Close Your Eyes

by Thomas Fincham

  “When did she go missing?” Jo asked.

  “Yesterday,” he replied. “She never came home after work, and I thought maybe she was working a long shift. It’s happened before when someone becomes severely ill, or when someone dies and they need extra staff to console the other residents. I finally called her cell phone, and there was no answer. I then called the retirement home, and they said she’d left hours ago. I got worried and called all our family and friends, but no one had heard from her. I then went to the police. They said they would have to wait twenty-four hours before they could open a missing persons case. By the time the twenty-four hours were up, you guys called and…”

  He took a deep breath.

  Men were different than women, Jo knew. They felt it was a weakness if they cried in front of strangers. At a time like this, it did not matter if you were male or female. Mourning was a natural part of the grieving process.

  “What do you do?” she asked in order to change the subject.

  “I run my own industrial dry cleaning business.”

  Crowder’s face twisted. “Industrial?”

  “Yeah, we cater to restaurants, butcher shops, rental stores—pretty much any business that requires cleaning services.”

  “Do you mind if I have a look around?” Jo asked.

  “Sure.”

  Jo went out into the hallway and examined the photos on the wall. They were all of Natasha and Jeremy. She had light brown hair and a full smile. It was a pity her life had ended so abruptly.

  Jo headed for the bedroom. There was a romance novel on the nightstand beside the bed. A small TV was perched on top of a dresser. The closet was overflowing with clothes. Jo did not have the desire or energy to go through them.

  She went to the other room. This looked like it had been used as an office. There was a computer by the window. Dozens of white Bankers Boxes surrounded the computer table and lined the walls. Jo examined a stack of paper on top of one of the boxes. They were invoices for the cleaning business.

  Jo looked at the shelves and spotted some nursing books. She was about to move away when something on the very top shelf caught her eye. She picked the item up. It was an ID badge.

  Jo’s eyes widened.

  She realized she had just found the missing link.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The moment Rhodes entered Wilmington, a feeling of nausea swept over him.

  His mind was bombarded with memories.

  Rhodes gripped the steering wheel and kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. He drove past a boarded-up building that used to have a convenience store on the ground floor. Rhodes had spent a significant part of his childhood there, hustling cheap cigarettes and booze to any passerby.

  He drove past an alley where he and a group of his friends would play marbles. It was supposed to be an innocent game, but Rhodes made his friends bet on the outcome of the game. The only way you could play was if you had cash.

  He drove past a park where Rhodes had kissed Meghan O’Hara, his first girlfriend. The park was also where police had arrested him for drinking in public.

  Rhodes was a troublemaker even before he was a teenager. However, when he hit puberty and had a growth spurt, he had begun to bully those around him.

  Rhodes’s knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

  He blamed his father for his behavior. The man had never worked an honest day in his life, and Rhodes had vowed never to see him again.

  He feared what he might do to him if he did.

  He was grateful that the girl was with him. She might be able to defuse his rage.

  He drove until he stopped in front of a trailer home. There were other homes similar to it, but something told him it was the one he was looking for.

  There were two large American flags on the roof. There was a peace symbol hanging from the window, with a Confederate flag hung next to it.

  A Harley Davison motorcycle was parked out front.

  Rhodes got out of the Malibu. The Harley was in pristine condition. The side decal had a rifle with the letters SR emblazed on it. Rhodes knew what the letters stood for: Sullivan Rhodes. Shooting out of the rifle were the words RHODES TO FREEDOM.

  He had seen that decal on various vehicles when he was young. It was his father’s moniker.

  Suddenly, the trailer door swung open.

  A man stepped out. He had on a cut-off T-shirt, faded jeans, and black cowboy boots. His head was covered with a yellow bandana, and he had a bushy white beard.

  He was holding a rifle.

  “If you’re looking to buy, then that baby is not for sale,” the man said, aiming the rifle at Rhodes. “If you are looking to steal it, then you came to the wrong place, boy.”

  Rhodes did not flinch. “Sully, put the gun away,” he said.

  The man stared at Rhodes for what felt like a minute but was probably less. A smile crossed his face. “You lost a lot of weight,” he said. He lowered the gun. “I knew you’d come, Marty.”

  Rhodes wished he had a weapon on him. He would have shot Sully between the eyes and said it was in self-defense.

  Rhodes had had numerous opportunities to hurt the man who had robbed him of his childhood, but he never did. Just as a parent could not hurt their child, no matter how bad they were, a child could not hurt their parent, no matter how much they had wronged them.

  Tess came out of the car.

  “Who’s she?” Sully asked.

  “She’s nobody.” Rhodes turned to her. “I told you to stay in the car.”

  “I have to use the bathroom,” she said.

  “I’ll drive you to a gas station after I’m done.”

  “I have to go now,” she pleaded.

  “She can use mine,” Sully said.

  Rhodes hesitated. “Fine, but be quick.”

  Tess disappeared inside the trailer.

  Sully did not come near Rhodes. They did not have a normal father-and-son relationship, which meant hugging or even shaking hands was out of the question.

  “How’re you doing, son?” Sully asked, eyeing him up and down.

