Duncan's Diary

by Christopher C. Payne

  Jason agreed to meet Sudhir that afternoon for a drink and asked him to bring the details with him. He didn’t feel that he could get the FBI directly involved, but he personally owed Sudhir and would do whatever he could to help him out.

  His debt to Sudhir had built like wooden blocks over the last few years. They didn’t have much of a personal friendship, but Sudhir had allowed Jason the use of his couch on a few occasions when he had no business driving. Jason still loved his wife, and the separation was taking its toll on his mental stability. Jason was always fine when he was in the throngs of an investigation and his attention was completely focused on connecting the beams of the structure he was forming in his mind. His downfall came on the few occasions when there was a lull in activity, and he realized how alone he was in the world.

  Sudhir had started inviting him over to his house for a cookout or to watch a football game. But, as with Jason’s soon-to-be former wife, Sudhir soon found out Jason was just not around most of the time. Oddly, Jason was coming to rely on Sudhir as a friend; and even though they only saw each other sporadically, the feeling was mutual.

  They agreed to meet each other at Valemar Station in Pacifica, and Sudhir planned on getting there a little early to scope out a table and organize his papers in a form that might make sense. He made the call to Janine, telling her that he would be late; and as he expected, he received another verbal assault. At one point he was holding the phone three feet from his ear as he patiently listened to the berating he was forced to endure from his loving wife. This provided a round of humor and applause from the other detectives as soon as he returned the phone to its appropriate cradle. This, he was sure, would be a station joke for several years to come.

  Sudhir arrived at the designated meeting spot around 5:30 p.m. He was planning on meeting Jason at 6 p.m. He pulled off Route 1 and pulled into the paved parking lot. He admired the dilapidated structure of the local bar. Valemar Station had not reached the level of dive bar as of yet. It was a local hangout, and you tended to get to know the bartenders and waitresses rather quickly if you frequented the establishment at all. It was warm and inviting, and the food was decent enough. The atmosphere was really the key, and it kept the patrons content and left you with a feeling of home. Sudhir waved to Mike the bartender as he entered and spread out his paperwork on the table in front of him.

  Jane, a middle-aged woman with white hair and a rotund belly, brought him a Stella without Sudhir asking and said hello. Everyone in the bar was friendly. It reminded Sudhir of Cheers, the old TV show from the ’80’s, and he reveled in everyone knowing his name. He chugged down his beer rather quickly and, again, without asking saw a few minutes later that it had miraculously been refilled.

  Sudhir made the effort to pore over the paperwork one last time in the hopes that a different setting or different lighting might give him a new perspective. Unfortunately, this was not the case. He remembered the often-quoted rule: the same actions and the same process does not lead to new results; and when we fall into that circular trap, we find ourselves in a loop of craziness.

  He was happy when Jason finally arrived—about 15 minutes late. He was now already on his third beer and wanted to spend time reviewing the details before he found himself too caught up in the beverage portion of the evening. Jason greeted his friend with a hello, ordered his vodka and cranberry (smiling from the harassment he received from Sudhir and everyone in the bar over his feminine order), and got to work.

  Jason liked the Volvo link in the cases; and although it was unusual, it was not unheard of for a killer to jump around in his activities in the beginning of a new life cycle. Sudhir found it odd that Jason referred to the serial killers having a life cycle. As with all forms of life, Jason believed that the serial killer was born at some stage when something clicked or snapped and pushed the individual into a new identity. He felt that in the beginning, as with all infants, a newborn killer might have to take time in finding his way and preferences. This was not always the case. There were several killers that immediately fell into their preferred routines, but he had seen this same metaphorical cycle before.

  He agreed with Sudhir that for now the vehicle was the best possible connection. Sudhir should spend as much time as possible pursuing any activities that involved a car of this type. Jason also said he would scan the FBI database and see if anything popped up. He didn’t think it would. In his opinion, this was an infant killer; and if the two of them were correct, he was going to be difficult to catch. Jason still did not feel that it was enough to open a FBI file, but if anything else occurred he might push to have that changed.

  They completed their work portion of the evening and moved on to personal issues. Sudhir was mildly disappointed in not learning anything he didn’t already know, but felt comfort in that he was going down an agreed-upon path. The conversation pushed around to Sherene and how she was doing. Jason saw her sporadically. She had retained custody of the kids, but he had open visitation rights. With his schedule, he had no ability to do anything routine from one week to the next.

  They drank several beers and around 9 p.m. decided to call it a night. They both needed to get home and sleep it off. Sudhir looked forward to starting back into his list of registered Volvo owners first thing tomorrow morning. Jason had agreed to run the entire list through the FBI reference checks, as well, and see if that gave any leads. He did not hold out much hope.

  He felt strongly that they were witnessing the birth of a serial killer and only hoped that before he matured, they were able to apprehend him. Killers only got more deadly as they gained confidence; and, in most cases, they became increasingly more difficult to catch the longer they were on the loose.

