Shivers 7

by Clive Barker

  Jerry wore a cap that cast a shadow on his face. He and his first choice hit it off right away. They quickly got down to logistics and ground rules. Jerry hoped his eagerness didn’t make him look like a whack job. However, Jerry’s new friend was as enthusiastic as he was and could be at Jerry’s place in less than fifteen minutes. Jerry said the front door would be unlocked. He’d be waiting in the bedroom at the top of the stairs.

  He made a few last-minute preparations. Everything had to be absolutely perfect, and he had to be utterly discreet. As the vice president in charge of innovations (the VP of wacky ideas, some called him behind his back) for a major corporation, he had a reputation to consider.

  Once everything was in place, he retreated to his bedroom and waited. The only light in the room came from a reading lamp beside the bed. His heart raced. Would this be his sole encounter with his visitor, or would they be seeing more of each other in the future? That was out of his hands. He had no way of knowing how things would turn out. He had everything mapped out in his head, but once another person entered the equation, all bets were off.

  Ten minutes later, Jerry heard the distinctive sound of weather stripping gliding across the hardwood floor inside the front door. He grabbed his cell phone. After several seconds, the bottom stair creaked. His visitor was being drawn to the light at the top of the stairs like a moth to a flame. Just before the other person reached the upstairs landing, Jerry turned off the ringer and stowed the phone in his nightstand.

  The bedroom door creaked open. “Hey?” the man said. He had a mustache and black hair, swept back. He was wearing a muscle shirt and tight jeans. “You said to just come in.”

  “Yes,” Jerry said.

  “Got a safe word?”

  “Perfidy.”

  The man frowned. “The fuck’s that?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Will you recognize it if you hear it again?”

  “Purr-fiddy,” the man said. “Like perfectly. Way you look, all sprawled out.”

  “Aren’t you a flirt,” Jerry said. “There’s rope on the nightstand.”

  “Brought these,” the man said, producing two sets of handcuffs from his pants pocket. “You’re still dressed.”

  “Yes,” Jerry said. “I want you to tear my clothes off. After I’m cuffed.”

  The man’s eyes gleamed. “I’m down with that. Get on your stomach.”

  This was the point of no return. Either Jerry went with the fantasy or he called the whole thing off. He looked at the man—the stranger—and complied. What other choice did he have?

  “Spread your arms.” The man’s voice was raspy. When Jerry was slow to respond, the man tugged his right arm into position. His grip was strong enough to leave marks. He clicked the cuff around Jerry’s wrist and connected the other end to a rung on the bedpost. Just like that, Jerry was a prisoner in his own home. Safe word or no safe word, he was at this man’s mercy.

  His visitor repeated the process with Jerry’s left hand, then yanked Jerry’s legs straight before climbing on the bed and straddling him. His weight pressed Jerry’s hips into the mattress. Jerry smelled the man’s heavy cologne and felt his rough face abrade his ear. Then came a hoarse whisper. “Relax, you little girl. Enjoy it.”

  The man grabbed Jerry’s shirt by the neck and pulled. A few buttons tore loose, but the material proved too strong. Before Jerry could say anything, the man grabbed something off the nightstand. The knife he had left with the coil of rope.

  The cold metal blade brushed along Jerry’s cheek. His heart seized. The room grew deadly quiet. Had he underestimated the man? Would he feel the point of the knife push between his ribs, or its razor-sharp edge slice into his vulnerable throat?

  The man chuckled before grabbing Jerry’s shirt by the neck and slashing it to shreds so he could tear it off. The ruined garment whispered to the floor. Cool air rushed across Jerry’s back, chilling the sweat that had formed on his shoulders and pooled in the small of his back. The man ran his hands across Jerry’s bare skin. His touch was warm, his palms rough and calloused, his fingernails untrimmed. “Make you my bitch,” the man said. “That what you want? Be my bitch?”

  “Yes,” Jerry said. “Make me your bitch.”

  “Minute I saw you I thought—this candy ass needs a real man to show him what’s what.” He pushed his hands under Jerry’s waist and caressed him. “Hmm,” he muttered. “Soon fix that.”

