Lunatic's Game

by Margaret Lashley

  “Damn!” I hissed, and fumbled with the lighter. It faltered.

  I tried again and the lighter shot out a flame. I pressed my nose against the windowpane, trying to see if Earl had seen my signal. My breath fogged up the glass. When I wiped it with my sleeve, the figure was gone.

  So was Mothwoman.

  Suddenly, a loud ruckus arose from the RV. It began to rock to and fro like it was in a hurricane. I opened the window and stuck my head out for a better view. That’s when I saw Earl run into the RV toting a baseball bat.

  The door slammed closed. An electric buzz stung the frosty air. Suddenly, all the lights in the house and parking lot went out, plunging everything into pitch black.

  My heart lurched. I stood still as a stone, waiting, grinding my teeth in the inky night.

  What in the hell is going on in there?

  After what seemed like an hour, one lone flashlight emerged from the RV. Whoever held it pointed it up to my darkened bedroom window. The glare blinded me instantly.

  “Argh!”

  I fumbled backward as footsteps crunched across the parking lot toward my open window. I strained to see beyond the stars dancing in my eyes, but couldn’t.

  “Who is it?” I cried out, hoping Mothman wasn’t about to crawl through my window again. I was about to need another change of underwear when a second flashlight appeared. Then a third.

  Earl’s voice rang out from the glare.

  “Woohoo! Bobbie! We got us a Mothman!”

  Chapter Forty-Four: Thursday

  “SO, WHO’S IN THE TRAP?” I asked. The three men were still huffing and puffing, leaning against the wall of the garage, totally spent.

  “Eugene ... Hollister,” Agent Hicks said between gasping lungsful of air.

  Earl grabbed his side and wheezed, “Boy, I could use me a beer.”

  Grayson looked over at me. “How about you, Drex?”

  “Me? I could use a new life.”

  AFTER EVERYONE CAUGHT their breath, the four of us crammed back into Grayson’s RV.

  “I don’t get it,” I said as Agent Hicks squeezed into the banquette across from me. “Why would Hollister be after us?”

  “You saw him out at Lake Alto. He shot a federal agent out there. My partner.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “I can’t say for sure. I waited until the ambulance arrived. He was hit pretty bad, but still alive when I left. You can bet Hollister was trying to eliminate you all as witnesses.”

  I chewed my lip. “But it wasn’t Hollister I saw at the cabin. It was the guy impersonating Paulson.”

  Hicks looked me in the eye. “You absolutely sure about that?”

  “It was dark, Drex,” Grayson said. “We only saw him for a second. The two men do look a lot alike. It could’ve been Hollister who ambushed us in the cabin, then chased us back here with Vanderhoff’s stolen car.”

  I couldn’t argue with Grayson. I could’ve sworn I’d seen Grandma Selma out at that cabin, too. What kind of reliable witness did I make? With that stupid gonad stuck in my brain, I couldn’t trust that anything I saw was real. I could’ve gotten Hollister and the other guy mixed up.

  I blew out a breath. “I guess you’re right, Grayson. But even if Hollister was the shooter, this other guy pretending to be Paulson ... he has to be tangled up with Hollister somehow. Why else would they have both known about that cabin at Alto Lake?”

  Earl whistled and shook his head. “Is that coffee ready yet? All this figurin’ is starting to give me a headache.”

  Grayson leaned over and checked the pot of coffee perking on his propane stove. It was our only option for an early-morning cup of Joe. The Stop & Shoppe didn’t open until eight thirty, and I didn’t have any electricity. I’d checked the electric meter. Hollister hadn’t cut off my power. The electric company had. They weren’t likely to turn it on any time soon, either. I owed them more than my entire net worth.

  “You may be right, Ms. Drex,” Agent Hicks said. “The two men might be working together. But right now, your mystery man’s not on our radar. In fact, we don’t have any data on him whatsoever. As far as we’re concerned, he doesn’t exist. But you come up with picture or a name for him, and I’ll be the first to help you out.”

