by Dan Ames
Rachel suddenly looks scared. She opens the tub drain with her foot to let the water drain, then stands and begins toweling her body.
As she's toweling off, the steam from the shower surrounds her.
Rachel continues to dry off, she's bent over, drying her legs.
When she straightens up, mist clears a bit from the mirror and now she looks into it as she towels her hair.
She finishes, straightens her hair with her hand, then wraps the towel around her body.
Rachel opens the bathroom door and is about to step through it when a hand clamps around her throat.
40
Vincent pulls in front of his house in the circular drove. Detective Ponko's unmarked squad car is parked in front, also.
As Vincent walks to the front door, Ponko intercepts him.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks, so do you.”
“A bit touchy.”
“I've got nothing to say to you, Detective, without my lawyer present.”
Vincent unlocks his door and walks inside, but he leaves the front door open. Detective Ponko follows.
Vincent throws his keys on the kitchen table.
“Okay, that's cool. Just wanted you to know that we're in the process of bringing in your girlfriend Rachel Levin,” she says.
Vincent turns quickly, his eyes flashing in anger.
“Rachel. Why?”
“What exactly do you know about Miss Levin? Other than what she looks like naked.”
“I know that Rachel has nothing to do with this.”
“She wouldn't hurt a flea, right?”
Vincent doesn't respond.
“I'm guessing by your silence that you know all about her murder conviction.”
“Manslaughter. And that was a long time ago.”
“Have you rehabilitated her with your dick?”
“You know, I'm sick and fucking tired of your tasteless, crude jokes. And I’m not answering any questions without a lawyer.”
“Sorry, sorry. I had a troubled childhood that's why my mouth and mind are always in the gutter.”
“Rachel was abused by her father. She tried to get help, she tried a lot of things. Yes, she killed him, but she was only fourteen years old.”
“Once a killer...”
“That's bullshit. She's got nothing to do with this.”
“Did she know about you and Vicki?”
Vincent shakes his head, "no."
“Are you sure?”
“I just told her this morning, she was pretty upset.”
“Maybe she was acting upset. Maybe she already knew, and that's why she strung up Vicki Lee. Just like her Daddy.”
“In this scenario, Rachel killed Demetrius Carr? All seven feet, three hundred pounds of him? Come on, even you can do better than that.”
Ponko laughs at the jab.
“Well, despite your diagnosis, Doctor, we've got a car going to her place to pick her up.”
“You're wasting your time.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. At least you know your tax dollars are hard at work.”
She leaves and Vincent stands at the kitchen sink, his hand on the edge of the counter, his head hanging down.
The phone rings. Vincent crosses the room and picks up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“I think I've figured out who's doing this. And why,” Rachel says. “Come to my place, right now, Vincent. I think I'm in danger, too. Hurry, and make sure no one follows you. I think we're both being watched.
“Rachel!...Wait, Rachel!...Shit!”
He thumbs the disconnect button on the phone and runs for his keys.
41
Vincent is driving quickly, weaving in and out of traffic.
He keeps checking in the rearview mirror. And there, clearly, is the front nose of an unmarked squad car. It is following Vincent.
“Shit.”
On Vincent's right, a semi-truck is accelerating in the slow lane. Vincent checks his mirror again, then tromps on the accelerator. His powerful car leaps forward and he swerves across lanes, getting ahead of the semi.
He crosses the lane and ends up in the far right lane, then slams on his brakes hard.
Vincent is now dropping behind the semi. Once he is well behind the semi, he crosses toward the fast lane again, keeping several cars between his own car and the cop car.
The unmarked cop car races to the semi, blocked of any view of Vincent, and passes it. The driver sees the deserted lane behind him and brakes accordingly. He is now dropping back along the semi.
Vincent now makes his move. With the cop blocked by the semi, he shoots into the fast lane and floors his car. He shoots ahead of the traffic and is quickly doing 100 m.p.h.
The other cars, as well as the cop are far behind him now.
He is driving like a madman, continuing the 100 m.p.h. pace until he sees his exit, then takes it, barely negotiating the turn.
Vincent pulls into the driveway of Rachel's house, a bungalow. He opens the front door and walks in.
Rachel is sitting on the couch, her back to Vincent. She is holding the phone to her ear. Vincent walks up behind her.
“Rach...”
She doesn't answer.
Vincent takes a step closer.
“Rachel, what–“
As he steps closer, he is able to see the phone more clearly.
A long stream of blood is making its way down the phone.
Vincent reaches into his jacket for his gun, hears a step behind him, half-turns, and is clobbered by a crowbar to the head.
42
Vincent wakes up. He is laying face down on a thick red carpet. He is inside what appears to be a honeymoon suite, complete with a large heart-shaped bed. Two velvet colored chairs and a television set are on the other side of the room.
On the bed is Rachel. She is naked.
