The Unhinged

by David Bernstein

  “You talk to him?” his mom asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Well, not since…” His words faded. “He hasn’t called me in a while, and that isn’t like him. I think he might be done with us.”

  His mom nodded. “We need to find out as much as we can about him. So far, we know his name and that he doesn’t work alone.”

  “Kyle might not even be his real name,” Aaron said. “But it’s a start, I suppose.”

  Aaron went back to work the following week and acted as if life was back to normal. He had no idea if the cop was keeping tabs on him. His mom returned home two days after waking. She was still in pain, but mentally she was strong. Aaron had thought she’d be a wreck after going through such a horrible experience, but her focus was on protecting herself and Aaron. She always made sure the windows and doors were locked—checking them multiple times throughout the day—and had an alarm system installed. The shotgun never left her side, even when she visited the bathroom.

  Hanna had returned to work the same week, making it much easier on him to go about business as usual, though he was afraid for her. If the cop wasn’t done and wanted to keep on hurting him and his mom, then Hanna might be in trouble. He imagined her kidnapped and cuffed to a bed, the man with the scar forcing himself inside her. He grew warm with hate and wound up digging his fingernails into his palms, creating half-moon shapes of red.

  He made sure never to leave the restaurant with her and told her that his mom wasn’t ready for visitors. He hated lying to her, but if it kept her safe, he was fine with it. The precautions were temporary. Once they dealt with the cop, things could return to normal again.

  He constantly thought about the cop, waiting for his cell phone to ring. Before his mother’s rape, he would have been happy never to speak to the man again. Now he couldn’t wait to hear his voice and wondered if the pig was truly done with them.

  Frustration and impatience filled his days. He no longer cared or worried about the police showing up to arrest him for Hanna’s uncle’s murder. If the cop had planned on turning over the video, it would’ve happened already. With everything he and his mother had been through, the cop must’ve figured if Aaron was arrested, there’d be too much heat brought to his doorstep. A mother and son—even an ex-con—pointing the finger at him would be damning. The video was the cop’s insurance that neither would talk.

  As the days went on and there was no word from the cop, Aaron decided it was time to take action. Going on with their lives as usual wasn’t working. They needed to track the son of a bitch down. The whole thing had started at a bar—his mother’s ladies’ night out. After he spoke with her about everything, she agreed they needed to do something else. She was nervous, but ready to hunt.

  They drove around, looking for the unmarked gray Impala, for the man named Kyle. Back roads, main roads, parking lots of bars and restaurants were all included to the point both mother and son could write a tour guide of the county. They even parked across the street from the police station and waited for the cop to show, but he never did.

  Frustrated, mother and son sat at the kitchen table, food on their plates hardly touched. She pushed her peas around her plate, appearing as depressed as ever. Aaron needed to do something, get some kind of bead on the crackpot. He couldn’t stand seeing his mom look so defeated. Then her head sprang up, a sparkle of light in her blue eyes.

  “Pictures!” she said.

  “Pictures?”

  “The night I met him—ladies’ night. The girls and I always take pictures with our cell phones, sometimes even cameras if one of the girls remembers to bring one. We’re always posing, making funny faces, doing ridiculous things, trying to catch one another in awkward poses, laughing hysterically. Like the time I snapped a photo of Barbara making out with this really ugly guy. She didn’t remember him being so hideous until I showed her the picture the next day.”

  “You think you or one of your friends got a picture of him?” Aaron asked, not sure how a picture was going to help them, but thinking it was a start, proof his mother had met him.

  “I didn’t take any pictures that night. But one of the girls must have.”

  The next second, Kelly was on the phone, calling her friends and asking them to look through their photos to see if they had any pictures of the man Kelly had been hanging with.

  Minutes after speaking with each one, her cell phone chimed as picture messages arrived. She and Aaron sat side by side on the couch and clicked through the pictures. Her phone had a large screen, but now it didn’t seem big enough, as most of the pics were from afar. It was difficult to see the people in the background. Some weren’t clear, the cop’s face a blur or smudge, but out of the thirty-something pictures, they found two that showed the cop’s face clearly. One was of him on the dance floor, the other of him standing next to Kelly, smiling. Both photos had been shot by Barbara because she believed a girl should always have a picture of the men she meets—just in case the guy turns out to be a killer.

  Mother and son looked at each other.

  “It’s a start,” Kelly said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next day, after swallowing a Xanax, Kelly drove to the police station in town. The two-storied, red brick structure, with black shutters and white-trimmed windows, stood like a sentry saluting the American flag that hung from the flagpole on the front lawn.

  Pulling onto the property, she drove passed two cruisers parked ass in. To her, they looked mean and accusatory, ready to prowl the dangerous streets of their rural town. Her skin crawled. She knew not all cops were assholes and dirty corrupt pieces of shit, but she couldn’t help feeling like she would rather deal with criminals than cops.

  She parked in the visitor’s lot. Even with the wonder drug running through her system, she was nervous. She was about to enter the lion’s den, a place where—whether right or wrong—the brothers in blue stuck together. Backed up each other’s stories and lied to protect one another.

