Shadow of Perceptoin

by Kristine Mason

  Michael Morrison dropped the hose. Water splashed his jeans and boots, then spread along the old brick pad behind the steel garage. Eyes watering, stomach churning, he used one hand to steady himself against the garage, then bent his head and retched. The whiskey he’d drunk before he’d begun rinsing out the Shop-Vac burned his throat. The wretched smell of vomit caused him to gag. He threw up again. Breathing hard, he wiped his mouth with an old bandana, then retrieved the hose. Angling the spray, and holding the bandana over his mouth and nose, he rinsed the vomit, along with the remaining contents from the Shop-Vac, into the old drain pipe.

  Once the brick pad had been cleaned of any debris, he checked the Shop-Vac. The vacuum had cleaned up well. If anyone were to look at it, they wouldn’t see Dr. Leonard Tully’s flesh, fat, or blood. Of course a DNA test would find evidence of Tully’s body, but that didn’t matter to him. By the time they’d discover his identity, Michael would be long gone.

  Gravel churned along the driveway. Surprised and half-drunk, he stumbled. He fumbled the hose, and the steady stream of water running from it soaked more of his jeans and boots. Then he remembered his neighbor, Larry Hollister, had left him a message last night about dropping off the tools he’d borrowed from Michael a few weeks ago. He relaxed, glanced down at his pants and chuckled. He looked as if he’d pissed himself. Shrugging, he moved to the faucet, then turned off the water.

  He didn’t bother trying to blot the water with the bandana as he walked from behind the barn toward the driveway. Larry would probably think his soaked jeans were funny, and if he didn’t, at this point Michael didn’t care. He’d had a hell of a day, and it was barely noon. After he’d bought Eliza the doll, then made the ninety minute drive back to the old farmhouse, he’d had a couple of shots of Wild Turkey. Last night, after he’d used the Mechanic’s Creeper to roll Tully’s body into the back fields, he’d cleaned the mess he’d made in the OR. He hadn’t had time to clean the Shop-Vac, though. Knowing the contents of the vacuum, he’d needed alcohol to fortify him before he washed it. Unfortunately, no amount of alcohol could help him stomach the putrid matter that had coagulated and stuck to the inside of the vacuum. Even years of working in a hospital couldn’t have prepared him for the smell.

  His stomach churned. After last night, and then today, he might consider becoming a vegetarian. He didn’t think he could ever look at the fat on a steak—or any piece of meat—without thinking of Tully’s repulsive belly fat.

  As he made his way toward the driveway, he slowed and instantly sobered. Larry wasn’t alone.

  “Hey, Larry,” he said, then nodded to the deputy rounding the front of the SUV parked behind Larry’s Ford. “Forgot you were coming by today.”

  The farmer grinned as he glanced at Michael’s jeans. “I think I’d rather walk around with my fly hanging open and my Jockey’s showin’.”

  Michael smiled. “Little mishap with the garden hose. I’d almost wish it was piss, water’s damn cold.”

  Laughing, Larry nodded to the deputy. “This here is Deputy Darren Cooper.”

  Michael shook the deputy’s hand. “Any relation to Sal Cooper?”

  “He’s my dad,” the deputy said.

  “Sal’s a good guy. He helped me with a tractor purchase, and didn’t steer me wrong. I got it up and running yesterday,” he lied. The tractor had been working for months, but Michael had remembered telling Larry, when he’d stopped by the other day, he’d been repairing it.

  The deputy looked to the overgrown fields adjacent to the house. “That right?”

  “I said I got it running.” Michael leaned against Larry’s Ford to support his legs. Having a deputy in his driveway, while the remains of his patients littered his back field, made his knees grow weak. Having stayed up most of the night didn’t help, either. “I just haven’t had time to brush hog. I’ll get to it next week.”

  “Better if you’re sober, anyway,” the deputy said.

  Larry laughed. “Yeah, buddy. I could smell the whiskey on you. I’m damn jealous, too. Nothing like startin’ the day with a cup of coffee and a shot of Jack Daniels. Since I retired, the wife’s up my ass all the time about my health and all that nonsense. I gotta sneak around like a kid stealing liquor from his old man.”