  He grabbed the coil of rope, cut a couple of lengths, and affixed Jerry’s ankles to the corner posts at the foot of the bed. Then he forced his hands under Jerry’s waist and fumbled with his belt. Trussed up like a turkey, Jerry’s arms and shoulders stretched uncomfortably, but he couldn’t complain. He had ceded all control.

  Once the belt was undone and pulled free of its loops. Jerry felt the man’s weight shift. A second later, the belt whipped across his bare shoulders with a resounding crack. It stung, but only a little. He cried out, though, playing along. Three more thrashes guaranteed to leave angry welts on Jerry’s back, and the man dropped the belt.

  The stranger fumbled with the top button on Jerry’s pants, then with his zipper. He reached in and caressed Jerry intimately and seemed satisfied by the response. He grabbed Jerry’s pants by the waist and tugged. Jerry’s shoulders felt like they were about to pop from the sockets, but then his pants slid down over his hips as far as they could go with his legs spread and bound as they were. His briefs followed a second later, and he was exposed.

  His breath came in short, rapid pants. He was close to hyperventilating. This was where things got dicey. He could utter his safe word and hope the man would be as cooperative as he’d seemed before Jerry was restrained and helpless. However, if he got the timing wrong, everything would be ruined. He had to grin and bear whatever was about to happen.

  Another whisper of material as the man’s shirt fell to the floor atop Jerry’s. Another rattle of a belt buckle. The mattress rose and fell like a ship on rough waters when the man got off the bed. Jerry watched him shuck his shoes, jeans and underwear. The man noticed Jerry watching, but said nothing. He merely grinned and stroked himself. His girth was impressive. Fearsome. Jerry’s stomach clenched. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for several seconds.

  The mattress shifted again as the man crawled back on and positioned himself between Jerry’s legs. Jerry cringed at the intimate contact. The man’s naked body radiated heat like an oven broiler. He picked up the knife again and started working on one leg of Jerry’s pants.

  Jerry heard a creak. A male voice rumbled up the staircase like thunder. “Hello? Anyone here?”

  “Who’s that?” the man hissed.

  Jerry’s shackles prevented him from looking at the man. He twisted his head as far as he could and said. “I thought you might like some company.” His heart was pounding. Would the stranger go along?

  The man slapped Jerry’s buttock with his free hand. “Threesome, eh? You naughty bitch. Gonna have fun with you. You gonna walk funny for days.”

  “This guy…”

  “What?”

  “He likes to dress up. Might be a fireman or a clown.”

  “Ha!” The man’s hand was between Jerry’s legs, exploring, stroking. “I can roll with that.”

  “Sir? Mr. Wallace? Are you here? We received a call.”

  A man in a cop’s uniform appeared at the door. He had a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other.

  “Play along, okay?” Jerry whispered.

  The man snorted. “Come in, officer,” he said in a jaunty voice. “Get out of that uniform and join me.”

  The other man’s eyes widened. The gun wavered in his hand as he glanced over his shoulder. “Drop the weapon, sir.”

  “Just interrogating a naughty witness,” the man said. “Wanna be bad cop?”

  “Sir. I said, drop the weapon. Kramer, get over here.”

  “Help,” Jerry cried in a weak, strangled voice. “He’s going to kill me.”

  “Sh
ut your face, pussy,” the man said, poking his shoulder with the tip of the knife. “You got the right to remain silent.”

  “Help,” Jerry croaked again. His body trembled.

  “I’m not going to tell you again. Drop the knife.”

  “The second I’m done here. We all on the same page, ain’t we precious?” He slashed Jerry’s pants.

  A single gunshot emptied the room of air and replaced it with an echoing percussion. The man gurgled and spasmed. The knife scraped against Jerry’s hip as it dropped to the mattress. The man swayed and toppled off the bed on the side farthest from the door.

  By now, another cop had appeared. Both men aimed their weapons into the room. The first officer flicked on the light switch and made a beeline for the bed. He grabbed the knife and tossed it in the corner, then circled the foot of the bed. He knelt and extended his arm. A few seconds later, he shook his head. “Call it in,” he told his partner. Then he looked at Jerry. “It’s all right, sir. He’s not going to hurt you any more. Let’s get you out of those cuffs.”

