Transience

by Stevan Mena

  Rebecca clutched the side of her face, but fear overshadowed the pain. The man from her nightmares was standing over her, his breath real, as was the back of his hand.

  Michael kicked open the side door and went outside. Rebecca felt a huge wave of relief — the evil was gone. But in the time it took her to slowly roll onto her side and wipe her eyes, he was back. Kicking the screen door open again, nearly taking it off its hinges, he stomped into the kitchen carrying a duffel bag.

  "Do you love your mother?" he asked. Rebecca squirmed. He grabbed her by the hair viciously. "Sweet girl, why do you look so confused? You seemed so certain just a few moments ago."

  Rebecca blinked, she felt her insides knotting up in fear. "Okay, I'll ask again, do you love your mother?" Rebecca shook. He tugged at her hair like reigns on a horse, but spoke calmly. "Answer me."

  "Yes."

  "Of course you do. Now, tell me, and don't lie, because if you do you won't like the bad things I do to Mommy. Understand?"

  She nodded hard and fast.

  "Good." He opened his fist, releasing his grip on her hair. It fell back onto her head and spread across her face. He gently brushed it from her eyes and lifted her chin. Tiny tears rolled down onto his fingertips.

  "Tell me, who else lives here?" Rebecca's eyes darted back and forth.

  "Just us."

  "Who's us?"

  "My mother and me."

  Michael leaned in close to her face. "What did I tell you about lying to me?" The calmness in his voice stood her hair on end with terror. "We're both artists. We both pay very close attention to detail, don't we? When I arrived, I noticed a photo — of you, Mommy, and I'm guessing… Daddy? Where is Daddy?"

  "I…I don't know," Rebecca cried, closing her eyes, awaiting the worst.

  "You don't know?"

  "He left, moved away. I don't know where he went. We don't know, I swear."

  Michael released her chin, letting her head droop. Her body shivered like she was naked in snow. He sat back and stared at her with pity.

  "Jeez, I think that's the saddest thing I've ever heard. I believe you, darling." Rebecca exhaled, she had been holding her breath the entire conversation. "Now, I'm going to make sure Mommy doesn't do anything stupid."

  He reached for her again. She turned her face inward, tucking it into her shoulder like a bird cleaning its feathers. "The only danger would be if you tried to run while I'm making sure Mommy is secure. Do I have your word? Because it sounds like Daddy was a real jerk — he'd have to be to leave two beautiful ladies like you behind. And I don't want to have to do anything that would leave you all alone to fend for yourself in this cruel world."

  He waited. Rebecca didn't look, but she nodded into her shoulder, whimpering.

  "Good girl."

  CHAPTER 68

  Several EMT's wheeled Angelina on a stretcher to the back of a waiting ambulance. The elderly woman stood in the doorway on her walker, looking confused as all hell. An officer spoke with her, making about as much progress as Jack had earlier. The EMT's carefully collapsed Angelina's stretcher and guided it in. One man sat beside her, holding up an IV.

  Jack was on his cell phone, listening to the dial tone for the fifth time. "Shit. Pick up Laura…" Jack hung up and looked into the back of the ambulance.

  "Is she going to be alright?"

  "She's dehydrated, her pulse is weak but her vitals are stable. She's gonna be fine, we'll take care of her."

  Jack saluted the man and rushed to his car, still running. He threw it into gear and sped off, racing back to the main road, taking the turns way too fast.

  He slalomed around other cars as if they were standing still. His car drifted up onto the shoulder doing 90mph, his tires churning mud and rocks into the air.

  Maybe Laura took Rebecca out somewhere. Maybe the meeting was cancelled. An overwhelming feeling of dread washed over him.

  His cell phone rang. Please, please…

  "Laura?"

  "Jack, it's Jennifer. I just got off the phone with Northville Psychiatric Hospital. They're claiming Bishop was a patient there from June to October of 2009."

  "Yes, I know-"

  "Well, according to the report you brought back from Ann Arbor, Lisa Delgado was murdered in August 2009. So there's no way Bishop could have committed that crime."