  The Date

  It was fun to hear Hannah describe the beginning of her evening and the preparation that occurred at her apartment. Hannah was clearly worried about Laura and how excited she was about our going out on our first date. It was cute how Hannah had talked about Laura helping her pick out clothes and doing her hair. Daughters and mothers can have such a wonderful relationship.

  I was described as somewhat fashionable, so Laura really wanted Hannah to steer clear of her normal everyday attire that she adorned for several of her other dates. She needed something black – that had been Laura’s main criteria. Hannah had settled on a nice below-the-knee silk skirt and a loose blouse. She went with some mid-sized heels, black as well, and topped it off with a silk scarf to bring the two together. It was easy for me to admit to liking it, as Hannah looked fantastic.

  Hannah had enjoyed the attention. It had been a long time since Laura was into helping her prepare for a date, and even Stephanie had joined in on the festivities. They had both helped with her makeup. Hannah did not wear a lot, but at her age was in need of some touchups here and there.

  She smiled, having liked the outfit they had decided on, and she laughingly talked about putting the stacks of rejected clothes back in their proper place to avoid a mess in the morning. She was unsure how long our date would last so she had made the kids a pizza and went through the list of instructions, as was her habit every time she ventured out for an evening.

  The kids had rhythmically mimicked her as they recited the instructions with her. All three had laughed at the fact that she felt she needed to repeat them every single time they were left alone. The most important rule was that they never answered the door. What if it were the police? “Then, we call you, but we never answer the door. We don’t open it; we don’t go to it; we don’t say hi to anyone; we don’t even look at the door for fear it might burn us,” Stephanie giggled.

  Hannah admitted to me she was paranoid, but she also knew that her two girls were the only two people she held dear in the world. If anything ever happened to them, she had no idea how she would ever make it through the experience. She had made her exit with a couple of kisses and a nice big hug from Laura for good luck. Laura’s overly excited anticipation had actually made even Hannah a little nervous.

/>   She had made the short five-minute drive to the restaurant, which was located on Burlingame Avenue. It was a quick jump to get there, and she was glad that we had agreed upon a place that was so close. She really didn’t like being out late at night during the week. On the weekend she felt more comfortable, but for some reason she had never shaken the school time rule of staying put Sunday through Friday and letting loose Friday and Saturday night.

  The restaurant was plush, catering to upscale patrons. The food, unfortunately, was just average and for the amount of money, you would expect something more extravagant. It was well-frequented on most nights by a large amount of patrons, and its reputation of being the place to be allowed it to sway from quality.

  Hannah had arrived at the side door and walked up the ramp spotting me at the bar, sitting on a stool talking to the local bartender. I was having a brownish-colored drink in a small glass with a few ice cubes. She had guessed was scotch, but she was not a big drinker and really did not know her liquor too well. She walked in my direction; and as I sat there, I found myself staring directly at her. She was still a beautiful woman, and you could tell that she took pride in presenting herself at her best.

  I shook off my hesitation, got up from the stool, and met her halfway. After the initial greetings, I spoke to Adrianna, a waitress that I knew, and she showed the two of us to a table. The hostess said hi on our way over, and Hannah asked me if I frequented here that often.

  I did, but just within the last few weeks. I seemed to make a lasting impression rather quickly. Everyone in the restaurant knew who I was. The conversation for the most part centered on Hannah for the bulk of the evening, as I continued to inquire about her goals, her background, her hometown, her job, her hobbies, and her girls. I was genuinely interested in her, and she found herself getting lost in her historic past. She dug up old memories that she had not thought about in a long while.

  She was born in Alabama, her parents were both deceased, and she had no close living relatives. She briefly touched on her tumultuous relationship, and the byproducts of Laura and Stephanie. She tried to steer the conversation away from her ex-husband and the bad memories dredged up from that dark period. I never mentioned the fact that I knew her background or that Sarah had released so much personal information. I felt that it was better left unsaid. She had never been skiing, but always wanted to go. She loved being outdoors and liked hiking.

  Her favorite activity was to go for long walks. She liked company; but if nobody were available, she grabbed her Walkman and headed down to the path by the bay. She would stroll along, listening to REO Speedwagon and Sting and any other band from the ’80’s that she could drum up. She admittedly liked that period, even though she was frequently told it was not the best age for music.

  She found herself very relaxed talking to me and opened up more than she had to anyone in a long time. She shared about her friendship with Sarah; and although she had never spoken out loud about the incident, she found herself telling me about the night that Hank came on to her. It had filled her with disgust and guilt about who he was and what she had allowed to happen. Sharing did seem to lift a weight from her shoulders, but she had not anticipated discussing the situation with anyone, let alone somebody on a first date.

  Hannah had seemed a little off-guard, letting stories fly; and before she realized it, the night was gone and it was time to part ways. Once outside, she discovered that I had walked to the restaurant, so she offered to give me a ride back home. The night seemed perfect, and Hannah now had butterflies in her stomach, hoping that I felt the same. On the quick trip home, I asked to keep all conversations about tonight limited where Laura was concerned. I was genuinely worried about hurting my daughter’s feelings, and Hannah assured me that it would be fine. I made quite an impression on her darling daughter, but she would give no details and keep any future outings to herself.

