Angel Board

by Rufty, Kristopher

  Tracking him down. Now she sounds like a cop. Great. I’ve created a monster.

  “I didn’t want you to do that,” he said. “What if he saw you?”

  “He didn’t, and besides, he doesn’t know who I am.”

  Stiltson leaned back in the seat. He was riding shotgun this time, allowing Giles to have the wheel. When Giles ran inside the cable office to pay a bill, Stiltson saw it as a chance to phone Carrie and play catch up. He hadn’t spoken to her since before Amber Barker’s funeral. He was curious what she had been up to, and now he wished he didn’t know.

  “That’s not the point,” he said. “If he’s got a good memory, which I’m sure he does, he may spot you snooping around his place and recognize you as the chick he saw at…”

  “He won’t,” she quickly added.

  Stiltson’s phone beeped in his ear. Pulling it away from him, he read the screen. Sam Corban was calling. She would have to wait. He had more important matters to tend to right now. Stiltson sighed and asked, “Where did you follow him to?”

  “The library.”

  “What?” Stiltson shot up in his seat. “The one in town?”

  “Yes, the public library.” She spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly. “I was about to leave. I saw him go to his car. He drive to library, I follow. He Tarzan, I Jane.”

  Stiltson couldn’t hold back the laughter. He wanted her to realize how upset he was with her, but her cuteness and playful demeanor was hard to resist. “You’re too much.”

  “Yeah, but you like me.”

  He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  “I knew it.”

  “Tell me one more time. What day was this?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. New Year’s Eve.”

  “You’re glad I followed him, aren’t you?”

  Stiltson took a cigarette out of the pack. He shook the pack. Three left. He’d have to make a stop for more soon. Too bad Carrie wouldn’t be there to sell them to him.

  “I’m not saying that,” said Stiltson. “I’ll say this though, it’s a good thing you did.”

  He could almost hear her blushing through the phone. It beeped again. Checking the screen, he saw he had a new voicemail.

  Good, he thought. I’ll call Sam back later.

  “What’s next, boss?” asked Carrie.

  The phone was away from his ear, but she spoke so loudly he could hear her fine. He returned the phone next to his ear. “If you get a chance, ride by his place today, see what he’s up to, and call me.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes, don’t hang around. Just observe for maybe ten minutes and call me. I’m getting really curious as to what he’s up to.”

  The driver side door opened and Giles sat down. He rubbed his freezing hands together vigorously in front of the vent as it huffed out hot air. Stiltson could see they had turned red from the frosty temperature outside. He wondered why Giles hadn’t purchased a decent pair of gloves yet. He’d told him to often enough.

  Stiltson also realized he was still talking to Carrie and hadn’t bothered hanging up with her. He didn’t care anymore about trying to keep it a secret, and never should have in the first place.

  “Well, what are you gonna do?” asked Carrie.

  “I’m gonna swing by the library and find out what I can.” He looked at Giles, who was watching him blankly. “And I’ve got to confess what I’ve been doing to my dear, understanding partner, who would never judge me no matter what I’ve done.”

  Carrie laughed. “He busted you talking to me, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “What am I gonna do with you?”

  “I don’t know. I wish someone did, though.”

  She laughed again. “I think when I call you, you better have a good idea what you want for dinner.”

  A tingling shot of heat rushed over the back of his neck, causing the hairs to stand on end. “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m coming over to your place and cooking for you. That’ll be an even trade for what you’ve had me out doing.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but before he could answer, she said, “So get to thinking. I’ll call you in a bit.”

  And hung up.

  He flipped the lid shut and put the phone away in his coat pocket.

  “Well,” said Giles. “I take it we’re going to the library.”

  “Uh–yes, we are.” Stiltson didn’t look over at Giles. He kept his eyes glued straight ahead.

  “And I take it you’ve got some explaining to do?”

  “Yes, you would be correct in that department as well.”

