Forgive Me, Alex

by Lane Diamond

  Whatever. I couldn't be there for him all the time.

  I stopped at Sears in Crystal Lake to buy a couple more tools and clothes for Diana. I picked up two sets of everything for her: jeans, tee shirts, panties, socks... but no bras. I liked her better without one.

  I popped into Dominick's down the street to load-up on sandwich stuff, chips and pickles, some pop, two five-gallon bottles of water, the bathroom stuff we needed, a bag of plastic forks and spoons and knives, a bag of ice to put in the cooler.... We wouldn't exactly be dining at the Ritz, as my dad liked to say, but we'd get by.

  I returned to the shop feeling much better about things, anxious to see my angel.

  I untied Diana and let her clean up a little before we sat down to eat. I tried to start a conversation, but she weren't responding, weren't having a good time yet.

  She would. Soon.

  ***

  I loved nighttime—the darkness, the ability to hide in plain sight, the perfect opportunity to move forward with the next part of my plan. This was my second chance; couldn't screw this up or I'd be in deep shit with the Reaper.

  Once again, I'd left Diana tied-up and gagged back at the shop. She was kind of a pain in the ass, but she was also gonna be sweet. Sweet and tasty.

  Shit! Can't think about that now.

  This grocery store in Crystal Lake weren't the one I usually shopped; didn't want to run into anyone who might recognize me. It was almost closing time, so I'd try for one of the employees. I didn't give a hot shit if it was a woman or man, though a woman would have been easier to handle.

  I parked next to a group of cars on the edge of the lot furthest from the doors, presumably where employees park, to give me plenty of opportunities.

  Seated in the van, with my lawn chair pulled close to the rear doors, I enjoyed a wide view through the rear windows. With one of the doors open, but pulled to, I could jump out in a snap, and without a sound. I removed the bulb from the overhead interior light, and fingered the hilt of the hunting knife sheathed on my belt, and the hammer wedged under the belt. I clenched a baseball bat in my right hand too—plenty of weapons. A gun would have been good, but where would I have gotten one without raising suspicions or leaving a trail?

  A woman walked from the store without bags and headed this way, probably an employee. My right foot bounced, my teeth grinded, and my grip tightened on the baseball bat. Sweat beaded above my eyebrows and on the back of my neck.

  Get ready, Mitchell. Holy shit! This could be.... Fuck! I need to take a leak.

  She stopped and looked back when a boy jogged toward her, undoubtedly another employee, and they walked together to their cars, parked side-by-side fifteen feet away from where I sat. They said goodnight before driving off.

  The missed opportunity had me amped-up, but I gradually stopped twitching.

  Patience, the voice in my head said.

  Two more people left the store, a young man pushing a loaded grocery cart and an old woman right behind him. They approached a car parked near the entrance, he helped her load the groceries, and she drove off as he jogged back inside the store.

  Three minutes later, a figure emerged from the store, the same kid who'd helped the old woman. He looked to be seventeen or eighteen, with long blond hair and a bounce in his step, and he whistled a tune. As he came closer, he stopped whistling and started singing Back in the Saddle by Aerosmith.

  He walked toward one of the nearby cars, directly across from me and less than ten feet away.

  I glanced back at the store. Nobody else coming. I gripped the bat and stepped out of the van, and he launched into the chorus line from the song, blaring it out for the whole world to hear.

  We'll see who's back in the saddle again, dumbass!

  I rushed right up behind him and swung the bat, catching him at the base of his head and across his shoulders. I wanted to knock him out, not kill him.

  He grunted, dropped his keys and hit the pavement hard. He squirmed, barely conscious, so I gave him one more light swing of the bat. The poor schmuck would have two nasty lumps.

  Tough shit!

  In a little while, that would be the least of his fuckin' worries, assuming I hadn't killed him. I felt the pulse on the side of his neck. Still breathing.

  Still nobody came from the store. I leaned the bat against the car, raised him up and threw him over my right shoulder.

  "You're damn heavy for a skinny shit."

