“Don’t kid me. You’d love to borrow it.” I twirled before him then returned to the kitchen to retrieve my mug from the microwave. From the other room I could hear the annoying cacophony of the TV channels racing by.
“What was that?” I asked as I walked into the living room, nursing the hot cup gingerly between my hands.
“That, my dear,” Alex said, pointing toward the LCD set with the remote firmly ensconced in his right hand, “is likely the worst movie yet the SyFy channel has managed to come up with. Some new shark flick.”
“No, no,” I protested, walking toward the dining room window to investigate. “The tapping at the window.”
“You’re on the ninth floor,” Alex replied without bothering to turn around and face me. Apparently I couldn’t compete for attention with a horrid movie. “What could it be but a bird? Or maybe the building’s settling.”
“Right. This steel building is settling.” My tone oozed skepticism.
From a few feet away the dark window reflected back only my own image and the dining room furniture. I drew close and leaned into the glass to peer out. I hoped it wasn’t a bird. I pictured a crow with one broken wing, hurtling downward to the sidewalk to its death, helpless and afraid.
Something slapped against the windowpane just in front of my face. I scurried backward, colliding into the dining room table.
“What the hell was that?” exclaimed Alex, leaping upward.
“I… I don’t know.”
Despite having on a thick cotton gown, I began shaking uncontrollably. Chills rippled up and down my back and embraced me around my middle. I set the cup down on the dining room table, nearly upsetting it again with my trembling fingers. “It’s all wrong. None of this should be happening!” I wailed, ashamed at losing control of my emotions again, yet yearning for reassurance. “None of this makes any sense!”
Alex rushed over and pulled me into an embrace. “I’m sorry. That really shook you up, didn’t it?”
A lump was blocking my voice. I nodded mutely and snuggled into the crook of his neck. His cinnamon-scented cologne and body heat soothed me.
Something slammed against the windowpane again. Definitely no bird. Some large creature was battling the glass to enter.
Alex looked perplexed for a moment, as if at a loss to understand what was going on. “I’d better go take a look.”
I felt a tug of loss in my chest when he strutted to the window. It was illogical to believe he was in any danger. There was no patio or fire escape out there. Yet, I watched nervously as he nearly placed his nose on the glass, peering right and left several times.
He looked so silly, I began to relax. “You resemble a wiper blade,” I giggled.
“I don’t see anything, Hon,” he announced. “Sometimes weird crap happens you can’t explain.”
Was that supposed to calm me down?
To take my mind off of the window, I watched the squalid film on the TV with Alex. Eventually I fell asleep on the couch, cradled in his reassuring arms, borrowing some of his strength.
When I woke late the next morning, the ivory white bedspread had been pulled from my bed and tucked around my body.
But I was alone.
It couldn’t be avoided: I had to go in to work. But it was a pleasant day. I was able to update the company website with little effort and everything uploaded and functioned like it was supposed to.
Happily it didn’t rain, not even drizzle. It heralded of one of Seattle’s freak spurts of sunshine in the middle of the winter, so lovely that the plants would get confused, begin to bloom, then die when the cold blasted back in.
I made my pilgrimage to the rehab center. For the first time I found Helene sitting up, watching TV. She was actually smiling when I walked into the room. With a sigh of relief I ran over and hugged her tightly. “You’re improving.”
She kissed me on top of the head.
With as much creativity as I could muster, I chatted about my workday and my relationship with Alex, assiduously avoiding mentioning my slumming around in the alley, hunting a monster, and the window scare. Helene had her recovery to focus on. She didn’t need to worry about what her sister was up to.
“Breaking news!” a local news anchor announced, interrupting our joyful moment.
We both paused and turned our attention to the screen on the wall.
“Another woman brutalized last night. Her broken body discovered by a jogger at the Olympic Sculpture Park. Police are investigating but—”
I snatched up the remote and, after flipping off the TV, threw it to the bed.
Helene searched my eyes, questioning me.
“We should focus on something else.” I picked up Little Women and began reading. The memory of last night’s icy fingertip caressing my ear lobe, my voice trembled for several pages till I found my rhythm.
Driving back to my condo, I considered what my next tactic would be. I was haunted by the memory of the monster’s latest victim, an anonymous lump lying under a white sheet beneath Calder’s red steel monument, resembling a new age grave marker. After bumper-to-bumper traffic for two miles, I finally pulled into the underground parking lot of my building, feeling agitated and overly hot in my wool coat, wishing I’d taken it off before getting into the car.
The sensible part of me was beginning to realize perhaps it really was foolish to seek revenge. The murderer apparently was running rings around an entire city’s highly trained police patrol for over two weeks now. The body count was piling up.
While contemplating my folly, I suddenly became aware of the many movies I’d seen where the lone woman in parking garage is attacked. A shiver of nervousness creeped me out, then I laughed at my silliness. I’d been in this parking garage hundreds of times. The gate only opened when a resident was driving out and shut immediately behind the car. It could only be opened from the street side by remote, which only residents could obtain.
Still…
I glanced about. About three-quarters of the hundred or so spots had cars in them. I was the only person and I was parked in the outermost lane farthest from the elevator to the lobby. Silence. The traffic outside was muted.