  "I know he couldn't."

  "How?"

  "Because I found her."

  "Who?"

  "Angelina. She's alive."

  "Oh my God. How did you-"

  "No time to explain- tell Harrington to call off the search."

  Jack checked oncoming traffic, accelerated around a large truck in his way, then swerved back into the lane.

  "I don't get it, why would Bishop lie?"

  "Linking himself to a pattern of homicides makes it easier for him to plead insanity."

  "Where are you?"

  "I know who he is, his name is Michael Ketcher, he's a professor at Monroe College for the Arts. Carmen was his student! That's why he was so careful to bury the body. It was too close to home."

  "Jesus."

  "Send whoever's available to 31 Cedar Road. I'm on my way there now."

  "Okay, but-"

  "Just get everyone there as fast as you can. And call Carl, he's at the arraignment. Tell him the good news; they're bringing her in right now. Tell him… she's gonna be okay."

  "Be careful, Jack. Wait for backup."

  Jack hung up and pushed the accelerator to the floor. He dialed Laura's number again.

  "Please, Laura, pick up…"

  CHAPTER 69

  Michael reached across the countertop and grabbed the ringing phone, ripping the cord from the wall. He smashed the receiver on the ground and kicked it across the floor.

  It had taken him less than a minute to bind and gag Laura where she lay. He used the same framing wire he'd taken from the art classroom. It hurt, and it didn't give. Laura's eyes remained closed, her breathing was short and slow.

  Rebecca hadn't moved the entire time, she sat wedged in the corner, her hands over her ears. She hoped this was just another nightmare, that any minute she'd wake up in her bedroom. The dream started off wonderful, especially the bike. But now she wanted it to end, this was the worst one ever.

  He stared down at Laura, satisfied with the job he'd done. She rolled onto her back, her eyes flickered.

  Laura moaned through her gag, then suddenly — as if the blow to the head had merely hit the pause button — she came to with a jolt, picking up right where she'd left off. Her head lurched forward and snapped back. She quickly realized she was immobile; she screamed through her gag with an awful, muffled cry that vibrated the walls. Rebecca covered her face and wept.

  Laura saw Rebecca coiled up in the corner and her eyes went wide. She lost all sense of self and started rolling back and forth, squealing, desperate. She pulled with all her strength, but Michael had wrapped her bindings too tight to even wriggle. She could feel blood running down her hair and into her ear. She fought, like a weightlifter who had reached fatigue, trying to summon that last ounce of strength for one more rep. She lurched and spasmed several times, much to Michael's amusement.

  "Go ahead, I could teach a class on that. You're not going anywhere."

  Laura stopped, exhausted. She struggled to get air through her clogged nose, her nostrils puffed in and out like gills on a fish. Blood started to seep into her eyes, it stung.

  Michael heard a voice coming from the den. He entered the room, the TV was still on, a reporter at Bishop's arraignment was speaking:

  "With the apprehension of Edward Bishop, the public can finally exhale, knowing a killer who has had this community on edge is no longer roaming the streets."

  Michael watched with a smug expression.

  CHAPTER 70

  Carl sat at the back of the courtroom as Bishop stood before the judge. The room was wall to wall with onlookers, many of them recognized Carl from interviews he'd done on TV. And as the charg
es were read aloud to the judge, everyone turned to gawk at Carl's reaction.

  "Of the rape and murder of Teresa Mason, how do you plead?"

  Bishop's lawyer held up his hand to keep his client from answering, but there wasn't much chance Bishop would break his silence. His lawyer's theatrics were all for the cameras, he'd hit the 15 minute celebrity jackpot and would be checking his reflection for hairs out of place for the next two years.

  "My client pleads not guilty by reason of insanity."

  "And of the charge of rape and murder of Angelina Rosa, how do you plead?"

  "My client pleads not guilty by reason of insanity, your honor."

