“The good Chief?”
Bailey nodded unenthusiastically.
“Let's give him a call.”
Bailey got the number from the dispatcher. He turned to Ferren with the phone still in his hand. “I'm tellin' ya right now, he's not gonna be happy, me calling him at home,” Bailey said as he dialed the number. He waited as the phone rang. Hopefully, the Chief wouldn't answer. Then they could both go home and grab a decent night's sleep for a change. Well, they could try to, anyway. Bailey had found it increasingly more difficult to sleep these past few nights.
“No answer?” Ferren asked after a few seconds.
Bailey shook his head. “No machine, either.” He hung up the phone. “He's probably sleeping, which doesn't sound like a bad idea, to tell you the truth. It's gotta be what? Ten o'clock?”
“Ten-thirty,” Ferren said. “Does he live alone?”
“Moriarty? He's not married, if that's what you mean. No, from what I understand, it's just him and his brother.”
“Brother?”
“Yeah, he's got some kind of disease or somethin'. Never leaves the house, from what I've been told. Moriarty's been caring for him since they were teenagers. You see that bruise on Moriarty's neck a couple of days ago?”
Ferren nodded. “His brother did that?”
“Probably. Moriarty's always coming in with bruises and scratches. I asked the dispatcher about it once, and she told me his brother has fits sometimes. Violent ones. You know, like those retarded kids who have to wear helmets, or else they'd bash their own brains in? Except he's only mildly retarded, from what I hear. Anyway, she said that's why the Chief's always in such a piss-poor mood.”
Ferren nodded. He felt a pang of compassion for the older man. Caring for his handicapped brother had obviously taken its toll on the man. “Well, sleeping or not, we gotta talk to him. As soon as possible. You know where he lives?”
Bailey nodded.
“Good,” Agent Ferren said, adjusting his necktie. “Let's go for a little ride, shall we? Or would you rather we wait until the morning?”
The young officer smiled at the temptation. “Naw, we might as well get it over with. The sooner this case is over, the sooner I'll be able to get a good night's sleep.”
Agent Ferren tucked the report inside his breast pocket and grinned understandingly as they both headed for the door. He patted the young man's back. “Spoken like a true cop.”
And with that, they headed out and into the night.
~Thirty-Eight~
An hour and a half after their friends had gone, Rick Hunter and Stacey Mackinnon found themselves alone on the grassy hump of the cliff, listening to the babbling river below them. Overhead, the moon looked like a jack o' lantern, grinning mischievously from the black window of the northern sky. The peaks of the mountains (or giants, if you prefer) beyond the river glowed eerily in the orange moonlight, like inverted rows of candy corn, a muddled blend of orange and white.
Trick or treat? the voices in Mike's head had asked him earlier in the evening.
Treat, he had replied.
Sorry, the giants had returned. You're much too old for treats, Mikey.
That was one of the reasons Mike Swart had decided to call it a day, because the giants were nagging him to the point of exhaustion. The second reason was that he wanted to give Rick and Stacey a chance to be alone. Thinking of these things he'd taken Karen by the hand, and they’d said their goodnights and headed back up the meadow in the direction of the cabin.
When Max and Lou finally retired the fishing pole, they had returned to find Rick and Stacey sitting side by side, quietly smoking cigarettes as they contemplated the burning heart of the fire. Eventually, it dawned on them that Rick and Stacey wanted to be alone this evening, and the two fishermen excused themselves and retreated to the cabin shortly thereafter.
Nearly twenty minutes had passed since then, and Rick and Stacey had scarcely exchanged a word since, but for his suggestion that they should extinguish the fire and view the night sky from the top of the hill.
