by Mark Edwards
I swiped my hand on the screen, skimming through my list of important phone contacts. Good, here's the bastard. I tapped the [SEND] icon.
“Jeff,” I blurted out, after he answered.
“Hi, Laura. Heard the news – your suspension.”
“News does fly fast around here, doesn't it?”
“Well, I'm the head of surveillance and data; I would know, Laura. I know everything.”
“I need a favour, Jeff.”
“I'm afraid you've been blacklisted, at least until your suspension is over.”
“What you mean, Jeff?” I ranted.
“You know the rules, Laura. I'm not allowed to trace any data for someone who' s suspended. Sorry, Laura. I could lose my job. Got 3 greedy kids to feed.”
“You know everything right, Jeff? Or you think you know everything?”
“What...do you mean, Laura?”
“I guess you'll want to know what color I'm wearing. I know you've always wondered about this, Jeff. Arse like this comes less frequent than the Haley Comet, Jeff.”
The nosey cab driver took another glance behind him, at me.
I listened to the silence on the other line and then – “Laura...You're still there?”
“Yes, hon,” I purred.
“I've just flicked our call on incognito. Our conversation is now masked. Go ahead, Laura.”
“Now we talking Jeff. Listen, I need the phone records and exact location of this caller who rang my mobile phone less than, two minutes ago.”
“You have the exact time, Laura?”
“Let me see,” I said, going through my call log, “10:37 am.”
“Should be easy, Sweetheart. Let me call you back on this.”
Did this sucker just call me a sweetheart? “Great, Jeff. I know I can always rely on you.
* * *
“Jeez,” I breathed after seeing my mobile phone beeping. It was the bastard. Less than a minute? “Hello babes,” I picked up.
“That call came from a phone booth on Sunburry RD, Laura.”
“Fricking awesome, Jeff.”
“I've added some icing on the cake for you too, Love.”
“What's that, genius?”
“Here.”
I heard the beeps coming to my mobile phone. I tapped the attachment icons.
“Jeff, amazing!”
“Kinda blurry, but these are the images we captured from 3 of the city cameras near the pay phone on Sunburry RD.”
“They're good enough, Jeff. It's her, Tiffany. Thanks, Jeff.”
“Any time, Tiffany; anytime. By the way, about the ––”
I hung up on him abruptly; wouldn't allow anymore idle talk.
“Driver – Sunburry RD. Hurry.”
“Not going to the airport anymore, Madam?”
“I believed you figured that out already. Freaking drive.”
SIXTEEN
______________________________
7 MINUTES AFTER
“Great, Sunburry RD. Now, pay phone, pay phone, where are you?” I said, impatiently, popping my head through the rear window of the cab.
“It should be to the second left, Madam,” the driver answered, giving me a slight gaze.
“Crap!” I heard the wail of tires. And then the miserable ensemble of horns. Our bodies jolted forward; my nose collided into the back of his head rest. The cab driver had to slam his brake pedal to avoid plunging into this mid 1980s red station wagon merc, which suddenly decided to stop abruptly in front of us.
“Must be a miserable old fart sitting around the steering of this thing,” I howled, hissing through my teeth at the stink scent of disc brake pads.
“This arse head drives like a psycho,” the driver said, wrapping his steering wheel as he pulled past the large station wagon.
We came upon the blue pay phone on Sunburry RD. On the inside stood this man, Afro American, who seemed to be talking to his lover, the way smiles kept popping from his rounded face, and outside waited this Asian woman, who sported her young baby in a knapsack that's strapped to her chest, waiting for her turn to use it.
“I wouldn't expect to see Tiffany in the phone booth after 7 minutes but she still should be somewhere around,” I said while the driver poked along at about 5 miles per hour.
“This is what she looks like,” I pointed, showing him the images Jeff had emailed to my phone.
“Pretty gal,” he murmured, looking at the girl in photos wearing only hospital gown.
I looked him over, through frowning eyes. He continued on the lookout for her.
* * *
“Come on, Tiffani, I know you're somewhere around.” I tapped my hand, impatiently, against the dark door cover of the cab. I needed to find her before the killer does. She was my only clue to all of this. And why was she the same girl in my nightmare? Now I'm having the same feeling coming all over me again, the same feelingsI had when I held her cold hands at the hospital – the hairs on my skin sticking out of my goose bumps kind of feeling. Maybe she's close.
“Tiffany,” I called out, from inside the cab that moved slowly along the isles of cars on the cobbled street adjacent to Sunburry RD. It was this female who stood there, face turned from us, wearing dark pants, a dark coat and a hoodie over her head, which somehow couldn't cover the head of greasy golden hair. She looked around. It was her – Tiffany; she obviously went on a quick shopping spree.
“It's me, Tiffany, Laura – the detective.”
She ran off.
“Tiffany, stop!” I hollered. “Not going to hurt you, Tiff.”
The cab driver pointed the car towards her direction.
She continued running in the direction of the crowded market.
“Come on, Tiffany.” I alighted from the cab.
