Stalker

by Dave Dykema

  Cambridge took a measured step closer.

  Melissa had yet to move. She was frozen in terror.

  “Get out!” the young policeman with a short crop of bright red hair yelled to her.

  Inside his apartment, Dan frantically darted his eyes about, searching for some sort of weapon he could use on this lunatic. His thoughts never left Melissa, and he wished like hell that she were safe. And then his spirit was dashed as he heard her scream again.

  The rookie made the error of turning his head just for an instant to see if Melissa had moved. It was a fatal instant. Cambridge homed in on his hair like a bull charging a red cloth. The bullet impacted his skull just below his ear. Fragments of bone and brain shot out the other side like so much shrapnel, some of it spraying into Melissa’s open mouth. His corpse slumped over, knocking Melissa down and pinning her against the wall.

  Cambridge advanced down the hall, pausing at the body of the wounded man. He felt lucky: he had taken down three cops with three bullets. He felt he could spare one more on this sorry piece of flesh. That would still leave him with two for Dan and Melissa.

  Plenty.

  The man lay trembling where he fell, one hand still clasped over his stomach. Weakly, he swung his other hand around in an arc, feeling the damp carpet for his weapon—it had fallen from his holster in the confusion. He left red palm prints in his wake like a child playing with finger paints.

  He groaned when he made contact with Cambridge’s leather shoes. He looked up to see his attacker looming over him. Torn between duty and survival as he continued to sweep for his gun, he begged with pleading eyes. “Puh-leeze…don’t shoot…”

  Cambridge stepped on his hand and said coldly, “I don’t think so.”

  He fired between the man’s eyes at pointblank range. The cop quivered once and was dead.

  The hall, which moments ago was deafening with the sound of gunplay, was now strangely quiet, save for Melissa’s racked sobs. She had wriggled out from under her dead protector and crab walked away from the advancing killer, her bottom dragging on the floor. In her hysteria she barely covered any distance. She kept banging into the wall, and half of her stinging tears were of frustration.

  Cambridge cautiously approached the open door to Dan’s apartment, keeping one eye on Melissa. As long as the gun was trained on her she wasn’t moving fast—there was nowhere to go. He spared a moment and peered inside the hovel. Dan was nowhere in sight. Cambridge imagined he was probably cowering in the bathroom behind a locked door. Well, he would save him for last.

  He returned his attention to Melissa and advanced on her. He enjoyed the fear he saw in her eyes, yet he felt a twinge of pity.

  “Bill! Please…why are you doing this?”

  “Betrayal. Why else?”

  “But you don’t have to.”

  He nodded slowly. “You know Reverend Stone. You know I have to.” He increased the tension on the trigger. “It’s too late for you to come back, you realize.”

  Somewhere Melissa had read that the more personalized the crime became, the more difficult it was for the perpetrator to go through with it. She tried to maintain a dialogue.

  “What if we went back to the church together, you and me? We could talk to him, perhaps convince him to take me back?”

  “The prodigal daughter returning to the fold? No. His orders were very specific.” He swallowed hard. Dan would still be easy, but he was having problems with her. He wanted it over with. “I’m sorry.”

  As he pulled the trigger, he felt a sudden pain in the back of his head. The world filled with brilliance before washing black. He fell over and landed less than a foot away from where his bullet dug into the carpet a second before.

  Dan dropped the cracked glass paperweight. His hands suddenly couldn’t hold on anymore. It landed with a thud and started leaking water out onto the floor, the snowflakes swirling in turmoil from falling.

  He had stalked up silently behind Cambridge, using the skill he had honed to perfection during the late summer and early fall. He had to fight the urge to dive ahead: once when Cambridge paused outside his apartment and he was pressed against the door, and again while Cambridge was talking to Melissa. If he was sloppy, Cambridge might have heard him and blown Melissa away. Stealth was his only chance, but it was painfully slow. Now it was over, and he felt like he could barely stand.

