Immortal Eyes (PI Assistant Extraordinaire Mystery Book 2)

by Lotta Smith

  “Wow, that’s a must-go place for me, I guess,” I said, except I was not all that keen about paying a visit to this Sam Deuchars’s place. Even if I was armed with powerful weapons, like a machine gun and lots and lots of bullets, I couldn’t face the possibility of finding more bodies missing their eyeballs.

  Alan chuckled lightly. “You and Karen must be good friends, you know. A soul mate, maybe. She said exactly the same thing when she first saw this picture.”

  “Seriously? Speaking of Karen, isn’t she a bit late? She should have reached here already, I guess.” Almost a half hour had passed since I’d reached this store.

  “Let’s not make a fuss, Kelly. She’s fine. Karen sometimes operates in a way that’s different from that of ordinary people.”

  I sensed something weird about his remark, but before I had the chance to clarify, my phone chirped.

  “Oh, it must be Karen.” I fished the phone out of my purse, only to see the incoming call was from Archangel, not Karen.

  Excusing myself from Alan, I pushed the talk button. “Hi, Mr. Archangel? How are you?”

  “Where the hell are you? What do you think you’re doing?” Archangel demanded. “I’ve made it crystal clear that you’re to call in to me regularly. It’s been more than six hours since you went out—”

  Listening to his rant, I flinched.

  “Do you need to speak in private?” Alan asked, and I nodded, meaning ‘Yes.’

  “Come here.” He led me to the backdoor. Mouthing a silent ‘Thanks,’ I walked outside. “Guess what, Mr. Archangel?” As the door closed, I interrupted my employer in his mid-rant. “I came across a lead. No, not just a lead, make it two.”

  “A lead? Come on. With a lead or whatever, come back to the office,” Archangel commanded. “Immediately.”

  Uh-oh, he wasn’t in a perky mood. In addition, I sensed something out of the ordinary in his voice. What was that? Agitation? Maybe. Which was notable, since he tended to be unemotional to the level I sometimes found myself wondering if he lacked something in the feelings department, such as empathy.

  “But I found Sam,” I protested. “He’s a painter based in Maine and he has a vacation home in West Virginia. I’m sure he’s the real Eyeball Snatcher. You should really see—”

  “I said come back to the office. Right. Now,” he interrupted.

  “But, Mr. Archangel,” I protested, “that doesn’t sound like a very good idea on the account…” I didn’t finish my little speech as I heard a cracking of electricity from behind.

  “On the account of what?” Archangel demanded.

  Instead of shrieking for help over the phone, a strangled sound of shock and pain emerged from my lips.

  Then I collapsed on the ground.

  I heard Archangel yelling my name from the distance, but that might have been a dream.

  It was true that pride is an ugly monster. Had I not been so occupied with it, I might have noticed someone tasing me from behind.

  Chapter 31

  So, it’s true…I thought, feeling Tommy Lee pounding his drum in every cell of my body.

  Recalling the old saying that goes, “Seeing is believing,” which was supposed to mean that only physical or concrete evidence was convincing, I really thought this saying was true.

  Take swimming. You may learn a lot about swimming techniques by watching YouTube videos and reading books, but you didn’t get hands-on experience of stroking the wet, cold, sometimes-mass-and-sometimes-fluid material called “water” unless you physically jumped in and at least tried to move in it.

  The same thing could be said about sex as well, but it would be best if we could save that particular topic for a future discussion, I guess.

  Anyway, now I truly knew the quote applied to what happened when you got zapped with a Taser.

  People said it hurt like hell. I could tell from my experience, it felt much worse than hell. Being burnt and then frozen over in hell was a more appropriate description.

  First, you felt the electric jolt and your body tensed up, the muscles locking. As the electricity flowed through your entire body, you felt warm and fuzzy. Then it got oh-so-hot, like someone pushing you into an oven burning with flames and the blood in your body was swapped with Tabasco. After that, you lose consciousness, feeling soft and mellow and dead inside, floating in a lake of Jell-O.

  Just like being reincarnated as a jellied-eel.

  Oh, don’t forget that all of the above events happened within the timeline of a moment.

