Chalk Man

by Tony Faggioli

  Parker glanced into the rearview mirror and replied in the privacy of his mind. “Why? Why do I have to be careful?”

  Because, Parker, some people aren’t ready for the truth. And Klink’s one of them.

  “How are they not ready?”

  They’re just not. Yet.

  Klink spoke up impatiently. “Hey? Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” Parker said. “Look. I can’t really explain that.”

  “Why not? I mean, look, Parker, it’s been a long time since I’ve partnered up with someone besides Murillo. I mean, it happens from time to time of course. Vacations. Days off. You catch a call when one or the other is out for the day and work with someone else. It’s part of the gig. I’ve worked with Campos and others . . . but you? You’re different, man.”

  Parker hit his blinker and transitioned from the 5 to the 110 to Pasadena. He was barely over the speed limit and desperate to put the dome light on but that would be a bit over the top for “a hunch.” Furrowing his brow, he shot Klink a glance and said, “Different? How?”

  Here it comes, Napoleon said with a sigh.

  “I mean . . . I dunno, bro. It’s like you’re investigating things in two ways.”

  Parker was stunned.

  So, evidently, was Napoleon. Hmm, he said.

  Parker didn’t want to clear his throat, it would show his nerves, but he had to. “I’m not following you, Klink.”

  “The hell you aren’t, man.”

  “No. I’m serious, Klink. Shit. Just spit it out.”

  “I dunno . . . I mean, when you joined the squad? All we heard about was that we had some hotshot guy from beat patrol who used to be in special forces coming over from South Central. Whatever. We’d had rookies before, and they were always assigned to Napoleon. He was pretty good at weeding out the weak ones—”

  Pretty good? Napoleon said, sounding bemused.

  “—and we figured he’d do the same with you. And he did. I mean, until what happened . . . happened.”

  Until I was shot and killed, yeah. He still can’t say it.

  “Why?” Parker thought.

  Because he’s still haunted by it, Parker. As is Murillo. I was their friend and I died on their watch; on a case they were involved with.

  Now it was Parker’s turn to say “Hmm.” He sighed and added, “I never woulda known.”

  Napoleon nodded and looked out the side window before replying, Not everyone wears their heart on their sleeve, Parker. Most folks keep it jammed deep in a pocket of denial.

  Parker turned his attention back to Klink. “And?”

  Klink took a deep breath. “During that whole case? It was like you became a different person . . . matured, I guess is the word, years . . . in a matter of days.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t try and deny it. You went from rookie to detective in the blink of an eye. And we all noticed, and we all figured you were just a natural for the job or something.”

  Parker saw his out and tried to take it. “Well, maybe that’s it—”

  Klink cut him off. “But then? Then you pulled that stunt at the motel with Murillo. Where you told him you had to get to Evergreen Park on . . . shit, it’s the same stunt you’re pulling with me right now . . . on a hunch!”

  Parker had thought it before and now he thought it again: Klink was a damned good detective.

  Napoleon seconded the thought. Yes. Yes, he is.

  “Look, Klink—”

  Klink waved him off as his pale face grew redder by the second. “I’m gonna spare you the explanation . . . because you’re my partner on this one and I need you to stay focused on whatever the hell is going on with this case. But never forget one thing, Parker.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You work in a squad room of people who are paid to observe and note things. Then figure them out. And we’re all watching you, man. We all respect you, what you’ve been through, how you’ve stepped up with Napoleon’s little nephew. Mad respect for all that. But we all suspect that you’re not telling us something. Murillo felt it the day Nap got killed. Campos said you got buggy-eyed-clairvoyant or some shit on the dance floor of the Mayan when that girl was shot and paralyzed and the bartender was murdered during the Villarosa case. And me? In that hospital room, when Joey and his mom were talking evil spirits and shit? I felt it, too.”

  A moment of silence settled between them as they continued their way up the 110. Parker knew he should feel relieved that Klink was going to spare him but instead he just felt annoyed. “Felt what?”

  Klink’s reply was instant. “That you know something about this case that you’re not telling me. And that pisses me off. You wanna know why?”

