Writing down an explanation would have to be a part of that one last stop. He would pull himself together, clear his mind, and then he would write down everything he wanted to say to Linda. That was the plan, at least.
Linda was on her way back to the sofa, a cup of tea in her hand. She had been reading a stack of papers that her students had turned in and her eyes were sore and red. She stopped briefly in the little alcove halfway between her kitchen and her living room to sip at the tea. So far, she hadn't spilled any of it, which was pretty remarkable for someone as clumsy as she. That's when she saw it. There was a little flash of light through the front window.
There was only one window in the front of her house and it looked out over her quiet little street. Even with the drapes closed, she could see shadows out there and bits of pale light. Linda set the cup down on the end table and went to the window to see what might have caused the flash. There was a dark car parked across the street and directly even with her front door. She couldn't see very well, but there did appear to be two dark forms sitting in the front seat. Cops, she supposed, sent to watch the house in case Paul showed up. They didn't trust her to tell them if he came to her. Neither did she.
She watched for about a minute, through a tiny slit in the drapes. Then she pulled them tightly closed and went back to her tea and papers. Surely, Paul would have gotten there by now if he was coming. She worried that he had been killed by the person who had murdered that other guy. She worried that he had taken off in a panic and was lost somewhere, without his car or his phone. Any number of things could have happened to him and none of them were good. Still, she couldn't help but hope that he wouldn't show up here–that he had gone home.
She turned back to the paper she had last been reading. Some of her students were bright, some not so. This one was brilliant. She smiled as she read it, making notes in the margins and red-penning the few atrocious mistakes. Then she added a complimentary note on the bottom of the last page and tossed it into the pile. She was reaching for the next paper when the phone rang. It scared her so badly that she yelped and jumped.
"Hello?" she said, her voice still ringing with fear.
"Hey, Linda. It's Matt."
"Oh, hi, Matt." At least he didn't sound stoned this time.
"Hey, I was wondering if you'd heard anything from Paul?" He sounded like a child who had become separated from his mother in the mall and was just now approaching the help desk.
"I haven't heard a word, sorry. There are two cops parked outside my door though. I'm not sure whether to hope Paul shows up, or hope that he doesn't."
To Matt, her voice sounded so sad that it made him want to cry. "I know this is all hard for you. It's hard for me too. I just want Paul to be okay, you know? If you hear anything, please let me know? I'm going half-crazy here."
"Matt, can I ask you something?"
There was a long pause, then Matt sighed. "Sure."
"What happened to Paul? He said something bad happened at work. You were with him . . ."
"Linda, look. Paul wouldn't want me to tell you. I mean, it's not my place, you know?" There was another long silence, followed by a heavy sigh. "I guess it doesn't make much difference now."
"It might make a difference to me. I need to understand all this."
"Okay, it's like this. We were down in the tunnels and there was this stuff, this blue, glowing stuff. And Paul got it on him and when we got out of the tube, he doubled over, convulsed, and died. I called the paramedics but he was dead before they got there. They took him to the morgue and told me that they would contact me the next day for arrangements."
"And you didn't think to call me? The man I love died and you didn't even let me know?" She was angry now, the heat of it scorching her face and drawing tears to her eyes.
"There wasn't a lot of time. See, a couple of hours later, Paul came walking in the door. But he looked bad, man. Really bad. Like, he had all these pustules and black marks on his face. And he couldn't talk."
"He said he was sick. He had laryngitis."
"Naw, man. He couldn't talk. All that would come out is this growl and groan and shit. I don't know what happened to him, but he looked like a zombie." Matt broke off, feeling very near tears himself. There wasn't a lot in the world that Matt cared about. Paul was at the top of the list. "I'm sorry about all this. I should have protected him, man. I should have gone in his place."
"There's no way you could have known." She swiped at the tears that trailed down her cheeks. "But I appreciate you being honest with me. And I will call you right away if I hear from him."
