Killer Career

by Mandel, Morgan

  “Go ahead. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll put some steaks on.”

  Julie started to get up. “I can help.”

  Dade placed his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t insult me. I’m not a helpless male. Relax, I insist.”

  His hand felt gentle, yet firm. Smiling, with no further urging, she sank back onto the couch. After several vain attempts to keep her eyelids open, she lost the battle. The music was way too soothing and the couch way too comfortable. She’d rest a little bit until the food was ready. Contentedly she snuggled into a ball and drifted off.

  Before long, a gentle hand tugged her shoulder. Julie scrunched away from it.

  “Sorry,” a voice sounding like Dade’s said. “Sleeping is not an option. You’ve got to get up and eat.”

  She slit her eyes open a crack. Dade was leaning over her, with his face almost on top of hers. His eyes flashed a brilliant blue and sparked with something she’d never seen in them before: unveiled love. Her body recognized it and responded joyously. This had to be a dream.

  Wonderful things happened in dreams. She reached over to draw Dade closer. She felt the play of his lean muscles under his rolled up shirt. His tangy aftershave tickled her nostrils. He was the man she’d been looking for, though he’d been there all along. She hadn’t realized it until now.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Without hesitation, she pressed her lips into his. Like the rest of him, they felt firm, yet yielding, just right. Butterflies fluttered inside of her stomach. Anxious for more, she pressed harder against him and deepened the kiss. The world spun.

  He groaned and pulled away. “Julie, you’ve got to wake up. It’s time to eat.”

  His voice sounded strained.

  Julie frowned. What kind of crummy dream was this? Shouldn’t Dade be holding onto her and begging for more, not telling her to get up?

  Awareness dawned. Julie’s eyes flashed open. This was no dream. She actually lay on the suede couch in Dade’s condo with her skirt hitched up on the side. He was bending over her with a strange expression on his face.

  What had she done? The heat rose to her face as she maneuvered to a sitting position. She groped quickly to straighten her skirt.

  To break the ice, she said, “I just had this crazy dream. Tell me I didn’t say or do anything stupid.”

  He avoided her eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

  She knew he was lying. The Dade she knew was never afraid to look anyone in the eye.

  That meant she had kissed him and also held onto him for dear life. Oh, God, what did he think of her?

  “The food’s getting cold,” Dade said gently.

  That was her Dade, always considerate, being nice and pretending nothing had happened. She’d follow his lead. She’d march herself into the kitchen and do justice to the meal he’d so thoughtfully prepared.

  Wobbling, she tried to stand up. Dade quickly caught her around the waist.

  “Whoa, take it easy. Are you okay?”

  Not really. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe and couldn’t move. She could only stand still, looking up at him, knowing she wanted him more than anything in her life.

  The expression she’d seen moments before flickered across his eyes and disappeared. “I almost lost you tonight,” he said, pulling her close to his chest.

  Her heart tripped. Her blood flashed hot and cold. She was in Dade’s arms. At the thought, a fit of trembling seized her.

  He pulled away. “I need to get my head examined. Why do I keep reminding you of what happened? You’ve got to eat. I’ll pull the steaks from the broiler.”

  Stunned, she watched Dade rush into the kitchen. She ached for him to return and gather her in his arms again. Instead, she stood in the middle of the living room, feeling alone and empty. And wondering.

  What exactly did Dade feel for her?

  * * *

  Dade glanced at Julie seated across from him at the table. She seemed to have recovered, no thanks to him and his big mouth.

  “The steak is delicious. I have to agree with you, Dade, you are not helpless in the kitchen. When you do get married, you’ll make some woman very happy.”

  Was that a hint, or the remark of a good friend?

  Their eyes met and held. What he saw in hers took his breath away.

  “I’m not looking for a wife,” Dade said. “I’ve…”

  The phone rang, cutting him off. Damn, just when he’d gotten the nerve to spill his guts. Caller ID showed his sister’s number. He’d better answer.

  “Dade, I just heard. Are you two all right?”

  “Yes, Avery.” He sighed. “Everything’s under control. As a matter of fact I’ve got Julie with me right now. Not a scratch on either of us. How did you know?”

  “From the scanner. I always hook it up to my tape player, so I can find out what’s going on when I’m not around. I got back from covering my story and rewound the tape. First, I heard about some sicko blinding a prostitute, then, out of the blue, yours and Julie’s names popped up. Something about a gunman. It scared the hell out of me.”

  “We’re fine, but it serves you right. Now you’ve got a sample.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of what the rest of us go through when we hear about your crazy assignments.”

  “Stop acting like a father, Dade. I’m a grown woman, remember? I can take care of myself. Can you put Julie on?”

  He bit his lip and passed the phone to Julie. “Talk to my sister. Tell her we’re all right.”

  Julie reassured Avery, then said, “Sure, I’ll be there.”

  She turned to Dade. “Avery and Garrett are doing Thanksgiving this year. I told her two o’clock is good. Is that all right with you?”

  “Sure. Tell her no problem. Let’s hope Garrett’s cooking.”

