Mind Games

by Polly Iyer

  * * * * *

  Diana started shaking. She heard him entering the house, coming her way. Why didn’t he light the lantern? He wants me to see his clue. I’m not going to look. I won’t play his game. I won’t! I’ll pretend I’m dead. Fear forced tears out of the corners of her eyes, but her shackled hands couldn’t wipe them away. He can’t see me crying. Then he’ll know I’m not dead. Stop, Diana. Stop your damn crying. You’re dead. Just be dead.

  The footsteps came closer, muffled sounds in the silence. He’s trying to scare me to death. He’s going to shove some awful thing in my face after he lights the lantern. Some clue to a dead person, maybe even a body part. I’m not going to look. I won’t.

  The footsteps stopped. Deafening quiet. Someone was standing over her. She whimpered, unable to control herself. Holding in her sounds caused needling stabs in her rib cage. A light shone in her face. A flashlight.

  “Miss Racine?” the voice said.

  “Who…who’s there,” she said through hiccups of sobs. Someone lit the lantern by the table. She couldn’t see.

  “Oh, my God. Make sure the place is clear, then come in here,” Beecher called out. “She’s here.” He looked down at her, shock registering on his face.

  She must have looked worse than the last time she saw herself. Her clothes were filthy and torn, face bruised and one eye swollen shut.

  “Miss Racine, everything’s gonna be all right.” Beecher leaned down. She was shaking, trembling, unable to catch her breath. Tears of joy streaked her dirty face. “Carl, get these cuffs off. You’re gonna be fine, Miss Racine, I promise. We’re gonna get you to a hospital.”

  Dumar gasped when he saw the woman lying on the bed. Halloran left the room, cursing under his breath.

  Diana shrunk when the big man came close. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Dumar said. “I’m just going to unlock these restraints. Okay?”

  Diana heard the gentleness in his voice and nodded. Her good eye darted from face to face. Dumar took a pick from his case and unlocked the cuffs that secured her wrists and ankles to the bed, paying special attention to her swollen wrist. When he finished, he covered her half-naked body with a blanket.

  A dark form hung over her. She cringed in fear.

  “Do you know who I am?” Beecher asked.

  She nodded.

  “Can you sit up?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. There’s something broken. Maybe more than one place.” She swallowed her sobs. “He’s coming back, Beecher. He went to kill someone.”

  Halloran looked at Dumar. “She’s hallucinating.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Dumar said. “I think he went to kill someone.”

  Beecher tried to help Diana sit up, but she was in too much pain. He stopped. “Easy does it, Miss Racine. We’re gonna get you to a hospital.”

  “He’s coming back,” she said, trembling. “Get me out of here, please.”

  “We’re here now. No one’s going to hurt you. No one. Stay with her, Halloran. I’m gonna call the lieutenant.” Beecher went outside, checking the second bedroom as he did.

  “Ernie, we’ve got her.”

  “How is she, Sam? Tell me she’s alive.”

  “She’s alive but in pretty bad shape, physically and mentally. Ernie, I want to get this guy. I want to get him bad.”

  “We will, Sam. If we have to travel hell and high water, we will. It’ll take forever for the EMS boys to get there. Have Halloran take her to the nearest hospital. You and Dumar stay put. If he comes back, I want someone waiting, and I want her out of there. I’m on my way.”

  “Okay, but be careful. If I were you, I’d park way the hell out so he won’t notice the car and take off.”

  “Right. Let me speak to her.”

  “Hold on.”

  Halloran was holding a glass of water to her lips. “Not so fast,” he said. “Too much might make you sick.”

  “More, please,” she begged, her voice faltering. “Please.”

  Beecher brought the phone to Diana’s bedside. “Someone wants to talk to you.”

  Diana tried lifting her arm, but nothing seemed to be working. Numbness had set in. Beecher held the phone to her ear.

  “Diana?”

  When she spoke, her words were almost inaudible. “Yes, it’s me. Worse for wear but alive.”

  “Diana, I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “I’ll be with you soon, okay?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Beecher took the phone, and two men carried her to the car as if she were made of eggshells. “He’s going after the prize,” she murmured, then dozed off. She came to when the big African American gingerly laid her on the back seat and strapped her in as best he could, then covered her with the blanket. He gave Halloran directions to the nearest hospital, and when he drove away, she conked out again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Role Reversal

  “What the fuck!” Macon saw the flickering light speckled through the trees half a mile down the road and doused his headlights. He hadn’t lit the lantern before he left, and Diana was cuffed to the cot. Headlights were coming his way. He jammed the car into reverse and backed into a thicket off the road. The car sped past, navigating the rough terrain as he willed himself invisible. After waiting a full five minutes, he drove back the way he came by the dim light of the moon until he hit the main road.

  So, they know who I am. But how? Joey. The stupid son of a bitch. But he didn’t know which cabin I chose. Damn him. I’m gonna fucking kill him.

  He drove the back roads, his head throbbing, anger boiling over like an active volcano. Pulling onto a side street, he pulled into a business parking lot and shut off the car. He couldn’t panic and lose control. First, ditch the car. The cops must already know the make and model, especially if the one he shot at the hospital pulled through.

