The Deepest Dark

by Joan Hall Hovey

  ~*~

  Donnie had driven to a busier section of town and found a computer shop in a strip mall that was still open. Ray’s Electronics Sales & Service, the sign said. His stomach was jumping like there were frogs in there, and he could feel the dampness under his armpits as he parked the stolen car at the curb and got out. With the switched license plates, he didn’t think he’d have a problem on that score. At least he hoped not. He’d already ripped the Teddy bear out of the back window so there would be nothing to catch anyone’s eye. But it was a long time since he shoplifted. Did he still have the guts to do it and not get caught? Was he quick enough? He didn’t know. They had surveillance cameras everywhere now. He watched crime shows on TV so he knew about them.

  Donnie kept his head down. No sunglasses this time. They were a dead giveaway. Like a hoodie. Even if you were innocent of any crime.

  He had no choice. He didn’t dare go back to the motel without a laptop so he’d just have to pull it off.

  Inside the shop, there were maybe half a dozen customers. Most of the laptops and notebooks were secured to the counters with chain locks. And then he saw one that wasn’t chained down. It was on display, open and turned on. A 10.1 inch Acer Netbook. Perfect. On the small screen, a girl in a blue puffy short dress and big hair was singing, but the sound was turned off. This is the one, he thought, and walked away from it to pretend to be checking out other items. When the sales clerk got busy with a customer he sauntered casually back to the computer on display. In place of the girl, there was now an ad running for some kind of special mop. Feeling eyes on the back of his head, he turned around to see a woman with a little boy by the hand, watching him. The instant their eyes met, she hurried on, pulling the boy toward the toy section, where remote cars and trucks were displayed in a big pyramid. Donnie thought he might throw up. He’d never felt this way before, except for that first time when the guy who ran one of the group homes he lived in, sent him out to get him stuff. Once a leather jacket. Another time an expensive watch. He got special privileges in return, more time out on his own, extra TV time, comic books. Soon he got better and better at it, and felt proud of his shoplifting skills.

  But now he was a wreck, just as if it was his first time all over again. His heart was beating too hard and the sweat had started to run down his sides. His hands were shaking so bad he had to put them in his pockets.

  He took a last look around, trying to do it casually. No one was looking at him, which seemed unbelievable. Do it! Do it, now!

  Donnie was almost to the car when he heard quick, heavy footsteps on the pavement behind him. The keys were in his hand. The night was warm and fragrant but he felt danger in the air. A sense of impending disaster.

  Not turning around, he unlocked the door with a shaking hand. He was about to slide into the driver’s seat, when powerful arms grabbed him and pulled him backward, while other hands relieved him of the notebook. He looked up just long enough to see long greasy hair and acne gone wild on a pale forehead. The guy reeked of weed. Donnie knew the smell well from group homes he had lived in, and from prison.

  “Thanks, Pal, appreciate the gift. You must have known it was my birthday.” They both laughed. Ugly, frightening laughs.

  At first, he’d expected to see cops swarming him, but now he realized with a shock that he was being mugged. He tried to fight them off, (the Roach would be mad if he came back without the notebook) but he was no match.

  Even though Donnie couldn’t see the assailant behind him, he knew he must be as big as Tattoo. In the next instant, something struck his head, and pain shot through his entire body and a warm wetness ran down his face, turning his legs to jelly. A second blow landed him on his back on the pavement. He tried to get back up, but both men began pummelling him with their fists and boots. From some place far away, a woman screamed, “Stop them, someone stop them. They’re killing him.”

  With a kick to his face, his nose exploded in pain and he was choking on warm coppery blood that ran down the back of his throat. His ears were ringing like that old school bell used to ring when school let out.

  It was the last thing Donnie heard or felt - before the ringing ceased and the lights went out.