Was I being nervous or what?
I hit the button on my key. When the locks engaged, my PT Cruiser beeped which echoed through the garage, announcing my presence.
As if in response, something skittered along the concrete from the other side of the car.
Like nails.
Or the knifepoint of a switchblade.
I pulled my leather purse toward my chest, using it as a shield, and raced toward the elevator, my ankles threatening to buckle in my two-inch heels. The scratching followed, louder and closer.
I hit the carpet and rapidly banged on the elevator’s “up” button.
Flesh banged against the back of my right calf.
I swung my purse around as hard as I could.
And hit nothing.
I looked down.
A black-and-white striped tabby cat stared up at me with golden eyes.
It cocked its head and then pranced off.
How silly to allow my imagination to run riot!
I stepped into the elevator. My nerves were obviously getting the better of me.
I vowed to stay home that night. It was foolish to chase after monsters when I clearly wasn’t thinking rationally.
The shiny bulldog cane caught my eye when I walked into my bedroom and tossed my coat onto the bed. I shook my head in disbelief. Why did I think a brass head was adequate to protect me from a killer who could practically snap two testosterone-laced men in half? Likely the puker was trained in the martial arts. How else could he have done it?
I felt deflated, as if my decision to stop pursuing Helene’s attacker had extinguished the fire in my soul.
Perhaps bloodlust could be maintained for only so long by a normal, rational person.
I had been, rational that is, for most of my life. Even after the attack years ago in the dormitor
y, I was able to resume my studies a few days later. Many of those living on the same floor with me commented how seemingly calm and unruffled I appeared, like nothing unusual had happened. Thank God the guy hadn’t succeeded in raping me. His roommate had interrupted when returning from the library earlier than usual; the University police had dealt with the moron quickly and efficiently. The University expelled him and his family recalled him back to Connecticut. I never saw him again, nor did I ever search for him online out of curiosity.
The incident did, however, have a negative effect on me. I moved back home the following quarter, reducing the opportunities to interact with other students socially. I unconsciously began to dress with mismatched patterns and colors and discouraged potential dates with snarky comments. As a result, I graduated without a potential life mate or boyfriend, unlike several of my classmates.
Yes, Helene, I was often frumpy—with good reason.
Perhaps seeing her improvement tonight, smiling and looking pretty, propped up against the pillow, had rekindled hope in my soul that she could resume a somewhat normal life. That the monster hadn’t succeeded in stealing my sister’s future after all.
Could hope and murderous rage reside in the human heart concurrently?
What chance did I have, with my slender build, against a monster who wasn’t rational? And seemed to have superhuman strength?
I considered calling Justin and telling him I was going to change my mind about purchasing the rifle.
I decided to give myself a night to sleep on the decision.
Chapter 6
Did something about me attract wicked men?
Even in the summertime, I don’t leave the windows open, preferring to use the air conditioner. I am still haunted by the memory of some stranger who tried to pry my bedroom window open one night with a hammer when I was ten years old. Our German shepherd, Rusty, scared him off. The intruder left behind crushed daffodils and the footprints of size ten sneakers in the flowerbed below the sill. But the fact someone had made the attempt with a large, protective dog in the house proved that some evil intentions were quite tenacious.
Shortly after Justin declared he wanted to enlist in the military after he graduated from high school and not follow our father’s career path into Pharmacy.
Both parents were now dead, one of prostate cancer, the other of an aneurism. Perhaps it was for the best, never knowing one daughter was crippled by a madman—and the other, contemplating murder.
I don’t know if it happened because I was still unsettled by the cat in the garage. I was walking into my bedroom when I tripped over the cord to my new, industrial-sized air cleaner. I wanted to work off my nervous energy and calm my mind, so I had decided to do a little late night cleaning. I dropped the floor cleaner and the sponge mop I was carrying to my bathroom. As usual, my mother was right to admonish me to tighten the caps, because the bottle bounced across the wooden floor, spilling yellow ammonia and who knows what cancer-causing ingredients everywhere. My room became a Rorschach of stink.
After grabbing a few bath towels from the bathroom, I soaked up the cleaner, but the room still reeked. So I filled a bucket with water from the tub and damp mopped the floor, yet the pungent odor burnt my nostrils. I gasped for fresh air. Reluctantly, I admitted defeat and opened the bedroom window. Cool, winter air rushed into the room, competing with the heat pumping out of the vents. I shivered, recalling the slap against the dining room window the night before. Surely it was just another odd, spooky coincidence, like the cat in the garage.
Like Alex said, I was on the ninth floor. No one was going to leap up from the ground floor or rappel down the side of the building to get me.
Even if someone could, I wasn’t important enough to warrant going through the bother.
Minutes later, the stink was considerably decreased, so I walked over to the window to pull it shut.
A cough. Just outside the other side of the glass.
I froze, my hand suspended midair.
I laughed, shaking my head, hoping the eerie thoughts would pop out my ears and leave me alone. Surely I was being ridiculous. It was impossible for someone to be lurking on the outside of the building on the ninth floor. The cougher must be a pedestrian on the sidewalk below. My building lacked a balcony or fire escape; no one had easy access to my apartment. And certainly no window washer was out there this time of the night.