Now Stacey was standing near the edge of the cliff, spellbound by the moon's reflection on the river below, and Rick was standing behind her, staring at her back, trying to read her thoughts. The way she was standing reminded him of a painting he'd once seen in the Museum of Nautical History in Falmouth. The painting had showed a sailor's wife in a state of bereavement, standing on the edge of a seaside cliff while she eagerly awaited her husband's return. Rick recalled the long white dress the woman had been wearing and how it, along with her long copper hair, had flowed to one side of her in the wake of an imaginary breeze. Although the painted woman had stood with her back perfectly straight and her chin proudly tilted, there was something in her delicate posture that suggested hopelessness, as though she wasn't really waiting for her lover, but mourning him. It was as though the woman in the painting knew that he would never return from his journey.
“Stace?” he said finally, unable to stand the silence any longer.
She did not turn around. “Yeah?”
“What're you doin'?” he asked, stepping up behind her.
She was looking above the mountains, at all the endless, twinkling stars. She'd never been much of an astronomer. She did not know the names of these stars, but she loved them. “Just thinking about everything, I guess. You know, if I hadn't been stupid enough to go jogging alone at night, I wouldn't be here right now. It's kinda funny, isn't it? If it hadn't been for him, I never would have met you.”
“I'm sorry,” Rick said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you the other day. I didn't have any right to do that.”
“That's okay,” Stacey said. “It was my fault for pressing you. I just can't help the way I feel about you.”
Rick kept silent; he didn't know what she wanted him to say.
“I can't explain it,” she said, taking two steps closer to the edge of the cliff. “It's just a feeling I have, like you're my guardian angel or something. Like, if I was to fall over this edge, you’d save me somehow.”
Rick took her gently by the arm, pulling her away from the crumbled shelf of granite. “That's far enough,” he said softly.
Stacey turned and looked at him. Her eyes were almost luminescent in the darkness. “You still love her, don't you?”
“Yeah…I do.” He looked down at his feet, as was his habit. It suddenly occurred to him that, despite the circumstances which brought them together at the cabin, there wasn't another place where he'd rather be right now, and it pained him to think that this moment, like all others, was only temporary, and that someday they would go their separate ways again.
“That's okay,” Stacey said. She ran her fingers through his long, dark hair. He looked so sad, so distant. “But you have to learn to let go…sometime. Before it tears you apart. Before you lose yourself.”
“I know it sounds strange,” he said, “but I always felt like I should have been born in a different time, a different place. I guess I never really felt like I belonged in this world. And it hurts. It hurts that life keeps going no matter what, that nothing ever lasts.” He continued in a different voice, as if speaking only to himself. “Not a day goes by that I don't wonder: Why? Why can't we all stay young forever? Why do we have to grow up? Why do we have to die? We're ghosts, Stacey. We're ghosts before we even die. Oh, we don't notice it, because it happens so gradually, but we fade a little every day. From the very moment that we're born, we start fading, wasting away. And little by little, we keep on fading, our loved ones, our memories, our bodies…until there's nothing left…until we're dust, until even the dust is gone. I used to think that there was a meaning to be found in everything, but not anymore. There is no meaning. It’s all just…random. I know that now.”
After saying this, his eyes still closed, he paused to run his fingers along the gauze bandage on his wrist, his mind wandering back to the day of his attempted suicide, and to the scar that would remain forever as a grim reminder of the life and death o
f Lori Shawnessy.
“There is meaning,” Stacey whispered after some time, watching his eyes as they opened to the sound of her voice. “When I was alone in that house, I prayed for days for someone to come and save me. And just when I was about to give up hope, you came. So don't say that life has no meaning, because it does. When I needed you, you were there. And I know you're good because you saved my life. And I know you'd do it again. I feel it. I see it in your eyes.”
Rick gave her a haunted look. Then he bowed his head. “I won't always be there to save you, Stace.”
“Yes. Yes, you will. I don't know how I know that, but I do.”
After a moment he looked at her bashfully and said, “I know this is going to sound really stupid, but I’m going to ask you anyway. Before…all this, were you, you know, seeing anyone?”
There was a tang of jealousy in his voice, and she relished it. “You mean, like a boyfriend? No. Not really. I mean, nothing serious. I guess that's the way it is in college. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering, y’know?”
