The Man on Little Sweden

by Sam Harding

  With tear-filled eyes, Thomas looked around the large room. He’d never seen a room so big in his life. The ceilings seemed to be as tall as the sky itself, and the walls stretched forever in all directions. It felt like he was in some sort of garage, only the garage had been built for giants who drove cars way bigger than the one his dad drove. It was weird, though, because a row of windows way up high, were broken, and snow was coming inside the building, and Thomas wondered if the bad man had broken them himself when he was angry about something.

  Oh, how Thomas wished his father was here. His tears thickened in his eyes and he began to wonder why his dad had made him stay with Uncle Henry in the first place. His dad never told him why, only that, “It’s going to be safer with Uncle Henry while I go to work for a while,” and at the time, that had been good enough for Thomas, but it had been forever since then. He’d never missed his dad so much in his little life, and hoped that at any second, he’d come through the front door and rescue him from his cold nightmare.

  Maybe he’s too sad to come, Thomas thought to himself in between shivers. That was one thing about his dad that he never understood, the sadness. No matter what time of day, his father always seemed sad, or even angry. He was never mean to Thomas, never even yelled at him, not even when Thomas knew he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, but even still, the little boy could tell his dad carried a sadness around wherever he went, and Thomas had no idea why.

  He knew it couldn’t be because of his leg, no way. He had a robot leg and that was way too cool to be mad about. Thomas envied his dad’s leg, and wished his arms and legs could be like a robot’s too. His dad said otherwise, but Thomas knew that leg had to give his him super strength and speed, just like Superman or Spider-Man.

  Thomas looked down at his wrists and eyed the plastic cuffs keeping him secured to the metal ring in the floor. He was still thinking of Superman and Spider-Man, and decided if they were tied up, they’d just be able to break the handcuffs and get away like it was nothing, or go and fight the bad guy who tied them up. Thomas remembered in some of the Spider-Man movies, Peter Parker, Spider-Man’s secret identity, hadn’t even realized he had powers until he figured it out by accident, like the scene where he slapped the side of a school bus and tore away a banner along the side of it without having to grab onto it. Thomas wondered, what if, like Peter Parker, he had powers too and just hadn’t figured it out yet? He looked down at his cuffed hands for a moment and stared at them in contemplation.

  Deciding he was tired of being cold and wanted nothing more than to get out of the huge room, Thomas decided to test his super powers and gave his handcuffs a hard tug. He winced as the plastic dug into his wrists, and then moaned in frustration at seeing the cuffs didn’t break, nor did the metal ring come free of the ground.

  “Come on, Spider-Man,” Thomas whispered to himself, quoting a line from one of the more recent films. He lifted himself off his butt and got into a squatting position with his feet flat on the floor. He remembered his dad being in a similar position when he was lifting heavy weights in his shop back home, and so Thomas figured it was his best bet to activate as much muscle as possible.

  As his father always did, Thomas took a couple of deep breaths and then held his last breath as if he was about to dive underwater. Then, as his father had done in the shop, Thomas exhaled sharply and pushed hard with his legs, imagining his feet breaking into the concrete like the Incredible Hulk. He felt the tug on his wrists again, and it felt as if the plastic was about to cut through his skin, but little Thomas kept pulling, and pulling, and pulling.

  He was just about to give up, completely exhausted and out of breath, when suddenly he felt his right hand come loose, the momentum sending his small body upward and flailing to the side like an out of control spinning top. His still-fastened left hand tugged hard at the restraints, bringing Thomas back to the ground and onto his back with a hard thud.

  The seven-year-old boy lay still for a moment, his chest heaving up and down, his wrists screaming in red-hot pain. At first, he wasn’t sure what had happened, but then he realized he could freely move his right arm. Laying on his back, with his left hand still tied to the floor, Thomas raised his right arm and brought his hand in front of his face. He could see bright red circular marks around his wrist and at the base of his hand, but he didn’t care about the pain. His hand was free.

