The Vigilante

by Ramona Forrest

  She had another appointment with the psychiatrist, but couldn’t bear to think about it. It frightened her more each visit, while she tried not to imagine the hideous trash from a screwed up childhood of which she had no memory.

  In the bathroom, seeing the remnants of heavy make-up, she knew her other self had been busy in the night. On edge and upset, she scrubbed at her face. Unable to face the day on her own, she called her friend. “Liz, could you come over for a minute?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right there.”

  “Thanks. I’ll put the pot on.”

  Lizzie appeared in a just a few minutes. “What’s wrong, Martha, you look like hell!”

  “Feel like it too, Liz.”

  “What’s that stuff on your face?”

  “Thought I got it off.” She frowned, “I just can’t be alone right now. I think something happened last night, but I don’t know what.”

  “Like what, then?” Lizzie asked.

  “I woke up this morning with this god-awful, sticky make-up on my face. I took a course in theatrical make-up several months ago. I don’t know why, but look what I’m doing!”

  “Just what are you doing?”

  “That’s the thing, I really don’t know. I’ve seen a psychiatrist because of lost periods of time. I can’t remember events. I buy things, but don’t know when or where.” She pointed. “See that purse? It just appeared one day. I have no idea where I bought it.” Martha flung out her hands in helplessness. “That’s what I mean, Liz. I think I’m losing my mind.”

  “So what does your doctor say?”

  “He says I’ll be fine when we get it all out in the open.”

  “Well, he’s the professional now isn’t he? Let’s get the coffee.” Lizzie laughed. “You worry too much, girl.”

  “Now you know why I called you, Liz. What a voice of sanity you are!” Martha got the coffee and they both relaxed. Martha giggled like a school girl, basking in the warmth of her friend’s acceptance. “Think I’m nuts, huh, don’t ya?”

  Liz giggled a bit, too, but her eyes were somber. “You’ll be rabidly out of your mind if you don’t pay more attention to this Bob Chance.”

  “I’ll get serious if I ever get out from under this evil cloud. I can’t put this on him, even as much as he wants to help.” Martha shrugged. “I must wait until the doctors bring me together with this Serena, who inhabits my body. I don’t know her—but she knows me.” She gasped. “Oh God! Now I’ve said too much!” Her cheeks felt like ice and her palms were sweaty as she searched Lizzie’s face for signs of shock.

  “Martha, you astound me! That thing you just said—is this what’s going on with you?” Liz moved closer. “Please I’ll never tell anyone about this. You know I won’t, but it might be good for you to let things out. I can take it. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

  “Actually, what I’ve already said is all I really know. I wake up some mornings smelling like booze and cigarettes. The doctors tell me they believe my alter has been a very busy girl. The thing is—at what? She hasn’t told them.”

  “Oh wow! This is better than a movie!”

  Martha relaxed. “Well, that’s it Liz. You know it all now, or as much as I do. She helped herself to a cookie and urged one on Liz. They spent the rest of the time discussing clothes and men while Martha hid her deep foreboding under a cloak of casual chatter and gossip.

  ***

  Martha kept her afternoon appointment with the psychiatrist. The session left her feeling drained and she’d learned nothing new. They had, she could see it on their faces, but they didn’t tell her what they knew and it made her feel increasingly uneasy.

  CHAPTER 18

  Three weeks later, as the first flush of dawn lightened the sky, Serena waited quietly in the darkened alley behind Denny’s home. She wore thick, figure-disguising garments, heavy men’s boots, a pasted on scraggly beard, a pulled-down, woven cap, and plastic gloves—prepared and ready in case he decided to empty his garbage once again in the early morning air. She’d waited many mornings in this dismal alley to learn Denny’s habits. He’d proven to be a well-scheduled type, a creature of habit like most humans. And today—was garbage day.

  Waiting and watching, she struggled to calm herself. If not today, then another day, but she’d rid the world of one more sadistic pedophile. Knowing this one preyed on helpless little girls, her hatred crept close to the danger mark. “Cool it girl, rage won’t help you in this important work.”