Her eyes shimmering with tears, she gently lifted his chin until he was looking at her. In the soft glow of the pumpkin moon they stood as if posing for the cover of a romance novel, Stacey with one hand resting on his shoulder, Rick with his arms by his side, their features dramatized by the shadows as they passionately gazed into one another's eyes. Kiss me, she thought. Kiss me, please. My body aches for you.
But he did not kiss her. He did not move. He only looked at her passively, mouth slightly open, as if ready to speak.
After a time she took his unshaven face between her hands and, standing on her toes, pressed her soft lips against his open mouth. Eyes closed, they kissed, slowly, longingly, lustfully. He pulled her closer to him, her body stiffening as his strong hands found their way under her shirt, rising slowly to discover her perfect, braless breasts. He could not stop now. She intoxicated him.
Moaning softly, she tilted her head toward the sky, as his tongue traced the soft, feminine contours of her shoulders and neck. Blindly, she reached under his shirt, hands caressing his solid chest, his lean abdomen. While his lips continued to dwell on the smooth, taut area beneath her chin, she unbuttoned his pants and lowered the zipper, her dexterous fingers working slowly as she stroked his hard, naked flesh. With the palm of her hand she rubbed him slowly, slowly, and then their eyes met again; hot hazel and bothered blue.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, caressing her face with his fingertips. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “It’s what I want. What I need.”
In the cool, enchanting moonlight, they continued to undress each other.
“Oh, Rick, please. Please, make love to me…”
Heart singing, ears still ringing with those simple, beautiful words, he laid her down upon the cool summer grass and positioned himself above her. She moaned softly as his mouth continued to explore her warm, salty body; the elegant curve of her neck, the soft swells of her breasts and their hard little nipples, the trembling goosebumped stomach, the fine mound of her pubic hair. As she tilted her pelvis toward him, he buried his face between her thighs, hungrily lapping at her sweetness until she danced in ecstasy on her back.
Even as her body still writhed with the aftershocks of her orgasm, she cradled his head in her hands and gently pulled him back to her awaiting mouth, thrusting her body against him as their eager tongues collided. Slowly he lowered himself between her legs and inside of her. Slick with perspiration, their bodies slid together effortlessly, their nerves vibrating, their muscles trembling with pleasure.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles behind him, hands kneading relentlessly as she worked her fingernails into his back. Muscles tensed, then relaxed, then tensed again. He smoothed the long strands of auburn hair away from her forehead, gasping as they kissed, quivering as she tightened her legs around him, pulling him deeper inside of her, as their hips gyrated in unison.
“Don't stop,” she begged seductively.
Upon hearing those provocative words, a sudden tremor arose in his lower body, and he began to throb and swell inside of her. Quickening the motion of his hips, he kissed her wide-open mouth and she gasped, tossing back her head, trembling as they came together. As the liquid heat blossomed between her legs, she raked her nails down his back; wrapped herself around him like a strait-jacket; sank her teeth into his firm, muscular shoulder; shook uncontrollably.
Bodies quaking, they seized each other tightly, bathing each other in hungry kisses, as they wound down to a slow and satisfied stop. In the darkness she shivered in rapture, the wet heat of their lovemaking already cooling between her outstretched legs. Dreamily she sighed. Already she wanted him inside of her again. After a while, he rolled off of her and pulled her back into his strong arms.
They remained there for a long time, her naked back to his naked front, enjoying the warmth of each other. Their contented sighs punctuated the silence as they lost themselves in the shadowplay of the distant moonlit mountains.
Finding sudden artistic inspiration, Rick plucked a reed from the earth and used its fine tip to draw invisible tattoos on Stacey's naked back. Between her shoulder blades, he wrote a love poem; on her arm, he drew a map of the valley; on the side of her neck, he scribbled S-shapes and figure-eights, leaving only a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
“Mmmmmm,” she purred, smiling with her eyes closed. “That tickles.”
