by Shawn Ryan
What kind of sleep is this?
A point of light blossomed in the deepest part of his mind. The light wasn't bright, but it was a disturbing shade of green. Jason tried to open his eyes. He couldn't.
Am I dreaming again?
The light moved forward, slowly at first, then picking up speed. Closer and closer. Its glow was sickening, unhealthy, evil. Jason squirmed. He didn't want it coming any nearer, but couldn't get out of the way. Like a penny on a railroad track, he was stuck, waiting for the train to smash him flat.
As the light drew close, a face began to take shape inside. Colors swirled and eddied, foggy mists trying to coalesce into a whole. But the whole never materialized, just agonizing glimpses—jagged teeth, high cheekbones with sunken cheeks, a huge, misshapen head. Anger, hate, evil.
Only the eyes became solid. Silver, burning, no pupils, yet oozing the evil of the universe.
Then the eyes spoke.
"Medlocke, you're mine," a voice whispered.
Jason remembered nothing else.
Chapter 12
« ^ »
When the alarm went off at six-thirty the next morning, Jason's head throbbed like a well-whacked croquet ball. He reached to the back of his neck and gingerly touched the goose egg. It was a big one all right, thick and swollen hard and tight. When he raised his head to get out of bed, the pounding felt like a jackhammer. It felt as if someone were behind his eyes, chiseling to get out.
He had slept very little. After waking from the horrible dream, questions and fear kept his eyes wide and his mind racing. He hadn't come to any definite conclusions by the time he finally fell asleep about four. And that scared him.
Staggering to the bathroom, he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of aspirin, dumping three into his palm and tossing them into the back of his mouth where he chewed them quickly. He glanced into the mirror, but for some reason that gave him a chill and he climbed quickly into the shower, careful not to move his head too much. The aspirin took a few minutes to kick in and he had a devil of a time washing his hair without hitting the knot.
An hour later, with a cup of coffee in his hand and the sun just rising through the trees, he drove to work, his mind puzzling over the night. Those eyes. That voice. What did it all mean? Was it just a bad dream, the product of too much stress and too little sleep? Or was it the killer? Was the killer psychic, as he had suggested after Badger's episode? If he had tapped into Badger's skull, why couldn't he tap into others? That might explain how he knew about Claire and her toy.
But with the sun up and the world seemingly safe, it all seemed so farfetched, so Hollywood, so bestseller. More likely than doing anything paranormal, the killer had probably slipped some sort of drug into his food or coffee. Even that sounded like a paranoid delusion. The most rational explanation was that it was a nightmare that should be ignored like all nightmares. Still, he couldn't shake the overwhelming evil and hatred he felt when the eyes appeared. He would never forget it, even if it wasn't real.
Suddenly his father's voice echoed through his mind: If anything strange happens to you in the next few days, anything at all, you call me immediately.
Jason shivered. Maybe I should call Dad when I get to the office.
But by the time he pulled into the parking lot at police headquarters, he was back to questioning his judgment. If he called his father, did that mean he should tell Badger, too? In a case like this, any little clue might be helpful. And that was doubly true since Badger had suffered through an unexplainable incident. But was there any connection between his horror last night and Badger's? He just didn't know. And truth be told, he was a little afraid of finding out.
As he climbed out of his car, his eyes fell on a blue Mazda Miata parked in one of headquarters public spots. The car jogged a memory, but he couldn't quite remember from where. Once inside the building, he forgot about it entirely.
Badger already was at his desk, poring over the autopsies and forensic reports when Jason walked in. "You look like shit," he said.
"Thanks," Jason said.
"Bad night?"
"Yeah, didn't get much sleep."
"Man, I went down like falling timber," Badger said. "I didn't budge until the alarm went off."
"I just had some bad dreams," Jason said and left it at that He wasn't quite ready to tell the truth. He wasn't sure he knew what the truth was.
"Look, I need some more coffee," he said. "You want some?"
"Nah, just got some."
Coming back from the kitchen, steam rising from his cup, Jason couldn't get his mind off the night before. Did it have a connection with the murders? Maybe he was grasping desperately at anything that came his way, but dammit, he didn't have anything else.
Immersed in thought, he wasn't watching where he was going. Rounding the corner, he was totally unprepared for the collision. He slammed hard into someone, his cup of coffee sloshing halfway up his arm and onto the bare skin exposed by his rolled-up sleeve. He heard another crash, but the coffee was burning into his flesh and he didn't have time to see what it was. Dancing about for a moment, he located a desk to put his cup on, giving him a chance to frantically wipe his arm.
"Shitfire and save matches," he said, borrowing one of Badger's pet phrases.
"My sentiments exactly," a female voice said.
Jason turned around, then looked down at the carpeted floor and a head of blond hair. The head glanced up and Jason found himself staring into the eyes of the blonde in the Miata. Now he remembered where he'd seen that car before.
She squatted, surrounded by a bloom of manila envelopes and folders. Papers spread out all around her and she was picking them up one by one, making sure to replace them in the correct file.
Jason stood dumbfounded, his mind bewildered by coincidence.
Say something you fucking idiot, his brain screamed at him.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I just wasn't thinking, wasn't watching where I was going."