  I grabbed the bat with my left hand and walked toward my van. Halfway there, I almost lost him, and strained my back while trying to hang on.

  "That hurts, you lousy fucker!"

  I dumped him in the van like a sack of useless shit. Okay, so he wasn't useless—we'd have some real fun later. Back inside the van, I breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed my handcuffs, a little something from an adult-only store off I-94 up in Wisconsin.

  I'd expected to use them for other purposes, something a prostitute taught me once. That hadn't happened, but they sure came in handy now.

  I covered the kid's mouth with duct tape and ran a rope through the handcuffs, and tied them up through the loop on the upper wall. I then dragged the unconscious blob of shit into a sitting position.

  He couldn't go anywhere or make any loud noises. Perfect!

  I froze. Laughter echoed across the parking lot. Careful to keep the van still, I crawled to the window. Three boys laughed it up as they approached the nearby cars.

  "Hey," one of them said, "I thought Dan already left."

  "He did," said another.

  "Then why is his car still here?"

  "Who gives a shit? He probably went back inside. Let's get out of here."

  One by one, they drove off.

  If one of them had walked over to—Dan, was it?—his car, they might'a found his keys. That would'a been trouble. I should have picked them up earlier, but now that it was clear, I darted over and scooped them up.

  I jumped into the driver's seat and took one last look around the parking lot.

  "All right, Danny-boy, we're ready to go."

  No response. Still unconscious.

  "What's the matter, don't feel like talking?"

  I laughed, unable to keep my legs still as the excitement builds. Time for a good song.

  "I'M BAAAACK!"

  ***

  The kid remained unconscious, tied to the workbench.

  I allowed Diana go to the bathroom and wash up, and then we munched some sandwiches—a little PB&J to keep our energy up.

  My energy was definitely up!

  She now sat in a chair alongside the workbench, her hands tied behind her and her feet taped to the chair. Whatever. At least she could appreciate a ringside seat.

  Time to wake up Danny-boy.

  I had a knife in one hand and needle-nosed pliers in the other, and I danced around like a fool. I couldn't help it—barely able to contain myself. I had a hard-on that would shock that Deep Throat chick. I couldn't stop staring at Diana's magnificent tits, at her rock-hard nipples.

  She's excited too! Man, I want to get all over that! Maybe I should let Danny-Boy wait and—

  He groaned and flipped his head from side to side.

  I walked to the bench and leaned down, my face a few inches away as his eyes struggled open. He tried to speak before realizing I had his mouth taped. He raised his head and looked down the table at the rest of himself, all tied and taped and... naked.

  His eyes pled with me.

  I held up my hands to display the knife and the pliers, and offered my biggest smile and a hearty laugh. "Hey, Danny-boy, we're gonna have some serious fun tonight. I have plenty of other cool tools too. Wanna see 'em?"

  I reached behind me and rotated through the selections: hammer, saw, ice pick, hand-drill, before returning to the knife and pliers. "Let's start with these. Don't worry, we'll enjoy every one of them. Gotta be patient."

  He screamed behind his tape, then his head rolled over and he saw Diana.

  She'd already
started crying, and made eye contact for only a second before dropping her head.

  "No you don't, Diana. You gotta watch every single bit of this, you hear me? If you don't, I'll put you on the table next. Got it?"

  Tears streamed down her face, but she nodded.

  Why in hell is she crying like a baby?

  "One more thing: if you scream, I'll cut something off." I reached over and squeezed her right tit, and pinched her nipple. "Maybe I'll start with this one."

  That got her attention.

  Holy shit, did that feel good or what!

  "Okay then, shall we get started?"

  Danny-boy tried screaming again behind the tape. What a stupid fucker.

  ***

  Wow! I'd gotten it right this time. Danny-boy had spewed twice during the fun. I hadn't expected that. It was like he'd enjoyed it while I sliced, ripped, sawed, drilled and stabbed. He'd lasted twenty minutes, screaming behind the tape the whole time.

  Problem was we had a stinking, fucking mess, with piss and shit and blood everywhere, including all over me. Wow!