  * * *

  After that, things got busy, especially when the cops found the body in the living room.

  Jerry spent the rest of the night repeating his story, first in the kitchen with a blanket around his shoulders while crime scene investigators collected evidence. A technician photographed the marks on his arms and back. Then they let him get dressed and transported him to a tiny, grim room at the police station.

  No, he’d never seen the killer before. No, he didn’t know why his attacker had targeted his house. Maybe because the lights were on in the living room? Yes, he might have forgotten to lock the front door after Todd arrived with pizza and beer to watch a ball game. The man had burst in without knocking, waving a knife and demanding money. He looked like a lunatic. Jerry had wanted to give the guy whatever he wanted but Todd went after him. Knocked him to the floor. They struggled. Jerry’s cell phone was in his bedroom, so he ran upstairs to call 911. Maybe he should have stayed to help, but the other guy was so big and acting crazy. And that knife. They both might have ended up dead.

  No, he didn’t mind if they searched his house. No, he didn’t want to consult a lawyer. He was just so thankful that the police arrived when they did. Another couple of minutes and there was no telling what that maniac would have done to him. He shuddered at the thought.

  Sometimes he told the whole story from beginning to end. Other times they asked him questions out of order, as if they were trying to trip him up. It was a simple story, though, and he stuck to it. Most of it was true. Todd had come over that night with beer and pizza. They had watched part of a ball game before it happened. He didn’t even have to pretend to be devastated that Todd was dead—they’d been friends for years.

  However, the baseball game had been a pretext, and the pizza and beer was a peace offering. Things were getting tight at work, Todd had told him. They had to cut expenses, so he had decided to eliminate Jerry’s division. Nothing personal, but they could no longer afford to finance projects that weren’t going anywhere. It had been a while since any of Jerry’s ideas had turned into something profitable, hadn’t it? He understood, didn’t he?

  “You’ll get a generous severance package, of course,” Todd said. “And a glowing recommendation.” He shrugged. “It won’t be a golden parachute, but you’ll land on your feet, I’m sure.”

  The more Todd talked, the louder the buzzing in Jerry’s head grew. His vision clouded and, before he knew what he was doing, he had plunged a knife—used to divide the last piece of pizza in half—into his friend’s chest. It felt so satisfying that he did it again.

  The buzzing stopped. His vision cleared. Sanity returned. He went straight into crisis prevention mode. If he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison, he had to think—and fast. They might call him the VP of wacky ideas, but every now and then he came up with a good one. This one, spawned under tremendous pressure, was among his best.

  He couldn’t dispose of the body. Too risky. Todd probably told someone where he was going, which would lead the police to Jerry’s door once he was reported missing. No matter how careful he was, he was bound to leave behind evidence. Besides, there were cameras everywhere these days and too much of a chance that someone would report suspicious activity.

  The best solution was to bring the police here, but make it seem like someone else had killed Todd. Even better, he would turn himself into a victim, too. The best case scenario had the cops killing his patsy, though there was a strong possibility they would end up merely arresting the guy if he didn’t play along according to Jerry’s plan. It was a gamble, but it would be the stranger’s word against Jerry’s if that happened. Given the circumstances, Jerry knew who the police would believe. It would be a mess, but a manageable one.

  Prepping the scene had been absurdly easy. There had been very little blood, and Jerry was sure that none of it had gotten on him or his clothes. There was nothing else damning for the investigators to turn up. It had been a crime of passion, so there was no trail to cover. The handcuffs—an unexpected bonus-- belonged to his attacker. His prints would be all over them, and Jerry hadn’t touched them. Besides, he couldn’t have cuffed and roped himself to the bed. The knife was a stray, not part of a set. Jerry had wiped it on Todd’s shirt, leaving only traces of blood the stranger wouldn’t notice in the dimly lit bedroom. The man’s prints were all over it, too, and the cops had seen it in his hand. Had seen him threatening Jerry with it.

  So, Jerry didn’t have to make up anything. He only had to gloss over a few details. He could tell the story backwards, forward and inside out. Everything supported his version of events. Nothing contradicted it. Dead men tell no tales.

