The Man on Little Sweden

by Sam Harding

  “Yes, sir.” The words make me feel better, but not by much.

  “We saw the Butcher’s message on West’s wall. Sounds like it’s personal between him and you.”

  I nod, and then say, “Something’s not right, though.”

  “No, not at all. Never before has he used any religious texts, that really threw me for a loop.”

  “Exactly. He’s also never played games with us before, either. He’s always killed and gone into hiding for another year. But today, he not only gave me a chance to win my son back, but he went on a rampage during that time, too.”

  “Not to mention the killings before today,” Art added. “That’s new, too.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  As I think about this for a moment, Art asks, “You seriously believed Blake could have been the Butcher?”

  “Thought crossed my mind.”

  “What the hell?”

  I explain to Art my theory that law enforcement could be behind the entire thing. That for the past five years, the Butcher has always been one step ahead, like he knew exactly what we were going to do before we even did it. How it would explain him knowing where I lived, as well as knowing when to plant the evidence on Alexander Irving before the SWAT raid.

  “I hope I’m wrong,” I add. “But I can’t shake the theory, Art. A lot of evidence points to it.”

  “Well,” Art says slowly and then holds up his hands. “in case I was a suspect of yours too, as you can see, I still have all of my fingers, and have not been shot anywhere else. The same can be said for every one of my officers in this building and out on patrol, too.”

  “Believe me, Art, I don’t want him to be a cop. That’s the last thing I want.”

  “I know you well enough to know that’s not a lie.”

  I don’t say anything, just take in a deep breath and lower my head. I’m so tired, all I want to do is leave this place and spend time with my son.

  “You look like shit, Micah.”

  “I feel even worse.”

  “Go home, get some sleep.”

  “Yeah. Actually, I think I’ll go to the hospital first, see Jason.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Am I free to go?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m sorry for everything.”

  “Don’t be,” Art steps around the table and puts a warm hand on my shoulder. “Thanks to you and Jason, your son is safe, and the Butcher has some very identifiable features now.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  7:36 P.M.

  The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. The self-inflicted lashings were one thing, but this, this was on a whole new level, a level David didn’t think he could take much more of.

  He pushed through the front door of his trailer, closing it behind him using his elbow and back, and then, he slumped against it, slowly sliding down until his ass hit the carpet. Even with the soft landing, a jolt of pain shot through his body, causing the bullet hole in his right hamstring to scream at him, as well as the two buckshot holes in his left hip and side.

  Slowly, he lifted his left hand and unwrapped the strip of shirt he’d used to bandage what was left of it. He stifled cries with each unwinding of the cloth, his eyes stinging with tears that he couldn’t keep from coming. When the cloth was finally free of the mangled flesh and sticky blood, David dropped it onto the floor next to him and took in the damage.

  Three of his fingers were totally gone, blown away in an unclean mess of skin and jagged protruding bone. His pinky finger was cocked to the side, the bone pushing through the skin like a bloody white knife. And, although it hadn’t been hit by the bullet, his thumb was broken, snapped like a twig from when the bullet had impacted the barrel of the rifle.

  Blood started to flow again, dripping onto his already blood-soaked pants. He moaned and pushed his head against the door, closing his eyes as tight as he could, as if that would help with the pain.

  This had, by far, been the worst day of the Demon Slayer’s life. After getting away from the farmhouse, he’d wandered aimlessly through the snowstorm until, by the grace of God, he stumbled across another property. Either because the storm had covered his movements, or the occupants of the home hadn’t been paying enough attention, David had been able to steal their Santa Fe SUV, using its own keys that had been hidden under the visor.

  By the time he’d made it back into Solace, the storm had died down significantly, and he parked the stolen vehicle in a nearly empty Safeway parking lot. In the short trip from Cedar Falls to Solace, David had covered the interior of the car in his own blood, and he knew it would be a worthless attempt to try and clean it all up. What was the point? He’d already left blood back at the farmhouse, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt the police would be onto him the moment they tested the blood and matched it to his military records.

  The walk from Safeway to his trailer had taken well over an hour, and on numerous occasions, he thought he was going to pass out from either the pain or the blood loss. But he’d kept moving, using alleyways and unlit streets as cover, hoping the early darkness and the cover of the dying storm would be enough to get him home without being spotted by the police or some neighborhood-watch nitwit.

  He’d thought making it home would bring him great relief, but by the time he was finally able to sit down against his door, the pain was so intense, that relief seemed like nothing more than fantasy. His wounds hurt so bad, and he knew he desperately needed a hospital, but he also knew to go to a hospital would be just as effective as turning himself in to the police, and he surely wasn’t about to do that.

  No, he still had a purpose here on Earth, of that he was certain. At least, that’s what he hoped. As David sat against the door, doing his best not to move a muscle, he silently prayed, begging God for forgiveness, apologizing for failing the greatest assignment of his entire life. He had nobody to blame but himself. Had he not have left the boy alone, he would have never needed to go to the farmhouse, and would have most certainly been ready for the demons that followed him into the woods.