I reached toward the latch once again.
“Cough.”
Definitely from just outside.
The window began rising higher, pulled upward by an invisible hand.
I leapt away.
Where was my cane? My mind raced rapidly. I just couldn’t remember!
The bed blocked my retreat. One leg then another slid into the room. A lanky body followed.
I stood there, like an idiot, all vestiges of Mr. Spock’s green blood drained out of my system by paralyzing terror.
The puker glared at me with glowing red eyes, his spidery fingers tipped by black nails, his hair a riot of color. He stepped toward me.
I was seeing it, but I couldn’t believe it. How had he managed enter in through the ninth floor window?
Was he real? Could he be a ghost? Or, had I actually passed out from breathing the fumes and was trapped in a nightmare?
He sucked air in and out rapidly, struggling for breath.
As I’d feared: The same man who’d nearly killed Helene had attacked me first.
And if he’d killed me, would Helene be whole now? If he had satisfied whatever crazy urge with my death, would he have gone after my sister?
But that’s not what happened. This was real, this was now.
It was not rational.
But there he was.
The police couldn’t find him, but somehow he’d found me.
Had the killer followed me home last night after I’d revisited the alley?
“How’d you get in here?”
My eyes scanned the bedroom for my cane. Was there anything else I could grab and hit him with? My table lamp was bolted into the wall above my bed. The nightstand? No, I couldn’t pick it up quickly enough. The stool was in front of my desk to the side of my intruder. I couldn’t reach it in time.
My scream of outrage didn’t faze him at all. He laughed, seemingly entertained by what seemed to me a perfectly reasonable question. “Heard you were looking for me.” His voice was raspy yet melodious, like honey flowing through the low tones of a pipe organ. “Thought I’d make it easy on you.”
“I want you to leave.” I tried to sound commanding but my voice nearly squeaked like a mouse with its tail caught in a trap. My chest rose up and down rapidly as I began to hyperventilate.
This could not be happening!
Like the sinuous rhythm of a serpent, he glided toward me. I’ve never seen such pasty skin or a man so cadaverously thin: His face was skeletal. The bright patchwork hair had dulled and tufts of it were hanging loose, about to fall out. His baggy jeans threatened to drop from his waist and his collarbones poked through the opening of his checked shirt. He’d added a black cape to his repertoire of haberdashery—it hung from his thin shoulders like the burial shroud on a corpse.
I leaned backward over the bed to get away from him. My right hand bumped against something. My cell phone! I’d tossed there after speaking to Justin that morning. For once being absentminded worked in my favor!
“You’re not looking too good,” I said, my thumb searching for the lip of the phone’s cover. “Too thin. You should try eating more Italian.”
“Great idea.” The Vampire Killer grinned, revealing long, sharp canines. “I was speculating about your heritage: Italian mixed, perhaps, with Dutch and a bit of English.”
This guy really thinks he’s a vampire. He must be crazed from taking crystal meth. Why else would he be so skeletal?
This time I was not on the very public and open streets of Seattle. I was trapped in my room with a lunatic.
But this was not so
me guy’s room in the dormitory of years ago. This was my home. I would find a way to defend myself.
I slipped my thumbnail beneath the lid of my cell phone and flipped it open. “It’s a little early for dinner, don’t you think?” My voice quavered, betraying my fear.
The puker laughed, an unpleasant, bitter sound. He wiped at a spot of dark blood dripping from his nose, smearing it across his left cheek and the back of his hand. He glanced at his bloody hand then burst into laughter once again.
Call me dense but I just wasn’t getting the joke.
What was Alex’s speed dial number? I knew it. Yet it wouldn’t come to mind. I had to keep the creep’s focus away from my right arm.
Think, Kim! Remain calm. You know the number!
I waved my left hand at him. “What’s so funny? Perhaps you’d like to clue me in?”
“You’re quite pretty. I’m partial to dark hair.” Despite my revulsion to his ghastly appearance, an invisible rope pulled my soul toward him.
“Oh, please, God,” I prayed.
Five! Alex is number five! I fumbled blindly at the keypad and hopefully pushed the correct digit.
“Nice cape,” I quipped, at a loss how to keep him preoccupied while I waited for the line to connect. “Didn’t see you wearing it the last time. Something new you picked up at Value Village?” As usual, I got snarky when I was nervous and didn’t know what else to say.
He opened his mouth to respond then began choking. He pulled a ragged and dirty handkerchief out of his back pocket and spit into it.
“Would you like a glass of water to help you with your cough?” I asked, stiffening slightly as I heard Alex’s phone ring. I hoped Dracula’s spawn couldn’t hear the faint buzzing.
“Shut up. You’re not funny.” He wiped dark sputum from his lips, examined the rag, then shoved it back into his pocket. He opened his mouth to speak then was convulsed by a series of coughs that caused him to briefly double over.
This was my chance. I jumped up then recalled the phone. If I wasn’t able to subdue him, I’d lose the phone and my one chance to get help.
Shadows in the Mist: A Paranormal Anthology Page 19
