by Paul Seiple
“One day at a time,” Reid said, repeating what his sponsor used to tell him, as the flashing neon waved at him, beckoning him with a come hither glow. “One day at a time.” Reid turned away from the sign, shunning its advances. The clock read four-forty-six am.
He grabbed a towel and turned on the water. A cold shower to wash away the dirty thoughts of getting drunk. He thought about something else his sponsor used to say. “When I stopped living in the problem and began living in the answer, the problem went away.”
Michael Callahan was the answer to Reid’s problem. Callahan would lead him to the problem — Norman Wallace.
Chapter 34
I woke ten minutes before the alarm was set to salute me with an instrumental rendition of Three Dog Night’s “An Old-Fashion Love Song.” Technically, it wasn’t a cover, the bass line was replaced by horns and the three-part harmony couldn’t carry a tune, but, just like a shot of black coffee, it did the trick pushing me out of bed. Usually, I hated hearing it after sleepless nights. But this morning was different. Instead of cursing the faceless musicians who ruined a perfect pop song, I heard the words in my mind. The song was about finding new love. For the first time since I started having the dreams I felt alive. Rebecca was the kick of life to recharge my dying heart.
So I thought.
I moved to put my arm around her. Nothing. Just an empty side of the bed. My first thought was that she used me for the story. I didn’t spill much, but a seasoned journalist could pull headline news from one new fact. I lay there for five minutes in silence, mentally flogging myself for trusting the blonde with long legs and then the song came on again. “Damn snooze,” I said, slapping the alarm clock. There was only a moment of silence, before I heard a crash echo down the hallway.
Maybe Rebecca didn’t leave. Maybe my brother took her. The night of passion made me completely forget that there was a deranged killer stalking her. Another crash sent waves of reality over me, nearly drowning me in anxiety. Maybe my brother was in my house. Watching me. Taking pleasure in snatching the one thing from me that brought peace to my chaotic world. He would thrive on my misery. The pain of others seemed to be his lifeblood. I saw him in the doorway. Rebecca on her knees by his side. My brother had a handful of Rebecca’s hair gripped tightly in his white-knuckled fist. Tears streaked down her cheeks. I reached for my revolver on the nightstand.
“Whoa! Don’t shoot,” Rebecca said, standing in the doorway, wearing only a white T-shirt. “It’s just coffee, see.” She pointed to a mug, which had the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo printed on it. “My coffee’s not the best, but it’s definitely not a deadly weapon.”
I smiled and put the gun back on the nightstand. “Sorry, just a little edgy with everything going on.”
Rebecca sat beside me on the bed, handed me the mug, and crossed her legs. She had the legs of a dancer. Every muscle flexed when she moved. The T-shirt rode up her thigh, exposing her hip. The only thing under the shirt was flesh. I wanted to make love to her, but, once again, my brother would ruin things. We had to meet Reid in an hour.
“What’s the deal with Scooby Doo?” Rebecca asked.
“Long story, I’ll have to tell you later,” I said, running my hand along her thigh as I got out of bed. “We have to meet Reid.”
“Now that I passed the test of not getting the story and running, can you at least tell me what he has to do with this?”
“In an hour, you’ll know everything,” I said, kissing the top of her head. The smell of coconut put the Pina Colada song back in my head.
Chapter 35
Death. It was the first thing that came to mind for Bill as he started to wake. The smell of rot raping his nostrils. He dared not open his eyes. Not of fear of what faced him. Bill needed time to think. To devise an escape. The cord cutting into his ankles and wrists meant that it would be a difficult task. Difficult, but not impossible. Bill was a seasoned vet, not just of the police force, but also the army. He had done time in Vietnam. Years of survival training for the apocalypse that he didn’t necessarily believe in. Bill had stared death down without even a flinch. The day of reckoning was upon him. He felt prepared.
Keep your eyes closed. Pretend to still be out, he thought. Bill listened for any sound. Anything that would give him an idea of his surroundings. An echo could mean an abandoned building. From what he knew about psychopaths, it was a good bet that’s where the killer brought him. But the silence was deafening. He was alone. Bill still wouldn’t open his eyes.
