by Gord Rollo
Tom wanted to stand up to this man, to show him who was boss in this town, but he couldn’t summon his body to lash out and defend himself. He couldn’t do anything except stand there and be humiliated, tears starting to run now, which made him feel even worse. Where was the predator? Where was the hunter? Where was the panther? Nowhere, of course. They never existed, just like Tom. All of them just parts of a failed priest’s disturbed mind; figments of Patrick Harris’s perverse imagination.
The drums stopped beating.
The urges faded away.
Tom fragmented into shadows and was gone.
Father Harris was left all alone, standing in front of a real-life predator, a real killer, and knew deep in his hammering heart he would prowl the streets of Billington no more. The thought brought the first genuine smile to his face in years.
The dark man put his knife away.
“You like looking into windows, do you? Makes you feel tough spying on people? You make me sick. Damn your eyes…” he said and forced Patrick to his knees. With savage strength, he plunged both his thumbs into the fallen priest’s eyes, mercilessly digging in until the eyeballs exploded and sprayed outward like a massive squeezed pimple. The priest screamed in agony, but the dark man dug his thumbs in deeper, pressing through the optic cavity and shoving through the membrane into his brain. Something deep inside the priest burst.
Father Harris began to shudder, his legs spasming, his bowels and bladder letting loose as he slumped against the closet door. When the Stranger pulled out his thumbs, they were covered in blood and sticky clear gore. Gray matter was visible through the gaping holes in the dying man’s face. Father Harris was silent now, still gasping for breath, but blood poured from his mouth and nose, his damaged brain misfiring, his systems quickly shutting down. He felt warmth spread through his body and a calming peace finally coming to claim him and put an end to years of self-loathing and suffering. With his dying breath, he managed to say to his killer, “Tha…thank you.”
The Stranger bent down close to his ear and whispered, “You’re welcome, ya sick son of a bitch. You’re welcome.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER
Wilson repacked his bag and was finally ready to go confront the Heatseeker. He was back at his house again, having changed his mind about a few things and realizing he’d forgotten something that might be vitally important if things played out the way he hoped they might. Ready now as he would ever be, Wilson headed for the door.
In the driveway, just as he was reaching for the handle on the Honda’s driver’s-side door, sirens started to blare and red and blue flashing lights illuminated the night sky from both ends of the street. Two black-and-white Billington police cruisers skidded to a stop behind Susan’s car, blocking him in, and four large bodies piled out to change Wilson’s plans about driving anywhere. They shone large bright lights in his face and carefully closed the distance between them.
“On the fucking ground, Wilson,” one of them shouted, but with the lights in his eyes and all the sudden confusion, Wilson didn’t recognize the voice. The police weren’t in the mood to wait for him to think this all through either. Before Wilson knew what was happening, he’d been seized, spun around, and slammed to the ground in the wet grass beside the driveway. All he could see were three sets of black boots in front, and knew one of them was on his back, a heavy one, crushing the breath from his lungs. The officer pinning him to the ground roughly slapped a pair of handcuffs on him and said, “Don’t move an inch, man. Dig?”
This time, Wilson did recognize the voice. “Mack? What the hell is going on? I haven’t done anything!”
“Maybe you have…maybe you haven’t,” Officer Byron MacKenzie spoke into Wilson’s ear. “But someone made a mess of Edith and Earl Henderson and we have an eyewitness says they heard loud noises that might have been shots, but they weren’t sure. Then they saw a man leave with a little girl and they weren’t acting very friendly. It took them way too damn long to decide to call us and might not even done it, but apparently a few other people showed up and there was more yelling and screaming going on. Eventually we got on the scene. Turns out the Hendersons just happen to be your daughter’s babysitters and she was with them today, so how about you tell me what the fuck is going on? Where’s Amanda, Wilson? What’cha do to her?”
“What? Nothing! I haven’t done anything to her.”
“Where is she then?”
“Ahh…” Wilson had no idea how to answer. He couldn’t tell him about the Heatseeker or they’d cart him off to the rubber room. “Trust me, Mack, she’ll be fine but you’ve got to let me go. Please!”