  “Give me another chance, Father,” he sobbed to himself. “Please send me a sign, please help my Master understand that I am deserving of another chance.”

  A sudden smell filled David’s nostrils, and at first, he thought he was smelling his own stench and blood, but then he realized it was a slightly different smell – a dead smell. He then remembered Mary, and that her body was still tied up in his bedroom, something that was supposed to be a happy sight for him after his successful mission.

  But there had been no successful mission. Only failure. And so, the smell of Mary’s corpse only brought with it more misery, and David’s cries of pain, also became cries of shame.

  He cried hard, harder than he ever had in his entire life. He cried so hard, it made his body shake, and with the shakes came more pain.

  It wasn’t until he passed out that his sobs finally ceased.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Eve's End

  Jason hasn’t even been in the hospital for three hours and he’s already got flowers and a couple of balloons lined up along the wall near the window. Most of the flowers contain little notes from his coworkers, each of them jokingly telling him to stop being a pussy and to get back to work. It’s good to see so many people care for Jason; he’s a good man, and deserves all the respect in the world.

  “Nice people I work with, huh?” He says, sitting upright in a hospital bed, his entire right arm secured in a thick cast that has already accumulated its fair share of signatures.

  “They sure came to see you fast,” I say, turning away from the cards.

  “They say the storm has pretty much passed, and with most the department home for Christmas, nobody has anything better to do than to come harass me.”

  “Why do you think I’m here?”

  “Ha, right.”

  I feel a tug on my right hand and look down to see Thomas looking back up at me. He asks in
a low whisper, his voice innocent, “Is Jason going to die?”

  I smile and look over at my friend. “Are you going to die?”

  Jason looks at the cast on his arm and winces, “God, I hope so.”

  I laugh and look back to a very worried Thomas. “No, he’s not going to die, buddy.”

  “Oh, good.”

  I look at Jason again, my face now serious. “I can’t thank you enough. I owe you—I owe you everything, Jason.”

  “No –”

  “Yes. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

  “Start by enjoying Christmas with your son.”

  “If there’s ever anything you need, anything at all—”

  “I’ll let you know, brother.”

  “When do you get out of here?”

  “If I’m lucky, tomorrow.”

  “And if you’re unlucky?”

  “Don’t wish that evil on me.” He smiles. “Probably the day after. With the medication they have me on, though, I think tomorrow is likely. I feel gooooood.”

  “I bet you do.”

  “Besides, I get a few weeks off, in case you haven’t heard. Going to drink so much beer.”

  “I bet you are.” I crack a smile.

  “Eve’s End, brother.”

  “Yeah.” My smile drops.

  “No children died today.”

  “Lots of people did, though.”

  Jason nodded. “Damned shame,” he glances down at Thomas. “Sorry.”

  I jerk my head towards the door, “How long does Cooper have to stay?” On the other side of the door, Officer Ronny Cooper is standing guard. It’s protocol, just in case the Butcher learns Jason was one of the people who had ruined his day and decides to come after him for a bit of revenge.

  “He should be getting relieved soon, but they’ve got a baby sitter on me at all times. They’ve got one on you, too, pal.”

  “They do?” Nobody had told me that at the station.

  “Sure do. They’re not following you or anything, but a couple uniforms are at your house right now, watching over the place.”

  “Shit, on Christmas?”

  “We take care of our own, you know that.”

  “I’m not a cop anymore –”

  “You were, though, and that’s enough for us.”

  “But still—”

  “If it makes you feel any better, they’re getting double time and a half on overtime.”

  “That does make me feel better,” I admit.

  “They also volunteered for it.”

  “Consider my guilt gone.”

  *

  Thomas and I say goodbye to Jason at around the time his medication really kicks in and takes away his ability to form complete sentences. We leave his room at around nine, and now stand in the elevator as it makes its slow decent to the first-floor lobby.

  When the elevator opens, we pass through the near-empty lobby and then push through the front doors of the hospital. We emerge into the crisp night air, relieved to not be nearly knocked off our feet by another gust of wind. Unlike the earlier storm, a complete calm has fallen over Solace and, in some spots, the clouds have parted, giving way to a star-filled night sky. Not even a flake of snow is falling and, for a brief moment, I feel a sense of relaxation that I haven’t felt in a very long time.

  I feel Thomas squeeze my hand again, his way of urging me towards the car, and so I obey his wishes and we make our way for my Bronco parked towards the front half of the parking lot.

  I get the back door open and strap Thomas into his seatbelt, giving the strap a slight tug just to make sure everything is as it should be. As I buckle him in, a set of headlights washes over my back, and I can hear the crunching sound of tires on snow and asphalt. I don’t think much of it until I close the back door and turn around.

  A few parking spots from me, between my Bronco and the hospital, sits a silver BMW, it’s engine still running. The driver’s side door opens, and I see a dark beanie emerge, followed by jet black hair and then a beautiful face that I’d recognize anywhere.