  “What you smell is left over from last night. But I’ve got some Jack if you’re interested,” he offered Larry. Michael wouldn’t mind having a drink and BSing with the farmer. A little friendly conversation might help take his mind off of the dead men in the field, and the surgery he planned to perform tomorrow.

  “Wish I could,” Larry said with a sigh. “I gotta take the wife into town for some shopping, though. I told her to take herself, but she says shopping is a great way for us to bond. I’ve been married to the woman for nearly forty years. How much more bonding does a man need?”

  Michael chuckled, then figured they’d made enough small talk—time to find out why the deputy dropped by for a visit. “So, Deputy, what brings you by? Or did Larry’s wife hire you to keep an eye on her husband and make sure he made it home in time to bond?”

  The deputy laughed, then relaxed against the fence post near the house. “I could think of a few wives that might hire me to do exactly that,” he said, then his smile fell. “Larry told me he’d mentioned my dad’s coyote issues.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Michael said. “Don’t tell me they came after him again.”

  The deputy nodded. “My dad was letting his dog out when about five or six coyotes came up to the house. He shot and killed one when it snatched the dog. Two others came after him, and while he struggled to fend them off, or shoot them, the rest pulled apart the dog. According to my dad, once his dog was torn to shreds, the two coyotes attacking him joined the others. He started shooting them, and when they ran off, he climbed on his four wheeler and went after them.”

  Michael released a low whistle, then said, “Damn. Is Sal okay?”

  “He ended up with about forty stitches on his hands, arms and legs, and had to start the rabies vaccine. With how aggressive the coyotes have been acting, there’s no point in taking any chances.”

  Michael wished he would have found another way to dispose of the bodies. He hadn’t anticipated a coyote infestation, or how feeding the scavengers might have caused harm to the neighboring farmers.

  “I can’t believe the old fool went after them coyotes.” Larry shook his head. “He’s a crazy son of a bitch. You must have gotten your smarts from your mama.”

  The deputy smiled. “That’s what she tells me. Anyway,” he continued, and turned his attention on Michael. “Dad said he chased the coyotes onto your property.”

  “Mine?” he asked, confused. Sal’s property didn’t butt up to his.

  “Yeah, Dad said it was around eleven thirty or so.” The deputy pointed west. “He took the four wheeler off his land, chased them through Larry’s, then stopped at your fence line. When he couldn’t go any further, he headed home, then to the ER. He said he did try calling you. He figured you were up because the lights were on at the house and in the garage,” he finished and nodded to the steel garage.

  Michael thought back to last night. He’d heard the coyotes baying, calling for their next meal just after he’d finished Tully’s liposuction. When he’d wheeled Tully’s body into the field, he hadn’t seen any of them, but he’d sworn they were out there. Prowling behind trees and overgrown bushes, creeping around the tall grasses, he knew they waited for him to serve them dinner. After he’d dumped the body, he’d rushed back to the safety of the steel garage. He’d had no desire to listen to the coyotes rip the flesh from Tully’s body, or as they’d ended up doing to Sal, turn on him. Had he already dumped the body by the time Sal had taken the four wheeler to his fence? He must have, otherwise Sal would have heard the coyotes feasting and fighting over Tully.

  “I was up around that time, working in the garage,” Michael began. “I was doing some cleaning and had the Shop-Vac going. That thing is so loud. I probably
wouldn’t hear a freight train running through my back field, let alone a handful of coyotes.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Larry said. “And why the hell are you cleaning at eleven thirty at night? I’m out like a light by nine. The wife says I need my beauty sleep.”

  Michael half-smiled. “It’s not working,” he said, then he let his smile fall, and looked away. “A guy I’ve known for about seven years died yesterday. With his death on my mind, I couldn’t sleep and needed to keep myself busy.”

  After both men gave him their condolences, Michael pushed off Larry’s Ford. “Speaking of sleep, I think my late night and last night’s whiskey is finally catching up with me. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to head to my bed. Deputy, give my best to your dad. If I see any coyotes on my property, I’ll take them out in his honor.”

  The deputy smiled. “Appreciate that. Actually, that’s one of the reasons I stopped by. After what happened to my dad…the sheriff is worried these coyotes are getting too aggressive. We were wondering if you wouldn’t mind if we came out on your property with the animal warden and a few other men, and hunted these sons of bitches down.”

