by Mike Gomes
“No need. This will be fine.”
Falau pulled the car to the side of the road and hit the button for the side door to open. Tyler jumped out and pulled his jacket tight around him as the sun started to set.
“Good luck. Call me if you need me.”
“Will do.”
Chapter 32
Standing motionless outside his son’s bedroom, Calvin Wise’s father held up a fist ready to knock at the door. But something held him back. Feeling a lump rise in his throat, he felt as if he was going to cry. Each interaction with his son was getting more and more strange. The young man, who was once such an inquisitive and dynamic person, had now become a shell of his former self.
Inside the door a voice could be heard but not made out. It was one side of a conversation, but nobody was in the room other than Calvin. If there had been someone there, the guards would have let him know.
Holding his breath he pulled his hand back, fearing what it could lead to. What state was Calvin in now? Was he calm? Was he angry? It was impossible to tell.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Silence hung in the air.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Again, nothing.
“Calvin? Everything okay?” asked his father, turning the knob and opening the door. “How’s it going buddy?”
Calvin sat motionless with his back to the door and facing away from his father. He stared straight ahead.
Looking down at the desk the older man saw a collage of pictures with small objects on each of them. It looked like a work in progress. “You working on something?”
Calvin held silent and motionless.
Mr. Wise looked closer at the pictures on the desk and recognized the faces from the evening news. The girls who had gone missing were all there, each of them with a small trinket attached to the picture. They were the same things that Calvin refused to let him see earlier. The girl’s eyes looked up at him, their names printed with care across the bottom of each picture.
Sandy Withcom
Jennifer Lathum
Alexa Sonberg
Mary Kellen
Erica Jones
Samantha Erickson
His mouth dropped open as his mind filled with a thick fog trying to make sense of what he was seeing. How could this be real? Why?
The chair creaked as Calvin turned to face his father. His face was drawn and empty, like people in shock after a great trauma. His voice was void of emotion and he made no eye contact with his father. “Why are you in my room?”
“Calvin, what is all this? Did you hurt these girls? Don’t you know the trouble you could get in for even having these pictures?”
“This is none of your business.”
“The guards tell me you go out each night, and now I see these girls on your desk. The same ones who have been killed! Did you hurt them?” asked Mr. wise, raising his voice as frustration grew inside him. “You’re going to get caught. Is that what you want? A life in prison! What’s happened to you?”
Tilting his head upward the young man finally made eye contact with his father.
“He doesn’t respect you,” whispered the voice in his mind, yet sounding far away.
Placing his hands on the arms of the chair Calvin pushed hard upwards, shooting him to his feet and launching the chair backward, crashing it into the wall.
Taking a step toward his father he locked eyes with the man.
With a hard gaze that felt as if it was digging into his soul, John Wise felt frozen in place, unable to react to the monster that his son had become.
“You have no idea how hard things are for me. I have never been good enough for you and your high standards. Not good enough at school, my grades, jobs, girlfriend! Nothing!”
“Where is this coming from?”
“He thinks you’re a fool. He expects you to believe he doesn’t understand. He thinks you’re stupid,” whispered the voice, closer this time.
“I’ve always been pushed aside for my brother and sister. You always said they were older so they could go first, but the truth is you loved them more. I was always in last place with you. They were your little confidants, while I had the nerve to be outspoken. So I paid the price when mom died, left alone with all of you. Nobody on my side!”
The space between them had disintegrated to less than six inches, as each of the men stared into one another’s eyes trying to make sense of the situation and their relationship.
“You never had time for me!” Calvin said, turning away to the desk. The young man lifted his hands out to the side like a preacher, passing them over the twisted collage he had created on the desk. “But this was just for me. These girls belong to me. I showed them true love. I showed them how to give themselves fully to me. I saved them from the slut-whore lives they lived.”
Calvin’s eyes shone as the tears started to fall down his cheeks. “If you had just loved me, if you had just accepted whatever I did and told me it was great the way other parents do, then I wouldn’t have needed to help these girls. I just wanted your approval.”
Turning back to his father Calvin wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. He gasped for air as another wave of weeping overcame him.
“Did I do good with the girl’s, Dad?” Calvin asked, picking up the pictures on the desk and trying to place them into his father’s unaccepting hands. “I am the best at saving them, right? Say I’m the best at saving them.”
His father’s mouth moved slightly, but with no words uttered. Standing in silence the older man looked at his son, wondering what he was trying to tell him. He killed the girls, right? he thought. He killed them all. For me. Why? No.
The pictures fell from Calvin’s hands, decorating the floor in a macabre tableau. The tears fell hard from his eyes and he reached out to his father, stepping closer to him and looking for a hug. “Dad. Are you proud of me?”
As Calvin’s hands reached his father’s shoulders Mr. Wise raised his own hands against Calvin’s chest, stopping him from getting closer.
Calvin’s body locked up and his tears immediately stopped.