  I do have powers – he thought to himself, getting off of his back and scrambling onto his knees. He turned his head towards his left hand and saw that the cuff that had secured his right hand was still fastened shut, and that he’d been so strong, his hand had slipped out of the cuff instead of breaking it.

  With newfound determination and a new spark of energy, Thomas got back into a squatting position and began to pull.

  He wasn’t sure where he’d run to once free, but right now, he didn’t care. He just wanted to get out of the warehouse and as far away from the bad man as he possibly could. With any luck, he’d find his father and be safe from harm forever.

  With his father in mind, Thomas felt himself begin to pull even harder than before.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  12:40 P.M.

  Officer Jason Kohl logged out of his mobile data terminal and closed the lid of the laptop before unplugging it from its dock that hung over the center console of his patrol SUV. He took a deep breath and briefly rested his head against the driver’s seat headrests, totally beat after working a ten hour night shift plus five extra hours of voluntary overtime that turned into an extra forty minutes of involuntary overtime so he could finish a report for a domestic violence case he’d snagged just before going off shift.

  He couldn’t help but think about the fact that today was the sixth Christmas Eve since the Christmas Eve Butcher had started his terror through Solace County. So far, everything seemed quiet on that front, but Kohl had to remind himself that it was barely after noon and anything could happen between now and midnight. He shuttered at wondering which little boy it was that was on the killer’s list today, which family was about to lose their child in one of the most horrific ways imaginable.

  Worst of all, Detective Blake wouldn’t be working the case today. He was convinced the case had been solved with the death of Alexander Irving, but for some reason, Kohl doubted that was the truth. Something didn’t seem right, and he knew his friend Micah Donovan felt the same way about it that he did. It was all too convenient, and it honestly didn’t make sense. Irving had been their primary suspect in the beginning, but everything had led to him not being involved in any way, shape, or form. The guy just didn’t fit the bill, and his alibis had been air-tight to say the least. A part of Kohl wished Irving had been the killer, just so he could have some comfort in knowing the children of Solace would be safe today, but he knew in his heart that the former patient of the Man on Little Sweden had been set up, and that it was only a matter of time before another little body showed up, cut to pieces and on display for the world to see.

  This entire case had changed Kohl as a cop and as a man. He’d never seen such horror in his life. It had broken him down in more ways than one and, because of that, he had to give up his dream career as a detective. It had just become too much to handle, too personal to stay objective and rational. The case had led to drinking, to a divorce, counseling, and then finally, the decision to give up being a detective and going back on patrol. That decision had helped matters drastically, mostly because Kohl didn’t have to worry about his ex-wife ending up like Dani Donovan had, and also because he could focus on other things other than the Butcher case. Despite the itch to go back to the world of being a detective, Kohl had to admit to himself that he was a lot happier now than he had been on the Butcher hunt as a detective.

  But even still, no matter how many years passed, no matter how many visits with his shrink that he logged, Jason Kohl would never forget the image of his best friend strapped to his own kitchen table with his lower leg hanging on by only by
a few pieces of skin. He would never forget the blood, Micah’s agonizing moans, and worst of all, the nearly-decapitated corpse of Micah’s wife, Danielle. It had been what nightmares were made of and Kohl had to accept the fact he would never get over seeing his maimed best friend and the headless corpse of the closest thing he’d ever had to a sister. Dani had paid the price for Micah’s job and, for that, Kohl knew his friend would never forgive himself or be the same again.

  At least Thomas made it. At least he’s not traumatized like the rest of us, Kohl thought to himself. Somehow, the four-year-old mind of Thomas Donovan had completely shut down all recollection of the event, and now at the age of seven, he acted as every seven-year-old boy should: carefree and innocent. Thank God for that.

  A soft rap on the driver’s side window jerked Kohl from his thoughts and he realized his eyes had been closed and he’d been half asleep and still in the patrol vehicle. He blinked a few times and looked out the window, seeing Officer Olsen staring at him through the glass. Olsen was a younger Officer and was scheduled to go on shift in twenty minutes, his vehicle for the day was the very same one Kohl was now falling asleep in.