  Oh, hell no.

  Michael had one last name on his death wish list. He couldn’t have a bunch of people traipsing around on his property. No doubt they’d find what little remains were left of his previous patients. After he finished his last surgery, the sheriff and animal warden could move around his land as they pleased. Until then, he needed to keep his cool, and his privacy.

  “That’s fine,” Michael began. “But I’m going to need you to give me a few days before you start. I’ll call the sheriff when I’m ready for you.”

  The deputy narrowed his eyes. “Now’s as good a time as any. Maybe if you saw what my dad looked like, you’d understand the urgency of the situation,” the deputy replied, his tone no longer friendly.

  Michael knew, all too well, what the coyotes were capable of doing to a person. They’d had a hell of a good time with Tully. He’d told the bastard he wouldn’t recognize his body when Michael had finished with him. While the liposuction hadn’t gone as planned, the coyotes had taken Tully’s waist size from a sixty-six to a thirty-two in a matter of a few hours.

  He picked up the tool box Larry had borrowed, then moved toward the stairs leading to the house’s mudroom. So much for catching a few hours of sleep. With the sheriff’s interest in coming onto his property, he’d need to change his surgery schedule. “I do understand. Sorry, Deputy. Now’s just not a good time for me. Thanks for returning these, Larry,” he called over his shoulder. “See you around.”

  “What the hell do you have all over the back of your pant leg?” Larry asked.

  Michael released the door handle, then twisted his leg. He looked at the back of his jeans. Bile immediately rose in his throat when he eyed the dark bloodstain and small chunks of Tully’s fat and flesh.

  Maintaining his composure, he glanced between both men, caught the curiosity in their eyes, and shrugged. “Puke. After my friend died…I had too much to drink last night. I was too embarrassed to say this earlier, but I was using the hose to clean up the puke when you two stopped by.”

  With sympathy in his eyes, Larry nodded. “I understand. When’s the funeral?”

  “There’s a memorial service this evening. I’m heading into Chicago in a few hours to pick up another guy to join me,” Michael said, and thought about his final patient, Dr. Victor Roth. “Together, we’re going to pay our final respects. Then he’s going to stay with me a night, which is why I’d like some privacy. Once he’s gone, you can kill every coyote you can find. It’s not like I’ll have any use for them.”

  *

  Dorothy Long flipped through the TV channels. After passing over a dozen different stations, she finally settled on the Sylvester Stallone movie, Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot. Not necessarily an Oscar winning movie, she did like the mom, Estelle Getty, who also played that spitfire, Sophia, she loved from the Golden Girls. Plus, Sly Stallone wasn’t too hard on the eyes. Not that she’d fantasize about him, or any other man. She hadn’t had sex in over fifteen years. Not since the night Rick had raped her.

  She chuckled. Not because of Estelle Getty’s antics—the movie really wasn’t all that funny. Thinking about Rick’s last moments always cracked her up. While the rape had been miserable, the beating had been the worst he’d ever given her. She remembered looking in the mirror after he’d passed out, naked and drunk, on their bed. The left side of her face had doubled in size, and her eye had swollen shut. He’d split her lip, and knocked two teeth out of her mouth. She’d probably had a couple of broken ribs, but hadn’t bothered going to the hospital. For what she’d planned while he’d raped her, she would have to maintain a low profile.

  Her smile grew. God, she’d have to admit, she’d definitely been off her rocker that night. But, damn it, she’d had enough of Rick’s bullshit and had sworn he’d never touch her again. She’d learned her lesson about running to the police the hard way. Rick had made her understand. With his fist and his belt.

  Not that night.

  No, that night, she had set him straight.

  Straight to hell.

  Dorothy laughed. God, the look on his face when he’d woken up from his drunken stupor and saw her standing over him, wielding a hatchet, had been absolutely priceless. Even now she wondered what had been going through his mind just before she slammed the blade into the middle of his face.