  Parker shrugged. “Why?”

  “Because it could get me killed, man. That’s why. Like maybe it did Nap. Like it almost did with Campos. And I don’t like that. That’s not how the job is done.”

  Parker could barely breathe. Again, he spoke to Nap in his head. “Dammit. He’s right.”

  Yeah. I know he is, Napoleon replied with a sigh.

  “So?”

  We’ll . . . figure out how to address it later. Not now, Parker. Let it be for now.

  “Well. I may not be able to tell the whole truth, but I’m not going to lie, man.”

  Parker!

  Looking at Klink, Parker said it anyway. “You’re right, man. You are. And I promise I’ll break it all down for you someday, even though I doubt very much that you’ll believe a word that I say.”

  Klink looked at him intently, looking half pleased that he’d gotten a partial confession but still angered at the confirmation that information was being withheld from him. Parker almost felt like a perp. After a second, Klink nodded, turned on the radio and then began thumbing on his phone through his social media. The conversation was over.

  As he wove their car through traffic, Parker turned his attention to his other partner on the case as they began to hash things out in their silent dialogue.

  “Okay.”

  Okay, what? Nap replied.

  “Well. As best I can surmise from the horrible visual ramblings on those walls in Ava Thomas’ bedroom, Chalk Man was practically driving her mad trying to get her to draw Sacniete. Why?”

  He must be trying to bring Sacniete back somehow.

  “From the grave?”

  No, Napoleon said grimly. Ah! I finally see it now. He’s trying to take her from heaven.

  “What? That’s the attack on heaven you mentioned before?”

  It must be.

  “But . . . is that even possible? Could he succeed, I mean?”

  No. Not in the least bit. But Chalk Man is being used by his master for his own ends, just as Chalk Man is using Roland for his.

  Parker cracked the car window to let some fresh air in and asked, “Used how?”

  Look. Attacking heaven is doomed to fail, but in the process angels could fall. There could be a cost. Some wars are fought simply for the casualties.

  “That’s crazy.”

  No. That’s evil.

  “Well,” Parker continued, “then it’s good that Ava mustered the strength to refuse. That tells us two things.”

  Let’s hear ’em, Parker.

  “What Chalk Man wanted, and what he needed in order to get what he wanted. Namely, a drawing of Sacniete and . . . more importantly . . . someone to draw it for him.”

  The tone of the detective trainer of LAPD lore was back when Napoleon said, More important . . . why?

  “For some reason, he couldn’t do it himself.”

  Correct.

  “But now it’s my turn to say it: why?

  Because that chalk outline that he drew around Ruiz? It was a portal to hell. And if he can do it to send someone to hell, he can surely do it to bring someone back. But now he’s got a problem, I think.

  “Which is?”

  Sacniete’s not in hell. She’s crossed over to a better place. So, he needs someone pure to draw the portal.
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  “You mean . . . like Ava?”

  Yes. Exactly. Someone who could draw the portal while drawing the least attention from heaven . . . until it was too late.

  “I dunno, man. I mean, this whole case is a mind bender.”

  Yes. But the one thing evil is particularly good at is biding its time. I mean, look at Alex Roland. It literally took centuries for him to come around. A man who lost his wife to a brutal rape and murder, who then turns to the ancient Mayan beliefs she taught him to try and bring her back?

  “At the graveside, you mean, after her funeral. With the chalk bag.”

  Yes. But? It didn’t work. So? He moves on in life. But what Alex doesn’t realize? The magic he messed with may not have brought his dead wife back, but it did let Chalk Man out. Now, like a parasite, he’s glommed on to Alex Roland. And eventually? Along comes a woman . . . a married woman . . . with a child . . . a ten-year-old child . . .”

  “The similarities are amazing.”

  Yes. And Chalk Man gets a chance to relive his fantasy life. This time though, using Roland as his proxy, he’s successful in seducing the married woman away from her husband, but all fantasies, human, demon or otherwise, eventually must bend to reality, and sure enough, once Charlie’s mom is on her own, she realizes things about herself and her own path in life that need correcting.