  “So, get to talking.”

  “Drive, I’ll talk along the way.”

  He turned the key, cranked the car. Putting it into drive, he floored it.

  Carrie hung up the phone. She thought about taking it with her, but figured the less she had to carry the better. Seraph Heights was just ahead. She’d arrived there an hour earlier to check things out. So far, it had been quiet. No sign of Mr. Barker. She felt gratified that Stiltson had called, but not surprised. She also was feeling a bit guilty about not telling him she had been there the entire time they were talking.

  In her defense, she wanted him to be proud. Thankful for how serious she was taking his request. She hoped it would show him how much she cared. It was surprising to her how much she did care in such a short amount of time. Studying Stiltson, she could tell he was a man built of pain and torment. Carrie so desperately wanted to be the shining light and release to all his troubles.

  Replace the bad with something good, she thought. And she wanted to be the good for him. Carrie expected him to be fearful of it at first, due to their age differences, but was certain he’d eventually come around. He wouldn’t have asked her to do this for him if he didn’t care, right?

  “Of course not,” she mumbled. “He’d have gotten another cop to do it for him. Anyone, really.”

  I’m special.

  She decided to take her purse, phone included, after all. She had a can of pepper spray inside, and did not want to risk it falling out of her pocket. Plus, if she felt scared enough to carry it any closer, then she should not be doing this at all.

  She opened the door and stepped out in the cold. A gust of wind whipped at her. She zipped her coat up as high as it would go and tugged her hat down lower, covering her ears.

  She shut and locked the door.

  Traffic was light, so crossing the street was easy. On the other side, she walked to the rusted iron gates at the entrance. The mansion was on the other side. She was surprised on her first trip out here that the landlord didn’t keep the gates locked. But, lucky for her, he didn’t. She was glad she didn’t have to climb over the fence. The top had jagged points that could cause some serious damage. But she would have risked it anyway for Stiltson.

  The gate was heavy and took some force to open. When it did, the rusted hinges screamed. They needed to be oiled in a bad way.

  Walking briskly, she trooped across the main walkway. A courtyard was on her left. A couple of young guys, probably her age, she assumed, were playing football. Even in the cold they could not stop playing such childish games.

  Typical, she thought.

  As she approached the fountain, the house was straight ahead. The statue in the frozen waters of the fountain was a cupid-like cherub, bow and arrow aimed, ready to fire on unsuspecting lovebirds. The water had iced over in midstream. Layers upon layers of icicles drooped over the ends of the fountain into the solid mass of the pool.

  Pennies, nickels, and quarters were trapped inside the glacier.

  She shivered looking at it, but not from the cold. There was an eerie quality to it that made her uneasy. She quickly moved ahead.

  As she neared Seraph Heights, she studied it in great detail. Before, she had only paced the floors and hallways, waiting for a peep at David. T
oday, she admired its pastoral appearance. It resembled a castle more than a mansion. She was saddened by what Stiltson had told her about it becoming a bad place to be at night. Held within its walls was years of history.

  “What a waste,” she muttered, and entered through the front door.

  If I ever make enough money, she thought, I’m going to buy this place and restore it back to the way it used to be.

  Inside, she took the stairs, careful to avoid any accidental run-ins with David. He did not appear to be violent, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. When she saw him for the first time, she found him to be extremely cute. Lonely. She could not help feeling sorry for him while trailing him to the library.

  She opened the door labeled with a substantial 6, his floor. The once-lustrous black paint had faded. She opened the door, peeked her head around the corner, and checked both ways before stepping into the hall.

  His apartment was the last one on the left. Number sixteen. Walking past the doors, she could hear the muffled sounds of voices, TVs, and radios. Seemed everyone there was busy doing something.

  So am I, she thought. Busy being sneaky.

  She enjoyed it. It was a sick kind of excitement for her. Prowling around in the hallways, spying. It was fun. There was a sense of danger about it, but nothing serious. If it ever came to that, she would stop.

