Close Your Eyes

by Thomas Fincham

  The first time she saw a rat, she had been so startled she almost fired her gun at the rodent.

  She kept moving when she heard a noise coming toward her. She knew what it was. A train was heading in her direction.

  As she had been instructed by the BTA employee, she got off the tracks and flattened her body next to the tunnel wall.

  She waited when she saw bright lights round the bend. She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw as a train flew by her. She had to strain her body to stop from being sucked under the train.

  She relaxed when the noise faded away.

  She quickly got back on the tracks. She did not want to be caught by another train.

  Jo moved down the tracks.

  She stopped when something caught her attention. A strip of light was coming from somewhere down the tunnel.

  She flashed her light and saw a door. She moved the light over it and caught the sign on the door: MAINTENANCE.

  She placed the flashlight in her pocket and tightly gripped her weapon. She turned the doorknob with her free hand. It was unlocked.

  She pushed the door in and entered with her gun aimed before her.

  The room was small, no bigger than a car garage.

  There was a table by the wall with a fluorescent light bulb hanging above it. She was moving toward it when her foot hit something. She looked down and saw a metal pail. There was liquid inside it. She looked carefully. The fluid was thick and red.

  Blood.

  She moved it to the table and found it was wet and sticky.

  Fresh blood.

  She suddenly realized where she was. She was in the killer’s kill room.

  She pulled out her cell phone, but found there was no signal. She was too deep underground.

  She was about to put her phone away when something caught her eye. Another bucket was next to the table. The light was too low for her to see what was inside.

  She pulled out her flashlight and shined it in the bucket. She quickly turned away to compose herself.

  She flashed the light on the bucket again and found two hands, two eyes, and a tongue. They belonged to Silvio Tarconi, Natasha Wedham, and Doug Curran.

  A putrid smell emanated from inside the bucket. She covered her nose with her hand.

  She sensed a shadow behind her. She turned when something hard hit her in the spine. She fell forward and her head banged on the table. Her gun nearly flew out of her hands, but she held on to it.

  She turned to fire a shot as the figure disappeared through the door.

  She touched her forehead. It stung. There would be a bruise, but fortunately there was no blood.

  She got to her feet and ran after the figure.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  Rhodes watched as the young man waited at the bus stop. With his Audi taken, he could either walk from where he came from or take public transit. He took the latter.

  The moment he got on the bus, Rhodes drove up right behind it. He was going to follow the bus to see where the young man got off. He wanted to find out who he was.

  The bus kept going on its designated route, stopping only to drop off and pick up passengers.

  When the bus finally turned into a station, Rhodes considered abandoning his chase. He could still catch up with Guzman. But then he thought, I’ve come this far. I might as well keep going.

  After talking to Rhodes, Guzman had called the young man right away. Why? There had to be a reason. Did the young man merely owe drug money to Guzman? If so, this chase was a waste of time. Did the young man have anything to do with what happened to Reed? Rhodes was not sure, but the only way to find out was to not lose him.

  He drove around for several minutes until he found a parking spot across from the station.

  Rhodes raced up to the ticket booth and purchased a ticket. He went through the turnstiles and headed straight for the buses. He knew the bus number the young man had gotten on. As luck would have it, the bus was still at the station and people were still getting off.

  He watched with bated breath until he spotted the young man. He had his head down, and he was clutching his stomach.

  The young man followed the other passengers down the stairs on the other side of the station.

  Rhodes ran and was down the stairs in no time. He saw the young man turn left at the end of the tunnel. He is going east, Rhodes thought.

  Rhodes moved past a group of commuters and was at the end of the tunnel when he heard the sounds of a train.

  He hurried his steps, but when he reached the platform, the train doors had already closed. The train slowly pulled out of the station.

  Rhodes grunted. He had missed the train by mere seconds.

  SEVENTY-TWO

  Jo ran as fast as her legs would allow her, but she was careful not to touch the tracks. She heard footsteps up ahead. The killer was only a couple of yards away. If she could get in range, she was confident she could take him down with a bullet to the leg.

  She heard the familiar sounds. A train was approaching from behind her.

  She kept moving. She did not want to lose the killer. But when the sounds got louder, she gritted her teeth and shoved her body against the wall.

  It did not take long for the train to speed past her.

  She shut her eyes and held on tight. Her gun shook in her hand.

  When the train was gone, she jumped back on the tracks and resumed her pursuit.

  The tunnel swerved to the left. She followed it.

  She saw a light in the distance. She also saw a figure running toward it.

  She had not lost the killer!

  But he was still too far for her to take a shot.

  She was keeping pace when her breathing became heavier.

  She felt disoriented.

  A sharp pain stabbed her in the chest.

  She broke into a cold sweat.

  She grimaced as the pain overpowered her.

  She tried to keep moving, but her legs became weak and wobbly.

  Why is this happening? she thought. Not now.

  She willed herself to keep going. She could no longer see the figure, but she could see light at the end of the tunnel.