  She let me know that she was interested in seeing me again. We quickly arrived at my house. After pulling up in the driveway, she placed the car in park. I gently reached over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips as I said good-bye. She seemed like a schoolgirl again. Her knees looked weak, and she seemed to have butterflies flittering in her stomach, threatening to break free and explode out to the slightly chilled, starry sky.

  She watched me as I pulled my key out of my pants pocket and opened the door of my pinkish colored house. I saw her slowly pull away once the door had been closed. I was sure that she was excited about the date and felt comfortable with her not telling Laura. I had also assumed that she would share the experience rather quickly with her friend Sarah.

  I later found out she had called Sarah that night and for 20 minutes sat in the car outside of her apartment describing her evening. She had been openly elated at the prospects of a future date and hopefully more. Sarah had listened patiently and joined in with her excitement. Hannah was truly lucky to have her as a friend. At some point, she was going to have to be honest with Sarah--let her know what a snake her husband was and open up to her about the things that he had done.

  Laura had been disappointed, but not completely diluted in her excitement when she was not given any details. Hannah sat awake and dreamed about possibilities and our future. It is interesting how women get so excited about the prospect of happiness—they sometimes forget to enjoy the here today. That sounds sexist, as men are most likely the same.

  Is There Any Hope?

  The date with Hannah had gone splendidly. She was articulate, gorgeous, and easy to talk with. I found an innate ability to listen to her ramble on, without having to feign interest. I genuinely liked hearing her stories about what had shaped her life and led her to where she was today. It went so well that I felt the familiar rising of despair in the pit of my stomach. I was now beginning to feel that although happiness for me was a possibility, I would never allow myself the luxury of being whole and true. I needed a release of some sort. It had been a while since I had visited my friend’s wife, and I called her to see if she was still interested in hooking up. As in the past, she was willing to make time. She really was an interesting, if not sadistic, person.

  She was Indian and had the tanned dark skin and jet-black hair typical of that ethnicity. She was a little tough to deal with, and I in no way enjoyed talking to her at any length. She was willingly available and open to allowing my deviant nature to run its course in our many encounters. We had been meeting periodically for the better part of two years, and it seemed uncannily easy for her to get away and for us to sneak to a hotel room.

  I made the quick trip up to Daly City and found her prepared and enticingly dressed in mesh stockings and matching panties and bra. She performed her skills masterfully and, as always, had me satisfied and spent a short hour later. I lay exhausted, breathing heavily, staring up at the ceiling, while she cradled her head in my shoulder and relayed the activities of her kids and daily routine. I drifted off at some point in the rambling synopsis of her story and awoke some time later to find her in the same position, snoring slightly in a soft way that only women seem capable.

  I slowly moved her head and quietly dressed. I sneaked out of the room and headed back to the warmth and comfort of my solitude. I was beginning to realize how content I felt being alone without the obligations and strings that come with serious commitment. Relationships come with ties that often hold you back from your true potential. One might successfully argue that a bond of support should be defined as positive and constructive, but I had never had the pleasure of being in a relationship of this nature.

  I spent the next few weeks dating Hannah every few nights, sleeping with my tortured friend’s wife in my sordid affair, and mustering enough energy to work and periodically spend time with my kids. My daughters were growing up quickly it seemed; and having them only half of the time, I was amazed at how they changed on a daily basis.

  My oldest was going through major adjustment issues and had recently become very angry with me when I had inquired about he
r sinking grades. In a fit of rage, she decided to move back into her mother’s house full-time and no longer wanted anything to do with me. My middle child summed it up in her delicate way: “She must feel conflicted, like, she has to choose between her parents and can’t find comfort going back and forth with both.”

  Again, children amaze me. They have the ability to guide adults when our vision clouds.

  I was finding myself complacent, comfortable with the killings that I had committed. I no longer felt the nagging tug of guilt and depression, but instead was starting to feel complete. I knew that I would now kill again and that I had found the missing link in my life once and for all.

  My kids gave me the sense of normalcy that might otherwise have eluded me, but my true emptiness was only by taking another life. I related it to the vampire movies where one is required to feed on the blood of the living in order to maintain one’s own existence. I filled my essence with the souls of living creatures, as I continually needed the nourishment their death provided.

  My relationship with Hannah was the confusing part of my life. While I did feel a connection with her, I knew that I would never again be able to feign the daily interests that marriage would require. I would never again make that commitment to another single human being. Life was too short to waste on the monotony that was required in this false belief of one partner for life. Again, God decreed us to go forth and populate the earth. What better way to do that than with multiple partners to saturate my palate of lust and carnality. My only worry, as always, was catching some disease, as I jumped from woman to woman to satiate my lust.

  I found myself lying in bed on a Wednesday evening in the midst of self-reflection when Hannah texted me. She was at a work dinner. She was several glasses of wine into the evening and wondered if it were okay if she came over. I reservedly agreed, as we had not yet moved into a sexual relationship. I was curious if this was what she had in mind. She was well beyond rational thought—muttering things in text that moved like a mosquito. She was obviously having conversations with her co-workers, as well.