  In the trees, birds stirred and began their songs. A lizard scurried about leaving faint trails in the sandy soil. But nothing much moved in the slowly lightening alley. “Not even a stray cat out. Nice and quiet. Good for my work—come on out, Denny darlin’. I’m here for you,” she crooned softly under her breath as she hid behind a large dumpster.

  She’d scoped out this house several times after following him home from The Paradisio two weeks ago. He was fastidious in his landscaping, in the clipping and trimming of his shrubbery. Yet, the stuff disguising his carport, on the other hand, had been left to grow wildly. “Need the green stuff to hide something, eh, Denny, my boy?”

  His dented green car sat parked in his driveway under a lattice-work car-port, hidden from the street by the heavy growth of vines, trees, and shrubs. Serena had observed him taking the city bus of late, keeping the old green sedan off the streets. “Doesn’t want his car noticed by police.”

  She chuckled softly. “All in good time, Denny dear,” she cooed. “When the cops come, they’ll see it plain enough.” They had the description, a bit vague, but his old green car fit what they’d broadcast on television. It had made him wary. From his conversations with Fred, Serena had learned that he wanted to take it out of town for a paint job, but feared driving it in public. “It’s too late, Denny,” she murmured. “Hiding your car won’t help you anymore. I know the truth and, believe me, I don’t give a damn about the color of your car.”

  Serena waited long past the hour Denny usually entered the alley, and decided that once again, this was not her day. It had gotten too bright, and though the lights glowed in the kitchen, it didn’t appear he’d dump his garbage this morning. Today was garbage pick-up. Maybe he’d put it out last night like most people.

  Turning to make her way back toward the street, she heard the back door open. Her pulse quickened and pounded in her breast as she quickly retraced her steps. She slunk down behind the large, black plastic garbage container and waited.

  Denny opened his back gate and entered the alley carrying two large, full, white plastic bags, secured with twist ties. As he dropped the bags he carried and reached to open the container, Serena stood up and, using both arms, swung the soft, heavy sandbag against the back of his head.

  He fell like a pole-axed beef onto the sandy soil of the alley, scraping his face. Sand entered his nose and drooling mouth, and Serena saw a line of spittle draining onto the ground. He’d be unconscious for only a few moments, but time enough for completion of her task.

  A sand bag easily knocks a man senseless and leaves no identifiable marks. She’d chosen it for that reason. As his inert body lay before her, she whipped out her bag and set out her equipment: gloves, a sharp scalpel, bottle of violet liquid, and a couple of long sanitary dressings.

  Thankfully, he still wore his pajamas. Pulling down his drawers, she turned him to his side and went to work, deftly slicing through the soft wrinkly scrotal tissue and expelling the offending testes onto the ground. Quickly, she doused his wounds with the purple liquid she carried in a small vial, applied two large sanitary napkins to the wounds, and pulled his pajama bottoms up as best she could.

  “Thanks for not getting dressed this morning, Denny my boy, I’d have hated to fiddle with belts and stuff this late in the morning. You’ve made it so much easier for me. Thanks a bunch.” Serena chuckled as she finished, collected, and repacked her equipment.

  Noticing the testes lying on the ground, she picked them up and tossed them into the trash.
These babies are right where they belong, you filthy, molesting bastard! Her intense anger made her feel destructive, but she quelled it and crooned, “You won’t be using those little zingers any more to molest little girls, you sick bastard!” She aimed a solid kick to his backside. “Ooh, hope it didn’t hurt—too much!”

  Blood stains marked her gloves, but she didn’t want to leave them so near the scene. She stuffed them into another glove and shoved them into her pack. She’d chuck them later.

  Serena slipped quietly out the end of the alley and sauntered several leisurely blocks to her car, a satisfied smile across her lips.

  ***

  Denny heard his own moaning as his mind stirred into wakefulness. “Oh, damn! What the hell’s happened? Oh Lord! Have I been attacked?” He checked his scrotal area and felt his hair stand on end. “Oh God, oh God, please no—not the same as Freddie!” His hand came away bloodied.