  Would you really?

  She wasn’t so sure.

  Creeping closer to his door, she expected to stumble upon a neighbor wandering the halls, curious as to what she was doing. Would they suspect she was up to no good? Or worse, if she bumped into David while nearing his door, would he recognize her? What would she say? Carrie could see it now. David coming out of his apartment, arms full of laundry. Stopping in front of her, he would look at her, the expression on his face showing that he was trying to remember where he had seen her before. She could lie and say she was lost, looking for an old friend’s apartment.

  Like he’d believe that.

  She passed 14. Then 15. And stopped in front of 16. Unlike all the other doors, which were shut tight, this one was not. It was opened a crack. Not enough to see inside. Just enough to allow some light into the dim hallway.

  A white light.

  The gloom in the hallway seemed to be the color of apple cider. By contrast, the light from David’s room looked bleached. Gazing into the open spot, her eyes ached. Squinting, she could only see hints of a wall through the slit.

  Now what?

  She decided to risk it all and peek inside. If he was up to no good, she could tell Stiltson, and he would be really impressed with what she’d done for him.

  Fixing her feet firmly on the floor, she leaned against the panel. One eye closed, she tried to peer inside. She could see a living room from there. And maybe part of a kitchen. That was where the bright light seemed to be coming from. Holding her breath, she listened for any sounds of movement, a TV, voices, but heard none of them. She began to wonder if he was even home.

  Make this quick, she thought. Just open the door a hair and look inside. Take a quick glance, then go call John. Quick and thorough.

  She placed her fingertips on the door, gently pushing it open. Not much farther, just enough for her head to squeeze through. The light was brighter, engulfing her in its glow. She stuck her head around the edge of the door. Much like she had suspected, the bright light was coming from the nearby kitchen. The petite living room was to the left. There didn’t seem to be anyone inside.

  The door slammed against her throat. Her air was cut short. Open-mouthed, she tried to breathe, but the pressure was too tight to allow any air in, and the door was slowly pressing inward more and more. Her lungs began to burn. Something in her neck felt as if it were about to snap. If she didn’t get her head free, it surely would. As her vision blurred, her eyes bulged wet and round.

  She planted her hands flat on the door and pushed against the force that was slowly killing her. It didn’t budge. Not a bit. Now she really began to panic. She wanted to call for help, but couldn’t produce a sound.

  I’m gonna die, this is it, I’m gonna die.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about John. His smile. His eyes. She wanted to see them again, ached to see him again. Damn it, she would see him again.

  She began slapping and kicking the door. It did nothing to dislodge her, but it was surely loud. If she couldn’t get herself out of this, maybe one of the neighbors would hear and come to help.

  As if whoever was on the other side had considered the same thing, the strain vanished and the door opened. Carrie staggered back, clutching her throat with both hands. Though she was free, her throat still felt as if it were being pressed in a vise. She heaved, but the air just wouldn’t come. Finally, she coughed, gagged, and sucked in some air. It was just a tease, and she needed more.

  She caught a glimpse of her attacker and wondered if her brain still wasn’t getting the oxygen it required to work clearly. Because it wasn’t David Barker she’d seen inside the apartment as she had originally thought. In fact, this wasn’t a person at all. It was an angel. When she was growing up, her family went to church weekly. The image of the angel had been cemented into her brain, and this was an exact replica in every detail of what she’d been taught as a kid.

  Her legs began moving on their own. Before she even realized it, her feet were carrying her back down the hall in a direct path for the stairs. She stole glances over her shoulder. No one was following her. Thank God.

  She slammed her shoulder against the exit door to the stairwell, banging it open. It pounded against the wall. Carrie found the stairs and took them several at a time. She was on the bottom floor in record time.

  The entrance was just ahead, and she didn’t slow down as she raced for it. If she could get outside, into the courtyard, she’d be all right. Those guys outside playing football could help her. Not the kind of person she would trust in usual conditions, but this was not a usual condition.