  He crumpled to his knees and scooped Melissa into his arms.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered into her ear.

  “Oh my God, Dan…Oh my God…”

  It was all she could say, but it summed up both of their feelings. In a matter of seconds, their lives erupted in an orgy of violence. Fallen bodies surrounded them, blood still flowing from the cooling corpses. For a moment they tried to forget that as they latched onto each other in the dark hall.

  Dan knew they had to move on, get out of there before heads started poking out into the corridor, wondering what on earth just happened. They wouldn’t pop out yet, but as the quiet sunk in, his neighbors would begin to snoop.

  He let go of Melissa and put one hand on each of her cheeks, turning her face to his. When he let go, she whimpered, clutching him tighter.

  “Shhhh…it’s over now. I’m right here,” he said, looking into her eyes, trying to reassure her. “Can you travel?”

  With an effort, she nodded.

  “That’s not going to do it,” he said. “If we’re going to get out of here, I need you with me, able to speak.” He felt cruel while he spoke, allowing no time for personal grief save for their brief embrace. But time was crucial. “I can’t do it if you’re delirious.”

  “I—I think so.” She sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes with a sleeve. She was coming around.

  “You’re sure?”

  This time she spoke with conviction. “Yes. I am.”

  “Good.”

  Melissa stood up, not wanting to be on the floor, not wanting to be a victim anymore. “What do we do? Should we call the police or an ambulance?”

  “No. There’s no time. Besides, with all the noise, someone’s already called them if I know my neighbors.”

  “Then what?” she asked.

  Dan ran a blood soaked hand through his hair, and recoiled at the stickiness. He made a shrill, nervous laugh.

  “For one thing, we’ve got to get cleaned up. We’re not going very far looking like this.”

  The absurdity of it all struck Melissa as funny as well. She couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing. It was a laughter of celebration, a reminder that they were still alive. Never had breathing air felt so good.

  Dan and Melissa stumbled down the hall, away from the carnage. Dan tried not to look down as he went. He kept himself intent on watching for others to strike, possibly an accomplice.

  Suddenly Melissa broke away from him and ran back to the scene. Dan’s belly turned cold, wondering what she was doing, half expecting the psycho to lurch up off the floor and charge after her, like they always did in the horror movies. She stood in his doorway, her back to him. He couldn’t see what she was doing. The moment felt like an eternity. She then turned to him with a smile on her face.

  “We’re going to need these,” she said, holding up his keys and jingling them. She had pulled them from the lock.

  She headed back, making her way over the fallen bodies. If the killer were going to reawaken, now would be the time. Dan gasped as she stepped over him, certain a clawed hand would grasp her ankle. But nothing happened. This was real life, not a celluloid nightmare. She rejoined him, and together the two of them headed out into the uncertain night.

  *23*

  When Melissa stepped over him, Miles Cameron stirred ever so slightly. He whispered a single word that was barely audible. Melissa certainly couldn’t hear it.

  Cameron had looked up with his one good eye and saw a shadowy female form moving around him. He thought it was his wife puttering around.

  “Betty…” he managed, before slipping into u
nconsciousness.

  Book III

  Stalked

  Plans

  *1*

  “How much more?” asked Mel.

  They had been on the road for hours. The last two were extremely slow moving as the storm from Canada blew in, obscuring the road. Traffic was down to one lane. Outside the window, Melissa had to squint to see the cars stranded in the ditch. Each time she passed one she recited a small prayer of thanks that they weren’t off the road.

  “Twenty miles,” Dan answered. “Give or take. In this stuff, I’d say about another hour, at least.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said quietly.

  She curled up against the door, using her coat as a pillow. Initially she couldn’t bring herself to place her face so close to the bloody gore from the dead rookie matted to the cloth. But now, she was so exhausted the need for sleep outweighed her revulsion, and the soft down felt good against her cheek, despite the scratches from the dried blood.