  After acceptance of the invitation was relayed, Julie and Avery proceeded to catch up on each other’s lives. In resignation, Dade cleared the table and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

  His perfect opportunity to let Julie in on his true feelings had passed. Nothing more would happen tonight. His revelation would have to wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Idly sipping his coffee at the kitchen table, Tyler glanced at the newspaper. An article caught his eye, making him frown. For some reason the story about a luckless prostitute seemed familiar, as if the reporter had copied it line-for-line from Tyler’s manuscript.

  It was his joy and curse to immerse himself in his work. He could remember each detail of what he’d written the night before as if he’d been there.

  He still smelled the damp urine-soaked hallway. He felt the woman’s coarse blonde hair brush against his fingertips. He could describe in intricate detail the sensation of eyeballs parting from their sockets, as his fingers bore into the woman’s eyes.

  A frisson of fear shot through him. He knew too much. This sort of thing had happened before, but never as bad. This time, had he done more than write? Impossible. He couldn’t have. There might be similarities, but the stories weren’t identical. Or, were they?

  He groped for the back of his black leather chair and pushed it away from the glass table.

  Don’t be ridiculous. I’m blessed with a tremendous imagination. This incident is a bizarre coincidence, nothing more. Grasping the paper, he slowly rose and made his way down the hallway to his office.

  He’d prove it. He’d check every last detail of his manuscript against that of the newspaper account.

  Don’t do it, a tiny voice inside of him warned. Coincidence can only stretch so far. You might not like what you find.

  He had to know. He fired up the computer and drummed his fingers as he waited. The machine buzzed and hummed, going through its interminable gyrations.

  Finally, it was ready. He clicked on the word processing program and brought up the manuscript.

  Don’t look, the voice warned.

  He wasn’t a coward. If he were, he wouldn’t be at the height of his professio
n right now. He’d prove nothing was wrong and that would be that.

  His reassurances did nothing to slow the staccato beat of his heart, as with a deep breath he glanced at the computer screen. He glanced down at the newspaper account. The contents of the first two paragraphs were strikingly similar.

  A fine sweat broke over his brow. There had to be an explanation. Okay, the woman’s clothing was a given. Plunging necklines and short tight skirts were typical gear for prostitutes, not unusual at all.

  The woman’s physical description also gelled, as did the hallway, the building, the neighborhood. That made sense. Lots of tramps looked like her and also frequented seedy areas.

  The Chicago Police Department held as evidence a silver necklace containing broken links plus an angel charm which were found on the vestibule floor. What?

  An icy chill raced up and down Tyler’s spine, headed straight to the nerve endings in his skull. His head pounded. Bile rose from his esophagus to his mouth.

  The angel charm. He could see it in his mind’s eye. He’d described it in elaborate detail in the manuscript. If he’d not been there, how could he have known it existed?

  He must have done it. No, he couldn’t have. Maybe he’d been a witness. Nonsense. He’d never step foot in that kind of neighborhood in the first place. If for some bizarre reason he had, he’d certainly remember doing so. None of it made sense. How could he have been there when he’d been here all night writing?

  Then again, the Inner City wasn’t far from his own posh neighborhood. He could have easily made it there and back and still completed the chapter. It was physically possible.

  But unlikely in the extreme.

  Groping with the dilemma, Tyler stared at the screen with eyes no longer registering its contents. His mind whirled, trying to make sense of the inexplicable.

  Why would he, a man with his choice of desirable women, choose to associate with a lowly prostitute? Further, why would he attack and blind her?

  A vital piece of the puzzle eluded him. The missing link piecing everything together could mean life or death to him.

  The peal of the telephone jolted him from his reverie. He’d ignore it. It was probably his editor. Right now, he had more important matters to contend with than dealing with the man. The answering machine switched on. Sure enough, it was the editor asking how the book was coming along. Tyler had always known he had “telephone ESP” and could predict the identity of his callers.

  Wait a minute. That was it! The solution leapt out at him, as if encased in thick bold letters over the computer screen. He’d heard of such people, but had never believed in them. That was before.

  Now he did because he was one of them. He had ESP. Somehow, he’d delved into a criminal psyche and tapped into its evil source. His brain, acting as a radio transmitter, had honed onto the criminal’s wavelength. This may have happened in his other books, but he’d put it down to imagination.

  His ESP had allowed him to witness this recent crime. He’d been there in his mind, but not his body. He’d listened to the prostitute’s pleas, he’d tasted her lips, he’d thrust himself into her warm recesses and vicariously experienced everything.

  A feeling of superiority washed over him, making him smile. He wasn’t a criminal. No, he was much better than that. He was one of the chosen few. With the realization came a sigh of relief. For a few moments, he’d doubted himself. He should have known better.

  Now that his mind was cleared, he could work on his latest.

  Soon he was lost in the story.

  * * *

  The creak of the floorboard awakened him. She was back. She was coming for him. His heart pounded so loudly he wondered if she could hear it.

  With his eyelids barely open, he watched her creep across the bedroom floor and draw closer. In the glow of the nightlight, her blonde hair shone like an angel’s. How deceptive. She smiled a secret smile, one that he’d come to dread. Not again.

