by EJ Nesbeth
THE ALTER
EJ Nesbeth
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events
or locals is entirely coincidental
Copyright © 2015 EJ Nesbeth
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
CHAPTER ONE
Ryan opened his eyes and gasped in fright. He scanned the room, anxious to make sense of his surroundings. It was musty, cold and dark, except for a faint incandescent light that tinted the surfaces with a slight yellow glow. Nothing seemed familiar about this old, abandoned building, and there was no view of the outside to hint at its location. Everything seemed out of place, but Ryan was too disoriented to figure it out right away.
He groaned at the pounding sensation coming from the back of his head. He had taken a blow from a blunt weapon swung by an unknown assailant. Several minutes had passed, but now that he revived, unanswered questions raced through his mind. Where was he? How did he get there? What was happening to him?
It was not until he saw a very strange sight that the puzzle began to fit together one piece at a time. A figure appeared out of the darkness and approached him as if walking on the ceiling. It was then that he realized that he was suspended by his ankles using a rope that hung over a wooden beam in the ceiling, with the other end secured to a stair rail.
"Tell me your name," said a calm, mature voice as the figure stopped a few feet away from him. The voice sounded familiar, but the blinding beam of a flashlight prevented Ryan from seeing his face. He lowered the flashlight to rest his hand and his silhouette became clearer, revealing his robust figure, tailored pants, and dusty dress shoes. The man knelt beside him, again shining the flashlight as he carefully examined his eyes. Ryan’s eyes burned and his vision left him.
Gradually, his vision returned, finally revealing his captor’s face. Ryan was struck with terror and he struggled frantically in a futile attempt to free himself. Before him stood Dr. Conrad Williams, a respected college professor, psychiatrist, and trauma counselor for the police. After his son’s death was ruled a suicide, he allegedly took it upon himself to exact vengeance and purge society of those who destroyed the system they vowed to protect. That was the sympathetic version. To the police, he was just a serial killer.
"You don't want to do that, Mr. Wallace," his captor suggested, pointedly glancing downwards. Ryan looked beneath him and screamed at the sight of an empty stair well several stories deep. It was too dark to see the bottom, but his echo was enough to tell him that it was a long way down.
“Please, I didn’t kill your son,” Ryan pleaded.
“This is about you, Mr. Wallace. Don’t talk about my son,” the man spoke, slowly getting agitated.
“Jason killed himself,” Ryan continued.
“Shut up!” his captor screamed. His lips trembled as he struggled to hold back the tears. Still he broke down.
"He was all I had left of my wife," the man spoke with deep sorrow. “Before she died of breast cancer, she made me promise that no harm would ever come to him.”
“I’m sorry, but killing innocent people won’t bring him back. He was obsessed with the principal, killed her, then ran to the roof and jumped,” Ryan argued.
“He was retarded and afraid of heights!” the distraught father blasted. “I can only imagine how terrified he was being thrown off that roof. I’ll never know what that feels like, but you will.”
Ryan pleaded desperately as Dr. Williams approached the other end of the rope that was secured around the stair rail.
“I told you to leave my son out of this,” the doctor mumbled as he took hold of the dangling end. “What gives you the moral authority?”
Suddenly, there came the faint, familiar voice of Ryan's partner, Bret Mitchell, calling out for him. For the first time Ryan was not the least bit annoyed by Bret's loud, obnoxious voice. He smiled, relieved at the hope of rescue. His captor however sighed, annoyed by the inconvenience of the visit, but maintained a calmness that made Ryan anxious. He looked at his inverted victim then walked backwards, disappearing into the darkness.
It was not long before the searching voice reached the same floor. Then there was a cautious silence. A sweaty, bearded face peered behind the empty panel spaces of the wooden door. With a silent gesture, Bret inquired about the whereabouts of Ryan’s kidnapper. Ryan signaled an ambiguous response.
Bret cautiously cleared the corners with pistol in hand. He entered and untied the rope, swung Ryan away from the open stairwell, then lowered him onto the safety of the floor. "You're ok, ole buddy. Backup is on the way," he reassured him.
A loud whack suddenly threw Bret to the floor. The doctor had returned with his baseball bat. Soon he was on top of him swinging like a pro, but with vengeful fury. Bret howled in agony. He was unable to push the two hundred and seventy pounds man from on top of him, or even position his hands for an offensive move.
An unusually loud gunshot reverberated and everyone froze. Ryan was barely balancing himself on his knees, but had managed to fire a warning shot from his partner’s recovered pistol. Dr. Williams dropped the bat and examined his torso, but there was no blood.
"Shoot him Ryan. Shoot him," Bret recommended.
Dr. William’s rage subsided and he could feel disappointment setting in.
"Get off him," Ryan instructed and he complied.
"What the hell are you doing, Ryan? Shoot him!" Bret insisted.
Ryan mustered the strength to stand. The bereaved father turned and offered his chest to the gun in Ryan's hand. He seemed like a man lost with nothing left to live for. Ryan could not help but sympathize. The doctor made a step forward and Ryan gave a verbal warning. Bret became boisterous in his insistence.
