Buck Fever

by Robert A Rupp

  He opened the medicine cabinet and searched for a small tube of makeup, which he often used to lighten his skin before seeing real-estate clients. His lightened skin put them at ease and reduced tension during the sales meetings in white neighborhoods.

  Using his wife’s hair-styling scissors, he cut braided hair from the back of his head.

  ~ ~ ~

  Who’s your daddy, now? He squinted at the full-length bedroom-closet mirror as he adjusted a black collarless shirt inside his black suit coat. Reaching down, he brushed lint off his pant leg and black-leather shoes. The closet contained his old suits, shirts and shoes in neat order. She still has feelings for me, he thought, shaking his head. He found his diamond wedding band and gold watch in a dresser drawer. Glasses, where are my glasses? He searched through several drawers. Ah, these will do, he thought, removing thick-rimmed glasses with slightly darkened lenses. They would hide his blood-shot eyes without being overly mysterious. The glasses were perfect for playing poker.

  He folded the bloodstained white robe, placed it into a black plastic garbage bag, and stuffed the bag in a corner of the closet top shelf. Father Fellorday would be proud, he thought. The robe gave the Father strength in a crisis, and it gave him strength as well. A further search in the closet uncovered his leather-bound Bible. He flicked dust from the cover and carefully opened it. Turning 100 pages, he exposed a small nine-millimeter handgun stuffed into a carved-out-center section. Further inspection revealed eight bullets in the clip. He closed the cover and kissed it. The Bible provided hidden protection when going to church in Detroit in the past.

  The keys to the Lincoln lay on the kitchen counter near the phone as usual. He grabbed them, held the Bible under his right arm, and walked out the back door, locking it.

  The collar, I need it. He turned and banged the door with his right shoulder until it gave way. The lock tore through the wood doorframe.

  He returned to the bedroom, searched through a drawer and found a white collar with folded wings often used over collarless shirts if a tie was necessary. Using small nail scissors, he carefully cut the wings from the neckpiece and stuffed the remaining collar into his right suit pocket.

  Chapter 47

  Dingman stood in the hallway and called Pillbock using his earflap phone, as Porter and the doctor entered Mandi Hermanski’s room. He quickly communicated a summary of Katie Kottle’s actions, the possible location in Reno and identifying marks on Rachel. Pillbock acted amused, but not convinced.

  “Did you not see the plaque over my desk? I’ve been there and done that. It can be very painful if the cops come up with nothing. The national news networks will be all over this. They would love to see us fail. Do I need to remind you we backed a Democrat in the last election? That still isn’t sitting well with the Republican-backed TV networks.”

  “Okay, how about we go through a local TV station and give them a shot at being first to uncover the story, eh? We tell them it is a long shot, but plant the seed for the follow-on—the big story we are doing. They can release it now as a local story, then release the big story with us in a couple of weeks,” Dingman said.

  “Yes, Jane Sperling with Reno Channel Four News. I’m calling as we speak. Will let you know.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Porter and Dr. Grace stood near Mandi Hermanski’s bed, reviewing a chart. Jack Hermanski stood in the glass observation booth.

  “Pillbock is making some calls and will let us know,” Dingman said, entering the room. He nodded towards Jack Hermanski.

  “I’m all for free speech, but please tell me again, Doctor, why reporters are allowed inside the room and I’m not?” Hermanski asked.

  “We are running short on staff because of the holidays. The Detroit Times was kind enough to volunteer their time to help me observe and document patient activities and reactions. It allows me more quality time to spend caring for the patients such as your wife.”

  “Oh...okay. Thanks, guys,” Hermanski said and waved. The two reporters nodded.

  “Shall we get started? Mandi Hermanski’s condition is different from the other patients. Her serotonin levels have reversed causing what we know as black depression. Imagine yourself floating in complete darkness and in total isolation: a form of adult autism.” The doctor became silent as he leaned forward, spread Mandi’s eyelids open, examining her corneas.

  Porter twitched, feeling awkward when he noticed Jack Hermanski staring at him.