“You’re insane, Calvin. We need to get you help,” said Mr. Wise in a voice that lacked empathy. “You’re a serial killer. This was no mistake. You meant to kill those girls. How... how could you do that?”
“I did it for you. You can’t reject me now. This is perfection. Nobody could do it better than I did.”
Pulling back, Mr. Wise’s eyes filled with tears. “You can’t be my son. My son would never do something like this. You’re no son of mine.”
“He hates you. He thinks you’re weak. You need to help him see the light,” whispered the voice.
“What?” asked Calvin, stepping closer to his father. “Even this is not good enough for you? What could I have done better?”
Taking a step back and trying to keep a distance from Calvin, John Wise kept his eyes locked on his son who was steadily closing in.
“You don’t have an answer, do you? Not a fucking thing could I have done better! But to you this is just another thing I have screwed up.”
“Keep back, Calvin,” said his father, lifting a hand.
“You hate me. I will always be a loser to you, even when I give you a gift as good as this. You need me to help you!” shouted the young man, taking another step closer.
“You need help. We can get you help. Now step back!” insisted his father, fumbling to find the door with his hand.
“Oh no, you’re going to put me away, to stop me from talking about what you do. No, not me, you’re not going to do that to me. You have sinned! You forgot how to love fully!”
The door jamb struck hard against Mr. Wise’s shoulder as he turned to run. Fingers scratched down the back of his neck as he was pulled back by his shirt collar and dragged to the ground. Calvin’s fist rose high into the air, striking down hard on his father’s ear as the fist hit its target. He slumped to the side trying to pull together his thoughts.
Cavin’s feet walked by
, closing the door to the bedroom. Turning back the young man kicked hard into his father’s face, obliterating his nose and causing a wild stream of blood to pour down his face.
Kicking hard again, Calvin’s foot connected with his father’s midsection, causing him to roll over onto his back.
“Did I kick you well enough, father, or will I miss dessert because I messed that up too?” mocked the crazed young man.
Reaching down and grabbing his father’s shirt Calvin dragged him to the bed and threw him on it.
“I will never let you doubt me again.”
“Save him. Like you saved the girls,” whispered the voice.
“I need to show you how good I am. It’s the only way you’ll respect me. It’s the only way I can save you.”
Climbing on the bed and straddling his father Calvin looked down into his eyes.
“Calvin... No,” gasped his father, his eyes pleading for forgiveness and mercy.
Sighing deeply, Calvin smiled at his father. “I love you Dad.”
A smile crossed Mr. Wise’s face and his eyes closed on hearing the first tender thing his son had said in a long time.
Calvin’s hands suddenly slid over his father’s chest and wrapped around his neck.
His father’s eyes opened, realizing Calvin had no intention of stopping and that his ‘I love you’ was more of a goodbye.
The killer dropped his head onto his father’s chest and pushed out his elbows to fend off any blows, like he had done every time before.
He tightened his grip as his father tried to punch him. He could feel the pulse of his carotid artery getting stronger as it constricted, the blood trying to force its way through the smaller opening.
“This is how I killed the girls. I like making it last. I like feeling their deaths. I’m saving you from yourself. I wonder what prize I will find in your pocket for me to keep.”
Fighting to speak, the killer’s father begged. “No... No!”
“I’ll show you that I can finish the job. Just like you always told me to do.”
His hands tightened further around the neck of his victim, causing the man to thrash uncontrollably while desperately searching for air. His blows no longer had any power and he felt himself slipping away into the darkness.
“This is my favorite part, Dad. The part where I feel the life leave your body. It’s magical.”
Calvin gave one more long, hard squeeze, accompanied by a primordial moan, until his father moved no more.
Releasing his fingers, Calvin lifted his head and checked for a pulse.
Nothing.
A smile filled the young man’s face as he looked down at his dead father.
“You’re welcome, Dad.”
Chapter 33
The scarred and battered Dodge Caravan pulled up the street with its lights off, Falau parking in the same spot it had the last two times he had visited the Wise home. Falau killed the engine then cranked the driver’s side window down.
The air was still with a clear sky overhead, yet despite being in the suburbs the stars were barely visible due to all the light pollution emanating from Boston just a few miles away.
Rubbing his growing beard, Falau kept his eyes on the front gate. Drawing the guards out would give him an idea whether or not they were still at full protection in the house, but if they did not come out it was probable that his dismantling of the men in the Humvee and the guards that came to his apartment had left them in a weakened state. That could be the opening he was looking for.
Lifting the binoculars to his face he scanned over the yard and saw nothing had changed. The dogs were still out and patrolling in a pack. The floodlights outside the home were on timers and turned on and off every ten minutes. Cameras sat in trees in the corners of the yard, and kept an eye on anyone who dared cross the grass. Four cars sat in the driveway, two of which were older and utilitarian looking and probably owned by the guards still inside. They were nothing like the vehicles the Wise family would drive.
Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket he tapped them against his hand and pulled one from the box. Cupping his hands in front of it, he lit the match and took a long breath in, holding the smoke deep inside before letting it out in a long slow stream.
“Friggin’ Dogs,” he said to himself, watching the pack of Rottweilers chase a squirrel into a tree, barking loud and aggressively around the trunk. A few even tried to jump and scale the tree before falling back to the ground. They didn’t just want to chase the square... they wanted to kill it. The way they appeared, Falau thought they were willing to kill anything they could get their teeth into. No cover at all. Just run for the door. It’s the only way.
The lights in the house started turning off one by one in a specific pattern, as if someone was walking room to room and switching them off manually. Homes of this class may have bedrooms with free control of the lights, but most of the other rooms were kept on timers and ran through a central security system. This would make sure that if anyone did think about robbing the home they would never be sure if people were awake inside. Besides, the guards would still need to make their regular rounds around the property, and hallway lights would most definitely stay on for that.
Looking down at his cell phone he pressed the button on the side to illuminate the screen. 10:38pm. Looking back up at the house and then back to the phone, he knew that nobody would ever set timers for such a random time, especially not rolling from one room to another. This was intentional and being carried out by someone inside the house. But why? he wondered, lifting the binoculars and seeing if he could catch a glimpse of somebody walking by a window.
Needing a closer look he opened the door and stepped out. He surveyed the area around him, and still saw no guards. He knew he was in plain sight of their equipment, but were they just choosing to leave him alone? Unlikely. He’d been far too much of a pain in their necks to just let him camp out in front of the house.
Reaching back, he made sure that the Ruger SR9C sat in its normal place, tucked into his jeans against his lower back. The gun had already saved his life from the two guards, and there was no way he would enter the home without it.
He walked briskly across the street to the wall that surrounded the Wise home. Staying tight against it he walked on, trying to see if he could draw out the guards. His stride was methodical and leisurely, like an older man seeking to get in his nightly exercise before bed. Eyes fixated on the gate, he waited for someone to come out. But still nothing happened.
He drew closer to the gate and finally he stood right in front of it. Still nothing. Looking up the driveway as he passed by, he saw nobody. The small guard shack next to the gate was empty. If someone were to pull up to the house now there was nobody there to let them in.
“What the hell?” Falau whispered to himself as he cleared the gate and continued on.
This isn’t what a man in Wise’s position does. He’s totally vulnerable. Something is wrong in that house, thought Falau, returning to the gate. Opportunity had shown itself to the big man, and he was more than ready to take it.
Back at the gate he planted one foot hard against the wall and the other onto the fence. Scaling the gate proved to be easy, with its ornamental wrought iron frame providing grips and footholds easily able to support him. As he reached the top he rolled his body over and dropped to the other side, landing in a military stance. Sprinting up the driveway he scanned the scene for the dogs. If they attacked he could only hope one of the cars was unlocked and he could duck inside. But now all he could hope to do was close the gap.
SITTING IN A HARD WOODEN chair Calvin Wise stared into a computer screen with a blank expression on his face. Next to him on the floor lay the bodies of two guards that worked in his home, their blood spilled across the floor from the wounds where a knife had been ripped across their necks in a savage display of murder.
“Another friend is coming to see us,” he said aloud to the dead bodies on the floor.
On the co
mputer screen a young man rushed up the driveway looking around in all directions while keeping himself low. He appeared to know what he was doing.
“I know you. You’re the one who keeps coming to take my picture. This will be nice... I can answer all your questions and show you all the good work I’ve done.”
Chapter 34
Making it safely to the cars the Falau ducked down behind the four-door Mercedes parked closest to the house. The garage door was closed and there was no point just walking up to the front door and ringing the bell.
He spied an opening between the bushes and the side of the garage that rolled downhill to the back of the house, and scurried over to it. The closest wall was still more than a hundred yards away, so if the Rottweilers made their way to him he had no way to escape. At the bottom of the hill where the house turned to the back, he peered around the corner and saw a servant’s entrance he was unable to see from the road. It was nestled between two hills and had a small road that led out to a gate on the far side of the property by the lake.
A van was backed up to the door. It was all white, with Permoski’s Fine Meats written on the side.
Falau kept close to the ground and crept up to the side window and looked inside, but there was no activity. He placed his hand on the hood of the car and felt the cool metal against his hand, and knew at once the van had been sitting there for quite some time. If it had been driven recently then the hood would have still been warm.
Adjusting himself to look through the back window he saw no activity inside the house where the van was parked. The lights were all off. The van must have been left by the butler, due to his job not being finished.
Reaching into his coat pocket Falau pulled out a pair of black leather gloves, that fit his hands perfectly and eliminated the worry of fingerprints being left around the house. They afforded him the opportunity to look through the building and touch things without having to waste time wiping them down after.