Death’s scent grew stronger. More putrid. Bill tried to replace the smell with that of eggs and bacon cooking. Breakfast food. Bill could have it for every meal and die a happy man. The decay was too powerful. Not only was it assaulting his nostrils, it now whispered in his ear that he was going to die a starving man.
Bill’s mind returned to his first murder case. Death’s aroma wasn’t as strong as this, but close. A nineteen-year-old girl that got caught up in a drug deal gone bad. Once a pretty blonde, but Bill didn’t remember her that way. He only knew her as a rotting pile of flesh and bones. The sight was almost enough for Bill to quit the force. But there was a burning in him that kept him going. Looking at the lifeless girl and knowing that her killer was still out there. A killer fueled by sheer brutality that screamed, “I’ll do it again...and again. Just watch me,” kept Bill going. And when he caught the twenty-year-old punk that canceled the girl’s future, Bill knew fighting evil was his calling. For Bill, evil wasn’t about God and the Devil. He was never sure those two existed and he was never a man to believe in things he couldn’t see. But he knew without a shadow of doubt that evil was real. He would see things that would make the average man question humanity. It was Bill’s job to restore the faith by stopping evil’s reign. He chuckled under his breath at the idea that he had been a preacher all along. Not in the religious sense, but he was the man people looked to ensure that good prevailed in the never-ending fight.
The restraints keeping him pinned to the wooden chair reminded Bill that if God or the Devil truly did exist, that there was a very real possibility he would be introduced to them soon. If he met God, Bill would give him a tongue-lashing for allowing monsters to terrorize good people. And if he met the Devil, Bill would put his size ten boot straight up Satan’s ass. It was just the type of person Bill was.
A sudden smack rattled the bones in Bill’s face.
“Wake up, sleepy head. Are you just planning on sleeping the rest of your life away?”
The surprise of the hit didn’t give Bill an opportunity to prepare. Instinctively he groaned. The killer knew he was awake. No need in keeping his eyes shut any longer. Bill tried to focus, but everything was a blur. He blinked several times, fast. The scene started to clear.
The first thing Bill saw was familiarity — a teddy bear that he had given Kat Nelson for college graduation. It wasn’t the typical bear. This stuffed animal was dressed in a Karate gi. Across the back of the gi where the words, “Kick Ass and Take Names.” On the wall, just above the bear was a picture of Bill’s sister, Regina. He wasn’t in an abandoned building. The son-of-a-bitch psycho had brought Bill to Kat’s apartment.
There was another smack.
“I’m awake, asshole,” Bill said.
George laughed.
With clear vision, Bill saw the horror around him. The homeless girl, Ashley Harris, was propped up on the couch. The skin on her face drooped like melting wax from her bones. Feathers seeped from the slices in her ski jacket. Her jeans were covered in dry crimson. She wore only one boot. In front of her feet, there was a metal bucket with a piece of paper taped to the front. Written in red ink where the words, ‘20 Bucks for a Dead Fuck.’
“Welcome to my tea party,” George said, opening his arms, embracing the room. “You may recognize this young lady from the photo Michael had. Bill, I’d like you to meet Ashley Harris. Some people affectionately refer to her as Sunshine. But with that graying complexion I think Dreary is a more fitting name.
And over here, we have Miss Maggie Hoover.”
Maggie Hoover was braced against a wall. She was wearing a nurse’s outfit; around the midsection was a circular red stain. A stethoscope dangled from her neck. Her right arm held the diaphragm of the stethoscope against her chest. Written in a cartoon bubble on the wall above her head were the words, “Prognosis not good.”
“Sad thing,” George said. “Nurse Hoover’s heart just doesn’t seem to be in it anymore.” He laughed. “Oh well, let’s not cry over spilled blood. Let me direct your attention to the kitchen table. Bill, I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Laurie McGuire.”