  “Will she remember this feeling after the infection passes?” Porter asked. He glanced at Jack Hermanski who now stared at Dingman.

  “We do look like space pilots from heaven, eh?” Dingman said, waving his earflaps.

  “That’s what I was thinking. Montagno’s wife, Sissy, mentioned earlier she had a dream last night about two men—angels dressed in white—who would appear and take Mandi to heaven. I’m not much a church-going believer, but this is spooking the hell out me,” Hermanski said with a slight chuckle.

  “Aha, gents, do you see the connection to my research so far?” the doctor said. Porter and Dingman nodded.

  “Excuse me?” Hermanski said.

  “Let’s just say that this disease profoundly impacts the frontal lobe of the brain where we make decisions based on little fact. An area of intelligence not well defined by rational thought.”

  “You mean the sixth sense?”

  “Something like that. More of a communications link between individuals beyond the normal senses of sight and sound.”

  “Do animals have this same sense? What if this disease activates some intelligence in the deer and they somehow communicate with us?” Porter said.

  “Please explain,” the doctor said.

  “We were spectators in an event with a deer last week that we thought was trying to communicate to us,” Porter said. He continued to describe how the doe had snatched Lickshill’s granddaughter and guarded it in the woods. He indicated with his finger how the doe scratched the dirt spelling out: I-4-I. “Now here’s the punch line. We think that Lopez and his hunting partner, Greppleton, were the ones that killed Hermanski’s deer earlier that day. Lopez has ‘I4I’ on his license plate. He said it was a joke relating to his thick glasses. Do you suppose the deer was trying to get even for killing the buck?”

  “Gentlemen, why didn’t you inform me earlier? We could have asked Mr. Lopez about it. What else do you know that’s suspicious?” The doctor glanced at Dingman who bent his head toward Hermanski. “Ah, no time now, let’s move on, you can tell me later.”

  “Wait, I need to tell you about the dogs and our dog, Rusty. You might find this relevant.”

  The doctor hesitated, “Okay, but make it quick”.

  Dingman pointed his camera at Hermanski as he explained the incidents with skinning the deer, Rusty’s fascination with the deer remains, and the two dogs outside the patio door.

  “Aha, and you finally disposed of the remains into a dumpster at a party store? Hmm, I best give security a call to go find it. Anything else?”

  “Just that a Troy cop came and took a blood sample that dripped on the kitchen floor and later told us that it contained antibodies similar to Lickshill’s blood, the guy that was gored to death in West Branch.”

  “Hmm, this just gets better and better. Do you have the name of this police officer?”

  “Yes, I gave the card to these two reporters a couple of days ago.”

  “Gents, you are holding out on me.”

  “We have copious notes you can look through,” Dingman said.

  “Okay, maybe at the end of the day, now back to Mandi Hermanski. She’s doing nicely,” Dr. Grace said, patting Mandi’s face. “I will give her a prescription to take away her depression, but she might go through a couple of dark days again in the weeks to come. She should be okay, though.”

  “That’s a relief. I need to get home and let the dog out,” Jack Hermanski said, waving through the observation glass.

  The doctor nodded. “Gents, let’s move on.”<
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  Chapter 48

  The Lincoln slowed to a stop next to a newspaper-vending container on the corner of Woodward and Six Mile road, near Detroit. Moses Carpenter stepped out of the car with engine running, walked to the front of the container and glanced through the plastic-covered window. A Detroit Times morning edition front page stared back at him. He bent over to read the headlines. The Disease Control Center was monitoring several patients for a viral infection contracted by exposure to deer meat, it stated. He looked lower. His printed face stared back, part of a marriage photo his wife must have supplied to the police. He jiggled the cover hoping it would open. He checked the money slot and jerked on the cover again, then gave up.

  I am not a killer...killer...killer...killer, he thought. A sharp pain shot through his brain just above his eyebrows. He grabbed his forehead. The more he tried to suppress his thoughts about Father Fellorday, the greater the pain.