  Grayson poured the coffee while we waited on the good folks of Alachua County Sheriff’s Department to provide luxury armed transportation for Eugene Hollister back to whatever dark holding cell they had waiting for him. From the sounds emanating from the bedroom of the RV, Hollister was none too happy about it, either.

  “What about Mandy and Mildred Vanderhoff?” I asked Agent Hicks. “Who’ll be working on their cases?”

  “The Sheriff’s Department, I suspect. But right now, they’re both missing persons. I hate to say it, but thousands of people go missing every day, Ms. Drex. Cases with bodies take precedent.”

  “But Vanderhoff ... she was killed in her house. Her body was there.”

  Hicks took a sip from his mug. “Did you see it?”

  I sighed. “No. I saw blood, but no body.”

  “Neither did anyone else.” Hicks peeked out the small window beside the banquette. “Looks like my ride is here. Thanks for helping me capture Hollister, but we’ll need y’all to clear out of the RV while we get him loaded.”

  We tumbled out of the RV. Earl headed for the bathroom in the service bay. Grayson walked toward the woods that lined the parking lot. I followed him.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet, Grayson.”

  He sighed. “There goes a cool million, easy. Nothing I can do to stop it, either.”

  “Wait. You still think Eugene Hollister was the Mothman?”

  “Not the Mothman. A Mothman. I think there’s more than one out there, Drex.”

  “Why?”

  “The guy we knew as Paulson. Where is he? Who is he? I agree with you. He and Hollister were working together.”

  “Right. But why?”

  “Lots of species join forces for survival. Safety in numbers, you know. But they especially gather together during mating season. Consider this, Drex. What if our Paulson impersonator had chosen Mandy Vanderhoff as his mate, and you were supposed to be Hollister’s?”

  I nearly choked. “What! That’s crazy, even for you, Grayson! And why me and Mandy?” I shot him a look. “And don’t say it’s because they like redheads.”

  Grayson’s lip twisted. “Only half of one percent of all the people on the planet are redheads, Drex. Why would these guys have gone to all the trouble to find you and Mandy unless there was something about you two that set you apart? What if redheads possess certain unique genetic traits that allow Mothmen to produce offspring with them?”

  “Geez! If that were true, why didn’t they take Terry Paulson when they had the chance?”

  Grayson shrugged. “Maybe they tried. She could’ve been killed in the struggle to abduct her. Maybe she was sterile. Or had a hysterectomy. Or maybe there were three Mothmen, not just two.”

  I shook my head in exasperation. “Or maybe there were none. You never give up, do you, Grayson?”

  He smiled thoughtfully. “What would be the fun in that?”

  AFTER GIVING OUR STATEMENTS to the Sheriff’s Department officers on the scene, we were summoned by the deputy in charge of the transport detail.

  “You must be Detective Drex,” he said as I approached his vehicle. He laughed and shook his head. “Hicks said you were a looker.”

  Considering the bald dome I was sporting under Lucky Red, I didn’t know if I’d just been complimented or insulted.

  The man held up two Glocks. “Which one of these belongs to you?”

  “The nineteen, thanks.” I took my gun and stepped back from the window of his vehicle.

  “And this one’s yours, I presume, Detective Grayson. By the way, Chief Engles sends his regards.”

  “Thanks.” Grayson grabbed his Glock and headed toward the garage. I followed, hot on his heels.

  “What’s this business wit
h Chief Engles?” I called out from behind him.

  Grayson turned to face me. “That’s on a need-to-know basis, Drex.”

  My neck muscles tensed. “You know, Grayson, this Paulson imposter we’ve been chasing? He’s not a Mothman. He’s probably just like you—some weirdo chasing down monsters.”

  Grayson’s face was unreadable. “Why would he pretend to be Terry Paulson?”

  I gave him half an eye roll. “Don’t try to tell me you’ve never pretended to be someone you’re not.”

  Grayson smiled softly. “Fair enough. But for the record, I think you’re wrong. I think he’s another Mothman.”

  I grimaced. “But that would mean ....”

  “He’s still out there.”

  I thought of my happy place. Grandma Selma. Then something clicked in my mind.