  The front door was heavy, and she couldn’t open it as swiftly as she wanted. It caught, stopping her solid. She pushed against it with all her might, but it did nothing to speed up the process. Finally, it opened enough that she could squeeze through.

  And she was outside, in the cold. The sky above her was gray and murky. It looked near dark, but was actually early afternoon. Judging by the bleakness of the clouds, Carrie wondered if it was going to snow. She found it odd that was what was on her mind so soon after nearly being killed.

  Carrie allowed herself to catch her breath. She felt safer out here. The urgency to retreat seemed to have fled. But she wasn’t ready to believe all the danger was gone. Instead of running, she trotted up the brick walkway. The frozen, iced-over cherub fountain came into view. It halted her. She was immediately drawn to the statue, unable to look away from it.

  It pulled her to it.

  Literally.

  She was hefted into the air and soaring at it. The ground under her whisked by in a blur of red and gray. She felt hands clenching her hips, hoisting her into the air. Then the grip was gone and she was flying. She’d been tossed like nothing more than a bag of garbage at the curb. Her arms and legs flailing, she rocketed toward the cherub. Just before striking, she saw what she was bearing down on.

  The point of the concrete arrow. The tip, the size of a football, ripped through her chest like it was tissue. Blood-soaked and dripping, it exploded out of her back. She dangled from it, her legs spastically kicking as the last spasms of life seeped out of her.

  Then she was still. Her last thoughts were of John and how she wouldn’t get to cook him that wonderful dinner he deserved. Her final prayer was that he would find happiness.

  Chapter Thirty

  Stiltson stared up at Carrie, impaled and drooping stiffly from the arrow, and lost all feeling in his body from the waist down. He staggered, nearly dropping, but Giles caught him under the arm and kept him on his feet. They hadn’t even made it to the library yet
before the call had come over the radio. When Stiltson heard the address, he knew right away that the call was about Carrie.

  “Is that her?” he heard Giles ask.

  He hoped Giles could figure it out from the stunned expression on his face, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell him that yes, as a matter of fact, it was. Carrie’s blood had already congealed in the cold, frozen red streaks lining down and stopping just above the brick walkway. Her skin was the same hoary shade as the sky.

  Half a dozen uniformed officers moved around the body. They shouted at each other, the apparent confusion of the situation making them resort to anger. Stiltson knew he needed to get this scene under control. With the small number of cops available, they had at least three times as many onlookers, morbid assholes who wanted a glance of an actual dead body. Luckily, the press hadn’t shown yet, but they would soon.

  Stiltson’s anger began to fester. He jerked away from Giles and stormed to the befuddled uniforms.

  “Listen up! I want this area blocked off with tape and tarped in a twelve-foot radius from each side. And make it fucking quick. I want it done before the news assholes start showing up. We need to keep this area secure and private until our investigation of the scene has been completed.”

  The officers nodded and spread out. Two stayed behind to help maintain order with the crowd. Giles stood by Stiltson’s side. Stiltson, walking back to the fountain, reached inside his coat and found a cigarette. He put it to his lips and had it flamed in one smooth motion. As he was passing some of the spectators, he noticed one of them was hurriedly snapping pictures with his phone. A young kid, no older than eighteen, seemed too eager and excited for Stiltson’s taste. He understood the right to see and observe, but right now he didn’t give a shit.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said, snatching the phone out of the kid’s hand.

  “Hey! That’s my iPhone.”

  Displayed on the screen was a high-resolution picture of Stiltson’s dead girlfriend. Rage bubbled under Stiltson’s skin. He was surprised no one noticed his flesh popping like popcorn under tinfoil. Stiltson knew what the kid would do with these pictures once he got back to his room. No doubt that he lived here, and was planning to run upstairs and dump all these snapshots on the Internet. Bastard.