by Paul Seiple
"Just leave it, Daddy. Linus and me will clean up later. We need to swing before it rains," Michelle said to me as I pretended to clean up the imaginary mess left by her stuffed toys.
"OK, but tell Linus if he doesn't do a good job, no dessert for him tonight."
Michelle laughed. "Can I have his ice cream then? No need to waste it." She ran outside to the swing set.
The phone rang as I watched Michelle push Linus in the swing. Often I wondered if she would like a little brother or sister. The sibling thing was a sore subject for me. What are the odds of what I went through happening again? Pretty non-existent for most people, but then again, I’m not most people. My father passed the serial killer trait to my brother. Maybe I got lucky with Michelle. She would rather comb her dolls’ hair than chop their head offs. But what if she had a sibling? Would I be as lucky the second time? Michelle wasn’t lonely. She had friends. She had Linus. And the odds of Rebecca wanting to have another kid were close to non-existent. The phone stopped ringing. Silence shook me from my thoughts.
“Daddy, come push Linus. He likes it when you swing him high.”
Just as I was stepping outside, the phone rang again. The phone hardly ever rang. The only person that called was Rebecca. I looked at the clock — 2pm. She was shooting. There was two hours before the cast broke for lunch. I grabbed the phone, expecting the worst.
“Rebecca, is everything all right?”
“Michael, it’s Reid.”
It had been nearly four years since I had spoken to Reid Hoffman. After the wedding, we went to dinner with him and Barbara a few times, but there was always this wall between us. I figured it stemmed from the day I took him to his mother’s body. I don’t think Reid used me to find her. Even if he did, it was OK, I understood. But after the wedding, things changed. The distance grew farther. The calls stopped. I was just as guilty as him. Maybe it was because I chose to leave law enforcement. Maybe that was the bond that linked us. Or it could have been that my father murdered his mother and every time he looked me, he saw my father. And every time I saw him I felt the guilt of sins for which there was no repentance.
“Michael, are you there?”
“Yeah, long time. I thought maybe you had died.” My joke was met with silence. “Reid?”
“Can you meet me in Arlington?”
“What?”
“We need to talk, Michael. Can you come to Arlington?”
“No. There’s no way. I have Michelle and Rebecca is in San Francisco.”
“Bring Michelle with you. Barbara would love to see her. I bet she’s growing like a weed.”
“I can’t do it, Reid. Can you come here?”
“It has to be Arlington. You have to come to my house.”
“Why are you being so cryptic?”
More silence.
“Reid?”
“Your family could be in danger.”
“Stop with the one-line bullshit, Reid. What’s going on?”
“Wallace is alive.”
I dropped the receiver. A blur of motion outside the window caught my eye. Michelle was still swinging Linus. She saw me looking, smiled, and motioned for me to come outside.
Ten
Chicago, Illinois
The knock on the door startled Norman. Sudden raps always did. Part of him expected it to be the cops, but then again they would break the door down. Besides he was a master at covering his tracks. For thirty years, the world thought it was safe from the Morning Star. For thirty years, the world was an innocent lamb being led to slaughter. Life was good for Norman. Money could buy happiness and health. He was in his mid-sixties, but felt better than he did in his forties. The parasite that was his son, George, had been eliminated. Something that Norman knew had to be done, but dreaded doing himself. Death fueled Norman, but he stopped killing after Michael discovered his playground. To murder again — the payoff would have to be monumental. George served only one purpose — to kill Michael. He wasn’t worthy of Norman getting his hands bloody again.
There was another rap.
“Who is it?” Norman said.
“Sanford.”
“Password?”
“He cried like a bitch. But it’s done. And yes, he felt pain.”
Sanford heard muffled laughter from the other side of the door, followed by the doorknob turning. Norman opened the door, startled to see a woman with Sanford. She was tall. Judging by Sanford’s shoulders, Norman guessed she was about five-feet-ten-inches. Long hair that crashed over her shoulders in waves of crimson. She wore a white mini-skirt with fire-engine red heels and a matching top that stopped just above her bellybutton. Her well-toned abs were a selling point. And make no doubt about it — this woman was selling herself.
“I didn’t think you would bring company,” Norman said. “Who is this lovely lady?” He asked the question, but knew the answer. She was the redhead from the corner in front of the convenience store.
The woman tapped her heel to the tune of impatience. She twirled her hair around her fingers. “I don’t do two for ones.”
“This is your whore, boss,” Sanford said.
“I prefer professional goodtime girl, but whore works too.”
Norman smirked. “Come on in.” He stepped to the side and invited them in.
The woman ran her red nails through Norman’s beard. “You’re cute.”
“She’s lovely, Sanford. But how do you know she’s the one,” Norman whispered.
“Trust me, boss.”
The woman plopped down onto the plush couch and crossed her legs, slowly and deliberately, making sure that everyone knew she wasn’t wearing panties. “Sorry guys, but I don’t have a discount card. No buy one get one free specials.”
“We heard you the first time,” Sanford said.
Norman placed his hand on Sanford’s chest and shook his head. “Don’t worry, young lady, you’ll be rewarded generously for your time.”