Grinning, he continued to use her body as the canvas for his masterpiece, finding further inspiration with her every giggle and ticklish twitch.
“Mmmm...let's go for a swim,” she suggested out of nowhere.
“What? Now?”
“Mmmm-hmmm. What do you think?”
“I think it'll be freezing.”
Stacey rolled over and faced him. “We'll keep each other warm,” she said, eyes moving slowly up and down his body. Then her full lips curled into a tantalizing smile. “C'mon,” she said, rising fully nude and holding out her hand to him. “C'mon,” she repeated. “It'll be beautiful. I promise.”
Rick smiled, eyes blazing with desire. He could still taste the salt of her body on his lips, and his manhood was twitching with anticipation. If he didn't have her again soon, he was certain he'd die. He needed her that bad.
At last he accepted her hand and she helped him to his feet. On the grassy crest the two lovers stood, smiling, trembling, lusting in the rust-colored moonlight.
“I need you sooo bad,” he whispered, their mouths no more than a breath apart.
Stacey seemed to lose all control of herself as she kissed him. Her body tingled from head to toe. I need you sooo bad, he'd told her. She replayed these words in her mind until she grew dizzy with desire. God, she thought, if I can't have him again I’ll explode!
There was a mad dash, a hopeless one, to gather up their clothes, before they both hastily agreed to suspend the search until the morning. Holding hands, Rick and Stacey streaked down the declivity of cliff and across the meadow, laughing like children as the long grass tickled their legs. Still holding hands, they crossed the cold sand of their little beach and waded out into the slow current of the river, where they made love again beneath the milky moonlight. It was everything Stacey had promised, and more.
After, they made the longer journey back to the cabin, where they settled down together on a blanket by the yawning mouth of the old stone fireplace. Naked and shivering, they held each other tight.
For a long time, they stayed that way; staring into one another's eyes, not speaking; Stacey with one leg draped around his waist as she lovingly caressed his face with her slender fingers; Rick with one hand resting on her thigh while he stroked the long wet hair away from her forehead. They were so close, they could feel each other's hearts beating.
“Remember,” he whispered at last, “when you told me that I saved your life? I think it was the
other way around. There's no place in the world I'd rather be right now than here, in your arms. You make me feel alive again.”
Stacey smiled as her soft lips brushed his. With tears of joy streaking across her face, she kissed him tenderly.
It wasn't “I love you”, but it was good enough for now.
~Thirty-Nine~
Fifteen minutes later, Agent Ferren and Officer Bailey arrived at Chief Moriarty's dark gray Victorian-style house on Elm Street, a dead end street that lay on the eastern border of Hevven and the neighboring town of Lakeville. Bailey was quiet behind the wheel, the strange findings of the coroner's report still weighing heavily on his mind, and as he slowly maneuvered the unmarked cruiser down the long, narrow driveway leading to the Chief's house, he gritted his teeth uneasily. He'd thought his training at the police academy had prepared him for just about anything the world could throw at him, but only now did he realize he'd been sadly mistaken.
He was aptly trained in the many procedures, regulations, and codes of law enforcement. He knew how to weed out criminals, how to apprehend them, and process them according to the laws established by the constitution. But did any of those things even matter anymore? he wondered. Not once had his instructors at the academy (or anyone else, for that matter) ever acknowledged, or even alluded to, the possibility of evil in this world. And that's precisely what this case was all about, wasn't it? Evil in its simplest form.
He could think of no better word to describe a being whom could kill without motive, for no apparent benefit to himself but for the sheer pleasure of destroying life. But it was not death that Bailey feared. Rather it was the possibility that the evil he sought was, in truth, no different in appearance than any other man or woman he passed on the good streets of Hevven. And if that possibility were to become a reality, young Officer Bailey knew, from that point forward, he would never again have the privilege of seeing the world through hopeful eyes, if ever at all.
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