  A little embarrassed, Kohl opened the door and climbed out of the SUV with his laptop in hand. “Sorry,” he said, looking around the secure police parking lot. “Been a long night. Damned storm isn’t about to let up, it looks like.”

  Olsen shook his head and looked up at the white sky. “Supposed to be like this all day.” He was wearing more or less the same outfit Kohl was: a thick department-issued jacket with a thick knit cap on top of his head.

  Kohl slapped his friend on the shoulder as he walked passed him. “Good luck.”

  “You good?” Olsen called after him. “You might want to take a little nap before going home.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Kohl said without looking back as he headed for the section of the secured lot reserved for personally owned vehicles. He didn’t live too far away, and with some loud music and cold air, he wasn’t worried about falling asleep on his way home.

  He remotely unlocked and started his Ram with a key fob and climbed behind the wheel after removing his vest and throwing it onto the back seat. Next, he cranked up the radio, blasting AC/DC through his speakers, and cranked the thermometer to its coldest setting. It would be a super uncomfortable ride home, but at least he wouldn’t be falling asleep.

  The snow crunched audibly under the big truck’s tires as Kohl maneuvered it through the parking lot and towards the automatic security gate in the back alley behind the police precinct. When the gate was fully open, he pulled into the alley and took a right and was about to give the truck a little gas, but instead, slammed on the breaks, coming to a hard stop.

  He had to blink a few times to make sure he was actually seeing what he was seeing, but sure enough, standing in the middle of the alleyway was none other than Micah Donovan and some woman Kohl thought he recognized but couldn’t put a name to. What he did know, though, was the woman was tall and looked like some sort of super model, even in her thick winter clothing.

  Making sure nobody was behind him, Kohl put his truck in park and stepped out into the alleyway. He approached Micah and the woman and, as he got closer, he could see something was definitely wrong.

  Micah’s dark auburn hair danced in the wind and his skin looked pale and his eyes were sunken and red, almost looking as if he’d been crying or hadn’t slept in ages. The look on his friend’s face was a look Kohl hadn’t seen since Micah had woken up in the hospital after the Butcher had taken his leg and killed his wife, and Kohl immediately knew something terrible had happened.

  “What’s going on, Micah?” Kohl asked, barely loud enough to be heard over the whipping storm.

  “I need your help, Jason,” Micah called. “I’m sorry but, right now, you’re the only one I can trust.”

  *

  It’s a quarter after one o’clock by the time I finish telling Jason everything that happened since earlier that morning. After stopping him in the alleyway behind the police precinct, he’d agreed to follow Kate and I to her apartment in order to hear what it was we had to say. From the moment I mentioned West, Jason had been silent and I don’t even know if he’d breathed during the entirety of my briefing.

  Once I finished, I heard Jason sigh audibly and now I wait for his response. Kate and I are sitting on the black leather sofa and Jason is across a glass coffee table from us on a stool that had been pulled away from the bar in the kitchen. Except for his tactical vest, he’s still wearing his police uniform and by the bags under his eyes, I can tell he’s exhausted from last night’s shift. On top of his obvious fatigue, Jason’s dark skin is now pale, and I can tell he’s shook to the core by the information I’ve shared with him. I know I’ve just placed him in a shitty situation, and now he has to decide whether or not to help me, or to report what I’ve said to the station as protocol would demand he do.

  After what seems like forever, he finally says, “I’m the only one you’ve talked to about this?”

  I nod. “You and Kathryn are the only ones who know. I wouldn’t know who else to tell. And obviously I can’t call the police.”

  “Obviously,” Jason says softly and looks down at his watch. “If everything you say is true, we have less than five hours to find him.”

  “I know,” I say, glad to hear he used the word we and not you.

  “What makes you think a cop is behind this?” His eyes narrow and he leans further forward in his chair. “I’m still not clear on that point.”