  Diana would have to wait.

  Diana.

  She was in bad shape when he left. This would have been her last night anyway. But, damn, he needed this night. She’d taken twenty years of his life, and all he thought of for those twenty years was this night, so she could play his game and lose.

  He needed time to regroup. He’d go north toward Baton Rouge. Just as he was about to turn on the car, an SUV zoomed past on the main street, heading toward the cabin. Maybe others would follow. He waited another twenty minutes. He needed to stay off the main roads. The cops would block them off when they realized he wasn’t going back to the cabin. Where could he dump the car and get another?

  He veered onto a back road and drove another half an hour until he saw a swarm of cars and pickups in a large parking lot. A makeshift sign over the doorway of the building read “The Roadhouse.” He parked the Corolla between two battered pickups in the crowded back lot. Would they have already put his picture on TV? No, he had time. He could use a beer tonight, maybe even break tradition and order more than one.

  He took a corner seat at the bar as the guy beside him got up and left. Even though he went to prison at age seventeen, he’d seen enough of these places. Back home he could get a beer pretty much whenever he wanted. Pussy too. Never a problem. Girls were all over him, but he bored easily. He wanted more. He wanted Diana Racine’s life.

  And here he was, sitting in a sleazy bar on the run from the police. By morning, his picture would be plastered all over the newspapers and television. No place would be safe.

  He scanned the faces in the bar. People stuck in the rut of nothingness with nowhere better to go than the local roadhouse. Faceless people doing the same thing week after week—same job, same friends, same night out. Same rut.

  He laughed to himself. What could be a deeper rut than a twenty-year prison hitch in the same stinking prison with a parade of lowlifes and deadbeat morons like Joey Dree? Amazing how smart he was. Yeah. His chuckle escaped. At least the ones here were free, even if they were trapped. Even if they were―
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  “What can I get you?”

  He looked up.

  “Hel-lo,” she warbled in a thick, husky voice, waving her hand in front of his eyes to wake him up.

  “Huh? Oh, sorry. What’ja say?”

  She repeated herself.

  “A draft’d be good,” he said. She proceeded to name a list of beers. He cut her short. “Pick one. I trust you. No light, though.”

  “Comin’ up.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him as she filled a tall, frosty mug and placed it in front of him. “This is a New Orleans microbrew. Try it.”

  He took a sip.

  “Good?

  “Yeah, pretty good.”

  “You must have had enough of Mardi Gras. Going home?”

  “Yeah, going home.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Macon turned his attention to the woman. Fortyish, not much older than him. Or maybe she was younger, with life etched hard on her face. A long time ago she might have been pretty, but now she looked coarse, a survivor of booze and drugs. She took a deep drag on her cigarette and leaned forward against the counter, both hands holding the ashtray on the bar in front of her, causing her ample breasts in the low-cut sweater to scrunch together and heave through the vee of the neckline. The gesture wasn’t accidental.

  “Oh, here and there. Mostly there.” Seeing an opportunity, he let his natural charm surface as it usually did when needed. Never too much, never phony. Never failing.

  She drew on her cigarette, sucking every bit from each inhalation, then releasing the smoke from her nose and mouth in Macon’s direction when she spoke. “Really. Passing through or staying nearby?”

  “Passing through.” He paid closer attention now. “But I’m not in a hurry.”

  “That’s good. I hate men in a hurry. In fact, I like a man who knows how to take it slow.” She got right up in his face, those two headlights of hers aimed in his direction. “Real slow.”

  “I can do that. As a matter of fact, people who know me best say I’m molasses slow.” He smiled, now meeting her gaze as if they were alone in the room. “You live around here?”

  “Not far. Where you bound for tonight?”

  “Haven’t decided. Got any ideas.” This is always the easiest part. “I’m open.”

  “Can you hang around till I get off work?”

  “Sure, why not? What time do you get off?”

  “Around two. I close up the place.”

  “Hey, Alice,” a voice from behind shouted. “Another round for the table here, and make it snappy.”

  “Hold your horses, dickhead,” she called back. “Ain’t like this is the first one tonight.”

  “Not the first beer, not the first anything. You oughta know.” Chuckles at some not-so-private joke rippled around the bar.

  “Morons,” she said to Macon. “Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”

  Macon didn’t look around. “I was about to say that I’ll be right here when you close up.”

  She caressed the shaft of the tap and pulled it toward her like a seductive pole dancer holding on. “Another cold one.” She planted the glass in front of him. “On the house.”

  “Your name’s Alice?”

  “That’s right. What’s yours?”

  “Hank.”

  “Nice to meet you, Hank.”

  “Nicer meeting you, Alice.”

  * * * * *

  When Alice closed the bar, Harley followed her to a multi-building apartment complex with enough cars in the lot to make his unobtrusive. At least the car wasn’t sitting at the roadhouse where cops might stop and ask questions. Of course, they might do that anyway, but he’d been careful not to call attention to himself. Alice had the next two days off, which she meant as an enticement. For him that meant two days before anyone would miss Alice. By then, he’d be long gone in her Bondo-patched Camaro.