  “Hi, stranger,” Kathryn Shultz says, smiling at me from over the roof of her very expensive ride.

  “Hi, back.”

  “I’ve got something for you,” she says, walking around the rear end of her car, clutching something underneath her puffy black vest. When she gets to within a couple feet of me, she pulls the vest back, revealing my handgun clutched in her gloved hand.

  “I was hoping you still had this,” I say, taking the weapon from her and sliding it into my holster. “Thank you.”

  “Going home?”

  “Yeah,” I breathe. “Finally.”

  She looks at me with a slight smile on her face and then at my son through the back window of the Bronco. “I bet he’s over the moon to have you back.”

  “He’s a tough kid,” I say honestly. “Right now, he doesn’t seem too fazed, but we’ll see how he does tonight.”

  “Think you’ll be able to sleep?”

  “I’m exhausted, but probably not.”

  “Want some company?”

  “I was seriously hoping you’d ask that.”

  She stands up on her tip-toes, I lean forward, and we embrace each other in a long kiss. After a while, I can feel Thomas’s eyes drilling into my back, and I know it’s time to break away and continue this later tonight.

  “Micah—” she starts, but I put a finger over her lips.

  “I love you.”

  Her beautiful green eyes mist over and I hear a stutter in her breathing. “You—you do?”

  “Yes.” I really do.

  “I love you, too.”

  Part Three

  End Game

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Doctor's Advice

  The Man on Little Sweden sits on a chair across from me, and smiles a crooked smile, his sunken eyes darting between myself and Kate who’s seated on the couch next to me on my right-hand side. The old man looks terrible, not only are his eyes sunken in, but his cheekbones seem even more pronounced than they had been on my last visit, and even though it has got to be ninety degrees inside the room, with the fire place at full blaze, I can see the old doctor shivering underneath two layers of blankets.

  The cancer is slowly eating him alive.

  “I see you and my daughter have taken quite the fancy to each other.” His voice remains strong and deep, totally mismatched to the rest of him.

  “Uh—” I look over at Kate and she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I guess you can say that, yeah.”

  Dr. Shultz makes a throaty chuckle and then takes a sip of water before continuing. “Did my guard downstairs give you any trouble?”

  “No, different guy this time.”

  Shultz looks up at a large grandfather clock in the corner. He squints at it for several moments and then, “Ah, yes. Rick has duty in the front room half passed the hour.”

  I glance at my watch, hardly able to believe it’s almost eleven thirty. Kate and I had slept in longer than I realized, not that I’m complaining. We deserved the time with each other and we’d taken full advantage of the time we had. It had been two whole days since getting my son back and, for the first time since Dani’s death, Thomas had gotten to spend Christmas with both me, and someone who I can seriously see taking over the role of mother for him. I think he loves her just as much as I do and, best of all, she loves him, too.

  Leaving Thomas with Jason had been a hard decision to make, especially after what happened to West, but Jason had insisted, and promised me he’d keep his guard up just in case. I almost brought Thomas with me to Dr. Shultz’s place, but I feel surrounding him with unfamiliar people in a big unfamiliar place would be a little too much for him to handle right now. The first night Thomas had gone without nightmares, but last night he finally had one—said he was back in the warehouse, locked to the floor while big ravens laughed at him because they planned on eating him. When I’d suggested he spend some time with Jason for a couple hours,
Thomas had smiled from ear to ear and said he couldn’t wait to “Go sign Uncle J’s cast.”

  “Kathryn says you’re having some reservations,” Shultz continues. “Says you’re thinking about dropping the case?”

  “And pay you back your money,” I add, reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out the folded check with two fingers.

  “My bank statements show you haven’t even cashed the bloody thing, yet.”

  “Never planned to. Not until this was done, anyway.”

  “It’s not done. And yet, you are?”

  “I think so.”

  “Why?” The Doctor leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “I almost lost my son, Doctor. I lost my wife before and, this time, the hunt nearly costed me my son. I can’t continue to put him in danger like that,” I look over at Kate and then back to Shultz. “I can’t afford to put Kate in danger like that. If it hadn’t of been for the Butcher’s recklessness—his sudden urge to massacre those people in the strip club, or drive off the road—I’d never have found Thomas.”

  “I see.” He leans back, sinking into the softness of his chair. “I admire that, setting your pride aside for those you love.”

  “So, you’ll take it back?” I hold out the check.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why would I take it back when the bloody job isn’t yet over?”

  “Have you not heard a word I just said?” I feel myself starting to grow annoyed.

  “I heard every word, my boy. You make it sound as if this—this Butcher, has won, but he hasn’t. For the first time in five years, you beat him. You not only beat him, you severely wounded him. You have him on the ropes, as they say. To back down now would be absolute lunacy.”

  “How does that justify continuing to put my family at risk?”

  “Your family is and forever will be at risk as long as this man continues to roam free. Don’t you see? No matter what you do, there will be a level of risk involved, but only one of the choices you can make, involves abolishing that risk altogether.”