"I think it might be a good idea if you had a computer or a pad and pen ready in case he does make it there. Dude can't talk, ya know? He'll need some way of communicating with you."
"I'll set the iPad next to the door. That should do it. You take care of yourself, Matt."
"You too, Linda. Bye."
She clicked off the phone and tossed it onto the sofa cushion. Paul was sick with something and that made her feel a little better about his erratic behavior. It didn't explain away everything, but it explained some. She had no idea what to expect when and if Paul showed up, but there was one thing she knew beyond question: Paul was a good and decent man and she loved him more than life itself. When he showed up – if he showed up – she would do whatever she could to help and protect him.
Milligan sat at Lopez's desk, the cell phone tucked neatly between shoulder and cheek as he jotted down notes in his little ringed pad. Twice, he nodded and dislodged the phone; asked Gebhart to repeat what he had just said. In the middle of it all, Lopez walked in with two cups of coffee and Milligan gave up the chair to him.
"Just keep me posted. And call me the second the lab results come in."
Milligan ended the call and laid the phone on the desk, taking a second to jot down a few thoughts on his pad. When he looked up, Lopez was staring at him with a crooked smile on his face.
"What time did you come in?" he asked Milligan.
"Six. I woke up at five and couldn't go back to sleep, so I figured I would come in here and get a head start reviewing those tapes from the security camera." He took the coffee that Lopez offered and blew on it.
"And what did you find?"
"Just as expected. Not a damn thing. Tremblay pulls up in front of the SuperMart, gets out, goes inside. Nobody is with him, nobody goes near the car until the cop walks over to ticket him for parking in front of the dumpster."
"So, that leaves Tremblay driving across Kansas with a dead body in his car." Lopez frowned and shuffled through some papers on his desk.
"Maybe he didn't know the body was back there," Milligan offered feebly.
"Not a chance," Davis said, sliding into the chair next to Milligan. "That thing stunk to high heaven."
Milligan shifted in his seat, turned a few pages in his notebook, smiled. "My guy talked to this Matt character . . . and I do mean character. And then they went together out to the sewer site where the two guys had been working. He managed to get a sample of this blue glop that Matt says his buddy got on him right before he collapsed. He's gonna call me when the lab results are in."
"So," Lopez says, rocking slowly. "These two chuckleheads are out in the sewers doing their thing. And Tremblay steps in this blue glop, as you call it. He gets topside and keels over, the paramedics take him to the morgue. Coupla hours later, he walks right back in the door looking like shit. Then he takes off in their car, headed for LA so he can see his lady. Somewhere along the way, he picks up a dead guy or he kills a guy, and then he eats part of the corpse."
Davis shook his head. "There's no question. The bite marks on the body are a dead-on match for the bite marks on the pig. And we found fingerprints on the barn door handle that match Tremblay's."
"Damn," Lopez sighed. "I was hoping for the girl's sake that this guy was innocent. But apparently, he killed Manning, stuffed him in the back seat, and started snacking on him. Then he killed the pig, ate part of it, stole th
e farmer's truck . . ."
"And if he sticks to his plan, he should hit LA any time now." Milligan nodded.
"I'm going to let my guys know. They need to be prepared. This guy is some serious kind of crazy and they need to treat him like the homicidal maniac he is." Lopez picked up the phone and began to dial.
Four miles from Linda's apartment there was an abandoned grocery store. It had once been a part of a thriving strip mall, and when it had failed, it had taken the other stores with it. Weeds grew through the pavement now, the streetlights dark and the doors of the place boarded up. You could see the front parking lot from two different streets, so Paul drove around back to the loading docks. He backed the truck up into one of the recessed loading bays and shut off the engine. He had to collect his thoughts and write down what he needed to say to Linda. Then he had to eat his last piece of pig meat and try to restore himself again.
Rounding third, he thought. Almost home.