“Yeah, well if the Hulk gets smart with me again, I’ll rip his nuts off with my heel. Don’t think I’m scared of you because you have a dick between your legs. The one on your head is probably bigger anyway.”
Sanford clenched his fists. Norman stroked his forearm as if he were trying to calm a savage beast.
“Hit me, motherfucker. I’ll castrate you like a bull. Try me.”
“No one is getting hit or castrated,” Norman said, pushing Sanford back. “What’s your name, young lady?”
“You can call me Hella.”
“I get it, like hell of a bitch, right?” Sanford said.
Hella scrunched her nose and smirked.
Norman laughed, but it came off more as a grunt. “No, Hella is the goddess of the Nordic realm of the dead. Is that who you take your name after?”
“Color me surprised,” Hella said.
“I’m a man of wealth, taste, and knowledge, my dear,” Norman said.
“Tell me more.”
“The name Hella is a derivative of the word kel which means to conceal. Do you like to keep secrets?”
“Keeping secrets is what I do best. Well, maybe not what I do best. But I’m damn good at it.”
“You’re not that good at it,” Sanford said. “What about that guy you killed at Congress Plaza?”
“What the fuck is this?”
“Did you enjoy it?” Norman asked.
“Fuck this. I’m out of here.” Hella stood up. Sanford blocked her path to the door. “Out of my way, Hulk.” She pushed Sanford. He didn’t budge.
“Let’s not overreact here,” Norman said. “Sanford leave us be for a few minutes.”
“Overreact? I don’t want any part of this shit.”
“Then you’re free to go.” Norman opened the door.
Hella pushed by Norman into the hall. “Freaks. I should just get a job at Tape World.”
“But would ten thousand dollars change your mind?”
Hella stopped, but didn’t turn around. “What would I have to do for this ten thousand
dollars?”
“Just talk. Good conversation is invaluable to me.”
Hella faced Norman who was smiling, motioning for her to come back into the hotel
room. “You just want to talk. That’s all?”
Norman nodded.
“And I don’t have to do anything with Steroid Floyd in there?”
Norman chuckled. “If you would feel more comfortable, I’ll ask Sanford to leave.”
“Just give me your word, that’s all I need.”
“The only thing I hold at a higher regard than good conversation is trust, my dear. You have my word.”
Hella walked by Norman back into the room. He caught a whiff of her perfume. Lilac — the smell of innocence masking an evil that Norman knew resided inside of Hella. Why else would she pay homage to a goddess of the dead? She hid it well. Maybe she was embarrassed by it or maybe she didn’t know how to control it, so she kept it wrapped tightly in her psyche. Norman knew how to control it. He had been doing it his whole life.
Hella plopped back down on the plush couch, kicked off her heels, and buried her feet underneath her thighs. “You got anything to drink, Daddy Warbucks?”
“Anything you like, my dear.”
“How about a Jack and Coke?”
Norman made drinks for the both of them —a Jack and Coke for Hella and a Scotch on the Rocks for him.
“You didn’t spike this with anything, did you?” Hella held the glass to the light before drinking.
“If we are going to be partners, you’re going to have to learn to trust me,” Norman said.
“Partners?”
Norman took a seat in a chair to the right of Hella. He took a sip of his drink and sat it on the end table. “Tell me about the man you murdered?”
“Are you a cop? You know this has to be some form of entrapment.”
“I’m the furthest thing from the law. Remember trust?”
“Are you the guy’s father? Look, he was going to kill me. I had no choice.”
Norman took another sip of Scotch. “Death never requires an explanation. Tell me what happened.”
“Ten thousand dollars will go a long way,” Hella whispered, before downing the Jack and Coke. “OK, it went down like this.”
Hella proceeded to tell Norman that the guy came around asking for two scoops of vanilla, which meant nothing kinky, just a blowjob and sex. First-time Johns didn’t know the code, so she felt pretty safe with him. When they got back to his hotel room, he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her face into a dresser. Hella briefly stopped the story to show Norman a scar under her chin. She woke after the guy waved smelling salts under her nose. Her ankles were tied together, so she couldn't run if she broke free. He left her hands untied, so she could fight. He was above her, naked, straddling her chest with a hunting knife tight between his fists. That’s when she introduced him to Cleopatra.
“Cleopatra?” Norman asked.
Hella pulled down her blouse to reveal a Remington M95 Double Derringer wedged in her bra. “Dumb bastard had such a hard-on for killing me that he never took my clothes off. His mistake.” She continued, telling Norman that she pulled the pistol with a three-inch barrel and shot the guy right between the eyes. He never knew what hit him. “Cleopatra is the reason I’m not scared of assholes like your freak.”
“How did you feel after? Did you feel any remorse?”
“What the hell is this? The Phil Hamlin Show?” Hella slipped her feet back into her shoes. “I could use the money, but this is really weird.”
“When did the thirst begin?” Norman asked.
“Thirst? I’m not an alcoholic. I’m not a junkie. That’s it, I’m out of here.”