  The judge continued to read down the laundry list of charges against Bishop. Carl was a burning cauldron of seething rage, his lips started to quiver as raw hate boiled to the surface.

  But outside, a situation was brewing. There was a murmur building, growing stronger and louder by the second. As if perhaps someone important had arrived, a celebrity maybe? Curiosity built to a fever pitch, until everyone was standing to get a better look at what was going on.

  It got so out of control that the judge had to bang his gavel. "Bailiff? What's going on out there?"

  One of the large courtroom doors slowly opened, reporters and bystanders nearly fell over each other following an officer, who signaled for someone inside the courtroom to get Carl's attention.

  Carl slowly stood, as people pressed him to move forward. Others got out of his way so he could exit the row of seats to follow the officer who had an odd grin on his face. The whole slew of onlookers that had filtered in bristled like they had a secret they were bursting to tell. People flooded in behind Carl with anticipation.

  Carl was led into the main hallway as the curious crowded around. Cameras and microphones fought to get close.

  "Please, what is going on?" Carl asked, his legs growing unsteady.

  "There's a call for you, Mr. Rosa," the officer said, handing him a cell phone. Carl slowly brought it up to his ear.

  "Hello?"

  "Mr. Rosa, this is Officer Jennifer Brown, I'm calling to inform you that your daughter, Angelina, was found alive. She's being rushed to Liberty Medical Center as we speak."

  Carl felt his heart stop and start.

  "Is this some kind of joke?"

  "No sir, Detective Jack Ridge asked me to call you personally and relay the news. I'm sending a car that will escort you to the hospital."

  Carl's head grew heavy, he collapsed to his knees. It was the same reaction he'd had when he'd been told his daughter was dead. This time it was joy, not pain, that overwhelmed him. He shook with rapture and elation.

  "Oh my God, Oh thank God…"

  The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. The entire courtroom was now in chaos, everyone wanted to get close to Carl to congratulate him, share in his happiness.

  Carl clasped his hands in thankful prayer. "Thank you, Jack… Bless you."

  CHAPTER 71

  Jack's car screamed into Laura's front yard. He opened the door and nearly fell out, scrambling towards the house, his adrenaline pumping furiously.

  He spotted Ketcher's tan car parked in the street, it matched the description given. Jack drew his gun and checked the chamber, creeping up to a window. He peered inside to the den, the room empty. He stayed low and made his way to the side door.

  He crouched with his back against the wall, clutching his gun with both hands prayer-like, panting for breath. The screen door had been knocked from its hinges, just hanging by a thread. He placed his hand on the peeling paint of the old wooden inside door. Pressing gently, it opened with a creak. He entered, gun ready.

  He checked behind the door and moved through the living room, past Rebecca's artwork still laid out on the table. He stepped over the broken bowl of melted ice cream and entered the kitchen. It was tossed — broken glass, chairs and table upended. There was blood on the floor, the phone ripped from the wall, smashed into pieces.

  His expression grew desperate, intense. He glanced at a picture of Laura and Rebecca up on the refrigerator, afraid his victory would be counterbalanced by failure and misery. Once again, his job had taken precedence over protecting those he loved.

  Yes, he loved them. And for a moment he regretted ever taking that file from Leonard, involving Laura and Rebecca in his investigation. He'd led the killer right to their door.

  Angelina was saved, thanks to Rebecca. There was zero doubt about that now. But at what price? What sacrifice? Jack felt the oppressive force of evil working its malevolence on his small section of the universe. What horror lied in wait? Please, not them, please don't save one and sacrifice the other.

  The thoughts caused Jack to stagger, he had to brace himself along the wall. He made a fist and threw a shadow punch at it in slow motion, wanting so much to hit it hard — holding back, grinding his teeth in bitterness. He made a promise to himself, right then and there, that before he shuffled off this confusing mortal coil, he'd spend the remainder of his days making peace with Robert. He would leave the past behind, empty himself of all the anger and pain, like a wounded airplane dumps fuel when it knows it's going down.