  “Realizes? Suddenly? I mean, c’mon.”

  Human beings are like walking math equations, Parker. And the math is always messy . . . it doesn’t always solve. Abigail Henson is not Sacniete and she’s not Rosa Alba. She’s her own person, with her own past and present realities. Never all that religious, she was nevertheless raised in the Midwest and was dragged to church twice a week. The notion of sin that she’s rejected all her life comes back at her for some reason. Because that’s how it works. Sometimes the past is the numerator and the present the denominator. Other times? It’s the opposite.

  Parker braked for a semitruck that was merging into his lane and shook his head. “I always sucked at math.”

  Napoleon rolled his eyes. That doesn’t surprise me.

  The smell of diesel fuel came through the cracked window before fading away. “Anyway, go on.”

  So, she has a crisis of conscience, and of the soul, and wants to break it off. She rejects him. Now? Chalk Man has a problem. Once again, he’s the victim of unrequited love. Once again, he’s determined to exact his revenge. So, he convinces Roland to befriend Charlie online on his Xbox under an assumed name and waits.

  “Yeah. But. I mean . . . this is a lot of work. Why not just snatch the kid from his house and strangle him in the front yard?”

  Because Chalk Man is no longer a rookie at his job, Parker. He knows his purpose is to MAXIMIZE the pain and agony of his deed for as long as he can. So, he keeps influencing Roland along one path or another. Think about it: if he’d just killed Charlie on the front lawn? Ruiz would still be alive and there’d be one less grieving widow in the world. Not to mention what this had done to his partner, Solomon. Or look at how he’s toyed with Joey, a mere child. Or what all this has done to Ava. And so on.

  Just hearing her name hurt Parker. The last he’d seen her, Ava was unconscious and being wrapped in rolls of gauze across her arms and legs, the blood still seeping through in places as she was being loaded on to a stretcher with a rubber bit in her mouth.

  Box it up. Open it later.

  He forced himself to focus. “Wait a minute. I’m confused. I thought Roland was possessed. I mean . . . he should have the black-orb eyes and all by now, right?”

  No. Not yet. He’s still struggling, I think, somewhere deep down.

  The rolling hills of the San Gabriel Valley began to rise around the freeway as they passed along the 110 through Highland Park. As they sped along, something occurred to Parker at long last. “Hmm. That explains it.”

  Explains what?

  “Why Roland, with twenty-ten vision, who should’ve been able to kill two or three of us in front of The Hotel Clark from just across that street before we could even move, didn’t kill a single one of us.”

  Yes. You’re right. He’s fighting it, but by now, it’s too late. Alex Roland is just a shell of the man he used to be. He’s being bullied into the deepest corner of his subconscious. In due time, the process will be complete, and those eyes will go black. Until then? Chalk Man doesn’t want to miss out on the carnal desires of the flesh that he hasn’t felt since he was last human. He wants to rape and steal and kill. So, you see . . . he wanted to kill Charlie, sure . . . but he wanted to get away with it, too. Maybe he would’ve watched the graveside service from a distance. To see Charlie’s mother in agony. Whatever. He would’ve needed that . . . sense of fulfillment. Then? He would’ve been off to repeat the same experiment, wandering from town to town, city to city, like a plague on two feet, always on the lookout for any woman with a ten-year-old child. But . . .

  “But?”

  Something unexpected happened. Ava came along. On the same Xbox that he has Roland using to lure in Charlie.

  Parker’s heart sank. “Ava?”

  She’s pure of heart and an artist. Again, the odds. It’s perfect. She can draw the portal he needs. He forgets about the world and wreaking havoc here, now. This was finally his chance to try to get at Sacniete, and Chalk Man wasn’t going to let it pass him by.

  “So . . . why did he still kidnap Charlie?”

  Napoleon went strangely silent.

  The GPS on his phone told him he had two miles to his exit. Parker began to ease over to the slow lane, and then dread filled him as he figured it out for himself. “Chalk Man’s trying to repeat the process. He killed Sacniete’s son so . . .”