“Ma'am, you haven't paid yet,” he murmured, slamming his steering, honking his horn.
I trailed her through the noisy market place, bouncing over oranges, tomatoes and board stalls, much to the staggering astonishment of onlookers. “Stop, Tiffany.”
BANG! I discharged a bullet in the air, heaping up screams from the frightened patrons. She stopped, confused, looking all around her, not knowing where to run. The massive stampede of confused market goers eventually closeted her. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Where did she go? Gosh. The height of panic.
I chiseled my way through the throng of unsettled shoppers in pursuit of her. I knew she couldn't have gone too far off.
“Oh, oh – the train. That's where she's heading. “No, Tiffany, don't do this.”
The door was about to close and the train was about ready to roll away to Delaware.
My dark hair flashed across my face at each desperate stride I made towards Tiffany. She continued heading towards the door of the locomotive. She took one look over her shoulder. She realized I was closing in on her despite the hurdles of petrified pedestrians that separated us.
And then she raced towards the closing door of the locomotive. I leaped. The door closed. I had held on to her foot. We both ended up on the pavement. The train wormed its way off.
“Damn it,” I sighed, holding on to her as we lay on the concrete pavement. I listened to the panting of her lungs.
“Alright everybody, kindly clear the area,” I beseeched, popping my state identification out, warding off the terrified onlookers.
“Did she steal something, Officer?” this nosey bloke said.
“Please, no need to heap around,” I warned, pulling Tiffany up.
SEVENTEEN
______________________________
She sat around the high table in my kitchenette, still shaken and not saying much. “You mind?” I asked, walking over towards her, holding my teapot.
“Thanks.”
I poured the hot coffee into her mug.
“You're looking a way lot better, Tiffany, all freshened up after that shower.”
“Thanks –– Laura.” The steam from her coffee made her eyes watery after she took another sip.
&nb
sp; “No need to be scared, Tiffany. I'm on your side,” I soothed, pulling up a stool, right beside hers.
“Want to tell me what happened now, honey?”
She turned around, giving me full eye contact for the first time. “Why should I, when I had done the stupidest thing ever?”
“Tiffany, you're not stupid. You're smart, intelligent, beautiful, brave...”
“And also a fugitive. He won't stop until...”
“Until?”
“–– he kills me,” she sobbed.
“Not if I know who your attacker is,” I promised, resting my chin on my folded knuckles, a brow raised.
I looked at her shaky fingers while she rested her cup of hot coffee on the table. “I went to this lounge,” she sniffled, her face pointing away from me, “with Justin.”
“Who's Justin?”
“He's some tycoon I met at the real estate firm I work for.” Her shaky fingers were like tapping away on the counter. She looked at me but only through the corner of her eyes.
“Ok, and ––”
“There was this stranger who sat across from us.”
“What does he look like?”
“Tall, nice body, chestnut middle parted hair – shoulder length, straight face. He wore this close-fitting black jacket suit.”
“And?”
“I felt –– somehow attracted to him to the point where I began ignoring my date, Justin,” she panted.
“No need to feel stupid about it, honey,” I hugged. It happens, to even the best of us.
“How could I have been such an arsehole,” she exploded, slamming her hands on the wooden counter top.
“Alright, alright, mammy, no need to be so hard on yourself.”
“We kissed. I liked him a lot. I didn't even know the brute. I wanted more. I wanted it so badly I didn't even remember who my date was at the club.” She looked up at me. “And I wasn't drunk that night. I know I wasn't. Laura, I remember everything that happened that night.”
“Then tell me everything that happened that night, Tiffany.”
“He told me how fun it would be if we made love in the open air. I went away with him after hiding from my date, Justin. We went in his car – this red station wagon merc, I think. Then shortly after I realized I was trapped in this car with a psychopath.
He wanted to make out with me then kill me after. I alighted from his car at the very first opportunity. He chased me. The rains fell. He had a cord around my neck. He wanted to dump my body in this lake. It was slippery; we both fought in the mud. I wouldn't let go off his ankle. I didn't know why but my hands became frozen to his ankle. He pulled this knife out to cut my hand loose from his ankle. The rains continued its downpour, even harder. I thought this was it. I didn't want to see it so I turned my body away. That was when he slipped. My hand finally let go. He fell into the water, which had some creature lurking, just beneath the surface as if it was waiting for food.”
“That Bitch,” I said. A sigh of relief escaped my mouth after hearing Tiffany's story. I was totally moved. Tears flooded my eyes, not because of her ordeal but just how she managed to survive.
I held her hands. I loved her – like a younger sister.
“You're so brave, Tiff. You have no idea who much I love you for this.”
“Why did this have to happen to me?” she hugged. “Ouch!”
“What is it?” She held on to her side.
“Let me see.” Oh, mercy. I saw the large wound to her left side.
“He came back for me at the hospital, after you left, posing to be a doctor.”
“Are you serious?”
“I knew a real doctor wouldn't wear sunshades in a hospital room so I had to make my escape from the hospital. And that was when I called you from the pay phone.”