  “Well, here we are,” she said. “Ain’t much, but it’s home.” The apartment was nothing special, but it was clean and neat.

  “Nice,” he said, sinking into the recliner end of a blue velour couch. “Comfortable.”

  “Want a beer?”

  “No thanks. I’ve drunk enough. Two is my limit, and tonight I had three.”

  She pulled a Corona from the refrigerator and flipped the cap with an opener. “Now don’t you go telling me you’re drunk. The night hasn’t even started.” She plopped down on the couch and sidled up next to him. “I don’t have to work tomorrow, remember? We got the whole night and day, and the next night and day too. You did say you weren’t in a hurry.”

  “No hurry. I’ve got all the time in the world. I’m wondering how one man could be so lucky.”

  She leaned back, looked him up and down, settling on his face. “You know, you are one good-looking guy. You sure you ain’t no model or nothin’?”

  He laughed. “No, I’m no model. Most of them are fags, and that’s definitely not me.”

  “Honey, you are too damn handsome. You’re gonna have to prove to me you’re straight.”

  “You’ll know.” Damn, Harley, you horny bastard. I’ll have some time with this one before I’m out of here. Although a bit worn and not as young as he liked, she knew what to do. She pulled a kinky move that caused him to cry out. So, this is the receiving end. He almost laughed. Her hurting me. Must be what’s called role reversal. Well, I’m not proud. She can reverse all she wants.

  This woman was definitely wasting her time behind a bar.

  Chapter Thirty

  Near Miss

  Lucier, Amos, and Deacon raced toward the cabin. Now that Diana was safe, he authorized sending Macon’s picture to television stations across the state for the late, late news.

  “This bugger is making fools out of us,” Jenrette said over the phone. “The world is gonna know this is a serious manhunt.”

  “How do you think I feel?” Lucier said. “He killed two women on my watch and took Diana Racine right from under my nose. I’ve never had a case like this before. We’re tracking a psychic using a psychic, and from what Beecher said, she’s in no condition to help us.”

  “In her delirium, she kept murmuring something about finding the prize.”

  “The prize? What do you think she meant?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.”

  “Damn.”

  “Easy, Lucier. We’ll get him.”

  Lucier hoped so, but this guy was always one step ahead. Just out of reach.

  He followed Beecher’s directions to the darkened cabin and parked where the detective told him to. The three men trudged back on foot. Beecher opened the door.

  “Anything?” Lucier asked.

  “Nothing. Either we’re home free, or the bastard saw something and took off. Guess the only way we’ll know is to wait.”

  Lucier listened while Beecher and Dumar told them everything that happened. He asked a dozen questions about Diana. None of the answers made him feel any better, other than she was alive.

  “We should have caught him,” Lucier said. “We should have caught him and fucking killed him.”

  “He might still show up. If he doesn’t, he won’t get far, Ernie,” Amos said. “By morning the whole country’ll be looking for him.”

  “We should’ve taken him,” he said aloud, oblivious to those around him. He looked out the window. Watching. Searching.

  Waiting.

  The five men crouched in silence until dawn’s light. Lucier rose from his position at the window, stretched. “He made us. The bastard’s long gone. All we’re seeing here is the sunrise. You guys take Amos back to the station. I want to make a stop first.”

  * * * * *

  Halloran was sitting in the waiting room with Diana’s parents when Lucier arrived at the hospital. “How is she?”

  Galen answered instead. “Not good. If you hadn’t found her when you did, the doctor said she’d’ve died from internal bleeding. Other’n that, she’s got a broken rib or two, a dislocated jaw, and her ri
ght eye’s swollen shut.”

  “She’s sedated,” Blanche said. “Poor baby was hallucinating when they brought her out of the swamp.” She sniffled and Galen put his arm around her. “Kept talking about finding a prize.”

  “What he done to her is unbelievable. She ain’t never harmed a solitary soul.” Galen clutched his wife tighter. “Not ever.”

  “You’ll get him, won’t you, Lieutenant?” Blanche asked.

  “Oh, we’ll get him. No question about that,” Lucier said. “His picture is probably all over the media now.” In spite of the confidence of his words, Lucier was having a hard time believing them. Getting Harley Macon wasn’t as easy as his words implied.

  Halloran pulled him aside. “That ain’t all, Lieutenant. The doctors said that he―”

  “What?” Lucier said. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “She’s been…you know.”

  “No, Mickey, I don’t know. What?”

  “She’s been…violated pretty bad.”

  Lucier didn’t say anything, but his stomach tightened along with his jaw muscles. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t think they’ll let you go in right now.”

  “Where?”

  Halloran hesitated.

  Lucier gripped Halloran’s arm. “Where, Mickey?”

  “Down that hall, room 312. But I’m telling you, Lieutenant, they won’t let you in.”

  Ignoring Halloran’s warning, Lucier headed down the hall with a purposeful stride. A nurse stopped him as he approached the room. He flashed his badge and entered anyway. She went after him but backed off when he turned, stopped, and glared.