  “Fine,” Rhodes replied. He did not bother asking his dad how he was doing. He did not care. “Your buddy, Barry, dropped by when I was having a drink. I’m sure you told him where to find me. How did you know I would be in Bridgeton?”

  “Angie told me.”

  When Rhodes was in Parish, his ex-wife had asked about his father. She was probably still in contact with him.

  “Barry wants his three grand and he thinks I have it.”

  “Well… why don’t you come inside and we’ll talk about it over a couple of beers.”

  “I’m not staying.”

  “Come on, son. It’s been what? Twenty years since I last saw you? I mean, I did see you in the newspapers after what happened in Newport, but not in the flesh, you know.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Come on. We’ll talk about the good old days.”

  “There weren’t any.”

  Tess came back out. “Get in the car,” Rhodes ordered her.

  “Thanks for letting me use the washroom,” Tess said.

  Sully smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  “Tell Barry to leave me alone,” Rhodes said.

  He went back to the Malibu.

  “I need your help, Marty. I don’t have his money.”

  “Sell that motorbike and pay him back. It’s simple.”

  Sully’s voice rose. “If it was that simple, I would’ve already done it.” He then lowered his voice. “I didn’t want to go to Barry, but I owed money to people worse than him. Plus, I don’t have much prize possessions, except for that bike. And I wanted to give it to you when you got out of prison. As a gift, you know.”

  “That was years ago, Sully. I don’t ride anymore. And quite frankly, I don’t want anything from you.”

  “I can’t just sell it, Marty. It’s already got the family name on it.”

  “It’s got yo
ur name on it,” Rhodes shot back. “Get rid of it.”

  “Marty, listen to me.” Sully inched forward, but stopped when he saw Rhodes’s hands turn into fists. “Listen, son. Can you help your old man out, just this once?”

  Rhodes got in the car and drove away.

  THIRTY-NINE

  They were gathered in a conference room on the main floor of the FBI office. Walters, Jo, Crowder, Tarik, Irina, and Chris were seated around a large table.

  Walters put her hands together and said, “What do we know so far?”

  Jo said, “When I was looking through the second victim’s house, I found this.” She placed an ID badge on the table. “Natasha Wedham was a former employee of BMCI.”

  “You mean, the Bridgeton Mental Care Institute?” Walters asked.

  Jo nodded. “What’s interesting is that Silvio Tarconi, the first victim, also worked at BMCI. His ID badge was found in his apartment.”

  “Did they know each other?” Walters asked.

  “I showed Wedham’s photo to Tarconi’s neighbors,” Irina replied. “None of them had ever seen her at the building, or with Tarconi.”

  Crowder said, “Even Wedham’s boyfriend, Jeremy Turnbull, had never seen Tarconi before. And he also said that Wedham didn’t like talking about her time at BMCI. In fact, whenever he brought up the topic, she fell silent.”

  Walters said, “Just because they didn’t meet outside, doesn’t mean they never worked together.”

  Chris said, “I looked into their employment history. Tarconi started working at BMCI before Wedham. But for two years, they were both employed at the same time. However, Wedham left BMCI before Tarconi did.”

  “What did they do at BMCI?” Walters asked.

  “Wedham was a nurse, and Tarconi was an orderly,” Chris replied.

  “That explains it!” Jo exclaimed.

  “Explains what?” Walters asked.

  Jo stood up and walked over to a white marker board. She wrote down the name of the victims and the messages on their bodies. Jo pointed to Tarconi’s name and said, “The first victim was an orderly who had the power to control patients who got out of hand. Hence the message on his chest: WHAT THE HANDS TOUCH.”

  Jo pointed to Wedham’s name. “The second victim was a nurse and thus administered medication or kept an eye on the patients’ health. Hence the message on her back: WHAT THE EYES SEE. I believe the killer is a former patient of BMCI. As the orderly, Tarconi must have been harsh or cruel to him. Therefore, the killer cut his hands off. The nurse, Wedham, must have ignored his pleas for help or had looked the other way when he was abused. Instead of caring for his wellbeing, she was complicit in his harsh treatment. Therefore, the killer removed her eyes to punish her. Whoever is doing this wants to hurt those who had hurt him.”

  “So we find this former patient and we find the killer,” Tarik said.

  “Exactly,” Jo said.

  Walters turned to the group. “We already have had two dead bodies on the train. Make sure there isn’t a third one.”

  Outside the conference room, Jo found Crowder on his phone. He looked distressed.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Um… there is something I need to sort out,” he said. “Why don’t you go to BMCI and I’ll meet you there?”

  “I already called. The chief administrator has left for the day. We’re supposed to see him first thing in the morning.”

  “Okay, great. I’ll see you then.”

  He walked away.

  FORTY

  The ride back from Willington left a sour taste in Rhodes’s mouth. He wished he did not have to see Sully’s face. The old man had aged. Twenty years would do that to anyone. Rhodes had aged as well, but Sully looked frailer than the last time he had seen him.

  Rhodes gritted his teeth. Why am I thinking about him? The man is a parasite.

  Rhodes let out a long sigh. He knew the answer to his question. Sully was his father. He was the only link he had to his past. A person could choose their friends, but they could not choose their parents.