The short-haired brunette sat at the kitchen table. Her eyes were wide open, glazed over with terror. Her face, frozen in an expression of fear. Her hands were placed palms down on the table. In front of her there was an anatomy book, opened to a chart of bones in the human body. Drops of blood splattered the pages.
“Forgive Miss McGuire’s rudeness in not saying hello. She doesn’t know her coccyx from her xiphoid process. Exams will be the death of her.” George laughed again. “Would you like some tea? I think your niece just brewed a new batch.” George pointed to a bar separating the kitchen from the dining room.
Kat Nelson, dressed in her barista outfit, was propped against the wall. On the bar were spilled liquid and a cracked mug. Kat’s throat was slit from ear to ear. Her head dangled to the left side of her body.
“My apologies, Bill. Looks like Kat’s head is elsewhere today.” George walked over to Kat, pointed at the gaping wound in her neck, and then looked in the direction of Laurie. “Pop quiz, Miss McGuire. What’s the name of this bone?”
“You sick motherfucker,” Bill said, rocking the chair, trying to free himself. The cords cut into his wrists. Blood started to pool underneath him.
“Tsk, tsk, Bill,” George said. “If you don’t calm down, you’re going to hurt yourself and I’m no doctor. Not even a boy scout. And quite frankly, from the looks of Nurse Hoover, you’re shit out of luck if you get injured.”
Bill’s mind went blank. There was no preparing for this. This was evil like he never imagined facing. Evil that he never imagined existing. Reality struck Bill like a death knell. It was over for him.
“Mike, why are you doing this? We’ve been partners for years. You were one of the good guys. What happened?” The tone in Bill’s voice screamed surrender.
George took a seat on the couch next to Ashley Harris’s body. She fell over onto him. He pushed her away. “Not now, dear. Maybe later.” George turned his attention back to Bill. “Did you ever think you were destined for greatness, Bill? I mean something more than a homicide detective in this shitty town?”
“There’s nothing greater than ridding the world of scum like you.”
George smiled. “Touché.”
“Think of your father, Mike. James Callahan was such a great man. Think of how you’re letting him down.”
George placed his hand on his knee and leaned closer to Bill. “That’s where you’re wrong, Bill. My father is proud of me.”
“You’re insane,” Bill said.
“Wrong again. I’m fulfilling my prophecy. You think I’m Michael. I’m not. I am the end. The kiss goodnight. The ride off into the sunset for this fucked up world.”
“You’re just another sick bastard that gets off on the pain of others. You’re a coward,” Bill said.
George leapt to his feet and punched Bill in the stomach. He whispered in his ear. “You’re wrong about the coward part. But you’re right about getting off on the pain of others.” George jammed a knife into Bill’s back, right above his right shoulder blade. “That felt fucking orgasmic.”
Chapter 36
“OK, don’t bombard him with questions,” I said, standing in front of Room 617 of the Marriott.
“Who do you think I am? Some blood-sucking reporter?” Rebecca smiled.
“Just let him lead the conversation. Sit back and obser...” Before I could finish the words, Rebecca knocked on the door and kissed me on the cheek.
The door opened as if someone was anxiously waiting on the other side.
“Miss Aaron, I presume,” Reid Hoffman said, smiling, motioning for her to come in. He stuck out his hand to shake mine. “And nice to see you again, Michael.”
“The FBI must pay well,” Rebecca said, admiring the room.
I shook my head trying to apologize to Reid telepathically. A buxom blonde, in a tight purple dress, sat on an oversized couch. The sight of her interrupted my apology. Reid didn’t mention anyone else. Who the hell was this? A long, lost sister. I felt ambushed.
Reid must have sensed my displeasure. He placed his hand on my shoulder. A gesture of reassurance. “Michael and Rebecca, I’d like you to meet Dr. Dupree.”
The blonde stood up and extended her hand to Rebecca first. “Barbara.” she said.
“Barbara specializes in hypnotism,” Reid said.
“I thought we were going to be alone,” I said.
“If we are going to stop your brother, you’re going to have to remember some things suppressed in your memory. Barbara’s here if we need her.”