  Chapter 24

  When Abby turned away from the window, she saw that both Ken Roach and Tattoo were dead to the world. If only. She cautiously assessed the situation. Were they faking? Didn’t seem to be. Snores issued from both of them, the loudest coming from the beast, who lay sprawled on his back, mouth open. If he was acting he deserved an Oscar. The Roach’s head was still lowered to his chest, the magazine open on the brown carpeting, by his feet.

  Abby took a single step, afraid to breathe. She had barely put a foot down on the carpeting when the air-conditioner kicked in, rattling and wheezing, sending a scream into her throat, which she barely managed to stifle. As it was, the beast gave an irritated grunt, then let out a snort and a snore, like a pig rooting in mud. He rolled over, one arm dropping over the side of the bed. Abby’s heart was hammering so loud in her chest she worried it would wake them. She stood unmoving for a moment. Then she slowly let out a shaky breath and dared one more step toward the door, which seemed a mile away.

  Her leather bag was sitting on the night table, the strap mere inches from Tattoo’s hand, big as a catcher’s mitt. Why had she left it there? Didn’t matter; she had to get it. Everything was in there. Change, credit cards. Leave it, leave it. You can just tell the woman at the desk to call the police. But she couldn’t control that. The woman might have left her desk. The cops could screw up. Anything could happen. Her thoughts went round and round like a gerbil on a treadmill.

  No. She needed her bag. The instant they woke and found her gone, they’d be on her trail. Maybe heading her off to get to Karen first as the Roach had threatened.

  One eye on the sleeping monster, Abby reached out a hand for the bag. She hooked her fingers under the strap and inched it slowly toward her. Then she was standing at the door.

  Being as quiet as possible, she eased the chain-lock out of its slot. Suddenly, a larger hand covered hers, freezing her heart. Not a clamping down of a hand, but gentle, and somehow far more terrifying.

  “Where are you heading, Abby?” the Roach asked innocently.

  She turned slowly, hope of escape dying within her. She hadn’t expected him to wake up. It was Tattoo she’d been worried about. Now she glanced at Ken Roach’s coffee cup on the desk. He hadn’t touched his coffee. You should have noticed that sooner, Abby. You should have noticed.

  “To get some ice,” she said, snatching at the first thought that came to her. “My head is hurting where I struck it on the bathroom tile. I thought some ice...”

  He picked up the ice bucket off the counter and waved it at her, like a priest waving incense. “You were going to put the ice in your purse?”

  “No, but I was...”

  “Save your breath. Actually, I’m not mad at you for trying to get away. I would do the same in your place. And that was a damn good plan trying to drug us with your pills. Smooth the way you did it, too, with the whitener and all. You have skill. You’re a resourceful woman, Abby. But I’m insulted you think I’m so stupid I’d fall for it. Still, not bad.” He glanced at the sleeping man on the bed. “Worked on him. No surprise there.” He grinned. A grin that vanished so quickly she may have imagined it. “Okay, go back over there. By the window where you were. As soon as Dog gets back with the laptop...” He glanced at the clock on the night table. Frowned. It was ten minutes to eleven.

  She was farther from freedom than ever. Now he would be watching her even closer. Corey had been trying to warn her. That was why he’d appeared to her. She sagged back down in the chair, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. She was too drained even to bother wiping them away. So tired. The kind of tired that worked its way into your very bone marrow and sapped every ounce of strength. Abby rested her head on her arm, and soon fell into an exhausted sleep.

  When she woke ag
ain, it was midnight. The TV was on with the sound turned low, and the Roach was pacing the floor. Tattoo was trying to sit up in bed, still groggy with sleep. The Roach looked almost frantic.

  “Where the hell is that little shit?” he growled.

  “Maybe the cops got ‘em,” Tattoo said, his words slurred and garbled from the drugs.

  “You think? Then they oughta be banging on the door any minute now, shouldn’t they?”

  “Nah. Dog won’t tell. Not if he knows what’s good for him.” He closed his good eye and buried his head in his hands.