“Trust you? Hardly,” Big Mack said, then addressed the other officers. “Two of you search the house…Daniels, help me get this drunken piece of shit into the car.”
Footsteps headed off in the direction of the front door of the house, and Wilson was dragged painfully to his feet and shoved toward the waiting police cars parked on the road. A tall, dark-haired officer with a goatee and a rather large belly hanging over his belt walked ahead of them carrying Wilson’s supply bag and opened the back door of Mack’s cruiser. Presumably this was Officer Daniels, but Wilson had never met him before so he continued to plead his case to the big man he’d known for years. “Come on, Mack! You know me better than that. Look, I’m stone sober tonight, honest, and I didn’t do anything to Amanda…or to Edith and Earl.”
Big Mack unceremoniously frisked Wilson to make sure he wasn’t armed, then tossed him into the backseat. “Save it, clown-man. I’m really not interested in listening to your bullshit.” The door was slammed shut and Officer Daniels climbed in the front to keep an eye on him while Mack went to see how the search was going inside the house. He returned ten minutes later with a foul look on his face. “House is clean,” he said, more to Daniels than to Wilson, but he looked back once to grit his teeth in either frustration or perhaps anger. Neither boded well for Wilson and the predicament he found himself in.
“See, I told you I didn’t have her. Can you let me out now? I’m late…for an important meeting. Seriously!”
“And I seriously don’t give a fuck, so shut your mouth, Wilson, or I’ll come back there and gag you.” Mack was madder than Wilson had ever seen him, the powerful black man looking stressed out and haggard. The Heatseeker had been causing everyone in town to lose sleep but none as much as the members of the Billington Police Department. They’d been chasing shadows and bad leads for a few days now, never getting any closer to the man who’d brought such violence and fear to their once-peaceful little town. The strain of that pressure was starting to show but Wilson didn’t think this was the time to bring up the matter. He decided for now it was best to do just as he was told.
The other officers returned from the house and approached Big Mack’s cruiser for instruction. Wilson recognized the blond-haired one as his friend, Jacob Jackson, but even he wasn’t looking particularly friendly tonight. “You guys get back over to the Hendersons’ house and help the coroner out. He’s on his own and will need to gather a shitload of evidence from the scene. Make sure no one else gets inside there. Gimme a call if you need anything. Got it?”
The partners nodded, and got into Officer Jackson’s cruiser. Mack started his engine and pulled away from the curb, presumably heading for the station. Wilson couldn’t get locked up for the night. That just wasn’t an option. If he didn’t show up to meet the Heatseeker, Amanda would be killed. Wilson considered telling the truth to Big Mack. Maybe he could somehow reason with him but he didn’t see how. Mack would never believe his fantastical story about dead magicians returning from the grave, and even if he did somehow get through to him the danger Amanda was in, Mack still wouldn’t let him go. He’d want to go to the Heatseeker’s house too, and that was also against the orders Wilson had been given. He had to show up alone, not with the entire police force in tow, sirens blaring.
Wilson shuddered at the image of it, and what it w
ould mean to his little girl. No, there was no way he could tell Big Mack anything. He’d have to figure out some other way of getting out of this mess.
“Holy shit, boss,” Daniels said, his head peeking into Wilson’s canvas bag in his lap. “I’ve got the gun right here in the sack! Looks like a .38, Mack. I don’t want to touch it, but what are the odds it’s got some bullets missing that’ll match up to the ones fired over at the Hendersons’ house?”
“Pretty good, I’d say. What do you think, Wilson?”
I think I’m screwed, Wilson thought. If there were bullets fired over there, almost for sure they’d be from that gun. Fuck!
Things were quickly moving from bad to worse but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He was still trying to come up with a plan when Big Mack pulled the cruiser into the police station parking lot and he was pushed, pulled, and shoved out of the backseat and into one of the holding cells at the back of the precinct. They hadn’t even removed his cuffs. They’d just shoved him in the door, slammed and locked it tight, then started walking away.