  I stepped in front of Diana, nice and close. I couldn't stand it anymore—needed a release—but she was tied-up. I'd just have to do it myself. Whatever.

  "Okay, Diana, I have one more thing for you to watch tonight."

  Chapter 39 – May 29, 1978: Tony Hooper

  "'Come to the edge,' he said. They said, 'We are afraid.' 'Come to the edge,' he said. They came... he pushed them... and they flew." – Guillaume Apollinaire

  ~~~~~

  Memorial Day meant no school, a damned good thing. No way could I face classes today, let alone the other students. Dad went into the office despite the holiday. No surprise.

  Frank would understand my plight, and he might be able to help me figure things out and decide what to do next. Gramps was my rock.

  What would I do tomorrow? Or the next day? Or the day after that? Hell, I didn't know. Only one thing drove me—I must find Diana... somehow.

  "We need to backtrack a little," Frank said, "to see if we can find something useful, something suspicious. You may have ignored it at the time because there was no reason to do otherwise."

  "Shouldn't we go to the police?"

  "What do you have to offer them?"

  I thought about that for a minute. I didn't have a damned thing.

  "Do you trust me?"

  "Yes sir."

  "I have some skills you're not aware of, and which I can't explain yet. We'll get to it when the time is right. In the meantime, stick with me on this. Okay?"

  I nodded as he paused to refuel on doughnuts and coffee. He'd gone to Dunkin' Donuts early this morning—liked theirs better than the stuff he brewed at home—to pick up four doughnuts and a box of coffee. Should have us walking on the ceiling soon.

  Lord knew I guzzled it now like a man on a mission. "Where do we start?"

  "First, I think we should agree that it's no coincidence that someone abducted Diana a week after someone abducted and killed Alex. The sheriff's deputy was right, you know. You are the common link."

  "He was suspicious of me."

  "You would be the likely suspect for anyone who didn't know better. Don't worry about that. They'll get past it at some point." His eyes squinted in thought as he took another sip of coffee. "In the meantime, someone out there is snatching up people closest to you. Alex's murder and Diana's abduction must be the work of the same person, assuming it's one man. This guy must know you in some way, maybe a friend."

  "Friend! Are you kidding? Besides, no one I know is capable of such a thing."

  "Well, this person has to know you in some way. It's too coincidental otherwise. Perhaps someone has fixated on you for some reason."

  I could only stare at him with my mouth hanging open like an idiot. He wanted ideas from me, but my brain could conjure nothing more than panic and terror. I felt helpless and inadequate, at the mercy of something—someone—beyond my wildest imagination.

  "This is too bizarre," I said at last, "like something out of a Sherlock Holmes story. It's not as though I have enemies or anything."

  "Oh? The person doing this is not exactly your biggest fan."

  "No kidding, but why? I haven't done anything to anyone." That almost stuck in my throat. "Well, I was in a couple fights at school my sophomore year, but they were little things. Those guys wouldn't do something like this."

  "Nothing else?"

  I'd almost forgotten about the big one.

  "Of course, there was that drunk who killed my mom, but he was a single guy with no kids, no siblings—just a dog. His father was deceased, and his mother had mush for a brain. She passed away in a nursing home shortly after the incident. I talked about that in therapy with the shrink, who said those facts made it easier for me to cope with what I'd done. The killer didn't leave anybody behind—nobody who'd suffer because of my actions, or who might want to exact revenge."

  "All right, let's forget about that angle for now, but I want you to think about it during the rest of the day. Keep it in the back of your mind, floating around in your subconscious, and maybe something will pop up."

  "Okay. Now what do we do?"

  He leaned in closer and placed his arms on the table. "Attempt to determine which stranger might be doing this."

  "Uh... Frank... how do we do that? We don't even know where to begin. That's kind of the definition of stranger."

  "You'd be surprised. You see, the subconscious mind is an extraordinary machine, storing information of which we're not even aware. With proper training and techniques, it's possible to draw that information into the conscious mind."