  I tried to wiggle my fingers in fear I might not have fingers to wiggle anymore. I felt like a pile of ash. Good thing I could feel my fingers and they were sort of moving, even though I had this funny sensation in my limbs. Then again, I wasn’t all that sure about my latest milestone because I’d kept my eyes shut, and I wasn’t ready to open them and face reality.

  I sniffed the air in an attempt to estimate how burnt I was. It didn’t smell all that smoky, just a tad bit dusty, and there was a slight stench of alcohol and some other chemical. It was a good sign that my olfactory sense was still operating. Also, it didn’t smell like I had wet my undergarments. Even better. Albeit I carried an extra pair of stockings as they taught me in finishing school, I didn’t usually carry an extra pair of panties. Urinary incontinence hadn’t hit me yet, thank you very much.

  Hmm… I thought. Do I have an iron bladder, or what? Indeed, considering that I’d been zapped, I was feeling okay. Actually, I was feeling good—no, make that better. Yes, I felt healthier. Was it possible to be zapped and feel better than before getting zapped?

  As my head cooled and the reasonable part of me returned, skepticism started campaigning against reality. Recalling the recent series of events made it seem outlandish. I was trying to find the eyeball-snatching serial murderer on my own and got a call from Karen who was thought to be killed by the murderer. In a shop called Rhapsody in Pink I saw a gross painting with a gazillion eyeballs and was zapped while talking to my employer over the phone. Oh, did I mention I’m employed by a huge guy who likes to cross-dress in women’s clothes? Skepticism surely had a point. Considering I was an ordinary person with an ordinary upbringing, it must have all been a bad, sick, nightmare. That explained everything. I knew it.

  “Great…this is great,” I mumbled with a sigh of relief, chuckling at my silly self. Add that sixty-two trillion out of sixty-eight trillion cells had stopped vibrating like “Paaaaaaartayyyy!” to the list of reasons I was relieved.

  I was convinced I had a weird, wild, and outlandish dream. It was dreadful, but nothing to worry about… Until Alan, the back-zapping lunatic interrupted my thoughts.

  “I’m glad you like it here, Kelly.”

  I opened an eye. Then another. Groaning, I shut them again before blinking several times.

  Holy crap…

  It sure was hair-raising, but I wasn’t having a nightmare. Everything was happening in reality. And it was happening to me.

  Whether or not to be happy, I wasn’t sure. I knew there was no happy element, but at least, I was alive.

  In fact, it seemed like I was relatively unscathed, except for some minor inconveniences, such as being stuck in a room with a décor that didn’t exactly match my taste. Then again, everything else, I mean everything else was not something you’d want to see.

  For starters, I was in a depressing, dimly-lit basement without even a window. The selection of furniture was very limited. The cold and wet-looking, gray concrete floor was devoid of carpet or flooring. There was a shabby, metal table covered with various depths of scratch marks. A pair of metal chairs stood by the table. Alan was sitting on one of the chairs. He had changed into a black fleece shirt and a pair of tight black jeans. My purse sat on the table, along with a candlestick with three lit candles, a half-full bottle of Moet et Chandon, and a glass with liquid and whitish balls that looked like pale green olives inside.

  There was also a large butcher knife, even though there was not much cooking taking place
in this room.

  The second problem was I was all alone with Alan, who was holding another glass of liquid and pale green olives. The only difference was the number of olives in his glass. His contained just two, while the other glass held more. He was sipping his bubbly drink, looking pretty calm and composed.

  Note that I was also immobile, as in literally. I was firmly secured to another metal chair with my hands tied behind the back, which explained the funny feeling in my hands and fingers. Assuming from the stickiness in my wrists, duct tape seemed like the material used to tie me.

  The third and most terrifying finding was, as my vision adjusted, I recognized that each of those olives had a brownish, round spot bearing a resemblance to the iris of an eyeball.

  “Wh-what is that?” I stuttered, my gaze fixed on the glass in his hand.

  “Oh, this?” He raised the glass. “It’s champagne. Imported from France. Care for a drink?” he offered politely, tilting his head to one side. As he moved, the wild locks of his red hair bounced.