  It had started seven years before when his father had died. Then he’d been helpless and couldn’t stop her. Now he was older and stronger.

  Maybe if he kept still and pretended to be asleep, she’d leave. If she stayed, this time he’d do something drastic.

  As she bent over him, her warm tobacco breath blew across his cheek, turning his stomach. He lay absolutely still, holding his breath and counting to thirty. He couldn’t hold it any longer. The room spun. Still she stayed. She wasn’t leaving. She never did.

  His breath escaped in a long hiss.

  “Ah, my sweet baby, you’re awake. You want your mama, don’t you?” she said, cupping his face in her hands.

  He shifted away. “Leave me alone.”

  “Naughty boy. Don’t you dare turn away from me. I gave you life. You should be grateful.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “Oh yes, you do.” She plunged her hand beneath the covers and groped for him.

  He wiggled away. He would not let it happen again. He hated the helpless feeling that washed over him when she stroked him and he ended up dirtying the bed. Other mothers didn’t do that to their kids. It was filthy and wrong.

  “Get out of here.” He pushed her hand away.

  He swung out of the bed and stood up. He was level to her five foot three inches, weighed almost as much as she, and was stronger. In preparation, every chance he could get, he’d lifted heavy stuff and punched at the mattress. He could beat her up easy.

  He glared at her. “If you touch me again, I’ll kill you.”

  Surprise, then anger flared in her eyes. “How dare you speak to your mother like that, you little bastard.” She slapped his face hard.

  His cheek stung. Tears sprang to his eyes. She was the devil’s witch, evil incarnate. He grabbed her hand. “I’m not little any more. And don’t pretend you’re so great. You don’t act like a mother. You’re just a whore and murderess. I know what you did to my father. I hate you.”

  “You little bastard.”

  “You’re a witch-bitch,” he yelled, his pent-up rage exploding. “I loved my father. You didn’t have to, but you killed him and I was stuck with you. I’ll make you pay for everything you did.”

  The time had come. Before she could react, he’d yanked her hand behind her back.

  “Ouch, you’re hurting me, you brat. Stop that.”

  He’d show no mercy. She hadn’t given any to Dad. As a payback, she’d die in the same place she’d killed him. No one would suspect. Everyone would think she’d killed herself out of grief.

  * * *

  “Wow, that was intense,” Tyler said, sighing with satisfaction.

  The chapter he’d finished almost marked the completion of his manuscript about the abused boy who’d killed his mother to get even. It was a departure from his usual norm, but when inspiration struck, he never questioned it. The public lapped up such crap. He predicted another blockbuster for sure.

  Had the words welled up out of his creative genius or had he again tapped into an evildoer’s mind? It didn’t matter. The results were the same and obviously, no one could take credit without confessing to the crime. Through default, the experience was his. He was the gifted one. No other writer could emulate him.

  Basking in anticipated glory, Tyler strolled into the living room. He sank into the folds of the black leather couch, flicked on the evening news, and flung off his shoes. He’d earned a rest.

  The lead story splashed across the screen, evaporating his well being. He turned up the volume and leaned forward. The damn tramp who had lost her eyesight was getting extensive coverage on every channel. There she was, with a white bandage over her eyes, describing every horrific detail of the atrocities she’d suffered. A doctor from Stroger Hospital also appeared and regretfully confirmed the slut would remain blind the rest of her life.

  “It serves you right,” he yelled at the incognizant screen.

  How could anyone drum up pity for a scum-bitch who offered her services to the highest bidder? She should have k
nown what she was getting into.

  That would never have happened to a decent woman. Not someone like Julie McGuire.

  Ah, Julie. Wispy golden hair, plump lips begging to be kissed, legs that could wrap around him tight, emerald eyes that saw more than he wished she did. Yes, she was a discerning woman who knew her own worth. Unfortunately, too much so. She’d noticed his imperfections. She’d understood he was missing something. She didn’t want him. He hated and loved her for it.

  If only he could be the man she wanted. His book characters, whom he could manipulate, were more real to him than actual people. With them, he could think and do what he wished. Not so with real people who had their own minds and emotions.

  Sometimes he felt more like an alien than a human. He was clever enough to get by in the real world, but no miracle worker. He’d never fit in, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t feel like others did, but could only guess at their thoughts and emotions.

  Aiming the remote, he flicked off the set. The quietness closed in on him, making him feel more lonely than he’d felt in his life. He’d had one hope, but she had denied him.

  There had to be a way to get to her. Skimming his hand over the supple texture of the leather couch, he rose and headed toward the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

  A flick of the switch and the room plunged into darkness. Above him, the stars twinkled in the blue velvet sky. Below, to one side, the turbulent waters of Lake Michigan crashed. On the other side, streetlights and neon signs beckoned. Tyler stood alone in the middle, not belonging anywhere.

  A hunger like he’d never known washed over him. He owned the riches of the world, yet possessed nothing. Who could he share his triumphs with? Who would care what happened to him?

  It had almost been different, but in a few careless hours, he’d blown it. He should have known better. He should have pretended to care the way she did. The reward would have been worth it.