  Ken Roach turned away from him, but not before Abby saw the look of contempt on his face. Such a brutal, stupid man, the look said. It was the one thing they agreed on. The Roach was little better, except that he was motivated by greed.

  The news was on and as her photo came up on the screen, Roach turned up the sound. It was a publicity photo, the same one they showed before. It was flattering, showing a confident, reasonably attractive woman. Shiny hair, make-up subtle but perfect. Thanks to the makeup person at the studio.

  “Author Abby Miller, a long-time resident of Langston, officially considered a missing person by police,” the newsman said. “Her car, a blue Honda, was found abandoned at the Erinville Shopping Mall.” Mainly a recap, Abby thought. “There is growing concern for her safety. The three escapees from Pennington Prison have been linked not only to the murders of Ethel and Hartley Nichols of Three Brooks, but also to the abduction of Abby Miller.”

  They re-ran their mug shots up on the screen. Ken Roach looked pale. He kept running a hand through his hair, resulting in his hair standing on ends. His nervousness had begun to effect Tattoo, whose feet were now planted on the carpet, though he looked to be still half asleep. He kept rubbing the good eye, and Abby wondered if the infection was spreading. She felt almost sorry for him. Almost.

  And then other news broke in: “Police confirm that an unidentified man was rushed by ambulance to Erinville General tonight after being beaten unconscious. He has since slipped into a coma. The attack happened at the corner of Ludlow and Main, in front of Ray’s Electronics, and in view of a number of witnesses.”

  “It was awful,” said a woman in near-tears. “He was just covered in blood. One of the two thugs kicked him repeatedly in the head as if it were a football. It made me sick, poor man.” Another witness had captured the beating on his iPhone. Abby had to look away. She knew it was Donnie.

  “Minutes before the attack,” the newsman continued, “Police say a man of similar build and dress — Jeans, bomber jacket and baseball cap - is believed to be the same man who, moments before, purchased a laptop from the store, paying cash for it. His attackers apparently were watching him through the store window, and waited for him to come out to waylay him. They fled with the laptop.”

  “Christ,” the Roach said in astonishment, “he actually paid for the laptop.”

  “He had the money you gave him,” Abby said. “Not that it matters now.”

  “I gotta get the hell out of here,” Tattoo said, trying to get up and flopping back down on the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight.

  “Why?” Ken Roach said. “We’re safer here than anywhere, Tat. Dog’s in a coma so he’s not talking to anyone.”

  “Yeah. He might wake up.”

  “Not for awhile. And then he probably won’t remember his name.”

  “Damn eye. Bitch did it.” Tattoo rocked himself, and moaned.

  “He’s hurting, Abby. Give him a couple of his pills.”

  She did. Without even looking at her, he swallowed them down with water.

  When she turned around the Roach was brandishing the knife again. Despite her fear of that glittering blade, she kept her composure. What now? Was he going to kill her. No, that didn’t make sense. She’d told him she banked online and knew that’s why he wanted the laptop. He must have an account somewhere. She had no problem with transferring money to his account. But she knew that wouldn’t be the end of it.

  “There’s still the computer out in the lobby,” she offered. “I doubt if anyone would be up now.”

  He was thoughtful. Then, “You read my mind. Yeah. Okay. But I’m going to hack some of that hair off first. Just in case someone is up and they were watching the news. I don’t think anyone would recognize you from that photo they showed - not the way you look now - but just in case. Better to be safe than sorry as they say.”

  He sounded scattered to Abby. The news about Donnie had derailed his plans, if not his entire brain. He wasn’t all that sure of his next move. And that made Abby very edgy. Not that she wasn’t already.

  The beast had started snoring again. He was out of it.