“Mack!” the radios on both their hips blared in stereo. “Come in, Mack. We’ve got more trouble.”
The voice belonged to Jacob Jackson, and it was easy to tell he was pretty fired up about something. Big Mack grabbed his radio and responded.
“What’s happening, Jake? I don’t need any more trouble.”
“Well, we got it, big guy. Bad trouble. Father Harris has been found dead at the Catholic church. Mrs. Chapman, the neighbor, ran right out into the road in front of the cruiser to stop us. He’s been murdered, Mack, and it’s not pretty. His eyes are gone!”
“His eyes are what? Has this town gone freakin’ crazy?” Mack stopped walking and turned back toward Wilson’s cell. “Hey, Kemp…you weren’t at St Michael’s tonight by any chance, were you?” Wilson just looked down at the floor. Yes, he had been, but he wasn’t about to tell Mack that. “Yep, about what I thought,” the big policeman said, nodding his head and returning his attention to the radio.
“Listen, Jackson, stay there and lock down the scene. I’ll send Daniels over to the Henderson house to help there. When the coroner is done, we’ll send him your way. Don’t let anyone into that scene, dig?”
“Roger, Mack. Over and out.”
Daniels took his cue as well, dashing out the door and leaving Wilson alone with Officer MacKenzie in the station. “Please, Mack,” Wilson tried. “You’ve known me for years. I didn’t have nothing to do with—”
“I told you to shut your trap, Kemp, and I bloody well meant it. Not another word, hear?”
Wilson reluctantly took his advice and sat down on the cot to try thinking this through. As soon as his butt hit the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress pad, he thought back to the last time he’d spent the night here, just last Friday. He also remembered the loose steel slat in the mesh framework of the cot he’d slept on and anxiously tried to remember if this was the same cell he’d been in that night. There was a one in three chance and, although Wilson had been drunk and unconscious for most of his stay, he was pretty sure this, indeed, was the same cell.
If it is, and that slat is still there…
Wilson jumped off the mattress and squatted down to lift it out of the way. It wasn’t easy with his hands still cuffed behind his back. It took him a few unsuccessful attempts but he eventually found the loose slat and, just like last time, he found he could wiggle its entire six-and-a-half-foot length free of the rest of the steel cot. He laid the slat under the mattress to keep it hidden, then sat back down to think. Last time he’d had the same idea but had been too chicken to try it. He could remember thinking that back in the day he could’ve pulled it off easily, but he wasn’t the man he’d once been. He’d been wrong though. He could be any type of man he chose to be. All he had to do was believe in himself and he could pull this off.
Maybe.
A little sleight of hand, a lot of deception…get Mack looking the wrong way. It just might work!
It had to work. His daughter needed him and there were no other options. He had one shot at this and if he blew it, Amanda might pay the price for his failure. To start, he had to get out of these handcuffs.
“Wilson?” Big Mack said from the other side of the bars, scaring the hell out of Wilson, who’d thought he was still out in the main office.
Regaining his composure, Wilson stood up to talk to the large man. “What do you need, Mack?”
“You be a good boy. I’ve gotta go to the bathroom, Wilson, and I just wanted to remind you to play nice. If you can stop being a pain in the ass for five minutes, I’ll get those cuffs off you when I get back from the can, okay?”
“Sure. No problem. Go ahead.”
“I wasn’t asking your permission, fool. Just telling you to behave so I don’t have to crack your head, dig?”
With those warm words, Big Mack headed back out into the main office and Wilson watched him unbuckle his heavy work belt and put it inside the sliding desk drawer before heading out of his view, toward the toilet.
It was going to be now or never, and Wilson steeled his nerves for it. With a deep breath, a practiced flick of his wrists, and a quiet snap sound, he dislocated both of his thumbs and was out of the handcuffs within seconds. It was child’s play for any decent escape artist and far easier than the illusion he was about to attempt, but at least his hands were free and it would shock Mack a little off his guard when he returned. Sometimes that was all it took to make a trick work.
