Bad Thoughts

by Dave Zeltserman

  “In a minute. Just so we’re clear, I’m talking about your wife. You know, take my wife, please. I’m with her right now. She’s all dressed up like a Christmas turkey. And I’ve got the carving knife.”

  “Why do you think I care? She left me.”

  “You care, Billy Boy. You don’t want her to end up like all the others, do you?”

  Shannon found himself involuntarily shaking his head. “For the last time, what do you want?”

  “The same as you. I want the two of us to get together tonight. Have a little dance. Make a little romance.”

  Shannon agreed and Winters gave him the address where he had Susan.

  “I’ll be watching you,” Winters warned. “Just like I can meet you in your dreams, I can watch you while you’re awake. If you speak to anyone, call anyone, I’ll know about it. And I’ll do things to her that I’ve only dreamed about. Imagine that, things that someone like me has only dreamed about. Then I’ll disappear. So don’t be stupid.”

  Winters body floated off, floated until it became a small, white point. Floated off until there was nothing.

  Turbulence jerked Shannon awake in his seat. For a brief heartbeat he could still smell the odor, for a bit longer he could taste it in his throat. He found himself gagging from it. The woman sitting next to him was eyeing him somewhat suspiciously.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Shannon nodded and, when he could, he muttered something about having a bad dream. He found a pen and wrote down the address Winters had given him. He couldn’t afford to forget it. Then he fell back into his seat, feeling his heart skipping on him, racing away like a rabbit’s.

  He knew Winters was with Susie. There was no doubt in his mind about it. The sonofabitch psycho had told him the truth. And he knew Susie would be kept alive until he got there. About watching him, Shannon knew that was true, also. As impossible as it sounded, he knew it was true. But if Winters were watching him, he wouldn’t be able to do things to Susie, he’d have to be concentrating his energies on Shannon. Unless he took occasional breaks, thinking that watching Shannon ninety percent of the time would be enough. Even still, Susie would be kept alive.

  As much as he tried telling himself otherwise, he knew Winters had also told him the truth about DiGrazia. It fit together. Joe would’ve gone to pick up Susie after the case broke against Winters. Somehow Winters followed him and got to him—probably as he was opening the door to wherever he had Susan hidden. Or maybe the psycho found Susie first and waited for Joe. Anyway, Shannon knew it was true and knew Winters would’ve taken his time killing his partner. And he knew Winters would’ve forced Susie to watch.

  A numbing calm took over. It was almost peaceful. Something like death. The plane wouldn’t be landing for a couple of hours, but that was okay. Susie would be kept alive. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait and let himself slip into the blissful numbness. And he welcomed it.

  * * * * *

  Charlie Winters’s eyes opened slowly and, as they did, they focused on Susan Shannon. She was lying spread-eagle on the kitchen table, each of her limbs tied by wire to each of the four table legs. If she struggled the wire would slice her skin. Her own eyes were large and shining brightly with terror. A dish rag had been stuffed in her mouth. All her clothing had been removed.

  Seeing her terror excited him. He closed his eyes momentarily and breathed deeply. He could just about smell her terror. A barely palpable pungent smell. Sweeter, though, than the heavy, rotting, death odor that he carried.

  He stood up and leaned over her so that his face was inches from hers. Even though she was gagged he could hear the sudden intake of her breath. Pure unadulterated fear exploded in her eyes and it sent a dizzying rush of exhilaration through him that nearly floored him. He had to back up a few steps. He ran his tongue slowly over his lips and swallowed.

  “Did I frighten you?” he asked in his soft, singsong voice.

  She made a muffled noise that sounded something like “please.”

  Charlie Winters could barely contain himself. He picked up the carving knife that he had left lying against her neck and ran the blade over the length of her body, pushing the skin down but not cutting it. He did a complete trace of her body, ending back at her throat.

  “You don’t want any sudden movements,” he whispered into her ear, his breath stale and harsh, “because those wires I’ve tied around your wrists and ankles will cut straight to the bone. Probably even clean through it. Understand, sweetmeat?”