  “I-I-I…I don’t think so…” Shaking my head, I struggled with my words.

  “Why not?” He furrowed his eyebrows, as if I was the one being irrational.

  Cussing, crying, and screaming like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum was oh-so-tempting, but instead, I took a deep breath, which sorta-kinda managed to calm my nerves.

  “Well, first off, I can’t hold a glass with my hands tied behind me like this.”

  “Then I’ll help you.” He took a step toward me, the glass in one hand, as if he was going to feed me the liquid.

  “No!” I almost shrieked, but I managed to add, “Actually, my stomach is not ready for bubbly. And I would very much appreciate it if you’d kindly cut the duct tape that is securing my hands right now?” I desperately tried my best to play it nice and smooth in a vain hope he’d change his mind and let me go.

  “Hmm…” He shrugged. “It depends on if you promise to be a darling and let me take your eyeballs out of you without a fight.”

  “You’re just kidding, right?” I asked hopefully.

  “Well, well, well.” He made a tsk-tsk sound. “What kind of an idiot kidnaps a semi-celebrity like you just for fun? No one, I’d say. It catches too much unwanted attention. I brought you here with an absolute determination to have your eyeballs removed.”

  Flabbergasted, I searched for any sign he was just cracking a sick joke. After a couple of moments, I came to the conclusion he was dead serious.

  A total head case—seriously, positively, and undeniably.

  I was anxious to know what had happened to Karen, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Call me chickenshit, but I was completely lacking the courage to face reality.

  “Well,” I said, partly because I couldn’t come up with anything better to say, “for your information, I’m nobody.” Then I added, “I presume those things in your bubbly glasses are eyeballs and you’re Eyeball Snatcher?”

  “Come on.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve never called, much less introduced, myself with that name. It’s just a silly nickname the stupid media started to use on me. They’ve got no originality, if I may say so. Not to mention, treating a total stranger like some kind of a petty thief is rude.”

  I took his reply as an affirmative. “Hey, if you’re not a petty thief, you don’t need my eyeballs. You’re a celebrity, whereas I’m nobody. You know what? Celebrities often throw parties for charity causes because they have fame and fortune that ordinary people don’t have and can’t attain, right? So, because you’re a celebrity and I’m nobody, it’s you who should give me something to help me, not the other way around. Come to think of it this way, you’ve got a pair of fully functioning eyeballs that let you see things and appreciate all the beauty that life offers you, right? Generally speaking, having a pair of normal eyeballs is simply bliss itself. Can you imagine how lucky you are that you’ve got eyes that can see? I’ve met a blind person before, and she had to use this white cane to check the things around her whenever she went out because she cannot see things around her, and when you can’t see things on your own, the world is full of danger and perils. Cyclists are the worst, you know, a stupid cyclist once ran over her cane, braking it and leaving her in total darkness.”

  Instead of my freaked-out, dysfunctional brain, my motor-mouth was taking charge. Okay, I was truly babbling, but anyone would babble in my shoes.

  “Kelly,” Alan tilted his head to one side, “I don’t see your point.” He sounded totally cool.

  “Oh, my point is quite simple: Don’t take the eyeballs out of me. You need to be thankful for whatever you’ve been given. Just like thinking your glass is half full instead of half empty. On top of all that, you’ve got eyeballs from other people in addition to your own set. Do the math and you’d be astonished to find out that you’ve got enough eyeballs for not just a lifetime but several lifetimes. Wow! That’s…that’s like awesome, right?”

  I tried to make a light chuckling sound because I wanted to keep the atmosphere as lighthearted and cheery as possible. Call me shallow, but I was desperate. I needed to talk him out of his obsession so he could change his mind and forget about me. What I’d managed to produce was a not-so-pretty sound that was best described as something between a hiccup and a burp.

  “Kelly, you don’t understand.” My abductor shook his head.

  “How so?”

  “First off, I have extra pairs of eyeballs not out of greed or perversion, just out of necessity.”

  “Oh…for what? Like eating?”