  “Fuck. He got me, too. Why me? How could someone, anyone, know who did that little brat?” He tried to get up. “I need help here,” he screamed. “Help me, help. I’ve been attacked!” He scanned frantically about, but the alley appeared completely empty. No one came. A few birds chirped brightly up in the gently swaying tree branches, a mockingly happy, normal sound. A lone tom cat watched from atop the fence.

  “My cell—oh hell, I left it lying on the kitchen table!” Sobbing with shock and blood loss, he felt new aching pains, burning and crawling downward from his crotch toward his lower legs. He struggled to his feet and fought a wave of nausea as he slowly, painfully, limped away.

  Bleeding and crying, he crawled up the back steps and into his house. He felt dizzy and faint. “I’m going into shock, for Christ’s sake!”

  Grabbing his cell off the table, he punched Fred’s number. “Fred! Fred, I’ve been attacked, just like you! Get over here quick. Drive that damned old car of yours, and hurry. I’m bleeding like hell, here! I don’t give a major fucking shit if somebody sees you in it!”

  “Want me to call nine-one-one?”

  “Yes, call them, Fred. I need the ER too, same as you. I’m bleeding like a stuck hog, hurry!” He hung up and sunk down onto the floor moaning. “Damned fool, keeping possession of his car when they most likely have an all points out on it, and he thinks I’m stupid!”

  His head swirled with pain and fear. “Somebody’s done me in. How would they know what I did to that kid? How could they? My car’s hidden the best I could. Haven’t had time to get it painted yet.” He groaned. “A man’s got his needs. I’ll never be the same—not anymore. I know that, I know it!” His voice sounded far away as he squealed in terror and sick acceptance. Finally, he heard Fred stumbling up the back steps.

  “Damn, Denny, somebody had it in for you!” Fred exclaimed upon seeing him. “Did you see who did it? And in broad daylight, too.” Fred stood there, his hands spread out, yakking uselessly while Denny lay bleeding on the floor.

  Finally the EMT’s arrived, sirens blaring loudly as they roared up the street. He hurriedly opened the door for them. “He’s right in here.” Filled with importance at the moment, he beckoned them in and showed them the way. He pointed to Denny, writhing in blood and misery on the linoleum clad kitchen floor. “He’s been hurt real bad.” He tried to keep the satisfaction from his voice, but deep inside, he knew he wasn’t alone in his misery any more.

  The paramedics recognized Fred. “How’re you doing, guy? What’s the problem here? Same as what happened to you, is it?” Jack, the same EMT leader asked in disbelief after seeing the bloody drainage from Denny’s stained pajamas. “By holy hell I believe it is! Let’s have a look.” He knelt down at Denny’s side, finding it difficult to believe this could have happened to another man, not this type of injury. Never!

  “Yeah, same guy has attacked Denny here and left him lying out in the alley,” Fred informed them.

  The EMT’s checked Denny and redressed his wounds. Jack shivered involuntarily when he surveyed the slashed privates of this new victim. “Better call the police on this, guys—apparently, we’ve got another assault case here.” He took up his cell and dialed. He needn’t have bothered, because the police siren sounded as it neared Denny’s home.

  The medical team ushered two officers into the house to see Denny as he lay on the kitchen floor. Officers Ben Figueroa and Charles Manning introduced themselves and questioned the victim as well as the EMT’s.

  “This one’s got that blue stuff splashed on him like the other guy,” Jack, the head EMT informed them. “Sure looks like the same thing all the way around, to me.”

  “We’ll decide that matter, son,” Sergeant Charles Manning said, wearing his best official scowl. “Better get this man to the ER. We’ll have an officer meet him there to take his statement.”

  To Sergeant Figueroa, he said, “We best check out the alley and have a good look around the place.” They didn’t see Denny’s face whiten when he heard them saying they’d check his place over thoroughly, but Fred did.

  Denny was taken out via stretcher, while the two officers headed to the alley where the crime had occurred. Fred, wondering what the detectives would find, followed the ambulance in his own car, a dark blue Olds cutlass.

  “Jeez, Louise,” exclaimed Officer Figueroa, examining the scene in the alley. “Look at the blood here.” The perpetrator must have used a dull knife for this hit.” Figueroa bent closer. “Look, it’s these same purple spots. Isn’t that what they found when Callahan was attacked?”