Vincent stands and attempts to get his bearings. He sees Rachel on the bed and goes to her. He checks her pulse, then hangs his head.
He rushes to the door, but it's locked, apparently from the outside.
43
Among the rows of parked cars is a black van.
In the back of the van a small black-and-white monitor is displaying the image of Vincent standing in the motel room.
The killer is watching. He is wearing a headset and microphone.
In the very rear of the van is Bonnie, bound and gagged. Annabel is also bound and gagged, but is sitting next to the killer.
44
The killer's voice fills the room. It sounds tinny, as if it's coming through an inexpensive speaker.
“Hello, Vincent.”
Vincent looks around the room.
“This is the big night, Doctor. You and the fair Rachel are finally going to consummate your relationship. I know you already have, but hey, let's all play along, okay?”
Vincent looks closely at Rachel and his jaw hardens.
“Fuck you, you monster. Why have you been doing this to me?”
“Oh, Vince. Poor, poor Vince. Don't worry your panic-filled little head about these things. You've got far more important things to concentrate on.”
“What?”
“I meant to congratulate you on your attempt to save Vicki, if you hadn't panicked so much, you could have saved her. You did a much better job with Demetrius. They say that he may regain some use of both hands. Impressive, Vincent. You've come a long way, since we started your treatment.”
“You were there...watching. You sick bastard.”
“Of course I was. As director of your medical program, I've got to be aware of your progress. And really, surveillance is quite simple with a few high-tech toys.”
Vincent looks around the room.
“Enough of this Vincent, let's talk about your next session. This will be crucial to your development.”
“Fuck you. I'm not doing anything but figuring a way out of this room, calling the cops, and then watching your ass rot in prison for the re
st of your miserable life you sick fucking bastard.”
“Okay, Vincent, that sounds fair enough. But before you get started, someone wants to say hi.”
“Daddy...
Vincent shakes his head, squeezes his eyes tight.
“No...”
45
“Okay. Now, Vincent, listen carefully. I have in my hand an extremely large and incredibly sharp knife,” the killer says.
“Don’t hurt her, please,” Vincent says.
“I am now placing the tip of the knife against your precious daughter's left eyeball.”
The killer has left the duct tape off of Annabel's mouth, and she now starts crying and whimpering.
The killer straddles her and places one of his hands on her head. The knife is at the tip of Annabel's eye.
“Do you know what happens when someone gets stabbed in the eye, Vincent? The occipital orb is punctured and aqueous humor seeps from the socket. It's incredibly painful, but not really life-threatening. So your daughter will be very much alive, she'll just be a Cyclops. A one-eyed freak. She can be a pirate on Halloween and not have to worry about a costume.”
“Don't touch her.”
“Of course, you can prevent it all by performing a simple task.”
“Name it, I’ll do whatever you want. Just, please, don’t hurt her.”
“It's time to overcome your performance anxiety, Vincent. This is a crucial step in rectifying your cowardice, your penchant for freezing up under adverse circumstances.”
Annabel yelps and Vincent flinches.
“I want you to fuck your dead girlfriend. I want you to fuck her - if you can. That is, if you can rise to the occasion, so to speak.”
Vincent stands stock still.
“Fuck her, or I'll stab your daughter in the eye, Vincent. I'll give you one minute to start. If you have not achieved penetration in one minute, I'll blind her left eye. If you have not achieved penetration in two minutes I'll blind her other eye. If you have not begun humping after three minutes, I move onto Bonnie. Get the idea?
“Please. Kill me. Do whatever you want to me, just don't touch them.”
“Oh, I plan on killing you all right. I just feel we need another session or two to really work out your problems. Forty-three seconds and counting.”
“Please, I'll give you everything I have. I've got-“
“The only thing you can give me of any value is proof that you are cured of your problem. Once you've shown me you can perform under pressure, I'll have everything I need. Now get over there and throw the knockwurst at Rachel. Look at this way, she's not going to say no.”
“You fucking bastard,” Vincent says. He is on the verge of sobbing.
“Fifteen seconds and counting.”
Vincent walks to the bed and looks at Rachel. He's crying as he unbuckles his pants.
46
Annabel jumps from the killer's lap and runs to Bonnie. She buries her head in Bonnie's sweater. Bonnie does her best to cover her daughter's ears.
On the television set, the image of Vincent climbing on top of Rachel is reflected. He is still.
“Come on, Vincent.”
Slowly, Vincent's naked butt starts moving up and down.
On the monitor, the same image is being watched by the killer.
Vincent is on top of Rachel, but he is scanning the room. At last, his eyes fall to the television set and focus on it.
“Look at the fuck machine go. Damn, you should do some porno flicks, Vince.”
Vincent reaches out to the small table next to the bed. A cheap alarm clock is sitting there.
“Why don't you rub her...there...a little bit, Vince? She needs some pleasure, too. Don't be a selfish lover, Vince.”