Suddenly, Dr. Williams leaped towards him. Two gun shots rang and he fell to the floor at Ryan's feet. Ryan dropped the smoking gun and knelt beside him. His grief was stronger than his feeling of relief. The old man gasped and held on tightly to Ryan's hand as if he were the only one he had left in the world. He struggled to speak between breaths, but was quickly overtaken by calm as his energy left him. Finally, he found peace.
"So much for Tuesdays, huh?" he said lifting his head towards Ryan, who returned a confused look. “You have no idea, do you?" the doctor said, erupting in a wheezy laugh. “Boy are you in for a ride.”
Another gunshot echoed as Bret ended the conversation and Dr. Williams’ life. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he scolded Ryan who was suddenly shaken from his pensive moment. “You could have gotten us both killed!" This was the insensitive and obnoxious Bret Ryan knew and barely tolerated. As soon as he had gotten that off his chest, he hugged Ryan, overcome with gratitude and relief.
It was all over. Bret and Ryan made their way out of the building by the time backup arrived. They were both exhausted and beaten up, but very happy to live to tell the tale. Soon the paramedics came and attended to them. Their fellow police officers gathered around them as Bret related a slightly exaggerated and self serving version of their ordeal. His story ended with a noble lesson on teamwork, much to the approval of his colleagues.
Ryan listened, responding only to questions asked of him. He was too lost i
n his thoughts and feelings. It seemed like the end of a terrible chapter, one that left many unanswered questions. Never before had the closing of a case puzzled him more than the beginning. He pondered over Dr. Williams’ last words and their implications. Then there was Bret. Despite his characteristic ruthlessness, something seemed suspiciously wrong with his insistence on seeing the doctor dead.
It was late and all the exhausted Ryan wanted to do was go home. Unlike Dr. Williams, he had someone to live for, someone who worried about him constantly. He was hungry and filthy. This seemed like one of the longest days he had ever experienced, but it was a day he was happy to survive. It would not be without scars, but he was too overwhelmed to think about tomorrow.
He approached the front door and his wife Alice opened up to meet him. She was effortlessly beautiful and a more than welcoming sight. Ryan saw her relief. He fell into her arms without a word and she held on to him wishing she never had to let go. The more he felt, the less he expressed, and she understood him more than he could imagine. She was patient and knew that soon enough he would relate the horrors of his day.
It wasn't long before Ryan entered the shower. He needed a waterfall to cleanse himself of the defilement that he felt and the horror he had been put through. He desired a redemption that no amount of water could provide. He felt guilty for being a part of a system that made monsters out of victims. As the shower rained, he hung his head in the usual contemplative manner, and as the recent memories flowed, so did his tears.
CHAPTER TWO
Ryan stepped through the front door of the precinct the next morning with little energy and enthusiasm. The place looked the same, but there was something a little different about those working there. He was getting more attention than he was accustomed to, and more than what an introvert like him was comfortable with. At first he was misled by his own paranoia, but a few hails and reassuring pats on the back made him feel more at ease.
As he found his desk, he could see Bret sitting on top of his, doing what he did best. A small audience of female officers surrounded him as he entertained them with tales of heroism. Ryan could see their intrigue, sympathy, and admiration. Bret looked across at his sidekick and greeted him with a grin and a tip of the hat. Ryan felt less upbeat and nodded then directed his attention to some paper work on his desk.
"Guess what, buddy boy?" Bret interrupted, drumming his palms on Ryan's desk.
Ryan didn't notice that he had left the women to come over. This was quite uncharacteristic of him. "What?" he responded in an uninterested tone as he flipped through his files.
Bret grabbed the folder from his hand and dropped it onto the desk. "Chief said we did such a great job closing the Williams case that the mayor wants to throw us a party. How cool is that?" he said excitedly.
"Well I can understand why he wants to celebrate. His wife’s killer killed himself," Ryan summarized.
"Then the killer’s father, who became a serial killer, is now frozen meat," Bret concluded.
“Jesus, Bret,” Ryan said protesting the metaphor.
“Hey, better him than us. The case is closed and we are the closers!” he celebrated loudly, and the cheers of his colleagues filled the room.
Ryan was less festive. It was never a victory for him when a case ended in bloodshed, though they often did.
"Look Ryan, heavens know why you’re cut up over that old man. Just remember he had you strung up like a chicken, and I came in and saved you. The world is not what we want it to be, but sometimes the only way to make it better is by taking out scum like Williams. You’ve got your rules, but I got only two: don't get shot, and watch partner's back. That's what we did."
Ryan agreed with a hesitant nod. Despite Bret’s rough edges, Ryan felt secure having a reliable and confident partner. Yet, there were times when he thought that there was little difference between Bret and some of the culprits they had put behind bars. Bret, though, was a more tolerable form of evil, one that was forceful and expedient, and one that you would rather have on the side of the law.