  She nodded her head, tears leaking from her eyes.

  Winters took hold of the index finger on her right hand and slid the knife under it. The drive to cut it off was pounding in his head. For a long moment he stared, transfixed on her finger. Then he let it go and took a step away. If he started now he wouldn’t be able to stop and that wouldn’t be any good. He needed her alive for when Shannon showed up.

  Those were the plans he had improvised. They weren’t his original plans, but his original plans had gotten shot to hell because he had let Eddie Podansky live.

  Podansky. He had gotten careless with him. He should’ve found his family and taken care of them and then taken care of Podansky. But he had let things slide and the Brookline cop was alive to make the connection between him and Elaine Horwitz. After all, Podansky had stopped him only a few blocks from Horwitz’s office, and the cop was suspicious as hell to begin with. And it wasn’t a difficult leap from Charlie to his cousin Herbert and then to the recent killings.

  Since the six o’clock news, his prison picture had been shown repeatedly over the airwaves and there was no disguise for a man who looked like Charlie Winters.

  He knew about it over an hour before the news. While out of his body he had eavesdropped on DiGrazia. Then DiGrazia was on the phone with Shannon’s wife, telling her about Winters, and arranging with her to pick her up. Hearing Susan’s voice over the phone allowed Winters to navigate to her. After that it was simple. He knew where she was and he knew when DiGrazia would be picking her up. All he had to do was hide in the bushes with an ice pick and wait.

  * * * * *

  Charlie Winters forced himself to look away from his prisoner. It just wouldn’t do if he got started now, because if he did there would be nothing left of her by the time Shannon got there. Nothing but pieces, anyway. He let out a lung full of sour, fetid breath as he sighed heavily and then sat back down and closed his eyes. A few moments later he was out of his body and watching Shannon.

  Chapter 36

  It was past midnight before Shannon was able to pick up a taxi from Logan airport. He gave the cabbie the address that Winters had given him and then sat back and stared absentmindedly out the window. The cabbie, a bulky middle-aged man with a thick Russian accent, tried to make small talk and he didn’t let Shannon’s lack of responsiveness deter him. After a while he settled in about the recent serial murders.

  “At least they know who the person is,” the cabbie said, nodding his bald, square head.

  Shannon didn’t respond. He kept his gaze directed towards the window, watching the freezing rain bead up on the glass.

  “My shift don’t start ’til eight,” the cabbie went on, “so on TV I saw his picture. Very ugly man.”

  “Is that so?” Shannon muttered.

  “Yes. Very. I hope they catch him soon. I have wife and children home alone while this sicko loose. I don’t like it.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” the cabbie asked, scowling. “He could hurt them just like others. What a world, huh? When they catch him I hope they exterminate him. Like bug.”

  The cabbie stopped talking. The streets were, for the most part, empty and the taxi was able to speed along, stopping only briefly at red lights and not at all at stop signs. The city had a weird, desolate feel to it. As if it were lifeless. As if the buildings were nothing but tombs for the dying. Shannon watched blindly as the city sights passed by. After a few minutes the cabbie b
roke the silence, commenting about how the killer didn’t deserve to live another second among decent people.

  “Not with things he did,” the cabbie declared stubbornly.

  “I agree with you.”

  “The judges, they probably let him out on technicality.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “Let’s hope not. Worse than animal.”

  The address Winters had given was in Arlington. When they got close to it, the cabbie asked if Shannon knew which house it was. Shannon said he didn’t.

  “With this rain I can’t read numbers,” the cabbie complained as he slowed down and stuck his head out the window to try to read the number posted on one of the houses. He slowed down three more times before pulling up to a small cape-style house. As Shannon paid him, the cabbie noticed the red smudges on his overcoat but didn’t comment on them.

  Shannon walked up to the front door and stopped. He didn’t have a gun, he didn’t have anything he could use as a weapon except for his car keys and they wouldn’t do any good unless he could get in close. He left his keys in his pocket. If Winters was watching him, he didn’t want to give him any idea of what he was thinking.

