The Man on Little Sweden

by Sam Harding

  I stare at her for a moment, at first confused, but I then realize Jason must have explained my suspicions of the detective to her. I nod. “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “He’s not home.”

  “That’s because he thinks the Butcher is dead,” Jason says from the window at the far end of the apartment. “Blake planned on skipping town this year to spend it with his parents in Pend Oreille County. It’s his first Christmas off since the Butcher case.”

  I look passed Kate and at my friend. “And you believe that?”

  “I have no reason not to. No proof either.”

  I shake my head, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “You have no proof he’s not the guy either.”

  “You’ve been crying. I can see it in your eyes. Why didn’t you let me go with you?” Kate asks, her voice softening up some since her first series of questions.

  Because I needed to be alone. Because I was hoping Dani would show up and let me explain some things to her. Because sometimes I do that sort of thing, talk to my dead wife as if she’s right next to me. “I just needed to clear my head.”

  “For that long?”

  I shrug. “Better than losing my mind.”

  At this, I instantly see all fight leave Kate’s body. Her posture deflates like a balloon and she suddenly looks more remorseful than angry. Her lips begin to move, but for a while nothing comes out as she tries to find the next words to say. Finally, she settles on, “I’m sorry, Micah.”

  I smile at her, for some reason unable to stay defensive when it comes to her. “Don’t be.”

  “But I am.”

  I gently touch the side of her face and then kiss her forehead. With my lips still on her skin, my eyes look up over the top of her head at Jason. He’s still by the window, watching us, waiting for the right moment to share whatever it is he had found. I break away from Kate and acknowledge him with a raise of my eyebrows.

  “There was a T7 announced on the radio a few minutes ago in Cedar Falls,” Jason says, using the county code for dead body. “I called a friend who’s a deputy with the Sheriff’s Office, patrols the north end. He said the snowstorm has everything slowed down, but they’re currently in route to a call of multiple dead bodies at the strip club in Cedar Falls.”

  This perks my attention, and I gently push passed Kate. “The strip club?”

  “That’s what he said. Sounds like a bloodbath.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” I say, looking up at the ceiling.

  “How so?”

  “If this is him, it goes against everything he’s ever done before. It’s like he’s losing control of himself, like he can no longer stick to the same script he’s kept to for the past five years. He’s getting compulsive, more erratic. Like he’s controlled by a bloodlust and no longer any sense of logic or calculation.”

  “You think there’s something else going on?”

  “The old man in the park,” I say, pointing out Kate’s window. “Then the gay man and his dog in town, framing Lex—and now West and a strip club full of people in one day after taking my son? Then there’s the message he left for me. It doesn’t follow the same M.O. at all.”

  “No,” Jason agrees. “It doesn’t. He’s changed for some reason.”

  I look from the ceiling to the floor, trying to figure out just what in the hell could be in Cedar Falls. If these killing are related to the Butcher, why would they go up there, especially in conditions like these? What could possibly be up there for the Butcher to go to? His home maybe? I doubt it.

  “Do deputies or officers—or whatever—” Kate starts and then suddenly stops.

  I turn around and look at her. “What?”

  “Police. Do the police usually look at areas like the abandoned warehouses and things like that?”

  I feel a chill race up my spine as the realization hits me. I spin and look at Jason and I can see he, too, is thinking what I’m thinking. At the same time, we both say the exact same thing, “The old Cedar Falls storehouse!”

  “What?” Kate asks.

  I look back at her, “The old storehouse just north of Cedar Falls. It’s been abandoned for years, nobody ever goes there, not even vandals or drug addicts.”

  “Especially not in a storm like this,” Jason adds.

  “I don’t know it,” Kate admits.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say, looking back at Jason. “We do.”

  “You think the Butcher has your son there?” Jason asks.

  “I think it’s the only fucking lead we have right now. It’s not far from town and the strip club. Maybe he’s holding Thomas at the warehouse while he uses the cover of the storm to pick off people in town.”

  “So, call the authorities!” Kate says excitedly.

  I shake my head. “They’re already on their way to the strip club, and that alone will take a while for them to get everything set up in this storm, especially on a holiday schedule. Not to mention—”

  “They don’t even know Thomas is missing,” Kate finishes my sentence, her voice trailing off. “There wouldn’t be enough time.”

  I turn back to my friend “Jason, we need to go.”

  He looks at me for a moment, and I know he’s contemplating the situation, a part of him thinking of all the trouble he will get into for going off on his own rogue mission without the approval and knowledge of his supervisors. After a moment he sighs heavily and says, “Are we taking my rig or yours?”

  “I’m coming with you,” Kate says.

  “No way—” I start to say, but Kate gets right up in my face and puts a finger between my nose and hers.

  “Don’t you dare say ‘no way’ to me, Micah. Not this time, fuck that.” She turns away from me and snatches up a black leather jacket from the back of one of the stools against the bar. “I’m coming with you, and that’s that.”

  I know there’s no sense arguing with her and decide I’m not even going to try. Instead I look back to Jason who’s gathering his radio and throwing his department jacket back on. I say, “We’ll take mine.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  3:35 P.M.