Oh, that's terrific, his brain sneered.
"Obviously," the blonde answered, running her fingers through her hair, which was cut short on the sides but fairly long on the top. Stunned though he was, the cop in Jason noticed she was a natural blonde because her eyebrows were honey blond, too. Either she's a natural or she's very thorough, he thought.
A questioning look crossed her face. "Aren't you even going to offer to help?" she asked.
You're fucking up. You're fucking up, his brain said.
"Oh God, yes, I'm sorry," he said, kneeling quickly and grabbing a handful of papers. "My brain just isn't working. I guess this makes me a candidate for a ticket for DWHUA."
"What's that?" she asked.
"Driving With Head Up Ass."
She laughed, a throaty chuckle that made Jason quiver.
"Really, I'm very sorry," he said. "I was just totally absorbed in my thoughts."
"I noticed."
"You're the one in the Miata from a couple of days ago, aren't you? The one at the stoplight on Jimmy Carter."
"Yeah. I thought I recognized you, too."
"God, you're really seeing me at my best."
"If that's true, your best is pretty shitty."
It was Jason's turn to laugh, and he noticed it raised a smile on her face. Her smile was devastating, big and white. It lit her face, which was square with a nose that was just a little on the big side.
"My name's Jason Medlocke," he said, extending his hand.
"Alex Cotton," she said, her handshake a firm, dry grip. Jason held his breath when she drew it back, hoping she wouldn't wipe it on her pants leg. She didn't and he thanked God for dry palms.
"Your name is Alex? Just Alex?"
"Alexandria. My father was an Egypt nut."
"Hooray for the pharaohs," Jason said, amazed at how charming he was being. It had been such a long time.
"Are you looking for someone in particular?" he asked.
"Yeah, Captain Silverman. Do you know where his offic
e is?"
"Oh yeah, he's my CO. His office is just down the hall from mine. C'mon, I was heading that way."
Her papers back in order, she straightened. She was tall, a plus in Jason's book. He also noted her navy-blue business suit accented her curves.
"You here on official business?" he asked as they strolled down the hall.
"Yes, I'm a computer programmer," she said. "I'm here to put some new software into your office system."
"What kind?"
"Basically an advanced word-processing system, but it's keyed to policework. Understands police abbreviations and jargon."
"That should help," he said, not really knowing what else to say.
"That's the idea," she answered.
When Jason got to his office door, he stopped. "The next door down on the left is Silverman's," he said. "Just knock. I think he's in there."
She smiled. "Thanks."
"Look, I apologize again for almost tackling you," he said, trying to prolong their meeting. "I'm usually better than that. I'm just sort of caught up in a case."
"The Mercy Killings?"
"Yeah," he said. "I see you read your newspaper."
"Well, you'd have to be in a cave not to know about them at this point," she said. "And it's all over TV."
"Yeah, well, it's all over me, too. Got me on edge," he said. "It's all I've thought about."
"It must be tough, knowing he's still out there."
"Tough is putting it mildly. I'm lying awake nights wondering who might be next, if there's some clue I'm overlooking."
Alex gazed directly into his eyes and Jason felt himself being sized up. After a second, she smiled and nodded. Apparently he'd passed the exam. She suddenly looked at her watch. "Uh-oh," she said. "I'm supposed to be with Captain Silverman right now. I'd better go."
"Sure, sure, it was nice meeting you," Jason said.
"You too," she said and smiled. To Jason's eyes, it seemed genuine.
"Are you going to be around headquarters for a while?" he asked.
"Oh yeah, for a few days. It'll take me a while to get the software in place and then to train you guys how to work it."
"Great," he said. "I'll see you again, then."
"No doubt."
"I look forward to it."
"Me too."
She smiled again and turned toward Silverman's office. Just before she knocked, she looked at Jason and gave a small wave.
Jason waved back and went into his office.
"Where's the coffee you went to get?" Badger asked. "And why's that shit-eating grin on your face?"
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Moonlight streamed through the windows of Joseph and Betty Benton's bedroom, washing the room in a pale, ghostly light. Betty lay flat on her back, her arms sprawled out to the side, like a scarecrow on a pole. Her mouth drooped open, limp because of the handful of tranquilizers she had swallowed a couple of hours earlier. Since coming home from the hospital, she got out of bed only to use the bathroom and nibble on some food. She slept only when heavily sedated. Even then she had terrible dreams.
As his wife snored beside him, Joseph Benton slept on his side, his back to her. Instead of bringing them closer together, the loss of their daughter had driven a wedge between them. Just the sight of each other brought memories of what used to be. They both knew their marriage wouldn't last much longer.
In the two weeks since the death of his daughter, Joseph slept fitfully, with only rare moments of deep sleep. He usually awoke more exhausted than when he went to bed. He also was troubled by terrible dreams, but not the same ones as his wife's. He couldn't quite remember his, the only residue was a sense of lingering horror and the feeling he was covered in filth that sunk all the way to his heart.