  Dan spared a glance over and saw her drifting off. He sighed discouragingly.

  “I wish you had never got involved in any of this.”

  He thought back to the shootout in the hall. Never had he felt so empty, so cold, as when he was in his apartment, waiting for a chance to strike, knowing that Melissa was out there alone, fending for herself. Each time he heard the gun crack the air he pictured bullets ripping into her frame. She had gone through so much for him.

  He took one hand from the wheel and stroked Mel’s hair. She murmured soft approval. It was a wonder she wasn’t stark raving mad.

  “No matter how this turns out, I want you to know that I love you,” he whispered.

  The incessant droning on the radio about the early blizzard made the only reply. He risked another look over and saw her curled like a comma, her knees drawn in. Her eyes were closed. She was sound asleep.

  He turned his attention back to the road, swirling with snow squalls, squinting against the brightness. Headlight beams reflected off the falling snow provided the dazzling, dreamlike illumination. In another time, another situation, it might be considered pretty.

  He hoped he would have another chance to tell her how he felt.

  *2*

  When they reached East Lansing they pulled into a gas station. Dan went inside to pay for the gas, get directions to Hidden Oaks, and to buy Twinkies and juice while Melissa cleaned up in the bathroom.

  Trails of mascara streaked from her eyes through her heavy makeup. She never had a chance to take it off after appearing on the air, figuring she’d just do it when they got back to the motel room. Now it felt like a thick crust. She cupped a hand under the faucet and splashed water on her cheeks. Then she scrubbed, using her hands and nails, rubbing until the flesh turned red. She blotted dry using some toilet paper.

  “You’ve seen better days,” she said dryly to her haggard reflection.

  When she returned to the car she scarfed down the food. Her body was famished. A few hours ago the idea of eating would have made her stomach turn.

  “Are we going to Jerry’s next?”

  Dan nodded, taking a big swig of orange juice.

  “You’ll like him,” he said, suddenly realizing Melissa had never met Jerry. “He’s really nice, although I bet he gives you a hard time about being his replacement. He always had a swelled head about those kinds of things, thinking he was irreplaceable.”

  She placed a hand on Dan’s thigh. “I’m sure I’ll like him. He’s your best friend.”

  “Aren’t you a little nervous?”

  “Well it’s not like I’m meeting your parents. That’s a day I dread, let me tell you.”

  “Someday you’ll get to meet them too,” Dan said, and smiled at her.

  Feeling better than he had in a long time, Dan started up the car and swerved back onto the snow-covered roads.

  *3*

  Jerry grumbled, pulling on his robe as the doorbell rang again. He didn’t want to leave his warm bed. He had so many blankets on he felt entombed—and he loved every second of it. Besides, it was fucking cold and snowy out.

  “This had better be good,” he snarled.

  It was too early for any package delivery and Girl Scout Cookies were months away. Maybe it was a desperate student seeking advice on how to change a grade? He opened the door, about to find out. No matter who it was, he was going to rip them a new asshole…

  “Oh my God!” Jerry cried out, eyes wide open in surprise. “Dan!”

  *4*

  A few hours earlier the Reverend Jim Stone seethed in his office. Everything was so close. Melissa and her poor fool of a lover were inches from the precipitous edge when the police showed up. Bill Cambridge (Himself a fool, Stone thought with renewed bitterness) jumped the gun, panicking at the sight of uniforms and shot at the whole lot of them like they were targets in a shooting gallery. The outcome? A hallway full of dead policemen while the prey slipped through. He had to get matters under control again, and quickly, or he was going to have another California to deal with.

  He put out the call to his people and had them assemble. Kim poked her head in his door and told him they were all there, ready for him. He came out and joined them. They searched his face for any clues as to why they were summoned in the night yet again, but couldn’t read anything on his face.

  Stone raised his right hand high in a meaningless gesture to quiet them down before speaking himself. He exuded total authority. All eyes were on him, and he loved it.