  “Think about it, man. Since day one, the killer was always a step ahead of us, you know that. Hell, you’ve even said so yourself when we worked the case. And now, with what happened with Irving, I don’t think the idea is so far-fetched. The only people who knew I planned to see Lex and was back on the case were Art and Blake.”

  “You seriously think the Christmas Eve Butcher is the chief of police or the city’s most senior detective?” Jason looks at me skeptically.

  I shrug. “I think it’s either them or someone else within the department who they’ve talked to. What I do know, though, is that it’s not you.”

  “No, it’s not me, but do you realize the accusation you’re making?”

  “Of course, I do,” I snap at my former partner. “But I’ve got nothing that suggests otherwise. Believe me, the last thing I want is for the killer to be one of our own people, but nothing is leading me away from that theory, and everything points to it. You know I’m right.”

  “I don’t know –”

  “Yes, you do, dammit!” I snap again, only this time even harder. I feel Kate jump on the couch next to me, my sudden outburst startling her. I look at her apologetically and then turn back to Jason. “Think, Jason. Look at this from the outside for a second and just fucking think.”

  After a beat, Jason nods. “Fine. I’ll admit – it’s possible.”

  “It’s likely.”

  “Then we need to prove it.”

  “First, we need to get Thomas back,” I correct him, my words nearly catching in my throat. “We need to find my son, Jason. We need to find Thomas and then we need to report West’s body. I’m so sorry I didn’t report it when I found him, but –”

  “But you didn’t have a choice,” Jason cuts me off. “I get it, Micah. I really do. I can’t say I’d do anything different if I were you. Jesus, I knew he was still out there – I knew he would take another victim today. I just never thought it would be Thomas.”

  “So, you’ll help me?” I ask hopefully, almost pleadingly.

  “I’ll help you, but don’t expect me to be fully on board with your cop theory. I just can’t get there. Not yet.”

  “Fair enough.” My cop “theory” isn’t what’s important now, and so I honestly don’t care if he’s “there” yet or not. What’s important is what he can do, the resources he brings to the table in helping me find my son.

  “Let me make some calls. I’m off for the next three days, but I’v
e got a friend who works for the county that has access to some of the cameras in the area. They probably aren’t working today, but I should be able to get them to come in and help me out.”

  “Looking through camera footage will take forever,” I protest.

  “Do you have any better ideas? Because sifting through footage looking for West’s car is our only bet right now, as far as I can tell.”

  I swallow hard and have to admit Jason’s right. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

  “For now,” Jason replies, tossing me the keys to his Ram. “I want you to go get my radio and spare battery from my truck. If we get lucky, maybe the son of a bitch will do something stupid and we’ll get some radio traffic out of it.”

  I hesitate, knowing the chances of that are slim to none, but then admit to myself that a slim chance could be my only chance right now. I stand from the couch and head for the door, but once I get to the door, a thought crosses my mind and I turn back towards Jason.

  “I need your word,” I say.

  “My word?” Jason asks, pulling his cell phone from his coat pocket.

  “That everything we talked about stays in this room until we get Thomas back. I can’t afford this getting out and –”

  “Micah,” Jason cuts me off. “As far as I’m concerned, you and Thomas are family. You two will always come before protocol, and I swear to God I won’t notify the office until we at least know where he is. Okay?”

  I nod, knowing Jason is taking a huge risk for me that could cost him his job or even worse. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, not until we get your boy back.”

  Without saying another word, I head out the apartment and make my way downstairs to Jason’s truck.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  1:50 P.M.

  AT FIRST, THE sight of his own blood scared him and he was afraid he might have accidentally hurt himself really bad. Thomas’s left wrist had turned red long ago when he’d first started pulling on the plastic restraint, but now, the plastic had worn into his skin, causing a trickle of blood to make its way down his wrist, disappearing into the cuff of his heavy jacket. The young boy sat down on his rear end, totally exhausted, his little chest heaving with exertion on a level that he’d never felt before, and took the time to look over his wrist.