  DAVID’S EYES FLICKERED open briefly, and then closed again, his eyelids weighed down by what seemed like a ton of lead, his head pounding like he’d never felt it pound before, but he didn’t drift back into unconsciousness. His hearing came back next, ringing at first, and then giving way to the sound of a snake-like hiss and a metallic clinking that sounded like a movie-prop machine gun that had ran out of bullets.

  Once again, he opened his eyes, fighting the heaviness of his eyelids and doing all he could to force the black floaters from his vision. He suddenly felt heavy on his right side, and could feel something digging into his hips and pushing hard against his chest. He didn’t understand at first, but as the black floaters vanished, his reality became clear to him. David was sideways, his side of the car up in the air and the passenger side buried beneath the snow. The only thing keeping him from falling to his right and against the inside of the passenger door was the seatbelt holding him in place, pinching into his skin and pushing into his rib cage.

  With a groan, David looked out the windshield, or attempted to at least. It was a giant, reflective spiderweb, chipped along its lines, giving way to the chill from outside. But even through the web of shards, David could make out the front end of the vehicle, and the tree pushing into the radiator, crunching the hood in like a series of waves racing towards a beach. Smoke and steam poured from the impact area, mixing in with the cold air and creating a type of mist-like fog that added to the already low visibility of the falling snow.

  “Holy cow, man!”

  David’s breath caught in his throat, and instinctively he reached for the Karambit in his jacket pocket, but his pocket was empty. The blade must have fallen out during the crash. He then reached behind his back, trying to squeeze his right hand between himself and the back rest to retrieve his pistol, but the seatbelt locking him in place was making that nearl
y impossible.

  “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

  David stopped moving and looked out the side window. All he could see was the sheet-white sky, and the snow coming down onto his face through the busted glass. He craned his head further towards the back-seat window, and that’s when he saw a face. It was a man with the thickest beard David had ever seen, his eyes partially covered by thin framed eyeglasses that looked more suited for reading than for everyday activities.

  “I—” David growled, ready to tell the man to leave him be, but then stopped himself. He thought of the boy back at the warehouse, and without knowing how long he’d been in this situation, David realized he desperately needed help. “Can you help me?”

  “I can’t call anyone,” the man said, defeatedly, holding his cellphone out for emphasis. “This storm, man, it’s got all service down.”

  “Just get me out of here.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, just—just hang tight.” The bearded man stepped closer to David, creating loud metallic pops from his boots pressing into the soft metal on the side of the vehicle’s doors. He then squatted down and pulled the door latch, opening the driver’s side door with ease and then gently widening it as far as it would go without letting it close again by itself. “Okay, this is how it’s going to work. You’re going to grab my hand, and then you’re going to unbuckle yourself, and then I’m going to pull you from the car, and then we’re going to get to a doctor. Okay?”

  And then what? David thought to himself, already annoyed with the way the guy gave instructions. But then he had to wonder, is this man a demon, too? Does he know what I did back in town? David realized this was a severe variable, and one that could not be ignored.

  The bearded man squatted down over top of David and extended a heavily mittened hand. With his left hand, David took hold of the man’s glove, and with his right hand he unlatched the seatbelt. For a second, he felt himself starting to fall, but then he caught himself with his legs on the center console. To avoid tangling himself up in the seatbelt, David reached up with his right hand and took hold of the man’s wrist, and released his left hand in order to let the seatbelt unwind from himself and retract back into its holder. Then, the bearded man began to pull and David helped by stepping on whatever he could step on to climb out of the sideways vehicle, and in only a matter of seconds, he was out, resting on his knees on the dented door of the outside of the vehicle.

  “Are you injured?” Beard asked, bending over to get a better look at David’s face. “You’re face looks a little bloody.”

  It was at that moment, David realized his scarf was down around his neck and not covering his face. He was exposed. His face was uncovered, he’d just committed a series of murders, and here he was, in the stolen vehicle of a dead cop.

  David looked away from the good Samaritan and back towards the highway. He could see the trail he’d made with the truck, a white miniature half-pipe that skaters used for tricks in the park, parted flimsy trees, and then the highway beyond, nearly forty yards away. He was relieved to see no glow of emergency response vehicles, and instead the yellow hazard lights of the bearded man’s own personal vehicle.

  “What time is it?” David asked.

  “Three thirty-nine,” the bearded man said, glancing down at his digital watch. “I wouldn’t have even seen you if not for the trail you carved when you went off the road.”

  David did the simple calculation in his head and realized he’d only been out for a few minutes. He still had plenty of time to get back to the boy, even though he couldn’t get over the sense that he still needed to hurry.

  “If you wait right here,” Beard said. “I’ll go try to find some cell service and then call an ambulance—or of course, if you can walk, get out of this storm and then come to my car and then –”

  David pulled the .22 pistol from the back of his pants and shot the man between his bushy eyebrows before he could finish his list of “and thens.” Under his breath, David muttered the words, “In the name of God.” And then got onto his feet, his legs wobbling like that of a baby horse.