It was the evening of the Mayor's ball and Ryan stepped though the entrance with his wife Alice on his arm. She was stunning. He knew that she would attract the attention of his colleagues, most of whom had never met her before. After all, he thought it better to keep his personal and professional life separate. Being relatively new to the precinct, this was the first real opportunity he had to socialize with them as a group and rub shoulders with some of the city’s elites.
Bret's jaw dropped at the sight and he froze for a rare speechless moment. He quickly hopped over to meet them, especially her. "Ryan. You sly rascal. Where have you been hiding this pretty lady? I underestimated you," he jeered while giving him a congratulating pat on the back.
Ryan introduced her. She appeared to be a collected lady with obviously much better social skills than he had. She was intrigued by the thought of her quiet husband rubbing shoulders with a character such as Bret day after day. She quickly blended in and remained a step ahead of Bret’s poorly disguised flirtations, while Ryan listened naively.
Mayor Richards made a grand entrance. He was a corpulent man in his sixties with a mustache and receding hairline. He had a commanding presence and strutted with confidence across the floor. Bret ambitiously initiated a handshake. The mayor quickly released his hand and greeted Ryan, a subdued but more interesting character. An intuitive man, the mayor quickly read into Ryan’s personality.
A cloud of smoke filled the air around them as he took a puff from his imported cigar. Ryan pretended not to hate it, but he had grown accustomed to suppressing his feelings. Besides, this was the mayor, and this was his domain. The mayor continued his social experiment for a while, faking obliviousness and pushing the limits to see how long they would accommodate the discomfort.
"Hi. You must be Alice," came another interruption, this time a more welcomed one. It was Ava, a young, smart, and passionate detective. She was a petite woman with a presence bigger than her stature. She needed that to survive in a hostile profession and a male dominated workplace. She had her struggles as a rookie with talent that intimidated even some of her superiors. Ava politely acknowledged the mayor while completely ignoring Bret. After playfully brushing Ryan off, she pulled Alice away from the group for a little girl talk.
“So Alice, you’re the one who’s been helping Ryan to keep his sanity?" she joked.
“What do you mean?” Alice responded, carefully studying her.
“I mean, we’re cops. We’re surrounded by criminals.” Ava turned and scanned the barely dense crowd until she found Bret still chatting up a storm with the mayor. “And we’re surrounded by criminals,” she added as she took a sip of her cocktail. For a moment, she was so deeply buried in resentful thought that she abandoned the caution with which she usually spoke. After catching up with herself she looked at Alice and giggled.
Alice was curious. Still she wanted to know more about the people Ryan spent most of his day with and trusted with his life. “That Bret seems like quite a character,” she said as she fished for information.
“Yep,” Ava acknowledged, “and that’s why I don’t like him”.
The conversation continued on a lighter note. Alice felt comfortable with her and didn’t seem the least bit concerned that her attractiveness might become a distraction to Ryan one day. Ava seemed too protective and independent. She was good looking, but seemed too emotionally intense to care, and too insistent on being appreciated for her abilities rather than her appearance. She entertained Alice, relating the idiosyncrasies of those in the precinct. Every few minutes Ryan would glance across the floor at them, pleased that his wife had blended in so well. She hinted that she was ok and that he should continue mingling with the socialites. After all, this was his moment.
The evening was well along and the music invited Ryan and Alice for a slow dance. Things didn’t seem to be going as badly as Ryan anticipated. Alice teased him for his apprehension and he gladly conceded. Afte
r all that he had recently been through, it felt good to just let go and relax. As the music played, he combed her hair aside with his fingers and stroked the side of her face in the most tender way. Alice’s eyes sparkled with love as she looked back at him. His affection was unlike anything she had ever known.
Even from a distance they seemed like a very happy couple, something Bret couldn’t help but notice and resent despite his self-imposed bachelor status. As usual, he had a lady on each arm as he sat by the bar devouring one shot after another. Each did little to quench his jealousy. His drunken stupor reached a peak when he rose from his seat, abandoned his female company, and began walking across the dance floor towards them. Ava grew anxious knowing quite well what he was capable of. It was difficult for him to escape the notice of more and more patrons as he staggered towards them, bumping into a few dancing couples as he went.
“May I cut in," he slurred in a poorly attempted British accent.
“Had a little too much to drink, buddy?” Ryan laughed.
Bret had already taken Alice’s hand and was pulling her away, but she resisted.
“Maybe you need to take a break," Ryan recommended, but Bret was pulling her still.
“Ryan," Alice pleaded for help, unable to sustain her resistance.
By then all dancing ceased and everyone stood watching. Ava was filled with rage and wished that for just this once Ryan would pound some sense into his presumptuous partner. She knew he was drunk, but also knew that this was just a convenient excuse for his behavior.
“That’s enough!” the mayor’s voice thundered. His voice was heavy and cut through the music. It was obvious he had used it effectively in this way before. Everyone froze and Bret let go of Alice's arm. The mayor looked at Ryan in pitiful disbelief, then at Bret with disgust. “Get out," he ordered. Bret gestured an apology to the mayor then walked out of the ball room with his head hung in shame.