  If he were watching him . . .

  The thought struck Shannon that if Winters had been watching him he would’ve stopped by now. He would know that Shannon was right outside the front door and he’d be hiding near it, waiting for him.

  Shannon knelt low and moved alongside the house. Blinds had been closed on all the windows and the lights were off. What did Winters tell him, that Susie was dressed up like a Christmas turkey? Which, deciphering his perverse sense of humor, meant he had her in the kitchen, just like he and Herbie had had his mother. Shannon continued on to the back of the house, picked up a small plaster statue of a saint, and tossed it through what he guessed was the kitchen window. As it crashed through, he took a headfirst dive after it. His foot, though, caught in the blinds and, instead of rolling as he fell, he went straight down, hitting the floor with a thud and jamming his shoulder. As he scrambled to his feet he saw Susie tied to the kitchen table. Then something hit him hard on the back of the neck, the blow pushing him back to the floor. Broken glass cut both his hands and face.

  “That was stupid,” a soft, singsong voice breathed into his ear, “if any of the neighbors heard anything and call the police I’ll have to kill both of you.”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Kind of cavalier, Billy Boy. Believe it or not, I’m not planning on killing either of you. Not if I can help it. I’ve got other plans. Wonderfully, nasty plans.”

  A knee pushed hard into Shannon’s back, knocking the wind out of him. His right hand was jerked behind him and his two fingers, the ones that had been broken years earlier, were grabbed.

  “Ah, here’s what I’m looking for,” Winters whispered. Metal clamped down on those fingers and twisted upwards until the bones snapped. Shannon couldn’t help screaming. The floor muffled the noise somewhat.

  “A nutcracker,” Winters confided cheerfully. “I love using them.” Then softly, “You need to control yourself better, Billy Boy. As I already told you, if you make noise and neighbors call the police, I will have to kill both of you. Then I’ll give myself up and rest comfortably in prison. If we’re not interfered with, I’ll just continue on as planned. So be a man like your dago partner had been. I did much worse to him and he didn’t once scream like a baby. At least not ’til the end.”

  “You smell like shit,” Shannon grunted, his breathing labored. Pain forced hot tears into his eyes. “Ever consider taking a bath?”

  “I’ve been trying to get nice and ripe for you, Billy Boy.” Winters held on to Shannon’s broken fingers and used them to force him to his feet.

  “Up and at ’em,” Winters whispered from behind. “I have something to show you.”

  Winters, using Shannon’s broken fingers, forced Shannon into the dining room. Lying in a corner was what looked like a pile of raw meat. Up close it was a human body. Even though most of the skin had been removed, Shannon was able to recognize his partner. He tried to twist around to get at Winters, but Winters applied more pressure to his broken fingers. The pain forced Shannon to his knees.

  “I’ve been as busy as a bee today,” Winters whispered casually. “His cousin, or at least most of her body, is upstairs. She came home as I was finishing up with my whittling. Your wife had the best seat in the house for both killings.”

  Winters moved closer until his breath was hot against Shannon’s ear. “Look at him,” he ordered. “Want to guess how painful it must be to be skinned alive? I’d have to think it would be a hell of a lot worse than only having your fingers broken. He took it like a man, Billy Boy. No screaming, no crying. You really ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  “You’re nothing but a fucking psycho.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I am. What matters is I got you on your knees cowering because of a couple of broken fingers. And I got your wife tied up and ready for action. Put your other hand behind your back. Now.”

  Winters worked on his broken fingers until Shannon complied. Then Winters tied his hands together, binding the rope tightly around both broken fingers. The throbbing from his fingers went all the way up his shoulder. It was like nails had been driven into his bones. Winters grabbed him by his injured fingers and forced him back to his feet and into a chair. He pulled up a chair opposite Shannon.

  “For years I planned on skinning you like that,” Winters said.