  ~*~

  Donnie Leaman lay in the hospital bed, his broken body hooked up to machines that pumped air into his lungs and blood through his barely beating heart. Yet the medicinal smells of the hospital managed to burrow down into his subconscious. A faint smile touched his swollen lips as he saw himself walking down a long polished corridor, wearing a white coat and holding a chart in his hand. He was the doctor he’d always dreamed of being, taking care of people. Someone important in the world. Yet even while he dreamed this, he knew at some even deeper level that it was not real, but a fantasy. One he embraced with all the will he had left in him.

  At the far end of the corridor a bright light beckoned him on, drawing him nearer and nearer to his patient, who waited for his healing hands. He needed Donnie to live. Needed his skill, his knowledgeable mind. As Donnie walked faster, the light grew ever brighter.

  “We’re losing him,” he heard someone yell, and the voice seemed like a faraway echo. Donnie hurried ever faster. Until the light encompassed him.

  Chapter 25

  Finished cutting her hair, the Roach let her look at herself in the bathroom mirror. “You left some long bits,” she said, holding out one scraggly hank of hair so that he could see it. “Give me the knife.”

  He actually laughed. “I don’t think so.” He spent a few more minutes trying to even it up, then stood back and appraised his work. “You need to fix it up a bit, but it’s not too bad. In fact, you look kind of cute.”

  He was turning on the charm and she had to wonder why. In some ways, he was more frightening than the beast. More like the snake on the beast’s face, slippery and deadly.

  The news came on TV that Donnie had died and they both stood in silence. The newsman didn’t identify him by name, of course, since he had no identification on him, but Abby knew. When she glanced at Ken Roach, his expression was one of relief. Why not? He wouldn’t have to worry about him giving away their location now, and he also wouldn’t have to share any future money with him.

  In spite of herself, Abby felt a sadness for Donnie. Yet his was a life that probably could not have ended any other way. There may have been a time when it could have been different, but that time had long since passed.

  The Roach had turned his attention to the sprawled out, sleeping hulk on the bed. He sauntered over and looked down at him, his head slightly cocked in thoughtfulness. Before Abby knew it was happening, he brought the knife across Tattoo’s throat in a single quick stroke, slicing it ear to ear. Blood flew. Tattoo’s surprised eye opened wide and he half sat up in the bed, his hand clutching his throat as the crimson blood spurted from the gaping wound and flowed through his fingers, soaking the sheet and blanket over and around him.

  Abby started to scream but the Roach clamped a hand over her mouth before she could. “Shut up, shut the hell up, Abby. I did it for you. Now you don’t have to worry about him anymore. He can’t hurt you. The guy’s a nut case. I did the world a favor. I did you a favor.

  “You’re not going to scream, are you?”

  She could only nod. He let her go. He wiped the blood from the knife with a bathroom towel and tossed the towel in a corner.

  Abby couldn’t look away from the sight of the blood still pumping from Tattoo’s jugular, spilling more onto the white sheet, dripping
onto the carpet, turning it a darker brown. The blood still oozed through his fingers, though more slowly now. His good eye was filled with rage as it stared at Ken Roach, who actually grinned. The dying man’s mouth was open, gasping for air he couldn’t take in. He began to shake, his heels kicking convulsively at the mattress beneath them. She heard his wet, gurgling stranglings, and now looked away, weeping. “You’re evil,” she sobbed. “Dear God, you’re evil.”

  In some part of her stunned mind, she knew that he had slit Tattoo’s throat in front of her, in part to show her what he was capable of in case she harbored any doubts. Abby couldn’t stop shaking.

  The room was silent now. Tattoo’s eye was open, but the life was gone, taking the fury with it. Just that blind stare into nothingness, perhaps all the more horrible because it was just that one eye.

  “There was nothing else to do,” the Roach said. “Anyway, in for a penny, in for a pound. It’s his fault the train went off the rails. If he hadn’t murdered that old couple, I wouldn’t be in this fix.” He picked up a yellow blanket that had fallen to the floor and tossed it over Tattoo. He yanked it up over his face. “There. Now you don’t have to look at him.” After a pause, he said. “Ugly bastard at the best of times.”