  By now she was out of breath and heaving. If she could get to the next station, she could call it in.

  Her legs gave way. Her body dropped to the ground. The flashlight fell out of her hand.

  She lay in the middle of the track, her face inches from the rail. She stared at the ceiling. She was drenched in sweat. She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry.

  The pain was throbbing inside her chest. She felt like her heart would explode.

  She shut her eyes. She needed to compose herself. She needed to go after the killer.

  She then felt vibrations underneath her.

  She knew what was coming her way.

  SEVENTY-THREE

  Rhodes decided to head back to his car. There was nothing else he could do here. He looked at his watch. There was still time for him to be at the location before Guzman arrived.

  He turned when he heard a noise. It sounded like footsteps. He listened carefully and realized it was coming from the tunnel.

  Rhodes moved down the platform. He stuck his head out. It was dark inside the tunnel, but he could see a silhouette coming his way.

  What the…?

  Before he could react, a man jumped out and rammed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet.

  Rhodes recovered, but the man was already racing up the stairs.

  Odd, Rhodes thought.

  He then noticed a light bouncing in the tunnel. He leaned over the platform to take a better look.

  The light dropped to the floor and rolled away.

  Something did not feel right, and his gut told him to check it out. He jumped on the track and moved into the tunnel, taking care to avoid the third rail. It was dark. The lights on the ceiling were not strong enough to illuminate his surroundings.

  As he moved further into the tunnel, he saw a body on the ground. Nex
t to it was a flashlight. He got closer and realized it was a woman. She had blonde hair, and she was gripping a gun.

  Her eyes were open, and they were staring at him. He could tell she wanted to aim the gun at him, but something prevented her from doing so.

  “I’m here to help,” he said, stopping before her.

  Just then he heard the sound of the oncoming train.

  He knew what to do next. He grabbed the woman, lifted her up on his shoulder, and ran as hard and fast as he could.

  He felt a light behind him, but he did not bother to turn and see what it was. He already knew. The sound of the train was loud and deafening.

  He reached the platform, threw the woman on it and then pulled himself up.

  Just then he felt a strong gust of wind behind him as the train roared into the station.

  He looked over at the woman. Her eyes were open but she was pale.

  A disembarking passenger came over. “She okay?” he asked.

  “Get some water,” Rhodes replied.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  Jo had refused to go to the hospital even though Walters insisted on it. “You need medical attention,” she said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “What happened on the tracks?”

  Jo looked away.

  “Did it have anything to do with your condition?” Walters asked.

  “The killer got a jump on me.” Jo pointed to the bruise on her forehead. “I ran so fast after him that I may have gotten disoriented.”

  “It’s a good thing he pulled you out.” Walters looked over at a man who was standing in the corner. “Who knows what could’ve happened if he didn’t.”

  Jo did not say anything.

  Walters put her hand on her shoulders. “The FBI can’t afford to lose one of their own. I can’t afford to lose a member of my team.”

  Jo nodded. She knew that beneath her hard exterior, Walters cared deeply for those who reported to her. She also knew how concerned Walters was for her health.

  Jo then said, “I was in the kill room. I saw where he cut up his victims. You’ll find all three victims appendages in that room.”

  “I’ve spoken to BTA, and they’ll be rerouting all trains away from that tunnel. I’m going to have a team go through that room with a fine comb. Did you see what he looked like?”

  Jo shook her head. “It happened too fast. What did he say, though?” She nodded at the man who had pulled her out of the tunnel. He was looking impatient, as if he was in a hurry to be somewhere.

  “He didn’t say much,” Walters replied. “Only that a man ran out of the tunnel in a hurry and that you were behind him.”

  Jo was relieved. Maybe he did not see her clutching her chest when she fell to the ground. Why would he, though? She was too far from the platform.

  “He did say that if it weren’t for your flashlight, he wouldn’t have known someone was on the tracks. You were lucky.”

  In more ways than one, Jo thought. She was lucky that the man had seen her light. She was even luckier that he risked his life to save her.

  Walters said, “Do you know who that is, though?”

  Jo shrugged.

  “Martin Rhodes.”

  Jo squinted. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “It should. He used to be a detective in Newport.”

  “Used to be?”

  “Yes, until he shot and killed a suspect?”

  “A suspect?” Jo asked, trying to recall the case.

  “Yes, and that suspect turned out to be a child murderer.”

  “I remember now, he spent ten years in prison for it.” Jo stared at the man. If it were not for him, she would not be standing here now.

  Walters said, “I don’t know what he’s doing in Bridgeton. I hope he doesn’t plan to stay here too long. I can’t stand police officers who take the law into their own hands.”

  A paramedic walked over to them.

  Walters said, “If you won’t go to the hospital, then at least let these guys check you out.”

  Jo conceded.

  The paramedic put his bag next to her. He quickly pulled out his equipment. He first checked her forehead and then he flashed a light in her eyes. He pulled out his stethoscope and began to check her heart. Jo could tell Walters must have said something to him.