  He returned into the vehicle, held onto the steering wheel with his right hand, as his left tugged on the car door. It’s stuck open, he thought. He yanked again while stepping lightly on the accelerator.

  “Freeze. Get out of the car!” a black man, dressed in grey sweat clothes, snarled, pointing a gun at his head. Another similarly dressed man held the car door open. The car continued to roll forward. “Stop...stop or I’ll shoot.”

  Killer...killer...killer. Another sharp pain rippled through Carpenter’s head. He punched the accelerator and bent his body toward the passenger seat, avoiding the outstretched handgun.

  Bang. Bang.

  The man standing inside the door shot twice, lost his balance, and fell backward to the pavement. One bullet shattered the passenger window; the other lodged in the floor near Carpenter’s right leg.

  The second man held onto the door handle and dragged his legs on the road about 20 feet before letting go. He tumbled forward landing on his back.

  Carpenter slammed his right foot on the brake pedal, looked into the rear view mirror, shifted into reverse and stomped on the gas pedal.

  The first man raised his head up, struggling to lift his right hand carrying the gun. The second man lay on his back, moaning.

  Terror overcame the first man as he watched the Lincoln accelerate and roll over his accomplice, squashing his head. Blood squirted from under the tire as the body flipped under the vehicle.

  He raised his gun toward the car, now 30 feet away, and pulled the trigger. Again, and again, but no sound. He threw the gun at the car, spread his legs apart and pushed his body up. Too late. The left rear tire squealed between his legs, rolled over his body, crushing his pelvis, then chest, and across his face.

  The pain in Carpenter’s head became intolerable.

  “You bastards think you can jack my car before I have a chance to tell my side of the story? Think again.” He slammed his foot on the brake, shifted and sped forward, looked into the rear-view mirror and smiled at the sight of the first man’s flattened body as he drove directly over the second man again. He felt two thumps.

  The pain raged as he drove forward. He shook his head wildly. The blasting sounds of several car horns jarred his senses back to reality as he passed through a red light at the Five Mile intersection. The pain finally subsided.

  He drove slowly the remaining four miles into Detroit. Woodward Avenue would lead him directly to the Disease Control Center.

  Chapter 49

  “Do I have to stay in here much longer? I feel fine. How is my husband doing? I’m getting a little anxious,” Sissy Montagno said.

  “Your blood tests show a slight increase in white blood cells, but no sign of the infection. I’d like to keep you here for the rest of the day, though, at least for the sake of your child,” Dr. Grace said.

  “She does seem to be kicking more than usual lately...er, I think it’s a girl, George thinks it’s a boy.”

  “I can tell you for sure if you’d like. I have ordered an ultra-sound for you.”

  “Oh, I’ve had that done already, but didn’t want to know.

  The doctor nodded.

  “Your husband is doing fine. It appears the infection is running its course.”

  “What about his neck; and why would he jam pencils into it?”

  “This infection or poisoning as it may be appears to affect each person differently; it’s probably due to an abnormal reaction to the virus. He will most likely not remember why he did it. Perhaps you know these two reporters from the Detroit Times. They are helping me make the rounds today; we are short on staff.” The doctor introduced Dingman and Porter.

  Sissy Montagno nodded, and continued to grasp and rub her protruding stomach.

  “Did you or your husband encounter anything unusual prior to coming to the hospital?” Dingman asked, pointing the video camera towards the bed.

  “There were some strange dreams. George has had dreams about running with the deer. I’ve had a dream about...er, ah, the baby and...”

  “And?” the doctor said, patting her stomach.

  “Well, I had this strange dream that George was...going...to...try to kill the baby. He said it was the devil. Oh, God, it was so real...” she said, and continued to describe the dreams and George Montagno’s fascination with the knife and Bible.

  “Can you tell me what movies or TV shows you might have watched recently?” Dr. Grace asked.

  “I don’t watch horror movies if that’s what you mean. George does now and then, but I usually go to the bedroom and read.”