  The movie went to commercial. Rather than learn about feminine products, she kept thinking about that night. She didn’t know why. Maybe because Pudge had been reminding her of Rick? Not that Pudge had physically abused her, but there was just…something off lately. Had to be drugs. Hopefully she’d find out soon enough. She would have to check her new nurse out before mentioning her concerns. Dorothy didn’t want her snooping to come back and bite her on her sore ass. Living in a nursing home would be hell compared to living with her Pudge. Again, she wondered if nursing homes, at least the ones they could afford, had cable.

  Pudge came into the room, just as the commercial had ended and the movie began again. “You leaving?” Dorothy asked.

  “I told you I had errands to run. I don’t want to sit around waiting on your nurse. I have plans this evening. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t have to work today.”

  “I don’t,” Pudge answered. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I thought I’d go out with some friends.”

  Friends? Pudge didn’t have any friends. Never had. Rick had seen to it, abusing her child, physically, sexually, emotionally until Pudge had become so introverted, the high school counselor had wanted them to seek professional help. Rick, of course, wouldn’t allow such a thing. If people found out what he’d done to his own child…

  “If you’re going to the store, pick me up some ice cream. Either chocolate chip cookie dough or cookies and cream. Hell, just buy them both. Oh, and some onion rings. I know they give me heartburn, but I’ve had a taste for them lately.”

  Pudge nodded, then said, “I’ll leave a note on the door for the nurse. Call my cell phone if there’s a problem.”

  When Pudge left, Dorothy quickly glanced at the clock. She had a couple of hours before Pudge came home. If she arrived soon, that would give the nurse plenty of time to check through Pudge’s things.

  A stress eater, Dorothy plunged into the bag of barbeque chips Pudge had left her. Thirty minutes later, she crumpled the bag, and tossed it to the floor. Anxious and worried her plans would be spoiled by a tardy nurse, she dabbed the sweat coating her forehead. She lowered the volume on the TV and considered calling the nursing agency.

  The door bell rang.

  Dorothy muted the TV, then yelled, “Come in.”

  Seconds later, a middle-aged, plump woman entered the living room. “Dorothy Long?” the woman asked.

  “That’s right. You must be my new nurse.”

  The
woman gave her a warm smile as she approached, then patted Dorothy’s arm. “Yes, I’m Nancy Flannery.”

  Nancy immediately put Dorothy at ease. Although a few years younger, Dorothy liked the motherly way Nancy treated her. Unlike Pudge, Nancy fussed over her with a gentle touch and demeanor. She talked about how she was going to be a grandma soon, about her other children, and her dog. For some reason, Dorothy felt as if she’d known Nancy for years.

  After Nancy finished checking Dorothy’s blood pressure, heart and temperature, she moved to her bed sores. “Oh my,” she said as she inspected Dorothy’s bottom. “This must be very painful. It was my understanding that you have someone living with you. They should be treating these several times a day.”

  After Nancy finished cleaning and dressing the sores with fresh bandages, Dorothy flopped back. Holding on to the bedrails, while Nancy had taken care of her, had exerted Dorothy. Drawing in deep breaths, she nodded. “That’d be my Pudge. I’ve done everything for that child, and what do I get in return?” Dorothy waved a hand. “I’m living in filth, and treated as if I’m an inconvenience.”

  “You poor thing,” Nancy said. “If you’re unhappy here, we could look into alternative living arrangements. There are nursing homes that—”

  “I don’t want to leave,” Dorothy interrupted. “A nursing home isn’t the right place for me. I’m comfortable here. It’s just that lately…”

  Nancy gazed at her with concern and compassion. “You can tell me, Dorothy. What we discuss will stay between us.”

  The sympathy in Nancy’s hazel eyes, the kindness in her smile, washed away any concerns Dorothy had about her new nurse. “Well,” Dorothy began. “As you can see, I can’t exactly get out of bed and move around the house.”

  Nancy smiled. “What’s important is the person you are on the inside. Don’t look at your weight as a burden. Embrace the woman you are. I know we just met, but I can tell you’re a bright, considerate woman.”

  Dorothy decided she liked Nancy more than Gretchen. Gretchen had always harped about what Dorothy ate, her lack of exercise and hygiene. She’d made her obesity sound like a sickness or disease, whereas Nancy didn’t focus on the fat, she focused on Dorothy’s feelings and her needs.