  When he jumped down from the upturned vehicle, his legs sunk into deep snow, causing him to fall forward and burry himself in the powder. The impact of the jump, although blunted by the cushion of the snow, still sent shockwaves of pain up and down David’s body, and he realized he was actually in more pain than he’d originally thought.

  With a loud groan, he pushed himself from the snow and stepped onto the much thinner snow in the path he’d made with the sideways vehicle. Ignoring the pain as best he could, David limped his way towards the highway, using the flashers of the bearded man’s car as a beacon to keep him focused on what he needed to do.

  *

  Although he’d slowed down considerably compared to last time, David made it back to the warehouse in decent time and without further incident. He sighed a breath of relief when he put his stolen vehicle, a newer gray Dodge pickup, into PARK.

  He sat in the truck for a moment, his head swimming with both pain from his previous car crash and endless thoughts of how badly he could have messed today up. He looked at the outside wall of the warehouse, fully aware he had abandoned his mission, the boy inside, the heir to Satan himself.

  What would The Master say? There’s no way he’d approve, and even after fulfilling his mission, David knew The Master would have very serious and angry words for him after learning of David’s extra curricular activities on the day he was supposed to be laser-focused on only one task.

  David thought about praying, but stopped himself, knowing now wasn’t the time. God already had a mission for him and so he wouldn’t waste the Lord’s time by asking for forgiveness just yet. There was work that needed to be done, and an event to prepare for.

  Unless, of course, his father finds us. David sighed again, and then looked into the rearview mirror, the first time he’d seen himself since sliding off the road and hitting the tree.

  His forehead was slick with semi-dried blood and a gash was visible above his left eyebrow. His nose had dried blood coming from both nostrils and his lower lip was fat from where it had bounced off the steering wheel. His pupils, tiny black dots in a sea of silver-gray, were slightly mismatched, one larger than the other by only a minor fraction, a sure sign of a concussion.

  David knew he needed medical attention, but he also knew that was out of the question. He’d have to suffer, have to endure, have to carry his own cross until he completed what it was God had sent him to do.

  He tore his eyes away from the mirror and opened the truck’s door, once again, feeling the miserable chill from the outside. David suddenly became a little worried that the little boy could have frozen to death while he was gone, especially since the warehouse was missing an entire section of windows, and so he hurried his pace and moved towards the door near the damaged garage door.

  Wasting no time, he opened the door and pulled hard against the wind to close it behind him. He shook off the snow as he walked, rounding a section of empty shelving before he was able to get a view into the rest of the cavernous space.

  What he saw next caused him to stop dead in his tracks, and before his brain could even process exactly what it was he was seeing, he could already feel a scream welling up from somewhere deep inside. It was a primal scream, the kind that started off low and slowly built into a high-pitched shriek.

  When he could no longer scream due to lack of oxygen, David stared, wide-eyed at the cold concrete floor, at the one empty and one broken plastic cuff lying next to the metal anchor point.

  He took in a deep breath, like an angry rhino before it charged, and stormed towards the useless restraints, bubbles of blood expanding and exploding from his nostrils as he inhaled and exhaled with every heavy step he took.

  With a wince, David ignored the pain he was in and squatted down over the cuffs. He picked up the broken one first and looked it over. On the inside portion of the plastic, he n
oticed dried blood caked around the edges from where they had dug into the boy’s wrists as he’d been pulling to get away.

  Despite the situation, David realized this was a good thing. It meant the boy had pulled himself free and that someone hadn’t come to rescue him. It meant that somewhere close by, the boy was running through the woods, alone, cold, and most definitely afraid.

  He took a quick glance around the warehouse to make sure the boy wasn’t hiding anywhere inside, especially within the darkness of the corners, and then he bolted out the front door as fast as his aching body would carry him.

  The door flew open with the force of the wind propelling it, smacking it against the side of the warehouse with a loud clank. David frantically searched around him, trying to force his eyes to pierce the blanket of snow swirling in all directions. Realizing he wouldn’t see anything that way, he looked to the ground and in an instant, saw what he’d hoped to see.

  They’d been mostly filled in by the onslaught of never-ending snow, but they were there, tiny indentions in the snow left by the feet of a child.

  David felt his heart rate increase as he started to follow the steps. He was slow at first, but eventually, he sped up as he locked onto the trail.

  The snow, the wind, and the cold, all moved to the back of David’s mind. He was focused now, he was hunting. All there was in the world now was finding the boy, finding him before he died of hypothermia or by some forest animal, or even worse, found by someone and taken to the police.

  David’s determination and anger at himself fueled him now, turning him into a wild animal in a desperate search for a life-saving meal.

  “I will find you!” David screamed at the top of his lungs without looking up from the tracks. “Do you hear me? I will find you!”

  And with those words, he stepped through the first row of trees and plunged into the white forest.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  4:15 P.M.

  I drive as fast as the conditions will allow, my knuckles white on the steering wheel as I do all I can to navigate through the blinding snowstorm. Occasionally I glance into my rear-view mirror, and I see a wide-eyed Kate in the backseat, clutching the overhead handle as if her life depends on it, her booted feet pressed firmly into the backrest of Jason’s seat.