  “Was that your dad?” Tess asked.

  Rhodes did not reply.

  “He seemed nice.”

  “You don’t know him, and I don’t want to talk about him.”

  Rhodes wished it was that easy. He had tried to forget the man who had made him do things on the wrong side of the law. Maybe that was why Rhodes had chosen to become a policeman. He wanted to right the wrong of his childhood.

  Sullivan ‘Sully’ Rhodes was a career criminal. He had robbed banks, sold counterfeit goods, laundered money, and even run a Ponzi scheme. He tried to go legit, but lasted only a month or two before a new scheme popped into his head. The man thought he would one day be a millionaire from his wild ideas, and he fed the same nonsense to his son.

  Rhodes could not entirely blame him, though. Sully’s father was no better. During Prohibition, he smuggled booze from Canada. He was always in and out of prison. He was caught for racketeering, illegal gambling, and even human smuggling. Rhodes never learned how his grandfather had ended up doing the latter. Eventually, his grandfather’s vices got the better of him. In Las Vegas, he stole money from the wrong people. His body was found behind a dumpster. He had been shot eleven times. The rumor was that it was mob-related. Rhodes never knew the man. He had only met him once, and that was when he came to see Sully for money.

  Rhodes had tried to go down the right path, but it did not work out. If he thought about it, his crime was worse than any his father and grandfather had committed. He was a convicted murderer.

  Maybe crime ran deep in the blood of the Rhodes men.

  Rhodes was driving up to the house when he spotted a man and a woman standing by his apartment door.

  “Oh-oh, that’s my mom and her boyfriend,” Tess said.

  They parked and got out.

  “Tess, go inside the house!” Tess’s mom yelled.

  Tess lowered her head and walked away.

  “You’re gonna get it tonight, little girly,” the boyfriend hissed.

  The mother turned to Rhodes. “What’re your plans with my daughter? She’s a minor, you know.”

  “I didn’t know she was in the car.”

  “You wanna tell that to the cops?”

  “Yeah, do you?” the boyfriend added with a smirk.

  “I don’t,” Rhodes replied.

  “Good. Then stay away from Tess,” the mother said.

  “I will, just as long as your boyfriend stays away from her.”

  “What did you say?” The boyfriend got in Rhodes’s face. He was several inches shorter than Rhodes, and Rhodes had more than several pounds on him.

  Rhodes said, “If you touch her, I will hurt you.”

  The boyfriend laughed. “You mind your own business.”

  The mother said, “Tommy has never tried to touch my girl.”

  “That’s not what Tess said.”

  “You shut your mouth,” the boyfriend snapped. “Or else I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

  “Have you ever killed anyone?” Rhodes asked.

  The boyfriend blinked. “What?”

  “Have you ever put a gun to a man’s chest and pulled the trigger? Have you ever killed a man in front of his entire family?”

  The boyfriend stammered. “I… I…”

  Rhodes closed in until he was inches from the boyfriend’s face. “Well, I did, and I spent ten years in prison for it, so you don’t scare me.” Rhodes turned to the mother. She had suddenly turned pale. “If I find out that anything happened to Tess, I will burn the house down with you both alive in it. Do you understand me?” Rhodes’s voice was even and composed, giving it an almost sinister tone.

  The mother and the boyfriend rushed inside.

  FORTY-ONE

  Jacopo walked down the street. Night had fallen and he enjoyed being out by himself. It was not like anyone knew who he was. If they did, they would be terrified of him.

  The media had be
gun to dub the deaths the “Train Killings.” Jacopo was not partial to the name. He just found it funny how the media wanted to sensationalize the murders.

  There was speculation that there were going to be more dead bodies. There will be, he thought, but it all depends on my master.

  His master had given him life, and he would tell him whose he should take.

  He watched as people passed by him. He relished the fact that he could snatch any one of them from their safety and security. This knowledge gave him strength and power. But he had his orders. They did not involve harming anyone who was not a target.

  His master decided his victims. And tonight, he knew, there would be another name.

  He looked forward to it. It gave him a sense of purpose.

  He wished he could see who his master was. He would mark his body with his master’s image. It would be his way of thanking him for what he had done for him. But his master preferred to stay in the shadows. His master had chosen him for a reason: to be his sword of justice.

  These people had wronged his master, and it was Jacopo who would teach them a lesson.

  But this was just the beginning. His master had a grand plan, and Jacopo was at its forefront.

  He passed an electronics store. Several televisions were on display in the front windows. One of them was playing the news. The reporter was talking about the Train Killings. There was no volume, but he could read the subtitles.

  Ellen Sheehan spoke of a serial killer who was preying on the citizens of Bridgeton.

  He was offended. He did not consider himself a serial killer. He was not deranged or psychotic. He did not have a traumatic childhood. In fact, his childhood was filled with joy and happiness. His parents were educated, and they were married until they died of old age. He was loved by his parents, and he loved them in return.

  He was not a product of his upbringing. He was a product of his life’s decisions.

  As an adult, he had made choices that took his life down a path of destruction. Serving his master was his way of returning to a life of fulfillment.