Criminally Insane: The Series (Bad Karma, Red Angel, Night Cage Omnibus) (The Criminally Insane Series)

by Douglas Clegg

  “Hey Stuart,” he said, having named his hamster for the book his mother had read him, called Stuart Little. He had had a guinea pig he named for Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web. His mother insisted that the guinea pig shouldn’t be named for a spider, any more than a hamster should be named for a mouse. But he liked both names and both books. When Charlotte the guinea pig had died the previous summer, Lucas had transferred the name more logically to his rubber spider.

  “Stuart, come on, it’s breakfast time.” Lucas picked up some food pellets, dropping them in the little bowl at the bottom of the cage. For good measure, he set three Fruit Loops in the bowl, too, and watched his pet eat. He picked up Charlotte’s Web off the lower part of the bookcase by the wall, and flipped through its pages. “See?” he showed the book to the hamster. “Charlotte is teaching Wilbur the Pig things. She’s spinning her web so people will see it. See?” he held up a picture from the middle of the book. Then, he put the book down beside the cage. “Stuart, today is gonna be better than Christmas,” Lucas whispered.

  The hamster got onto the metal wheel in his cage and began running, spinning the wheel rapidly. Lucas went out into the hall, down towards his bathroom. It was wallpapered with Tweetie Birds and Sylvester The Cats, and the shower curtains had Wiley Coyotes and Roadrunners all over it.

  After he jumped in and out of the shower, he climbed into his shorts, and then put on his favorite T-shirt, and his sandals. In the mirror, he scraped a comb through his thick hair, and brushed his teeth twice, once with Colgate, and once with bubblegum flavored toothpaste. In the mirror, while he was brushing, he thought he saw something move behind him, off near the door.

  “Mom?” he said. He turned around. No one was there. Lucas shivered a little. He had been told at school all about the Boogieman. He’d been having nightmares since then about how the Boogieman waited for kids and then grabbed them. He didn’t like to think about it, and he wished he hadn’t seen that shadow movement in the mirror. It’s all pretend. No such thing as the Boogieman.

  He bravely looked all over the bathroom, behind the shower curtain, and inside the hamper. Empty.

  “It’s pretend,” he said aloud, just in case the Boogieman was listening.

  He went to check on the coffee, leaving wet footmarks down the white wall-to-wall carpet as he walked to the kitchen. Carefully, he lifted the glass pot. He poured the steamy dark liquid into his mother’s favorite mug. On the mug, it said “FOR THE BEST MOMMY IN THE WORLD.” It had a big red heart right beside it. He’d given it to her for the previous Mother’s Day. He’d saved his allowance of fifty cents a week for nine weeks running in order to buy it for her. His mommy loved her coffee.

  He measured two teaspoons of sugar into it, and stirred in a drop of whipping cream from the fridge. Then he walked down the hall to his mother’s room. She was in the shower, so he set the coffee on the bathroom sink.

  The phone rang. He went to pick it up. “Hello?” he said. “Hello?”

  But no one said anything on the other end of the line.

  His mother came out of the bathroom, wrapped up in a huge towel, her hair wet and sticking to the sides of her face in a kind of funny way. “Who was it?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

  “They hung up,” he said.

  She held her small wristwatch up in her hand, and said, “Okay, well, slight change of plan, kiddo. We still go to the beach, but I have a quick errand to do for work. Okay?”

  Lucas said nothing. He felt the pout beginning to thrust itself out from under his skin, right about where his lower lip stuck out. He put his hands in his pocket and looked down at the floor. He was not going to throw a tantrum, but he really wanted to do it. He wanted to fall on the floor and kick and cry, but it would be too much like a baby. And since his birthday, he was no longer a baby. His hand clutched the big rubber spider in his pocket. It felt good to squeeze it.

  “Oh, stop with the face,” his mother said. “It’s only going to be for a little bit. I promise.”

  “I know,” he lied. “It’s okay.”

  His mother sighed. “No, it’s not okay, Lucas.” She crouched down next to him, putting her arms around his back. “We are going. I mean it. But you know how Mommy’s work sometimes...”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. He pressed his face against her neck. She smelled like lilacs. She always smelled like lilacs in the morning from the soap she used. It was purple soap. Just like he smelled like coconut from his favorite soap, she smelled like flowers from hers. He couldn’t help himself. A tear or two came to his eyes. He felt himself melt into her a little bit. It felt good.

  When he finally pulled back, he saw tears in her eyes, too. “You okay?”

  She nodded, and kissed him twice on the forehead. “It won't be long. I’ll run in and then run out. I promise. Then, I'll race back here, and we go. And Nina's going to come over and be with you while I'm gone. But I promise to be back really fast.” Then, she brightened. “Knock knock.”

  “Who’s there?” he asked, a half-smile creeping across his face.

  “Boo.”

  “Boo what?” He asked, and then exploded in laughter, having spoiled her joke.

  “Oh,” his mother said, shaking a finger at him. “You’ve heard that one too many times. I need new material.”

  3

  Twenty minutes later, Lucas wearing his Sponge Bob Squarepants T-shirt that stretched almost to his knees, sat in the front yard with his rows of small green plastic soldiers. They were in battle position.