  He inhaled after a long silence, his lungs wheezed. Then he heard a soft moan, a woman's voice. His entire being perked up. Laura? He stepped silently around the corner, the kitchen emptied into a laundry area.

  He found Laura on her side, her limbs still bound tightly. Jack knelt down and peeled the blood soaked hair from her eyes, making sure she saw him, his look warning her to stay quiet and remain calm.

  Her eyes opened wide upon recognizing him. He made a shush gesture with his finger, waiting until she nodded in understanding. She did, and he removed the gag.

  "Where?" Jack whispered.

  "Upstairs."

  Jack nodded. He felt around the wire bindings that held her wrists together. He found the notch that looped around but couldn't get it to twist loose. He motioned to Laura that he was going to lean her forward. She complied, and he went to work, prying her bindings apart with the adrenaline of three men, nearly cutting through his own fingers in the process.

  Laura wriggled and pulled her hands free.

  "Can you move?"

  Laura said nothing — she shot to her feet, pushing past him, pure maternal instinct. Jack chased her down and gripped her mid torso just as she reached the bottom of the staircase. He held her firmly in place. He looked into her eyes again, focusing her.

  "Let me."

  "He's going to kill her-"

  "I won't let that happen. Is he armed?"

  "My kitchen knife." Laura's eyes crossed, the pain in her head making her woozy. Jack touched her cheek.

  "Okay, I need you to stay here. Police are on their way right now, just get safe, let me handle this."

  Laura again tried to claw her way past him, but he held her back. "Laura, please. Do as I say."

  Laura stopped fighting him. Jack held her a second longer. You're alive! He wanted to kiss her right there. Never again would he bottle up every emotion. He was going to let it all out from now on, consequences be damned. He was going to live.

  Just before he could kiss her, she kissed him, right on the lips, no pretense. It was quick, it was emotional, and it empowered him with courage and strength. He felt invincible. He didn't have to say the words. She knew.

  Jack headed up the staircase, gun barrel pointed up in the air. He didn't want to be startled and shoot out of reflex and risk hitting Rebecca.

  He reached the top and craned his neck to peer around the corner, checking the upstairs hallway. Empty.

  His adrenaline-fueled, nervous mind observed every detail of the hallway. The red thick-threaded carpet, the light fixture in the ceiling, the alignment of the three doors, the window at the end, the rain outside still hammering away relentlessly, the musty aroma of old wood, the pronounced smell of Rebecca's paint supplies — every one of his senses on high alert. He took a few steps before he heard the sweetest sound in the world. />
  Rebecca's whimpering. She's alive.

  He maneuvered himself next to Rebecca's door, which was open just a sliver. He was able to peer inside, but couldn't determine their whereabouts. He listened, careful to silence his own breathing. Michael was speaking, but Jack couldn't make out what he was saying. He prepared himself, took a breath, and opened the door.

  Michael sat on the bed, Rebecca on his lap, as if reading her a bedtime story. Jack looked closely and spotted the blade just below Rebecca's chin, resting on her pulsing artery. One false move and he could slit her throat faster than Jack could even pull the trigger.

  Rebecca seemed dazed, she looked up at Jack as if paralyzed, her face red. He noticed smears of blood on her cheek and around her mouth, which seemed swollen. He'd struck her!

  Michael's eyes found Jack in the doorway. He grinned. Jack took him in head to toe. He was a good looking man. Of course he is. How easily he could have lured these young girls to their doom unwittingly. Only by slicing open his handsome head and examining his brain could you have spotted the defects in workmanship. A perfect front.

  "You're right," Michael said, "there he is. How did you know he'd come? You're just full of surprises."

  "Let her go," Jack's voice was calm, controlled. Michael responded by tightening the blade under her chin threateningly.

  "I don't like guns." Michael pressed the blade even more, drawing a small amount of blood. He pumped his eyebrows, impatiently eyeing Jack's gun. "Now."

  "Don't be afraid, Rebecca," Jack said with certainty. He complied and tossed his gun across the floor. Rebecca stared back, immobile, helpless.