Hella stood up to leave. Norman grabbed her wrist. Lightly, barely any pressure. He meant no harm. “For me, it started when I was a teenager. Death seduced me with its touch. I tried to ignore it, but it had already fallen in love with me. It’s not a curse that it chose us. It’s a blessing. Please sit.”
Hella sat down. This time she wasn’t as relaxed as before. She held her body tight. Every muscle tensed in a defensive stance. “Who are you?” The question was barely above a whisper.
“My dear, I’m the closest thing this world has to the Devil. My name is Norman Wallace. You’re probably too young to have ever heard of me. But I’ve killed more women than I care to count. And I’ve inspired countless other heathens to do the same.”
“I think I’m going to need another drink,” Hella said.
“There’s no need to hide who you are. Once you accept the fact that you aren’t one of God’s children and become yourself, you’ll truly be free. Let me let you in on a little secret — I’m here, flesh and bone. Where’s this God everyone lives their life to impress? I’ll tell you where he is — he’s having tea with the Easter Bunny. I’m real.”
Hella felt the tension ease. She spoke. This time a little louder. “The thirst started when I was sixteen.”
Norman’s smile encouraged her to continue.
“Robbie Eanes was a senior. The star quarterback. It was the summer after my freshman year. I was awkward. No experience with boys. Robbie lived two houses from me. One day at the pool, he told me that I was pretty. And then he raped me. That’s the day death fell in love with me.”
“You wanted to kill Robbie?” Norman asked.
“Well, at first I wanted to die. But after I left the pity party, yes I wanted to kill him.”
“We can make that happen, dear.”
“He’s already dead. He OD’d on heroin at a frat party in college,” Hella paused and smiled. “Funny thing — he wasn’t even a user.”
Norman grinned.
“Red is not my natural hair color. It's the color of hate. Robbie didn’t even recognize me, not that he would have even if I were still blonde. He thought it was his lucky day. He’d get laid without having to force someone to have sex with him. He thought differently when I shoved the needle in his arm. I made damn sure that he knew the freshman he raped was his end.”
“We are going to be so good together,” Norman said. “Let me get you another drink.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything other than talking. What do you have in mind?”
“Are you familiar with the Bible?” Norman handed Hella another Jack and Coke.
“I know it’s a book.” She smirked and took a sip of her drink.
“I want you to be my whore of Babylon. My mother of harlots. My abominations of Earth.”
“But you just said God doesn’t exist. Only crazy people get inspiration from fairy tales.”
Norman chuckled. “Oh, but the world believes in God. Unfortunately, for the world to believe in me, I have to play along with the charade.”
“What’s this gig pay?” Hella asked.
“You’ll never have to spread your legs for this filthy world again.”
“I kinda like spreading my legs for filth." She took another swallow of her drink. "I’m not saying yes, but what does this whore of Babylon do?”
The look of acceptance on Hella’s face was enough to assure Norman that she was on board. He took a sip of Scotch and rubbed his lips together. “Put the ax to religion. Hit as close to their God as we can.”
“And how do we do this?”
“We silence the messengers that spread his word.”
Eleven
Charlotte, North Carolina
The tugging at my arm shook me from the stupor.
“Daddy, you said you would push Linus. He’s waiting.”
I looked down. Innocent blue eyes gazed up at me. My family was my life. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep them safe. I had spent the last seven years wearing blinders by putting faith in the assumption that my biological father was dead. Foolishly believing that my family’s cancer died with my brother. I wanted to believe that so bad that I refused to face reality. Norman Wallace’s body was never found. Reid told me years ago that he thought Norman was the puppet pulling my brother’s strings. I
believed him then. Why in the hell did I stop believing after George’s death? I was the one to uncover Norman’s secret life. Just a six-year-old riding his tricycle into the horror show starring my father. Norman wanted me dead. He always would as long as he was alive. How could I have been such a fool to ignore that?
“Daddy, come on before it gets too dark. I don’t want the boogeyman to get us.”
The boogeyman — a fictitious character invented to keep children on the straight and narrow. My life blurred the line between fiction and reality. A real-life boogeyman wanted to get us. I was afraid. Not for myself. But for this sweet little blonde-hair angel that only wanted me to swing her teddy bear. The heat of embarrassment singed my cheeks. I was a coward. I didn’t leave Homicide because of what had transpired seven years ago. I left because I was running away from the inevitable. Anger shook me like a loved one trying to wake me from a coma. The irony — for years, I was afraid to close my eyes because of the nightmares. The dreams died with George, but then I fell victim to a deep sleep from reality. No longer. My eyes were wide awake.
Reid? He lied to me. For seven years he knew my father was still alive. His secret placed my family in danger. How could I ever trust him again? I doubted that I ever could, but I knew I had to go to Arlington. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. I couldn’t spend every day worrying about my family’s safety.
“Daddy, why is the phone making a funny noise?”
The receiver dangled inches above the floor. A rapid, busy signal bounced off the kitchen floor.
“Shit.” I looked at the clock. Rebecca usually called around 4pm to check on us. It was 5:30. “Daddy, didn’t say that word, OK, Chelle?”