  She sat behind the wheel hoping she could do this. It wasn’t just going inside and asking a question. She had to become someone else, put on an act in front of men and women who were trained to pick up on suspicious activity.

  After popping off the lid of her pill bottle, she swallowed another Xanax. She waited for the drug to take effect. Xanax worked fast, almost instantly.

  A few minutes later, still not wanting to leave the car, she opened the door and got out. She straightened her skirt and headed toward the entrance doors.

  “You can do this, Kelly Dupree,” she said. “You’re still a looker at your age and can act the part. You’re a Broadway star.” She inhaled deeply, standing tall. The first step to confidence was posture. Shoulders back, head up, tits out.

  Walking past a row of trimmed hedges, she hurried along the concrete walkway. Her high heels clicked loudly against the cement. She swallowed, finding her mouth didn’t have a drop of saliva in it, and popped in a piece of cinnamon gum before entering the precinct.

  The station was relatively quiet, save the sound of two officers talking with each other. Kelly approached the counter and saw the men sitting behind their desks. Various papers were tacked to on the walls—printouts, articles from newspapers and so on. Photos of wanted men and a woman hung on a bulletin board to the left of a filing cabinet. Neither man paid any attention to Kelly as she stood there. She gave them a minute, then cleared her throat.

  The officers looked at her.

  One was heavyset with a mustache and beady eyes; the other was ruggedly handsome—a worn look about his face, as if he’d been out in the sun for too many years. He reminded Kelly of a cowboy.

  The officer with the mustache rose from his seat, adjusted his gun belt and sauntered over to the counter. “May I help you, ma’am?”

  Kelly forced a smile, hoping to appear innocent and warm. “I sure hope so,” she said and held out her phone with the
image of her and Kyle on it. “Do you know this officer, Officer?”

  Mustache eyed the screen. His lips puckered as his brow furrowed. He shook his head. “Nope. Never seen him before.” He glanced up at Kelly. “What’s this about?”

  “Oh, I met him last night over at Lonnie’s. You know that bar over on Garretson?”

  “Sure,” the cop said.

  “Well, anyway, he gave me his phone number.” She pulled her blouse down, revealing her upper chest and some cleavage. She had to concentrate on not cringing as the man’s eyes fell to her chest. “Wrote it right here on one of my girls.” The officer’s mouth opened, a line of spit snapping as he did so. He was momentarily hypnotized. She released her blouse and patted it back into place. The cop’s eyes met hers again. “I forgot to write it down when I got home. The ink came right off in the hot shower.” The cop was biting his lower lip, the skin chapped and flaky. His face reddened.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, clearing his throat. “But like I already said, I haven’t seen him before. If he’s a cop, he isn’t one here.”

  Kelly’s insides crumbled and it took all her strength not to turn and run crying from the building. Mustache must’ve noticed because he turned to the other officer and called him over.

  “This guy look familiar to you, Pete?”

  Officer Pete took a look and shook his head. “No, sorry. He didn’t say which town he was a cop in?”

  “No, I just figured it was this one.”

  “Well, I know the guys from Harriman and Washingtonville, so he doesn’t work in either of those places.” Silence filled the room, then: “Did he show you a badge?”

  “Gosh,” Kelly said, holding a hand to her mouth. “No, he didn’t.”

  “I’m not saying nothing, but maybe he was just saying he was a cop, hoping to impress you. A lot of women go gaga over the uniform.” He held up his hands in a defensive manner and quickly added, “Not that you’re like that, ma’am. I’m just saying some guys lie, is all.”

  The heavyset officer stood tall. “Yup, happens all the time,” he said, smiling like a proud parent.

  Of course, Kelly had surmised the possibility, but it had just been a fleeting thought. Now the idea was growing on her, blossoming like a time-lapsed video of a flower. It would explain a lot. She frowned, feigning disappointment. “Well, that’s that then. Thanks for trying to help a lady.”

  “No problem, ma’am,” the handsome officer said.

  Kelly turned and headed out of the building. Back in her car, she stared at the picture of her and the cop.

  Who the hell are you and where did you go?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Over the next two weeks, Aaron and Kelly spent their free time scouring neighboring towns, always keeping an eye out in their own. They drove separate vehicles, maximizing their efforts. They kept in constant contact via cell phone, each making sure the other was okay. The task was grueling and seemingly endless. Each night when they were done, defeat and hopelessness hovered over them.

  They checked highways, different police stations and shopping centers, going from place to place asking if anyone recognized the man in the photo. Only a few of the employees at Home Depot said they thought the cop looked familiar, but they weren’t sure.

  Where Aaron and Kelly did find the most promise were the bars. A few—each one at least fifty miles from the others—had bartenders who recognized the cop, not knowing anything about him except that he hadn’t been around in a while. He was low-key, always came in by himself and hit on the ladies. Sometimes he got lucky and left with a woman, not returning for months. But if he left alone, he’d usually return the next night or so, but not always.

  “The guy was hardly worth noticing,” one of the bartenders said. “A little odd, creepy even, but never gave any trouble. If it wasn’t for us bartenders having a knack for remembering who comes and goes, I’d say he was like a member of the crowd, never to be noticed.”