  Lucas knocked at a toy soldier with a twig. “Take that!” He was pretty bored with playing soldiers when his PlayStation was inside the house, but he had promised his mother that he wouldn't play any games on weekdays. Even if this was a special weekday — his first day of Christmas vacation and his official birthday celebration day all rolled into one.

  But playing with plastic soldiers was for babies. He had the toys since he was littler, since his daddy had given them to him. That had been the only reason he still had them at all — because they were from his father.

  Lucas reached into his side pocket, where he had put Stuart Little, his hamster. The hamster was rolled up sleeping. Stuart had already eaten the six Fruit Loops Lucas had put in his pocket with him. Lucas always had to be careful to only put Stuart in his baggy shorts’ pockets, otherwise he tended to escape and run away. No matter how Lucas jostled him, Stuart was so used to going to sleep inside Lucas’s pockets, nothing ever seemed to bother him.

  His mother would be angry if she knew he’d brought the hamster for the trip, but Lucas did not trust Nina to feed Stuart while they were gone.

  After patting Stuart’s soft fur, he worked to bury a little toy soldier under a mound of dirt. Then, he put a plastic pail upside down over it. “Here comes the tank down in the battle, tank tank tank,” he said, picking up a rock that barely fit into his fist and pounded it along the grass, heading for its destination, the pail.

  “It’s gonna blow up now,” he whispered, as he brought the rock up above the pail and was about to smash it down.

  Lucas saw the man’s shoes. It was as if the man had just suddenly appeared.

  Lucas dropped the rock.

  The shoes were black and shiny, but scuffed a little at the toes.

  The pants were dark blue, almost black.

  “Hi.” The man’s voice was almost squeaky like a mouse.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lucas looked up from the grass.

  "Hey," Lucas said. "Want to hear a knock-knock joke?”

  “Sure.”

  “Knock knock.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Boo.”

  “Boo who?”

  “Quit crying you, big baby.”

  “That's a good one. You’re up early today.”

  “I got up with Mommy. We’re going to the beach.”

  “Where’s mommy?”

  "She had an errand. You want to talk to her?"

  "I don't need to. Who’s
watching you then?”

  "Nina. She's inside. She’s reading. Want me to get her?”

  "A babysitter?"

  "I'm not a baby. I'm almost nine. She's does breakfast, too. When mommy's in a rush. Her name's Nina. Want me to get her?"

  "Let's let her read, okay?"

  "Okay," Lucas looked back down at his soldiers. "I'm bored with this stuff."

  "Shouldn't you be in school?"

  "Christmas vacation. It's my birthday." He didn't mind lying a little. It was, after all, the day that they were going to pretend it was his birthday and have fun.

  "It is? Well, guess what? I have something for you. Back in my truck. It's pretty cool."

  Lucas set his toy soldiers down, knocking a regiment over with his hand. He reached into his pocket, feeling Stuart’s soft fur. Charlotte, his rubber spider, was in the other.

  He was supposed to tell one of the grown-ups whenever he went anywhere, but it wasn’t as if he really was going anyplace different.

  Just a hop, skip, and a jump to the truck. He ran down the driveway to where the truck was parked.

  "You got a new truck," Lucas said.

  Droplets of rain on the top of his head. His only thought was that it was going to turn out to be a bad day for the beach if it started raining. It made him a little sad to think of his mommy probably canceling the beach by the time she got back from work.

  Of him not getting a special birthday with her.

  Just as he stepped up to peer into the interior of the truck, Lucas felt a jolt, like a big shock, on his left shoulder.

  Chapter Fifteen

  7:50 a.m.

  It glances around after it shuts off the Taser, and slips it back into his jacket pocket.

  It rolls the little boy's body further into the seat of the truck.

  It shuts the door.

  It glances around the pretty neighborhood, as rain begins falling.

  It looks at the house, with its big picture window in front, and its lawn, and the way the foothills rise up behind the suburban property.

  It goes around and slides into the seat, and starts the truck up again.

  It feels the Other One inside it.

  It's got a growl in its throat as it pets the boy's head, scruffing up his hair.

  "Don't be afraid," it says.

  Then, it reaches in the glove compartment and pulls out the duct tape and the box cutter.

  A hypodermic needle, and a small vial of pills nearly roll out of the glove compartment, but he manages to catch them, and push them back in.

  For a second, it closes its eyes, and is suddenly in the other place.

  The place where its father roars like a lion and the sky is raining with fire and brimstone down upon it.

  Then, opening his eyes, he leans over the boy, raising the box cutter, and tearing out a length of duct tape.

  The boy's eyes have been closed, but they open suddenly.

  It reaches into its jacket for the Taser, but fumbles.

  The boy opens his mouth, and it claps its hand over the lips.

  The boy bites the palm of its hand, and it drops the box cutter.

  The cutter rolls back into the crack of the seat.

  The duct tape rolls to the floor.

  It cusses 7-11 coffee cup spills over onto the matt that's lying beneath the glove compartment.

  Slaps the boy's face.

  Boy's hands grab around its forearms, pushing.