  Grandma Selma. At the cabin. Was Grayson right? Did Hollister project her image into my mind? If so, he could’ve easily done the same with the image of the man I knew as Paulson. Hollister could’ve been both men.

  I cleared my throat. “Maybe he’s not, Grayson. What if Eugene Hollister is actually a shapeshifter? What if he and the man who pretended to be Paulson are the same guy? Then there’s only one Mothman, and he’s in federal custody.”

  Grayson’s right eyebrow ticked up. “Well, I didn’t see that one coming from you, Drex.” He rubbed his chin. “Huh. I suppose it’s possible. If Hollister can turn into a moth and fly, putting on a different human face should be child’s play.”

  The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and I shivered as we walked together toward the service bay. Earl was busy surveying the RV for damages caused by our stakeout last night, and I was still searching for a normal, pedestrian answer to the bizarre events of the week.

  “Something still bugs me,” I said to Grayson. “Those weird phone calls to Mildred Vanderhoff. What reason would a creature like the Mothman have for following her around and asking her dumb stuff like what year it was?”

  “I think he went there to see if Vanderhoff would recognize him or his voice. You know, to see if he needed to eliminate her as a witness.”

  “Maybe.”

  Grayson poked me in the ribs. “Or the phone calls could’ve been little green men pulling a couple of cosmic fast ones.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Little green men? Gimme a break, Grayson! Why would beings from outer space dress in old-fashioned clothes? Or use outdated landline phones to communicate with us? It doesn’t make any sense!”

  Grayson raised an eyebrow playfully. “Who knows, Drex? Maybe they were using an outdated issue of Travel Guide to the Galaxies. Or maybe their time machine was on the fritz and screwed up the dates. Like you said, the guy did ask what year it was.”

  I shot Grayson a look that made him wince. “He was probably just trying to make Vanderhoff look crazy. Like he tried to do with me.”

  “That’s one theory,” Grayson conceded. “But how about this? Just suppose for a minute that we’re dealing with a couple of juvenile delinquent aliens who stole daddy’s flying saucer, and are out on a joy ride. Why not prank a few humans along the way? You know, like you did to Vanderhoff when you were a kid. Or, think about this. What if these superior beings’ sole purpose was to simply blow our squirrelly little minds and leave us to ponder the exact questions you’re asking right now?”

  I shook my head. “Come on, Grayson. There’s got to be a logical explanation for this. What did that guy say really happened? The one who wrote The Mothman Prophecies?”

  Grayson smiled. “John Keel. He concluded his investigation by citing Socrates. ‘The more I learn, the less I know.’”

  “That’s real helpful,” I said sourly.

  “In the end, Keel decided that the whole Mothman debacle had been some kind of game.”

  “A game?”

  “Yeah. Keel realized that as soon as he figured out some element of the game, the other side changed the rules. You know, you chase a red-eyed, flying creature, they replace it with lights in the sky. You chase the lights, they send strange men door-to-door asking inane questions.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Superior intelligences. Perhaps even the universal mind itself.”

  I shook my head. “That’s crazy.”

  Grayson shrugged. “Perhaps. But as my personal hero, Charles Fort, speculated, ‘If there is a universal mind, must it be sane?’”

  My jaw came unhinged. “Even if all this has been a game, why Point Paradise? Why now?”

  Grayson shrugged. “This kind of thing is nothing new, Drex. Or even that uncommon. Since recorded history, mankind has been plagued by the unexplained. Monsters, magical beings, visitors from the stars.”

  “That’s true,” Earl said, emerging from the RV. “I found a two-headed turtle in Wimbly Swamp last year. Remember, Bobbie?”

  Grayson laughed. “A two-headed turtle here, a Wendigo there. A mermaid in the ocean. A reptilian humanoid in an underground tunnel. What if all of these things were sent here to shake us up? To boggle our minds? Or simply for the amusement of some higher intelligence who gets off on making us squirm?”

  I grimaced. “Geez. That’s a dismal prospect.”