Tonight he was in one of those rare moments of deep, dreamless sleep, his face peaceful and calm instead of twitching and pained. Suddenly, his whole body jerked as if touched by an electric wire. Springing from his bed, he landed nimbly on his feet. His eyes were wide open, but glassy and unseeing as he moved stiffly to the window and stared into the backyard lit by the bright moonlight. He seemed to be listening.
"Yes, yes, I understand," he said softly, then turned and pulled out the nightstand drawer. Inside was a set of keys, and he clutched them tightly in his fist as he left the bedroom and headed for the door that opened into the garage. Unlocking the door, he stepped into the pitch-black room.
Without turning on the overhead light, he walked straight to the trunk of his Caprice and inserted the key into the lock. As the lid opened, the trunk light snapped on. Benton reached in and lifted the carpeting that covered the spare tire. The spare was gone. In its place were a pair of Nike Air jogging shoes, five rolls of silver duct tape, a box of black plastic lawn bags, several unopened packages of panty hose, and a half dozen outdoor saws, still in their small boxes.
Benton stopped momentarily and cocked his head. He remained motionless for a few seconds, then an irritated look crossed his face.
"Yes, I know, I know," he said. "I said I understood, didn't I? Didn't I move them from the storage house out back to the basement when the police were searching the house? I hid them in that box they'd already searched. Now I'm putting them back until the next time."
Gathering the items in his arms, Benton walked back through the house to the sliding glass doors at the sun deck. He unlocked the doors and went down the sun deck's steps. Glistening footprints trailed behind him across the dew-covered grass as he walked across his backyard, eyes fixed on the white aluminum storage building at the back. The keys jingled as he flipped through them and stopped at the one that fit the Master lock on the building's door. He inserted the key and grunted as the lock clicked open.
Ten minutes later, Benton trudged up the sun deck stairs. The cuffs of his pajama bottoms were wet from dew and tiny pieces of grass and dirt stuck to his feet. A satisfied look was on his face. He had hidden all the items in the compartment beneath the seat of his Craftsman lawn tractor.
"Don't worry. No one will ever find it," he said out loud as he walked up the stairs. "It will all be safe. My wife never goes out there. No one but me ever goes out there."
He paused, listened.
"Yes, I know who the next one is," he said. "It will be done according to plan."
Benton put the keys back in the nightstand and crawled into bed. His wife had not changed position and her snoring still bounced off the bedroom walls. He was asleep moments after his head hit the pillow and a look of relieved calm spread over his face.
About thirty minutes later, Joseph Benton threw back the covers and groggily got up to go to the bathroom. As he pulled his feet from under the covers, he noticed the cuffs of his pajamas were sticking to his ankles.
How did that happen? he wondered sleepily. It's as if I've been walking around outside.
He walked to the window and gazed into his backyard. The moon was low in the sky and the backyard was covered in darkness. The lawn was black in shadow.
Oh well, he thought sleepily, it's not worth getting worked up over. Yawning, he went to the bathroom and relieved himself. At least his sleep was free of dreams.
Chapter 14
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Jason and Badger sat at their desks, staring at each other. They had spent the past fourteen days questioning more people, going over reports, checking computer printouts, discussing the facts between themselves. The end result still was two dead children and no suspects and a rapidly dwindling hope of finding any.
"Look, we've done everything we can today," Badger said. "All we'll do from here on out is frustrate ourselves. Besides, you're getting that stressed-out, I've-got-to-solve-this-one-myself look and I don't like it."
"I'm okay," Jason said. "Just real tired."
"Well, go home. Get some sleep."
"Maybe I will. A bed sure sounds wonderful right now."
"It might be even better with someone in it," Badger said slyly.
Jason gav
e him a lopsided grin.
"Call her, man," Badger said. "Don't be such a pussy."
"I'm not being a pussy," Jason countered. "I'm too tired right now. I wouldn't be any fun and she'd think I was a jerk. She'd never go out with me again."
"So call her and set up a date for later," Badger said.
"I'm all tied up with this case," Jason said. "I don't have time. When we're a little further along, when things aren't so tense, I'll call her. Don't worry about it."
"Hell, yes, I'll worry about it," Badger said. "This is too good a chance to piss away. You need a date, you're just too goddammed muleheaded to admit it. Don't be nervous. She's just a woman."
Jason had no doubts that she was a woman, and that made him more than nervous. He was just plain scared to death. The confidence of the first meeting was gone and he was convinced his bravado and suave manner were flukes. He couldn't find any trace of that person inside himself.
But he wanted badly to talk to her. It was almost an ache settled deep in the middle of his chest. Despite thinking it was an incredibly chauvinistic thing to do, he kept visualizing what her body would look and feel like.
And just when his mind was full of wonderfully erotic images, guilt would kick him squarely in the gut. How could he be thinking about his own pleasure at a time like this? For God's sake, two children were dead.
You're a dick, he told himself more than once.
Besides the shots of erotically laced guilt, Badger's comments about asking Alex for a date were beginning to get on his nerves, mainly because they were right. He did need a date, some companionship. He wanted someone to talk to, someone to cuddle up with.
He didn't say anything, though; he just kept looking at a forensic report.
"Hey, if you're too chickenshit, I'll act as your social guidance counselor," Badger said. "Hell, she might still be in the building. I'll go find her."