I alighted from the stool and moved over to the windows of the kitchenette, frustrated. I knew I had to find this killer.
“I'm sorry about all of this, Laura,” she muttered, still sitting on the high stool.
“Listen, Tiffany, you've got nothing to be sorry about. You didn't do anything,” I snapped, pulling the curtain of my window, illuminating my kitchenette with the sun rays that peeped through. I took a look outside.
“Tiffany,” I blurted.
“Yes?”
“Tell me, the red merc station wagon he drove, what type of car was it?”
“Like?”
“I mean, was it a new model like late 2000?”
“No.”
“No?”
“It was one of those older model cars, kind of look like a collector's item, one from the 1980s.”
I walked over to my handbag and picked my revolver out.
“Is everything alright, Laura?”
I think he's still on your trail, Tiffany.”
“Oh...oh.”
“Relax.”
The red station wagon was parked outside. And come to think of it, it was the same car that stopped abruptly before the taxi cab I was in earlier today. This guy was up to something. He was probably trailing her at the time too.
“Control, this is Detective Laura Creyson. I think we've found the killer – Lot 17 Heat Drive. Be on the look out for this red early 1980s merc station wagon,”I called out, soliciting backup even though I remembered I was on suspension. I then hung up, placing my mobile phone in my bosom.
“Come with me, Tiff,” I pulled, clutching my gun in my right hand.
I then heard this click.
“Wait, Tiffany.”
I stopped. The silver knob to my apartment's front door started turning slowly. Someone was opening it from outside.
“Relax, Tiffany.” I felt the shivering of her entire body while I held her hand. The shaking was communicable. She stepped backward. I stood there, my heart beating so fast as though it was going to burst through my chest, just waiting for the opportune time. I pointed my gun, gripping it tightly with both hands, towards the door. I rested my fingers on the trigger, just waiting. I took deep breaths, silently counting from downwards 10. The silver knob continued to turn, at each count. The door then opened up. My fingers froze immediately. My hands went numb.
EIGHTEEN
______________________________
“Zack?”
By now Tiffany had gone into hiding, in one of my rooms.
I looked at him, standing by the doorway, wearing his black jeans and a black coat that covered his white tee shirt. What's up with him and these dark sunshades? I asked myself. It actually wasn't a break in. He still had a copy of the keys to my apartment. We used to be lovers but we were done. The only form of contact we needed to have was work related. He had no business at my home and plus ––
“Zack, you're a killer.”
“Yes, I'll kill if I can't get you, Laura. I'll kill,” he blew up, walking towards me, both hands planted in the pockets of his trousers.
I shuffled backward, a little. “Leave my house, you murderer. I'm going to fricking shoot, bastard.
“Go ahead, do it, Laura.”
“Don't test me, Zack. You know I'll put a bullet in your skull if you come any further, you dirty killer.”
“You right about that, hon. I'm so here to kill you. And when I'm done maybe I'll just dump that beautiful body of yours into a lake,” he chuckled, bitterly. “And then some weird creature's going to eat you up,” he jeered, biting at me. I shuffled backward.
“You know, Zack, you're a disgrace to the police department. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
I kept his hands in sight; they were still fixed in his pockets. He moved them slowly.
“Backup is on its way, Zack,” I continued, pointing my gun towards his chest. “They're going to pick your arse up dead if you don't back off, Zac.”
He pulled this knife from the pocket of his pants.
BLAM! I discharged my revolver.
He ducked, just in time, making the stray lead send my ceramic wall ornament crashing on to the floor in an ear-shattering shard.
BLAM BLAM! I fired once more, hitting him twice in the abdomen.
AAAHHH! “Shit,” he wailed. This did not stop him from running his cutter in my left side.
I wilted, holding my side. I immediately started losing a lot of blood. My body became so weak, even my fingers became too weak to pull the trigger. Blood poured from me like crimson wine.
“Told ya,” he smirked. By now he had the upper hand even though he was bleeding too.
“Come on, let me go, Zack,” I panted, pushing his mouth from off mine while he braced me against the wall, which by now had turned into a portrait of blood.
He pointed the bloody knife between my breasts. “I go, you go, Laura.”
I spat in his face. He pressed the cutting weapon harder against my skin until it gave way. Blood spilled from the opening. My gun fell, in a crashing thud to the floor, from my weakened right hand.
“You're mine, Laura. And I'm going to make love to you, alive or not.”
“You're a ruthless killer, Zack,” I breathed out holding away his hands from me with the little strength that was left inside me.
“I'm going to tear you open, Laura,” he giggled. "You know I love you, Laura. I'll do anything to make you mine," he fumed, pulling me to his lips, by my hair. “I know they going call me the cop who turned into a psycho killer,” he giggled. “But, you know what, Laura? You're responsible for the victims. You shouldn't have left me.”
Sweat running through my brows, I looked up into his eyes, through his dark sunshades, hating the crap out of him, only too weak to fight him off me.