He rummaged around in the glove compartment, found his pen and an old receipt pad. He tore one page from the pad and flipped it over so he could write on the blank side. Then he stared into space. He figured he should start off with the most important thing first, the thing he most wanted her to know.
LINDA, I LOVE YOU.
And then he stared some more. He heard a noise off to his right but it turned out to just be a cat rummaging through a pile of trash in the hopes of finding a meal.
THE REASON I'M LIKE THIS IS BECAUSE OF THAT AWFUL STUFF I STEPPED IN DOWN IN THE SEWERS.
He had never been especially good with words, but they failed him now more than ever. The way he had it figured, in about twelve hours he would be down to, "Og luv u. Og sory."
I DIED AND WENT TO THE MORGUE BUT THEN I WOKE UP AND I WAS LIKE THIS. I COULDN'T TALK AND THAT'S WHY I'M WRITING EVERYTHING DOWN.
God, he just wanted her to understand. All he wanted was to be able to die without her hating him for all eternity.
I DID KILL THAT GUY, YES. BUT IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. HE TRIED TO JACK MY CAR.
He tried to think back to the rest area where he had killed that man. Yes, the guy had tried to steal the car. But had it really been an accident? He couldn't remember thinking that he should kill the guy. Then again, he couldn't remember a lot of things now. But he was absolutely sure that the whole incident had been an impulse. Some part of him beyond his control had bitten into the guy's neck before Paul had even had a chance to form a clear thought. It had been as much instinct as a tiger taking down a gazelle.
PLEASE DON'T HATE ME. I WAS SO SICK AND SO HUNGRY AND I BIT INTO THAT GUY'S NECK BEFORE I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING. AND THAT'S HOW I FOUND OUT THAT EATING HIS FLESH MADE ME NORMAL AGAIN. IT RESTORED ME.
It was the lamest thing he had ever said. No way on earth could he get out of this without Linda hating him and thinking him a monster. No way.
THEN I JUST SORT OF PANICKED AND DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. BUT I FOUND OUT THAT I CAN EAT PIG MEAT AND GET BETTER, SO I GUESS IT'S ANY KIND OF RAW MEAT.
He stared off into space, unblinking, for about five minutes. His train of thought had derailed and try as he might, he couldn't get it back on track.
I JUST CAME HERE BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE WORLD. EVERYTHING I'VE DONE, I DID FOR YOU.
He wondered briefly if that would endear him to her or make her feel responsible, guilty. His eyes traveled over the notes and he gasped at seeing that one. He shoved one hand into his right pocket and felt around. The ring box was still there.
I BOUGHT YOU A RING MONTHS AGO AND I WAS GOING TO PROPOSE AS SOON AS I MOVED OUT HERE. I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT NOW. AND WHEN YOU LOOK AT IT, I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER ME, THE ME THAT USED TO BE. AND I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER THAT YOU WERE THE MOST LOVED WOMAN IN THE WORLD. AS LONG AS I'M ALIVE, YOU ALWAYS WILL BE.
And then it struck him. If he died – not like he'd died before, but if he really died – then no one would love Linda.
He started the engine and pulled out of the loading bay slowly, turning on his lights. With new conviction, Paul turned down that one last road that would take him to Linda and which would, he hoped, put an end to his suffering.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Milligan was on his way back from the rest room when his phone rang. He stopped in the middle of the hall, nearly causing two patrol officers to run smack into him. Accepting the call, he mashed the phone to his ear and growled.
"Milligan."
"It's Gebhart. I've got the test results back."
Milligan was walking again, trotting along the hall and beginning to pant. "Hang on. Just a second." He reached Lopez's office, where Davis and Lopez were reviewing security tapes, hoping to find the one from the rest stop where Paul had killed Manning. "I'm putting you on speaker phone. I'll never be able to repeat all those big words."
"So, I've got the results from the lab tests on that blue stuff. I'll send them to you in a minute. The gist of it is this: There were a hundred and forty-two separate compounds found in that sample. Everything ranging from petroleum to hallucinogenics to radioactive material. There were also a lot of compounds in there that our lab boys couldn't identify."