Vincent judges the distance from the bed to the television set.
“Why don't you switch to doggy, Vincent, I think she likes it that way-“
Suddenly, Vincent lunges from the bed, and in one swift motion rips the alarm clock from the wall and hurls it at the television set. It's a perfect shot. The glass screen implodes to reveal a small video camera, microphone and speaker inside. The video camera is demolished.
47
The screen of the monitor goes to static. The killer leaps into the driver's seat.
He throws it into gear and guns the van out of the parking lot.
48
Vincent has thrown on his pants and he now hurls himself against the door. It doesn't budge. He stands back and makes another run. The door moves a bit this time.
The door of the motel room buckles under Vincent's third attack, but the crude lock fashioned on the outside of the door holds.
Vincent hurls himself against the door. This time the center of the door splinters. He rears back and kicks hard with his foot, opening a long column in the door. Vincent continues to kick hard until there is at last a space big enough for him to work his way through, which he quickly does.
The van squeals its tires as it races from the lot. Vincent, clad only in his pants, runs after the van. The vehicle swerves around a row of parked cars.
Vincent chases it, jumps on top of the parked cars and runs across the tops of them, still barefoot. The van makes it by him, and Vincent jumps off the car, in hot pursuit.
Suddenly, the van slams on its brakes and Vincent sees the backing lights blink on. He looks behind him and realizes he's trapped. The van's rear tires burn rubber as it hurtles backward toward Vince.
Just as it looks like the van is going to squash Vincent against a parked car, he scrambles up the parked car's hood. The van crashes into the car and Vincent is thrown off to smash against another car. He falls between the two, bleeding from the head.
The van accelerates ahead, hurtles itself around the final row of cars and storms out of the motel's entrance, into the night.
Vincent staggers to his feet and limps toward the street, then watches the van disappear into the darkness, a helpless look on his face.
Vincent is standing by the side of the bed. He is looking at Rachel. He has put on his shirt and checks his wallet to see if there is money left in it. There is.
In the distance, police sirens begin wailing.
A tear escapes Vincent's eye as he brushes a strand of hair from Rachel's face. Slowly, he pulls the sheet over her face. He sits on the bed, and holds his head in his hands. With his eyes closed, he begins to remember something.
49
In his minds eye, Vincent remembers a scene. It is the attack in Rachel's apartment. Vincent sees himself turn and then the killer swings the crowbar. In his memory, he sees the killer swing the crowbar again. Another swing. Another. Another.
Vincent's eyes snap open.
“Oh God.”
50
A cab pulls up and Vincent peers up at his office window. It is dark. He pays the fare, then steps out of the cab. He has pulled himself together, but there is still a streak of blood running down the side of his face.
He pulls out his key and enters the building.
Vincent is going through a file.
He finds the L section and flips past folders. Little. Lord. He stops at Lucas.
Vincent goes to his desk and lets out a deep breath. He opens the file. There is a picture of Miles Lucas, the amateur tennis player Vincent has been treating for the past year.
Vincent leans back in his office chair, again remembering something.
Miles Lucas is playing a match. Vincent is watching from a box seat. Miles is running back and forth along the baseline, hitting strong groundstrokes. With a burst of speed, running right at Vincent, he hits a running forehand for a winner. The crowd cheers.
In Vincent's mind's eye, Miles hits the running forehand. Then he hits it again. And again. And again.
Suddenly, the image of the man with the crowbar overlaps the image of Miles hitting the forehand.
The stroke, the body size and shape, are all identical.
Vincent is leaning back in his chair.
“Miles. Miles
Lucas. Why?”
Vincent rips open the file folder and hunches over it intensely.
“Mother. Jean-Marie Lucas.”
He scans down farther. The blank next to the word Father is empty. Vincent scans back up to the phone number next to the mother's name. He punches it on the phone.
“Hi. Could I speak to Jean Lucas?”
He listens.
“There's no one there by that name? How long have you lived at this number? Ten years? Thank you.”
He scans back up to current address. Vincent then pulls out Lori Ponko's business card.
51
Detective Ponko is standing outside the motel room Vincent had just left. There are squad cars everywhere, their lights flashing. Rachel's body is being loaded into an ambulance. Ponko watches the gurney go into the ambulance. She has a cell phone pressed to her ear.
“Ponko.”
“Detective. This is Vincent Keyes.”
Ponko waves furiously to a uniformed officer nearby.
“Dr. Keyes. What's up? Where are you?”
“Why do you want to know where I am?”
“Well, for one thing, Rachel Levin's dead body was just found in a motel room. In fact, I just watched it get carted away. And guess what, Doc? Someone filed a missing persons on your daughter and ex-wife.”
“I didn't kill Rachel and I didn't kidnap Annabel and Bonnie.”
“I'm sure you didn't. Look, just tell us where you are and we'll get this whole thing all straightened out.”