  By the time the examination was done, Martin Rhodes was gone.

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  Rhodes came out of the station and found his car missing.

  He walked around the block, hoping he might have parked it somewhere else, but there was no sign of it.

  “It might’ve been towed,” he heard a voice say.

  He turned and found it was the same woman he had pulled out of the tunnel.

  “It happens sometimes,” she said. “If you park in the wrong spot, they won’t even bother giving you a ticket, they just haul it away.”

  A man with a guitar approached them. He looked like a street performer. “Are you the owner of the Malibu?”

  Rhodes nodded.

  “I was playing music over there,” he said, pointing at a spot across the street, “and I saw a man run out of the station. He saw your car and jumped in and drove away.”

  “Can you describe the man?” Jo said.

  The man shrugged. “I guess so. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but he was wearing a jacket and a baseball cap.”

  “That’s my suspect,” Jo said. She turned to Rhodes. “What’s your license plate number?”

  Rhodes gave it to her.

  Jo pulled out her cell phone and called Chris. She told him to send out an all-points-bulletin to all law enforcement agencies.

  She hung up. “If he’s still driving that car, we’ll grab him.”

  The witness said to Rhodes, “You shouldn’t keep your windows down. You’re asking someone to take it, you know.”

  Rhodes looked at him. He was certain the windows were up and that the car was locked. Maybe in his haste, he had been negligent.

  Rhodes looked at his watch. Shit, he thought. Guzman would be at the location by now. The day was not turning out the way he had planned it.

  “You need to be somewhere?” the woman asked.

  Rhodes nodded.

  “I can drive you.”

  He looked at her.

  “It’s the least I can do. You saved my life.”

  He thought about it. “I should get home, but I need to make a call first.”

  “You can use my phone.” She offered it to him.

  Rhodes was not sure he wanted her involved. “I prefer to use the phone booth. It’s a private call.”

  They were silent at first during the drive, but Jo finally broke the ice, “By the way, I’m Jo.”

  “Martin,” Rhodes replied.

  “I know. My supervisor told me,” she said. She paused and then added, “She also told me you used to be a detective.”

  Rhodes said nothing. He just stared out the window.

  “I can tell you’re not much of a talker,” she said.

  He did not say anything.

  “Why were you chasing that man?” Rhodes asked her.

  “We think he’s responsible for the death of three people.”

  “Do you mean the bodies on the train?”

  “Yes.”

  Rhodes nodded as if it now made more sense.

  She said, “I had found the room where he had butchered the bodies, and that’s when he jumped me.”

  Rhodes turned to her. “And you chased him until he jumped you again on the train tracks?”

  So he knows what happened, she thought. She looked away.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” he said. “It’s none of my business.”

  Jo gripped the steering wheel. “I have a medical condition,” she confessed. She was not sure why she was telling him, but it felt like a relief to share it with someone. She had been carrying it inside her for so long that the weight was worse than the actual condition. Plus, if he had wanted to out her s
ecret, he would have already done so. “My condition got worse with all the excitement and stress, but it’ll be fine.” She was trying to reassure herself more than him.

  “In our line of work… I mean, in your line of work, something like this can get you killed,” Rhodes replied.

  “I know,” Jo said.

  They drove in silence for a time.

  “Thanks,” Jo said.

  He nodded and went back to staring out the window.

  SEVENTY-SIX

  Crowder had received a call. It had come from a pay phone. Crowder thought it was someone trying to play a prank on him. But what the caller told him made him think it might be something he should look into.

  He was now in the interview room of the police station. The room had a two-way mirror. Two men watched eagerly from behind it.

  The suspect’s name was Alfonso Guzman. Crowder had picked up him and his buddy outside a bar.

  “Why am I here?” Guzman asked, sitting on a chair.

  “We received a tip,” Crowder said, circling him.

  “What’re you talking about? What tip?”

  “That you were involved in the death of Reed Yates.”

  Guzman made a face. “Who’s that? I don’t know that name. Whoever called you, they lied to you, man.”

  “Well, the caller told us where to find you. We did. The caller said you would be armed. You were. The caller also said that you would be carrying lots of cash. You had in your possession close to six thousand dollars.”

  Guzman went silent.

  Crowder continued, “The caller said that you had beaten him up and had taken his car at gunpoint. Is that true?”

  The blood drained on Guzman’s face.

  Crowder smiled. “I’m guessing you know who I’m talking about.”

  “That rat,” Guzman spat. “He’s a dead man.”

  “I wouldn’t say that at a police station,” Crowder said. “But I’ll get to him later. What I want to know is how you are involved in Reed Yates’s death?”

  Guzman crossed his arms over his chest. “I want my lawyer.”

  “Sure, you have the right to an attorney, but before you make that call, just remember that once your lawyer is here, I won’t show you any leniency. Right now, if you answer my questions, it might not be all bad for you.”