  "Training? Techniques? Come on, Frank, Diana's missing and she needs help now. There's no time for training."

  "It takes less time than you imagine. There are reasonably quick methods that offer a high degree of certainty. We'll get to that. For now, let's make some assumptions to get us started."

  "How do you know about such things?"

  "As I said earlier, you need to trust me on this."

  I sighed and waited as he sipped his coffee and gathered his thoughts.

  "First, when did it start? He took Alex only a week ago, and already he's taken Diana. That's quick work, especially given the fact that the police are right in the middle of an investigation. I'd bet this guy got the idea only recently, so let's retrace your last few weeks and see what we find."

  I walked to the counter to refill my coffee cup, then did the same for Frank. I kept hoping the coffee would fire-up my mind, to help me follow what he was doing. He wanted to know how my routine had changed in the past several weeks, and rattled off several questions in succession. Had there been any special events? Did I have any new hangouts? Had I met new people? Still clueless, I nodded and waited for him to guide me through the process.

  "Think about that for a minute while I make a quick phone call."

  He didn't use the phone in the kitchen or the one in the living room. He stepped into his bedroom and shut the door, which made me a little nervous. Why didn't he want to talk in front of me?

  ***

  On Tuesday, I was supposed to be at school but... fat chance! My every thought roared for Diana, a million-ton freight train flying downhill, a sharp turn in the tracks just ahead.

  Graduation would arrive in less than two weeks, but I'd be all right.

  Dad had left the house earlier than usual, before I typically headed out to school, so he didn't know I'd ditched.

  Not that he'd have cared.

  Shit! Go easy on him, Tony.

  Frank understood, pretending to be my grandfather when he'd called into school and told them I'd be absent today.

  He and I talked for two hours yesterday, examining every possibility. On several occasions he'd nodded and said, "Uh-huh, that could be important," and expanded the notes he jotted down. I hadn't understood any of it, but accepted that he'd clue me in when ready. He'd wanted me to relax last night and let my subconscious mind sort things ou
t.

  Sure. Relax. What a sick joke.

  I tried last night to speak with Mrs. Gregario, but Mr. G. answered every time I'd called. He'd refused to speak with me no matter how much I pleaded. In the three calls I made, it never took him more than ten seconds to hang up on me. On the third, he'd made clear that he didn't want to hear from me again.

  Don't call again? Are you kidding? How am I supposed to know what's happening with Diana?

  He'd decided that this was my fault.

  And here we sat, back at Frank's kitchen table, reviewing yesterday's notes and once again drinking coffee, though lousy decaf for some reason. He said I had to lay off the caffeine. Was he nuts?

  Well, he was the boss.

  The doorbell rang, and he insisted I remain seated as he answered it. A muffled conversation murmured from near the front door.

  A moment later, he returned to the kitchen escorting another man. "Tony, I'd like you to meet Dr. Art Reynolds, a former colleague of mine."

  He was old, not quite Frank's age, mostly bald and with pop-bottle glasses, behind which football-like eyes blinked. Unlike Frank, he walked stooped over, defeated by a lifetime of gravity and whatever other forces he'd endured. He carried a small black bag, like something a doctor carried during a house call in one of those movies from the '40's. Frank had called him doctor. And a former colleague? What did that mean? Frank, a doctor? No.

  Perhaps Frank was sick and.... New panic bubbled to the surface—just what I needed.

  "I asked Art to help us with our dilemma," Frank said. He turned to Art. "Did you get what you needed?"

  "Yes, I still have one connection back at..." He paused and looked at me. "Anyway, I can't say he was happy about giving it to me, but I got enough to do the job."

  Frank nodded.

  I was utterly lost. "I don't understand. How can a doctor help?"

  "Actually," Art said, "I'm a psychiatrist."

  I shot bullets and flames from eyes, right at Frank. "A psychiatrist?"

  He raised his hands in defense. "Now hold on, Tony, it's not what you're thinking. Art isn't here to psychoanalyze you. He has a certain specialty that will be helpful to us—to dig deep inside your subconscious mind to find answers."