  Then he noticed large boot imprints. “Check these. We’ve got some nice boot prints here. We’ll need a cast for evidence. Didn’t notice any in the park, but there was the gravel surface, didn’t leave a decent track like this one. Someone must have tossed a bit of garden soil or sand out in the alley here.”

  “This job looks like the same MO. Whoever did this must think this guy is a child molester, too. Wonder why. Maybe he knows something we don’t.” Manning took careful samples, placing them in clear plastic specimen bags. “Find the missing parts?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

  “Nothing yet, but we have this garbage can here, and oh shit! Here comes the damned garbage truck!” Figueroa waved the truck on past, ignoring the craning heads nosing out the windows. A few neighbors, who’d heard the sirens and seen the police, had gotten curious. He waved them away, as well.

  “Clear on out, this is a crime scene! Avoid this area for the time being,” he commanded, using his best police officer voice.

  Manning raised the lid on the trash receptacle. “Oh, oh, here we go.” He reached a gloved hand in to retrieve two bloody rounded bits of flesh. “Whoo-wee, poor bastard! No chance for re-implantation here. These babies are gone, gone, gone.” He placed his findings into a plastic bag and labeled them. “Thank God for rubber gloves,” he murmured. The two white bags of trash still lay where Denny had dropped them.

  “Let’s check out the house, inside and out.” The two officers walked around the outer perimeter of Denny’s house, checking for tracks, or signs of trespassers. “Well, what’s this now?” Figueroa said. “Here’s an old green sedan. Weren’t we looking for a vehicle along these lines?”

  “You mean the one the two little girls described as the car their attacker drove?” Manning smiled and nodded as he stepped closer to the old Pontiac. “Best we call forensics to go over car, eh? Could our perpetrator know something about this Denny person that we don’t? The little girls said the man had driven past them several times before he grabbed them. They sounded pretty sure about it, small as they were.” He chuckled. “Maybe we do have a vigilante working here. If so, he knows a hell of a lot more than we seem to.

  “Makes for a real interesting report, now don’t it? Wait’ll Ryan gets a look at this one.” Manning grinned, imagining Mapus with another vigilante case on his desk. “Now he’ll have two. Whoo-ee!” He whooped again. He had small children at home, too.

  CHAPTER 19

  Here we go again,” Jake commented to the nurse as they examined
Denny in the ER. “Isn’t this like the other guy you had in here not so long ago?” Jake had ER tonight and hated it, but as a floating aide, he went where they assigned him. “God, he’s even got that purple shit you guys were talking about.”

  He remembered seeing spots like that on Martha. He was sure of it. He didn’t want to make trouble for her for no real cause, but the importance of imparting this bit of information to the cops filled his mind.

  “Knock it off, Jake, and get his vitals. You can take a look at his chart later, that is, if you have the time.” The charge nurse, Mary Carver, had never liked having Jake around, since he tended to be lazy and he talked too much. She had no time to waste prodding the man to get things done. If her tone was sharp, she didn’t really care. “The appy needs to be taken to a surgical waiting room right now. She’ll be prepped for OR up there. Get on it, they’re waiting for her.”

  “Right on it, Mary.” Jake took Denny’s vital signs again then carefully wheeled the young girl with the hot abdomen out the door.

  “Sorry miss, I hit that bump a bit fast. I’ll go a little slower.” He turned his attention to the pain-filled young girl as he trundled her into the nearby elevator.

  Later, as Jake passed near the new assault admission, he heard part of the whispered conversation between the men.

  “How could somebody have known what I did to that little girl, and how in the hell did he know where to find me—how?” Denny asked, his voice, low and nearly pleading. “Something damned freaky’s going on if you ask me.”

  “He sure as hell knew where to find me, Denny.” Fred, his voice equally low, but with a sly hint of humor.

  Jake knew he’d just heard an admission of guilt from Denny Garver. “Whew! They don’t know I overheard that,” he said under his breath. “The police will need to know about this, that’s for dammed sure.” His chest swelled with the importance of his newly learned knowledge.