  Having gathered as much information as they thought possible—from Washingtonville as well as a number of surrounding towns—mother and son sat outside the two most popular bars women frequented in their town and waited for the cop to show. Aaron sat across the street from Lonnie’s. Kelly sat outside The Dragon’s Den.

  After the first few nights, the anxiety level of both diminished and was replaced by boredom. They knew the task wouldn’t be easy. They’d have to recognize when they were losing focus and taking their minds from what they were doing. It was vital they remained on edge and alert. They talked to each other via cell phone, reminding themselves of the end game. When they weren’t on the phone, music was their salvation. Those were the only two activities they could do while keeping eyes on the establishments’ doors.

  A month and a half after the hunt began, Aaron—sitting in his car, back cramped and stomach rumbling from hunger—finally saw the gray Impala pull into the parking lot of Lonnie’s. Not sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, he waited to see the cop. When the man exited his vehicle and entered the bar, he nearly screamed with joy.

  Heart hammering, he called his mom. “He’s here. The motherfucker’s here.” Ten minutes later, she was sitting in the seat next to him.

  “You’re sure it’s him?” she asked.

  “One hundred percent.”

  “I can’t believe that piece of shit came back here,” his mom said, furious. “What if I’d been inside?”

  “He probably would’ve left,” Aaron said, “not wanting trouble. Especially if he really is a cop.”

  “He’s no cop,” Kelly spat. “We would’ve seen him somewhere, driving around or at one of the numerous stations we checked out.”

  “He could be from an area we didn’t check. New York State is huge, lots of towns and cities we didn’t come near.”

  “No,” his mom said, vehemently. “He’s no cop. I would’ve known, sensed it. That’s why I fell for him that night. I always fall for the rotten apples, except for your father, who was a good man with rotten luck.”

  “Well, whether he’s a cop or not, he doesn’t work alone. And he carries a gun. We’ve both seen it. So we have to be careful.”

  They remained in the vehicle, not talking much. With two sets of eyes on the bar door, neither one feared the cop slipping away. If one of them fell asleep, the other would be awake. Though after all of the hunting they’d done—finally finding their prey—neither would be nodding off anytime soon.

  Three hours went by before the cop exited the bar. The man was alone. Aaron wanted to run him down, but only watched as the scumbag went to his car, got in and drove out of the parking lot. He wished the cop had left with a woman, someone he could rescue, someone who would be witness to the cop’s behavior and corroborate their own tales of terror.

  Remaining a few car lengths behind, Aaron followed the gray sedan down Route 32, then onto the highway. They drove for fifteen minutes before exiting. From there, it was all back roads, heading deeper into the woods. Aaron made sure to stay far behind, not wanting the cop to grow suspicious. There were hardly any other vehicles on the road. He even turned off the Camaro’s headlights a few times to make it seem like they had turned off. Then when the cop noticed headlights again, he’d think it was just another car. Lucky for Aaron, the moon was almost full, illuminating the parts of the winding road where the trees were set back.

  Finally, having driven for over an hour, but not having really gone too far from where they’d originally left the highway, they lost the cop. It was as if the man had purposely driven around to avoid being followed. There was no sign of the Impala. The gray sedan had gone around a bend and the vehicle’s lights winked out. When Aaron drove around the curve, there was nothing to be seen except the darkened wilderness all around.

  “What the hell?” Aaron said.

  “Where’d he go?” his mom asked.

  “It’s like h
e vanished.” Aaron stopped the car and turned off the lights.

  “You should’ve stayed closer to him.”

  “He would’ve known he was being followed.”

  “There’s no way he could have just disappeared. Maybe he saw us and turned off his lights and is coming around to smash into us from behind.”

  “I don’t think so,” Aaron said, and drove slowly along. The headlights remained off. It was difficult to see, but moving so slowly allowed his eyes to adjust and make out the road. He kept his foot off the brake pedal, not wanting the rear red lights to be seen. About a quarter mile down the road, he finally stopped and turned the car around.

  “We need to get out of here,” his mom said.

  “Just a sec. Let your eyes fully adjust to the darkness.”

  After a few minutes—his mom nervously tapping her foot against the door—Aaron rolled down the Camaro’s windows and slowly drove back the way they’d come. “Look for a driveway or some kind of path.”

  Nearing the bend where they’d lost sight of the cop’s taillights, he slowed. There was a break in the foliage alongside the road, and that’s when he saw it. A dirt road headed into the forest, like some kind of fairytale path leading to a witch’s cottage. Tall grasses and weeds grew to either side of the drive, making it hard to notice, but not impossible.

  “There,” he exclaimed excitedly, pulling the car to the side of the road and shutting off the engine.

  “He must’ve turned down that driveway or road, whatever it is,” his mom said.

  “We should’ve seen his lights, though.”

  “Not if he turned them off. He’s probably paranoid. Doesn’t want to take a chance of anyone finding out where he lives. He must’ve seen our headlights and was just being cautious.”

  “I think you’re right,” Aaron said, nodding. “Unless he’s got a magical car.”