  Grayson grinned. “Or maybe they do it to spark our imaginations. To see what we’re capable of as a species. To keep things interesting for them and us. Either way, I, for one, want to keep on playing.”

  I studied Grayson. “Why? It’s a game for lunatics!”

  “Because one day, I want to win a round. How about you, Drex? Don’t you want to play along?”

  I pressed my molars together and sighed in contemplation.

  Grayson and me versus the quite possibly insane cosmic consciousness.

  I’ve played worse odds.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  THE LIGHTS BLINKED back on in my apartment. Grayson had placed a phone call half an hour ago. That’s all he would tell me.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Grayson asked me.

  I groaned. “God, I certainly hope not.”

  “Tacos, Drex. I think we need one more run to El Molino before I blow this Popsicle stand.”

  I smirked. “Point Paradise isn’t big enough to have a Popsicle stand. But okay. I’ll borrow Bessie from Earl. We need to pick up the parts for your RV anyway. I don’t know how you got them delivered in two hours ... and right now, I don’t want to know.”

  Grayson grinned. “You’re learning.”

  “IT’S TIME TO FISH OR cut bait,” Grayson said as he dragged a chip through a bowl of El Molino’s famous salsa. “Are you going to join my little traveling sideshow or not?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, what are you sure of in this little slice of heaven we call life?”

  I shot him some side-eye. “I know I don’t want to stay in Point Paradise.”

  Grayson frowned. His voice took on an unfamiliarly serious, business-like tone. “Sorry. That’s not a good enough reason to join me, Drex. I want a partner with a burning desire to explore the unknown. Not someone simply looking to escape their current circumstances.”

  My brow furrowed with indecisiveness. “Can you give me another hour or two to think it over?”

  The waitress delivered a huge plate of tacos. Grayson and I eyed them greedily. He reached for one and I grabbed his hand.

  “Well? Can I have just a little more time to let you know?”

  “Why? What’s the hesitation?”

  “I have obligations here.”

  Grayson nodded and held up a taco. “I tell you what. You can have until the first signs of indigestion kick in.”

  I smiled faintly and nodded. “Fair enough.”

  AFTER THE HUMONGOUS meal Grayson and I ate, I knew my time was running short. Sure enough, as soon as we rounded a corner and the flashing yellow light that marked Point Paradise came into view, Grayson belched.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Well, looks like your time’s up. Are we partners or not?”


  From the driver’s seat of my cousin’s monster truck, I spotted Earl working away in the service bay. My Southern guilt took over.

  “Listen. I want to, Grayson. But I can’t leave Earl in this financial mess.”

  Grayson looked at me wistfully. “I understand.”

  As I maneuvered Bessie’s huge tractor tires into the parking lot, Earl came out toting a paper bag.

  I rolled down the window. “What’s that?”

  Earl grinned. “Your trade for the tacos.”

  My face scrunched warily. I handed my cousin his lunch, and grabbed the paper bag he offered in exchange. I opened it cautiously and took a peek. Inside were six or eight round balls of poop.

  “Argh!” I smashed the bag closed and looked over at Earl.

  He grinned and laughed like a redneck hyena.

  “Earl, for the last time, you’re fired!”

  “What is it?” Grayson asked. “What’s in the bag?”

  I shoved the paper sack across the bench seat at Grayson. “See for yourself.”

  Grayson opened it and yelped. “Where’d you get this, Earl?”

  My cousin grinned. “Compliments of one Mr. Eugene Hollister.”

  Grayson stuck his nose in the bag and sniffed.

  Yep. Total sicko. And to think I was going to entrust my life to this guy ....

  Grayson let out a whoop of delight. “Earl, you’re not fired. Drex! Get out and come with me.”

  “What for?”

  Grayson didn’t answer.

  I climbed down out of the cab and followed him as he made a beeline for the RV.

  “What is it?” I asked again, watching Grayson remove a piece of wood paneling from the wall in the kitchen above the banquette. He peeled away the paneling and I nearly fainted. Row upon row of twenty-dollar bills were stacked between the joists in the wall like insulation. He grabbed a six-inch thick bundle and handed it to me.