  “But you might overhear the TV and not realize it.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Have you heard of the movie, The Omen?”

  “Sure, it was on TV a week ago. About a child who becomes the devil when he grows up. Oh, my God, I do remember now. George insisted on seeing it. I sat in a chair near the TV and read a book. I suppose my mind could have absorbed some of it.”

  “Aha,” the doctor said.

  “So what do you think, Doctor; is there a connection?” Porter asked.

  “Most likely a strong connection. Dreams can stretch reality, change colors and structures, but fundamentally, it’s always a combination of what we’ve seen or experienced, usually without realizing.”

  “What about Katie’s weird connection with her dream of being in Nevada? What if that turns out to be true?”

  “When all the facts are known, there will be a simple explanation or connection to something she’s experienced.”

  “The nurse is here, gentlemen, let’s move on.”

  A nurse wheeled in ultra-sound equipment.

  Chapter 50

  The long black Lincoln slowly approached the entranceway. A security guard exited the doorway of the Disease Control Center and motioned for Moses Carpenter to park in the visitors’ area around the building.

  Carpenter waved and drove forward as the security guard disappeared back into the building. He gunned the engine over a speed bump. The front wheels went over, followed by a clunking noise. He stepped harder on the accelerator. The back wheels encountered some resistance as the rear of the car hopped over the bump. He drove about 30 feet further and parked.

  Carpenter retrieved the cutout collar from his pocket and adjusted it around his neck, buttoning it in back. He walked forward through double-glass doors at the visitors’ entrance. Several people stood in line to walk through a metal-detector archway.

  Carpenter hesitated and walked to a row of chairs opposite the archway and sat down.

  “Reverend, are you here to see a patient?” a security guard asked.

  “Yes, Sister Mary Agness. I’m with the Greektown Church of Madonna’s Heart,” Carpenter said.

  “You’ll need to enter here and show some ID,” a guard said, standing on the opposite side of a metal detecting archway.

  “Okay,” Carpenter said, rising up. He turned slightly, put the Bible down on a lamp table, searched through his wallet for an ID and stepped forward through the archway.

  On the other side, he handed the guard
an old driver’s license.

  “Sir, did you know your license is expired? I need more ID.”

  Carpenter, fished his hand into his right pocket and removed a plastic church-membership card Father Fellorday had given him. An honor granted to only a few of Father Fellorday’s trusted followers.

  “Ah, you are a close friend of the Father’s. Sorry for your loss; he was a good man.”

  Carpenter nodded, put the ID and license into a suit pocket and walked forward.

  “My Bible, it’s there on the table. Could you bring it to me? I would like to share a few verses with Sister Mary.” Carpenter reached around the archway expecting the guard standing by the front door to hand it to him outside the metal detector

  “Yes, of course,” the guard said. He walked through the archway triggering the alarm causing Carpenter to flinch and back away. “It’s okay, my badge always sets it off. Wow, this is an old Bible. Mind if I flip through a few pages?”

  “There’s a hurt man in the driveway out front. He’s pretty mangled and needs help!” another security guard shouted, bursting through the entrance door.

  “What? Are you serious?”

  The guard plopped the Bible into Carpenter’s open hand, retreated through the archway and followed the other guard outside.

  ~ ~ ~

  Carpenter approached the glass partition in the waiting area. A sudden pain raced through his head as he snapped his head back.

  “Sir, are you okay?” a nurse asked from behind the glass.

  “Yes, I’m just a little upset over the passing of Father Fellorday. How is Sister Mary Agness? Can I see her? I would like to read some verses to her.”

  “I am so sorry for your loss. Please fill out the privacy form and stick it into this slot and take a seat,” she said, pointing to the forms and scanner outside the window. “You may want to use the restroom. It’s over there.”

  Carpenter nodded, pulled a handkerchief from his rear pocket and dabbed pink tears from under his glasses. He entered the restroom, stared into the mirror, and covered streaks on his cheeks with more makeup. He felt better, almost happy. The end was near.