Wilson hung the shiny handcuffs through the bars on the cell door, where Mack couldn’t help but notice them. Then he removed the long steel slat from beneath the mattress and grabbed his thick wool blanket. He practiced the move quickly once but at this point he either knew it instinctively or he didn’t. Good magic was about technique, sure, but it came from the heart too. You had to believe you could do real magic, or you’d never convince your audience. And tonight Wilson believed he could work miracles. He had no other choice.
Wilson waited for Mack, and tried to relax.
Officer MacKenzie came back into the main office a few minutes later, and grabbed a ring of keys off his cluttered desk. He was whistling quietly as he approached the cells, but stopped midnote when he saw the handcuffs hanging on their chain on the bars of the door. “What the…?” he started, then looked in to see Wilson standing up beside his spilled-over cot with his blanket held up high in front of him. All Mack could see was Wilson’s head and shoulders, and damned if he wasn’t smiling to beat the band. Mack was furious.
“You little bastard! I leave you for a minute and you trash your cell? I ought to hammer you silly. How in blazes did you get out of the cuffs, anyway?”
Wilson ignored his question. It was SHOWTIME!
“I’d like to chat, Mack, but I already told you I’m late for an important meeting. Like it or not…I’m out of here, big guy.”
“You’re what?” Mack asked, a nervous laugh spilling out of him, but stopping when he glanced back at the handcuffs. “You’re going to just walk through the bars and out the door, are you?”
“No. Where I’m going…I don’t need doors. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, Mack, to clear all this mess up. See you later.”
With that, Wilson smiled and lifted his wool blanket up over his head and out of Big Mack’s view. He paused for dramatic effect, then dropped silently to the floor using the steel slat to keep the blanket upright. From Mack’s view it would appear as if he hadn’t moved yet, and once he slid in behind his turned over bed, he released the slat and laid it flat on the floor. The blanket would fall on top of it and conceal it and if he’d done it fast enough, it would appear to Mack as if he’d instantly vanished into thin air before his eyes.
“Holy fuck!” Mack shouted, having fallen for the illusion hook, line, and sinker. One second Wilson had been standing there hiding behind his blanket, the next he was gone and the blanket was lying on the cell floor. He quickly unlocked the cell and rushed in to grab the
wool blanket, his heart racing at the impossible feat he’d just witnessed.
Wilson waited until he was deep into the cell and then he burst out from behind the overturned mattress and ran for the cell door, slamming it shut and locking the bewildered officer inside before he could do anything to respond. “Sorry, Mack. Had to be done.”
“You little shit! Let me out of here, damn it!” Mack reached for his firearm but it wasn’t there anymore. He’d taken off his belt before going to the bathroom and put his weapon in his desk drawer. Mad as hell, Mack rushed over and was pounding on the cell door, but he knew it was pointless and soon settled down. “You’re only making things worse for yourself, man. Give up now before you do something really stupid.”
“I can’t, Mack. You don’t believe me yet, but I didn’t have anything to do with any of those deaths. You’ll believe me once they collect and test all the evidence from the Hendersons’ and from the church. I was there tonight, both places, but I didn’t kill anybody. I’ll gladly turn myself in tomorrow for blood tests and DNA samples, but tonight I’ve got to go save my daughter. I’m sorry I have to leave you here but there’s no other choice. I gotta go.”
“Wait, Wilson. What about your daughter? Maybe we can help? Just let me out and I’ll—”
“Not gonna happen, big guy. I can’t risk it, even if I thought you believed me, which I don’t. Someone will let you out soon. Sit tight and please don’t try finding me tonight. I know you will, but I need this one night to try and make things right. I’ll face whatever consequences there are tomorrow. Promise.”
Leaving Big Mack fuming in the cell, Wilson went to the front office and was thrilled to find his canvas sack of supplies waiting for him on top of Officer Daniels’s desk. He quickly checked to see his gun was still inside as well as everything else, then dashed for the front door and out into the night. So far his luck had held up, but the night was far from over. In fact, it was only beginning. Wilson ran across the parking lot, disappearing into the darkness beyond.