  A squad car took Jerry home shortly before dawn. Later that afternoon, a detective came by to brief him. The perp’s prints were in the system. He told Jerry the guy’s name, but Jerry couldn’t remember it five minutes later. The perp had been arrested several times for bar fights and had a history of hooking up with submissive men to dominate them. So far, they had no evidence he’d injured any of his partners before, but one guy they’d interviewed said he felt uneasy around the man. Such was the power of suggestion, Jerry thought.

  The detective thought they might find something in the toxicology report to explain his erratic behavior. Even if they didn’t, Jerry was in the clear. Internal Affairs were calling it a good shoot. As far as everyone was concerned, the case was closed.

  As an added bonus, after Jerry returned to work upper management promoted him into Todd’s position. It was on a trial basis, but Jerry was certain he could make it permanent.

  He had landed on his feet after all.

  * * *

  One night, two months after a stranger invaded Jerry’s house, killed his best friend, and was about to commit unspeakable violence upon Jerry himself—for that was how he now remembered the evening—Jerry awoke to feel a terrible pressure in his chest. He had trouble catching his breath. He couldn’t move. At first he thought he was having a heart attack. He was naked, spread-eagled, the covers pushed down to the foot of the bed.

  He took several deep breaths. Forced himself to relax.

  Then he saw Todd perched on the edge of the bed. He looked much better than the last time Jerry had seen him, dead on the floor beside the living room sofa. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks. His hair was neatly groomed and his face clean-shaven. Jerry could almost smell cologne. I’m dreaming, he thought, but the vision was too clear to be a reverie.

  “Time for me to move on, old buddy. Just wanted to drop in to say goodbye first.”

  Jerry tried to sit up, but he couldn’t. It was as if his hands and ankles were bound to the bedposts. Again. His version of that terrible evening pushed into his mind, but he fought it off. “Move on? Where?”

  Todd shrugged. “All I know is that I’m done here. Paid my dues. Atoned for my sins. I got off lucky. I lived a pretty clean life. I hurt a few women—sometimes without re
alizing it—and damaged a few people doing business, but all in all, I did not do too bad.”

  “But you’re dead.”

  “I know, Jerry. You are the one who killed me, after all.”

  “Not me. Him. The robber. He killed you and he was going to rape me.”

  “Come on, Jerry. It’s just you and me here. We can get past all that silly stuff you’ve been telling everyone. Even yourself, I guess.” In the moonlight, his grin looked demonic. “We both know that Victor was an innocent victim. You remember him, right? Victor Quezada?”

  Jerry didn’t answer.

  “I’m not here to forgive you for killing me, though. That’s your burden, not mine. I just wanted to let you know what you have in store. Maybe that’s cruel, but since nothing prevented me from being here, I guess it’s all right.”

  “You’re…a ghost?”

  “I suppose. Know why people don’t see ghosts all the time?”

  Jerry shook his head. This is a dream, he kept telling himself. Must be.

  “The dead can only contact a living person who’s about to die. Anyone who says otherwise is making it up. Or imagining things. People can convince themselves of just about anything. Like the way you persuaded yourself you had nothing to do my death or Victor’s. You think you’re a victim, too.” Todd shook his head.

  Jerry blinked. “I’m not about to die. I’m in perfect shape.”

  Todd smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. “I don’t make the rules. Anyhow, I wanted you to know what to expect. After you die, you end up in—well, let’s call it purgatory. Your life doesn’t flash in front of your eyes before you die. That happens later, and it isn’t a flash. You see it all in slow motion. It’s excruciating. You see the ripples. The tentacles.” He spread his hands in the air. “Cause and effect. The consequences of everything you did. It can be quite humbling.”

  Jerry struggled against his invisible restraints. He needed to sit up, catch his breath. Figure out what the hell was going on.

  “Then you get to go time traveling. That’s the cool part. Forward as far as you need to, until you meet all the people you’ve wronged. Even your worst enemies are ready to make peace when they know they’re about to die. Usually.” He leaned forward. “One catch: You can’t go backwards. You can’t apologize to the dead. They’ve already passed on. Do you get that, Jerry? It’s too late. You’ll never get to apologize to Victor and me for what you did.”