  “No, I’m not a cannibal.” He made a face. “They are proof of my hard work. I understand you’re making an extended effort to look as dumb as possible, but I won’t let you go. What kind of a moron do you think I am? No one with an IQ that is higher than a turnip lets someone like you go. Considering you’re connected with the feds, that’s asking for a lot of trouble.”

  “Oh, I can keep my mouth shut and go away. You know, I’ll just go to a far-off place, such as Europe…or Japan. Oh, did I mention I have no ties with the feds?” I said.

  “That’s bullshit. Your boss is an ex-FBI agent who still consults with the feds on a regular basis. It means you’ve got ties with them too.”

  I thought about mentioning the current situation with my employer, but didn’t. As much as I wanted to convince him that yours truly was no threat to him, I wanted to keep him thinking my employer cared enough for me as to come to my rescue and beat the bejeezus out of my capturer.

  So I said, “My mother’s in Edinburgh, Scotland. I always wanted to see old, haunted castles and everything. I also have relatives in Japan, so maybe I’d go there and see Japanese koi fish. Koi at the Shukkeien garden in Hiroshima are true warriors, you know. Can you imagine they’re strong enough to attack an alligator snapping turtle en masse and beating the crap out of the monster turtle? Who said carp are slow and weak?” I chuckled.

  “That’s interesting,” Alan said.

  “I know. And didja know Japan has lots and lots to offer when it comes to yummy desserts? My grandma in Japan once sent us this little jello-like concoction called black soy yokan from Oita prefecture. Believe me, it was the yummiest dessert I’ve ever tasted. And I promise to send you those fine sweets from Japan. Hey, I happen to know many other things you may be interested in. We can work this out together, can’t we?”

  “I’m afraid not, Kelly.”

  “Yes, we can,” I replied. Then I repeated, “Yes. We. Can!” as if I was channeling Barack Obama circa 2008. Seriously, we desperately needed to do something, anything to keep presidential candidates from employing one-phrase campaigning tactics.

  “Alan, you’ve got to be honest with yourself. You seriously need to follow your heart. I know you like me. Being no one, I know I’m not worth taking hostage on the account nobody would pay a big ransom just to have me back. So I have a secret admirer who went through the trouble to snatch me. I’m flattered, you know. Then again, killing me is not the an
swer. We can be friends. We can do many things together. We can even become soulmates to each other. You know, we’d never know what’s in store for our future…” I managed to give a flirtatious smile. “You really have to keep me alive, you know; otherwise you can’t have all the fun we’ll have together.”

  “Kelly, you’ve totally impressed me, and I feel truly honored learning that you’re still open for friendship and perhaps something more intimate,” said Alan, “but I need to pluck out your eyeballs.”

  I opened my mouth, but words didn’t come. I couldn’t believe he’d crushed my hope of extending my life expectancy with just one sentence. What a killjoy.

  “Please don’t chastise me, and don’t take it too bad, Kelly,” he continued. “It’s nothing personal.”

  “Excuse me?” I spat. “Nothing personal? Are you crazy? You’re telling me not to take it bad because it’s nothing personal that you’re about to pluck my eyeballs out of my eye sockets while I’m still alive and I happen to need those eyeballs? And you tell me not to chastise you for killing all these innocent women, because it’s nothing personal? That’s gross, disgusting, outrageous, and frigging unreasonable! Nothing personal, my ass. Are you fucking insane?”

  Boy, I was taking it very personal.

  “I said don’t chastise me!” my capturer barked.

  “Says you!” I snapped. “You know what? You don’t get criticized for no reasons. I’m chastising you because you deserve it. No, chastise is an understatement, make it condemn. Here I am, condemning you. You are a disgusting, back-zapping, eyeball-stealing nutcase!”

  “A nutcase? That’s demeaning, not to mention it’d be more politically correct if you said ‘mentally unstable’ instead,” he said matter-of-factly. A little too matter-of-factly, actually. I was expecting him to show more emotion, such as rage, but I couldn’t sense anything in his voice.

  “So, you admit the nutcase part?” I asked, trying my best to keep my voice cool and calm and conceal that I was totally creeped out. According to an animal trainer starring on the Discovery Channel, it was in your best interest to keep your confidence when dealing with animals.