“Your brother?” Rebecca asked. “What the hell is going on?”
“You didn’t tell her?” Reid asked.
“You asked me not to,” I said.
Reid smiled. The look that followed led me to believe that Reid asking me not to tell Rebecca the details was a test. I passed. Reid was pleased. FBI mind-fucking.
“Someone better tell me what the hell is going on, right now,” Rebecca said, standing up and moving toward the door.
I looked at Reid. He nodded, giving me the OK. I proceeded to tell Rebecca everything. That I had a brother. A twin to be exact. A brother that I shared dreams with through some form of twin bonding. A brother that was kidnapping and killing women and I saw everything in my dreams. I told Rebecca that I saw her die at the hands of my brother in the dreams.
“This is the craziest, fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Rebecca said.
“It’s not really all that far-fetched,” Barbara said. “There are countless documented cases of twin telepathy. One brother breaks a leg. The other feels it in a dream.”
“I get that, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t insane. Why didn’t you tell me?" Rebecca said, looking at me.
“I asked him not to,” Reid said. “For your protection.”
“My protection? I think telling me that I’m on a psycho killer’s list is protecting me.”
“I told you that,” I said.
“Yeah, and I thought you were just trying to get me to go back to your place, you son-of-a …”
“Tell ya what, Rebecca, why don’t you and I go downstairs and grab a cup of coffee while these two talk,” Barbara said.
Rebecca didn’t say another word. Just followed Barbara out.
“She’ll cool down,” Reid said.
“I didn’t know you were going to have another agent here.”
“I’m going to be honest with you, Michael. This isn’t only about your brother.”
“What else?” I asked, sitting on the corner of the bed.
“Norman Wallace,” Reid said.
“He’s dead,” I said.
“I don’t think so.”
“You think he is still killing?”
“I think he is mentoring your brother. I need you to try and remember anything you can about Norman.”
“I didn’t even know he was my father, until yesterday. There is nothing to remember.”
Reid grabbed a Bible from the nightstand and threw it against the wall. “Just try to remember something,” he said. “Anything.”
I didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry. Listen, Michael, when I was a kid my mother went missing. Along with two other women in the fall of ‘55,” Richard paused. “I think my mother was one of your father’s first victims.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about Norman,” I said.
Reid took a seat on the bed next to me. “I understand that, but you have a link with your brother. Maybe you can get inside of his head.”
“And how am I going to do that?”
“That’s where Barbara comes in.”
There was a knock at the door followed by a female voice.
“The coffee sucked. Can we come in?”
“So you want her to put me under? You want me to try and become my brother?”
“I want to stop your brother and I want revenge for my mother,” Reid said.
Part of me felt betrayed. This wasn’t about stopping my brother. For Reid, this was about exorcising the past. He wanted to use me as a fucking Ouija board to call upon the spirits that kept him awake at night. Reid bore the battle wounds of a war with insomnia as well. I didn’t notice them yesterday. They were prominent, dark circles covering the wrinkles underneath his eyes. Behind the mask, I saw hopelessness in his eyes. A feeling I knew all too well. Reid and I wanted the same thing from different sources. We wanted to put an end to the evil.
“Yeah, come on in,” I said.
Chapter 37
The burning in the palms of Bill’s hands was relentless. The pain in his shoulder was slow, agonizing death. His breathing slowed to short, hard gasps. The end was near, but it was taking its sweet, fucking time getting there. He was in and out of consciousness. In a brief moment of clarity he realized what was happening to him. His arms were perpendicular to the cheap, lime green linoleum floor. His ankles were crossed and nailed together inches above the floor. The blood pooled beneath him on the green floor reminded him of a time when he was about five and spilled his ice cream on the ground at Coney Island during a family vacation. It was true what they say, when you’re dying, your life does flash before your eyes. He looked at the railroad spike in his ankles. Jesus Christ, this sick bastard is crucifying me, he thought, letting out a weak chuckle at using Jesus and crucifying in the same sentence.