"Do they have any idea what that stuff might do to a person?" Milligan asked tentatively.
"Not really. They'd have to test it, I guess."
"So, it's possible that this stuff could be responsible for what happened to our perp?" Lopez added.
"Most definitely. I mean, there's enough crazy-assed stuff in that blue goo to drive a nun insane. If it didn't kill her."
Milligan smiled. "'Crazy-assed stuff.' Is that a technical term?" He chuckled.
"It is now, Milligan. And you can quote me on that."
"Thanks. I owe you a beer when I get back, Gebhart."
The email came through then, and Milligan forwarded it to Lopez so he could print it out. "So, Paul Tremblay got into this nuclear waste crap and it turned him into one seriously crazed fruit loop."
"That's about it, I guess." Lopez thought for a moment. "It's entirely possible that he's not dangerous anymore. Or if he is, that it's not his fault. God knows what kind of insane stuff it made him see."
"Still, he's killed one man. Responsible or not, he still has to be treated as a danger." Milligan sighed. He didn't like this, not one bit. "You better make sure your guys protect themselves . . . and Linda Gilchrist."
Lopez nodded. "Due force."
In the wee small hours of the morning, most of LA was still asleep. Sunrise was still a good three hours away and Paul putted along in the truck, keeping just under the speed limit so as not to attract attention. In his right pocket was the ring box and the folded piece of paper on which he had written his message to Linda. In his left pocket was the sample he had taken of the blue goo. He had just swallowed the last mouthful of that vile, festering pig meat and was feeling much better for it.
But as he turned onto Linda's street and looked ahead one block to her apartment, he noticed something that he thought odd. There were two dark cars stopped abreast of one another, four men standing in the middle of the street, talking.
Paul stopped the truck, put it in reverse and backed into the first driveway he saw. He cut the engine and watched. He could see each man holding a paper cup of coffee. Handcuffs dangled from the belt of one man. Cops. There were cops guarding Linda.
Paul started the truck and drove away slowly, so as not to attract attention. He watched his rearview mirror as much as he could, making sure that none of the cops followed. If they were looking for the truck, he was done for. Still, they were looking for a Chevy truck with a certain license number. His truck was now a Ford with a different license number.
Paul turned left and drove two blocks before he pulled over, shaking. He needed to get to Linda before his last meal wore off. The cops were guarding her and he had no way of getting in touch with her. Suddenly, he felt panic rise from deep inside his gut, threatening to make him yack up the last of the meat. He choked it back, began to sob, then forcib
ly got hold of himself.
He needed a cellphone capable of texting. He knew all too well that if he got a burner phone somewhere, it would take too long to activate. Fingers drumming on the steering wheel, he thought hard about his dilemma. There was only one answer and he had scant little time to make it happen.
He put the truck in gear and drove off quickly. He had passed a Mega Mart on his way into town. Mega Mart carried iPods capable of texting and they had a coffee shop inside with free Wi-Fi. He could buy the iPod and send a text to Linda, asking her to meet him there. But he had to get in and out of the store before the meat wore off and he started to look like a corpse again.
At that hour, the Mega Mart parking lot was nearly empty. The occasional parent making a diaper run, or flu-patient looking for medication pulled in but that was about it. Paul parked the car at the side of the building, as far away from the lights as he could get. Then he made his way across the wide parking lot and in through the sliding doors.
One leg dragged a bit, his foot suddenly leaden. He supposed it had something to do with the crunch he had heard some time back when he had pushed down on the accelerator. There was nothing he could about it except to compensate with his hip. In this hitching, jerky manner, he made his way back to electronics and, by pointing and nodding, managed to get the clerk to understand what he wanted. She eyed him peculiarly and made a face when he handed her his credit card. But he got away with the whole thing and by the time anyone discovered his face on the security tapes, he would be long gone.
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