  It was the first time Shannon had actually seen him. For the most part, Winters looked as he did in the dreams. He had the same slit mouth, and under it, nothing. It was as if a hatchet had been taken to his face, cutting off anything below his razor-thin lips. His skin color, though, was more waxy than pale. Maybe even a bit jaundiced. And his eyes were more sick than dead.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time for this little face-to-face,” Winters said.

  “God, are you ugly,” Shannon intoned in a low, guttural voice. “You even look worse than you smell.”

  Winters’s eyes dulled a bit. “Another comment like that,” he said, “and I go into the other room and cut off one of your wife’s appendages. Maybe a finger, maybe something else. Understand, you little fuck?

  “Also,” Winters added after waiting for a response, “you try anything stupid and the same thing happens. She loses a piece of her. My choice which piece.”

  “You have no chance in getting away with this—”

  “I know that,” Winters acknowledged. “I’ll be caught and I’ll grow old in prison. It’s a fate I’ve accepted. Just as I’ve accepted instead of killing my victims, I’ll only be able to slip into their dreams and torment them. But that’s much later. After tonight, anyway.”

  “Just get this over with,” Shannon said. “I’m tired of listening to you and I’m tired of smelling you.”

  “No. I’ve waited a long time for this, Billy Boy. A very long time. We’re going to have a nice little chat first, and then we’ll have all night to do the things we need to do. And please, don’t try to pretend you don’t care.”

  “I really don’t anymore.”

  “Of course you do. After all the things I’ve done to you? And your wife lying in the other room helpless?” Winters nodded slowly, a dull glint in his eyes. “You care, Billy Boy.

  “Now,” Winters continued, “let me tell you what I originally planned for you. Because what I settled on is so much better. I want you to fully appreciate it.

  “It was going to be similar. I was going to show up in your dream and tell you I was with your wife. I was going to give you an address. Same as what I’ve already done. Except the address was going to be for a young, sweet little coed and FBI Agent Swallow would be fervently waiting there for you. The reason he’d be waiting for you is because I’ve been visiting him in his dreams, telling him that you’d be killing this sweet, little girl next. Of course, by then, he’d also know the carving knife used on your
redheaded bitch therapist came from your apartment.

  “The whole case would be circumstantial, but you’d be found guilty of my murders. And you’d spend the rest of your life in prison, or at best, an insane asylum. And I’d be there every night, visiting you in your dreams.”

  “Too bad the case against you broke,” Shannon said.

  “Not really. Because what I’ve improvised is really much sweeter. Have you figured it out yet?”

  Shannon didn’t answer. As his hands shifted, the rope pulled tighter around his fingers, driving the imaginary nails deeper into his bones. His body stiffened as the pain immobilized him.

  A smugness twisted Winters’s small, bloodless lips. “I think you got it. Any questions before we get started?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Come on. You must have some curiosity. Haven’t you at least wondered how I slip into your dreams?”

  “Okay, I’ve wondered about that.”

  “It’s because I’m a god. At least, spiritually. My body might bleed and break, just like Herbie’s did, but inside I’m a god. And tonight you are going to suffer my wrath like no one ever has.”

  Shannon couldn’t keep from laughing. “A little full of ourselves, are we? You, a god? Jesus. You’re nothing but a freak.”

  The skin around Winters’s mouth tightened and a light pink flushed his cheeks. He moved quickly out of his chair, slapping Shannon hard across the face with an open palm. The blow sent Shannon and his chair tumbling to the floor. Winters reached down and grabbed him by both his hair and his broken fingers and jerked him to his feet.

  “Enough chitchat,” Winters whispered from behind. “We got a busy night ahead of us.”

  Winters forced Shannon back to the kitchen and to the table Susan was tied to. Using the carving knife and holding Shannon’s broken fingers, Winters cut the rope tying Shannon’s hands together. He then twisted Shannon’s broken fingers until he heard an audible gasp, and then he slapped the knife’s handle into Shannon’s free hand.