  “My sheep, I thank you for coming at this early hour.” As he spoke, he surveyed his audience of followers. He had called more than the usual group to this meeting. If everyone had come—and pity the heretic who chose not to—thirty-one warm-blooded thralls stood before him, each in his bondage. He paused for a moment to sniff the air, searching for the vaguely coppery scent of blood. Yes, he found It. At least two of the women, he was positive, were having their periods. He gathered strength from the smell of their menstruation.

  “I often call you my sheep. It is a colloquial term of endearment. However, as the situation demands, I…you…we…have to adopt another term. To continue the metaphor, we must become wolves to single out and hunt the one in our midst who was a wolf in sheep’s clothing among us. Quid pro quo. ‘An eye for an eye…’ to quote scripture.” He surveyed his white robed flock. “My friends, it is time for retribution!”

  A hearty cheer accompanied his voice, their devotion sincere. Many reached for their crystals and began to rub furiously, as if driven.

  “When Melissa Van Dyke walked among us we welcomed her with open arms and smiles. We offered her every hospitality imaginable. We chose to show her a way of life that has brought us great joy, as well as innumerable strength. No problem is too tough for us now, no hurdle too high. We could have kept the secret of crystals to ourselves, but we chose to share. Now, by sharing, we have been betrayed.”

  The mention of Melissa’s name stirred them up. Stone hadn’t even said what she had done; yet already people wanted her head.

  “Tell us what’s expected!” one man exclaimed.

  “Not expected,” Stone corrected. “Required. Early on you were all warned of sacrifices that would be asked. I am calling upon you to fulfill those promises.”

  “You’ve shown us so much,” said the same man. “Show us what to do now. We’ll do anything.”

  “I needn’t have worried,” Stone said, smiling upon them. “I tried to convince myself of that in my office before coming out here, but I still had doubts. Even Jesus wandered into the desert for forty days to be absolutely sure of himself. Could you expect any less of me?”

  Stone’s mood suddenly changed, from one of beloved father to jilted lover. “Things are clear to me now. Our first and most important objective is to find, commandeer, and then kill Melissa Van Dyke and her companion, Dan Freeman. They are all that stand in our way to ultimate salvation! Once they are eliminated, we can get on with our work here.”

  “Where are they now?”
someone cried. The audience frothed like a posse looking for someone to lynch.

  “That is the question,” Stone said, slipping in a glance toward Bill Cambridge, who cringed as he felt the lethal gaze upon him. “Where are they now?”

  *5*

  Melissa showered as Dan and Jerry caught up, drinking cocoa. Jerry listened intently as the story unfolded, finding it hard to believe. Yet seeing Dan and Melissa in the shape they were in pulled a lot of weight.

  “We had to leave in such a hurry. This was the first place I thought to come. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “Are you sure they’re after you?” Jerry asked.

  “I think so. By the time more details were coming in we had gone too far and couldn’t pick up the radio station anymore.”

  Jerry nodded, but didn’t reply. He looked down at his fuzzy slippers and took another sip of cocoa. He hadn’t said much as Dan told the story, and Dan thought he was just tired. Now, he looked like he might be sick. It didn’t escape Dan’s notice.

  “I’m sorry we came here. It was a bad decision,” Dan said. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Jerry said. “I’m glad you came here. Despite everything, it’s good to see you again.”

  His friend seemed to mean the words, but his actions hinted at something else.

  Jerry finally met Dan’s eyes.

  “Dan, I want to apologize for something.”

  “Apologize? We should be the ones who apologize to you, barging in like this.”

  Jerry dismissed him, waving his hand. “You don’t understand. I’m being serious here. I think some of your problems are my fault because of what I said to Sergeant Cameron over the phone.”

  “Cameron called you? When? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I tried calling you right after it happened, but you weren’t there. You were probably at the Holiday Inn by then. I felt sick afterwards. I still do. I feel like I’ve betrayed a great confidence.”