underwear. I can’t help but admit to myself that this is another thing I like about her.

  “Are you leaving?” I ask, already having an idea as to what she’s going to say.

  “I have to. I’m sure dad’s already wondering where I am. He’s got plenty of help at home with his caregiver, but he would rather I be there too. Especially this time of year.” She buttons her pants and looks at me. “You understand, right?”

  “Of course, I do,” I reply, standing up. “Family should always be number one. Speaking of, I need to call my boy here soon.”

  “Right, I forgot you had a son.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Not at all,” she says with a smile. “Why would it?”

  “I guess because sometimes people in a relationship get freaked out by kids.” Oh shit.

  “A relationship?” She raises an eyebrow and puts her hands on her hips.

  I stammer, “I mean – look, if you –”

  A smile betrays her. “I like the idea of that.”

  “Of a relationship?”

  “Micah, I wouldn’t be standing here, hands on my hips with my tits out if I wasn’t.” She pauses for a second and then adds, “And I sure as hell wouldn’t have slept with you. Not that kind of girl.”

  “I had no illusions that you were.” I walk over to her and kiss her on the lips. “I like the idea of it, too.”

  “What about you? What are you doing today?”

  “Following a lead. Well – kind of a lead. Going to go try and talk to one of your dad’s old patients, guy by the name of Lex Irving. I don’t imagine anything will come of it, but it’s all I’ve got for now.”

  Kate nods understandingly. “I hope he can help us.”

  Us? I suppose that is accurate. “Yeah, we’ll see. This is Monday, though and the twenty-fourth is on Thursday – I just wish I knew for sure that I wasn’t wasting my time today talking to this guy.”

  “It’s not a waste of time,” Kate says, touching my cheek. “Even if it means re-eliminating him as a suspect, it’s still progress, one way or another.”

  “I suppose that’s right,” I allow.

  She kisses me hard on the lips and when she pulls away she says, “Go do what you have to do. I’ll come by later tonight if you’re not busy.”

  I smile. “I’ll never be too busy for that.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Lex

  ALEXANDER “LEX” IRVING lives just outside of town in a tiny old farmhouse on a five-acre animal-less farm. When I pull into his driveway, I can see his home is in serious need of a paint job; the most current coat is peeling off and in some sections of the house, it’s gone altogether. Two windows sit on either side of the front door, and on the right window, one of the old shutters hangs loose on a single hinge, gently blowing back and forth in the winter breeze. I’m not surprised to see the vehicle in the driveway is an old Honda Civic, but I am a little surprised to see that it appears to be well taken care of.

  I put my cigarette out in the vehicle’s ashtray, park behind the Honda, and step out of the Bronco. Before I even make it to the porch, the front door swings in and the screen door bashes open. Instinctively, my left hand goes for the gun on my hip as a large man with mop-like black hair storms from the home with a double-barreled shotgun in his hands. He’s at least six-five and well over two-hundred-fifty pounds. He wears thick glasses, making his wide eyes seem even wider and his face resembles that of a bulldog. Although my hand is firmly on the butt of my sidearm, I decide not to pull on the man because I immediately recognize him as Lex Irving.

  “Who the hell are you?” Lex asks from the porch, jabbing the air with the double-barrel of his weapon.

  “Lex,” I say in a calm voice, doing everything I can to put him at ease and avoid further confrontation. Lex was suspect number two, five years ago for a reason, and it wasn’t because he gave friendly bear hugs to strangers – usually there had been a bat or some sort of club involved, but this time it appears his weapon of choice has evolved a bit. “it’s Detective Donovan. Do you remember me?”

  The big man squints at me, responsive to what I’m saying. That’s a good sign be
cause when Lex is violent, it’s almost always due to a psychotic episode where he is in no control of his own thoughts or actions. When he gets like that, I remember hearing from Dr. Shultz that not much short of a bullet can stop him.

  In a deep, almost tired-sounding voice, Lex says from over the top of the shotgun, “You don’t look like Detective Donovan.”

  “That’s because I have a beard now,” I say, stroking my hairy chin with my right hand. Lex’s actions remind me that typically schizophrenics who have been stabilized by medication, are that way at the cost of normal cognitive speed. But, even though Lex is clearly a bit slower than the average person, it’s damn clear to me he’s not that slow when it comes to defending his castle with a serious amount of force.

  “People – people have come to my house,” Lex says, scrunching his plump face in an attempt to push his glasses back up without having to take a hand from his weapon. “They have come and they wanted to hurt me. I don’t want you to hurt me.”

  “I’m not here to hurt you, Lex. I’m here just to talk to you.”

  There’s a bit of a delay as he processes what I’m saying and then he asks, “What about?”

  “The same thing as before. Remember the murder five years ago? And then the murders every year after that?”

  With a wide-open mouth, Lex nods. “Yeah.”

  “That’s what I need to talk to you about.”

  He squints. “You want to talk about the murders?”

  “That’s right.”

  “The Christmas Eve Butcher?”

  “Yes.” A part of me is annoyed by fact his brain doesn’t work as fast as a normal person’s, but on the other hand, if that’s how his condition is kept at bay, I guess I shouldn’t be too impatient about it. Another part of me is incredibly sympathetic to his condition, and I honestly admire him for staying in the fight in his battle for a little bit of normalcy in his life.