  Parker. Let’s try not to think like that.

  “No. We have to. We may not want to think like that, but we have to. Because we both know that when we get a shot at this guy, and we will, that it changes the entire decision matrix of how we go about it. Because you know as well as I do that there’s a big difference between a search and rescue and a search and recovery mission. And—”

  Murder’s not an option, Parker.

  “If he’s killed that little boy? I don’t care what your rules are.”

  We need to—

  The seams in his mind were stretching. “No. I don’t need to take all the extra steps to avoid the use of lethal force if he’s already done the deed.”

  Yes, you do!

  Tearing. “No, I don—”

  You’d still need to do that, Parker, if not to save your own soul, then to at least make sure that we could get the body back . . . for his mother to properly bury her child! Napoleon shouted.

  The car went eerily quiet. Traffic rushed by them on all sides as Klink stayed lost in his Instagram world and the sky went from blue to gray between intermittent clusters of clouds. Parker felt a rage building in his chest that crested and then gave way to tidal wave of sadness. All this talk about Ava had made him . . .

  Box it up.

  Open it . . .

  Now.

  “Fine, Nap. Okay. But . . . I need something from you, okay? It’s completely off topic, but well, we both know that we’re heading up to a showdown with this guy. And if you want me to do that without knowing for sure that Charlie is okay? That I may have the body of a ten-year-old boy in my future? Then, I need to know something else.”

  He felt Napoleon’s hand on his shoulder, pulsing with power. Name it.

  Parker’s eyes flashed with the images of all the bloody words that Chalk Man had carved into Ava’s body, and how her eyes were so far away, and how the pain that monster had wreaked inside of her mind must’ve been even worse than the pain he’d inflicted on her body.

  There was a lump in his throat. “Ava,” he said softly.

  What about her?

  “I want you to make her okay.”

  Parker . . .

  “No excuses. You find a way. If you don’t know how to yet, then learn how to. Whatever. You heal her. You under
stand me?”

  It’s not that easy, Parker.

  “I’m sure it’s not. But promise me that you’ll do it, okay? You heal her wounds and you make sure that she can have all the babies she ever wants someday, okay? Because this whole thing, man, this whole case? It’s so ugly that I gotta believe that something pure and innocent can still be saved, okay?”

  A few seconds of silence passed. Parker’s hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly. He saw the exit to downtown Pasadena coming up. The wind came through the window and blew against his face as the rage inside him began to subside. He glanced up and saw Napoleon looking at him tenderly in the rearview mirror.

  Okay. I promise.

  Then, just before he blinked away, he added, You make me proud to have you as a partner, Parker.

  Chapter 28

  The parking situation once they arrived in Downtown Pasadena looked like it was going to take a half hour to solve before Parker decided to toss the dome light on top of the car and park in the red at the corner of Garfield Avenue and Colorado Boulevard. Parker noticed that as Klink exited the passenger door, Napoleon simply floated up through the roof.

  “Well,” Klink said, evidently past his ruminations about Parker and wanting to shift the tone back to business, “on the way here, I did a little research on this festival. It holds the Guinness World Record for the largest chalk festival in the world.”

  Parker was shocked. “Are you serious?”

  “Yep. Only happens one weekend all year. Averages six hundred artists and a hundred thousand visitors. Blah, blah. So? Now what?” Klink asked, with just a hint of contempt in his voice.

  Parker shrugged. “Man. This may be harder to do than I thought. Let’s just start walking.”

  Napoleon let out a long sigh. Nice, Parker. Real smooth.

  “That’s the plan? Seriously? Your hunch says we should start walking?”

  Parker nodded his answer and got to it. Pedestrians were everywhere, walking along Colorado Boulevard, coming in and out of various retail shops and restaurants, and siphoning along side streets. As they walked, at their feet every twenty feet or so were various sections of sidewalk coned or roped off in tight squares. Inside each square were different artists, working on images in differing states of progress. Some were just outlining their work, others were adding borders or fillers, and still others, obviously the early birds, were putting on the finishing touches.