  Presses its palm down.

  Keeps its hand on the boy's mouth even though the boy is biting down hard.

  And it hears the sound of the Other One, shaking the bars of its cage. Trying to get out.

  To devour the boy.

  Right here.

  In the truck on the pretty suburban street.

  Rain coming down.

  Like blood.

  It gets the Taser out of its jacket, and presses it on the boy's chest at the same time it withdraws its hand from the boy's mouth.

  The boy's body shakes when the Taser touches it.

  The boy is still.

  Breathing.

  Eyes open.

  But still.

  Alive.

  It glances out the windshield.

  The houses all in a row, neat and clean with well-manicured lawns.

  Somewhere nearby, a dog barks in a backyard.

  It quickly duct tapes the boy's mouth, and then wraps the duct tape around the boy's wrists and ankles, using the box cutter to slice the tape neatly.

  From behind the seat, it grabs a blanket, the one its mother crocheted for it when it went out on cold days.

  It tosses the blanket over the boy.

  It turns the key in the ignition, and starts up the truck, and heads down the street, making a left when it reaches the bottom of the hill.

  It turns on the windshield wipers, and reaches over to the dashboard, to turn up the radio.

  It thinks about its work day coming up.

  It thinks about how it needs to send a message to God.

  Chapter Sixteen

  8 a.m.

  1

  After a jog in the cooling, light rain, Trey Campbell went into his home through the sliding glass doors off the kitchen. In the kitchen, something seemed different. There was some kind of smell that did not seem to fit with the usual house smell. He went to the fridge, opening the door. Smelled fine in there. He checked to make sure the stove and oven were off.

  “Just your usual paranoia,” he said aloud, feeling foolish.

  Working around killers, breathing the same air with them, you get to thinking like this.

  They get inside your head.

  When he passed by his daughter’s room, he stopped for a moment. He’d spent the past several months being a fulltime dad. Paid leave. So different than going to work every day and seeing his children just before they fell asleep at night. He knew things about their daily lives now. He noticed that Teresa had gotten rid of all her dolls—exiled to boxes in the basement. The room was messy. On her dresser were a Nancy Drew book, a small statue of a horse, and her basketball trophy from school. At times a little demon, at times a perfect kid, he was damn happy that he had this life with her, and with Mark. He was damn happy that life was not all about criminals and work routines and mind games.

  Her brother’s door was wide open, and Mark had all his Harry Potter and Lemony Snicket books tossed in a corner; on the wall a big poster of the Tyrannosaurus Rex from Jurassic Park. Trey couldn’t see Mark’s face because of the blanket thrown over him, but he heard his son’s steady snores.

  “You’ve had months of being house-husband,” Carly said, coming up behind him. “Ready to give it all up and go back to nine-to-five?”

  “No,” Trey said. He felt her arm go around his waist. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  He reached for her, pulling her back, turning towards her. Her nightgown smelled sweet, and she smelled like morning to him, always. He reached inside her robe to feel her skin against his arms, and although it aroused him, he let that feeling come and go.

  “Maybe I’ll call in sick,” he said.

  “Or you can call in well,” she said, grinning.

  He wondered how he had ever come to deserve such a wife. She had put up with him all these years. She had even sat out his sabbatical and now his return to work as if it were just another part of him she cared for. He brushed the hair from the sides of her face. Kissed her lightly. Hugged her. “Sorry about the argument last night.”

  “Well,” she sighed, pulling away again, “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “Thanks,” Trey said. “Look, for better or worse, that job is important to me.” He knew that on some level she meant it, but it was a constant sore spot for them. As long as he even mentioned that place, it always would be. He wasn’t smart enough to know if this was how marriage went. There was the good and the bad, and you lived with both, learned to get along, and just let some things slide. He wasn’t sure if those things that you slide would come up later and
bite you on the ass. But for now, it was okay. They had a good marriage. They had a few rocky points. It was life.

  He gave her a kiss on her forehead.

  “Now, go take a shower,” Carly said. “You stink.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen.

  “You are a vision, even before my first cup of coffee,” he said.

  As she padded into the kitchen, Carly replied, “And you look like a guy who’s buttering up his wife so she’ll forgive him for doing what he promised her he would never do again.”

  Damn it. It’s what I want to do. It’s what I need to do.

  He knew there was some danger working where he did, but it was as if he felt more alive inside the doors of that place than he felt anywhere else in the world.

  And yet, what kind of insane person would ever admit to that?

  He watched her go, and suddenly felt excited, if not entirely ecstatic about going back to work at the maximum security hospital.

  When Trey stepped into the shower, he thought he heard the phone ring.

  2

  "Jim Anderson left a message for you on the machine. And Conroy's office called twice already," Carly said. She passed him a towel and set an extra cup of coffee for him on the edge of the bathroom sink. "Just her assistant. Wouldn't let me know what it was. Must be top secret," she said this last part a bit sarcastically. "I'm telling you, Elise Conroy's got her sights on you."

  "Well, she's going to have to wait until you dump me then," he said.

  He toweled off, got dressed fairly quickly while glancing at the clock, and then went to check the messages.