I fiddled with the sleeve of my blue suit and made sure my shirt cuffs were not traveling up my arm. It was not a suit I liked, but it was the only one not creased. Since the wife kicked me out a few years ago I’d been on a long journey of motels and sometimes slept in the backseat of my car. It was difficult to keep my clothes in a reasonable manner under such circumstances. I had two piles of clothes in the trunk: filthy, and filthy but still wearable. Watching my clothes spin around in the launderette was now becoming good entertainment in a visually starved world. It was only second to the motel’s vibrating bed, the fridge minibar, and the sports pages of the gazette.
The bed took quarters in a little wooden box that said Relaxation Service—Magic Fingers. But it was hardly magic fingers, it was more like two construction workers pushing the bed back and forth in an unenthusiastic manner. It was the kind of motion that churns the lunchtime snack of a burger and milkshake into a meat flavored butter in my upper intestine.
Every aspect of the motel felt solely designed to cause me pain and discomfort. The nylon carpet charged me like a dynamo and sent a sickening and pain inducing static shock through my hand and arm, every time I gripped a door handle or flickered a light switch. It left me paranoid about touching anything. I’d begun the practice of pacing the room with a handkerchief over my hand like a criminal not wanting to leave fingerprints everywhere.
I tried to keep costs down by sleeping in the car and using the motel sparingly to shower and wash my socks in the sink. You would think that a man of my years would now appreciate the single life and embrace a new zest for living. But the dive bars and diners were not brimming with single, attractive, women wanting to hook up with a financially impoverished journalist having a streak of bad luck.
Donna had stumbled out of PJs and into my arms one night after a string of pink ladies. But I could see her disgust, when she sobered up in the grey sheets and opened her eyes to the beams of sunlight shining through the moth holes in the drapes on Saturday morning.
She couldn’t have left the room quicker, with her heels in her hands and her hair swaying like the Medusa. Her lipstick on the Styrofoam coffee cup, the scent of her dollar store perfume, and the toilet seat down in the bathroom, were the only evidence she left of her presence.
Regrets, I’ve had a few…
I loved that song. It was the story of my life.
I felt a hole in my cuff as I adjusted it. The hole was on both sides… and the worst kind of holes are the ones on both sides. This was my best shirt!
I would now have to roll my sleeves up. I don’t even know how a hole like this could happen. It was not a cigarette burn. I suddenly reached for the side pocket of my suit jacket and felt around. It was empty. I checked the other side and turned it inside out. Several coins fell on the floor and broke the silence. Donna turned her head and looked down her glasses at me. I bent down to pick them up… I only had enough money left for a couple of meals at the deli.
I then checked my inside pockets and felt nothing but pens and a packet of cheap cigars. I had forgotten to bring my knife. This was a schoolboy error, and I cursed my absentmindedness. The older I get, the more I’m forgetting things. This realization had led to an obsession with making lists and taking notes.
Hell yeah. I’m slowly turning into my father.
Perhaps this is why Margaret kicked me out. I’d become too much like my old man. To announce that she didn’t love me anymore after twenty years came unexpectedly. I thought things were going well—or even okay.
I blame the women at the book club for filling her head with nonsense. Who can compete with those Harlequin heroes? I didn’t think she was seeing anyone, but I guess you can never really tell. According to her, I was boring and predictable. Margaret obviously failed to remember the spontaneous fishing trip from two years ago. Perhaps she never fully realized how boring our marriage had become until the pastor asked us what we did for fun.
She shouted that I lacked direction as I packed the car to leave, and I then just sat there in the driveway not knowing where to go next. I didn’t even put up a fight.
It’s the girls I missed the most, they were young women now. I would like to do more for them, but I just don’t have the money. It’s difficult to break out of a funk when you feel worthless.
Perhaps I should not feel worthless. I could be a teaching moment. Margaret can use me as a bad example to the girls. I do want them to find nice men—not obsessed, failures like me. But the best Father’s Day gift they can give me at this moment would be another year of not getting married.
I saw them once or twice last summer when I bought a season pass to the outdoor waterpark—they were more interested in parading in front of the boys than hanging out with their loser father, but it allowed me to sit in a lounger and scribble my notes.
Less showers were required over the summer as well due to this arrangement.
I don’t feel animosity toward Margaret. She may eventually come around after she’s had her moment alone. The girls told me she’d booked a coach tour of national parks and redecorated the house, so I know she’s keeping busy. We were quite different in terms of our personalities and characters, but sometimes that is a good combination. Sometimes.
They say that opposites attract. Like a white shirt and a red wine. I never knew who she was when I took her home that first time in a thunderstorm, from her shift at the pizzeria when she was fourteen. Then a couple of years later at the dance, she made the connection and remembered my kindness and the car. That’s when the magic happened but it was all so very long ago. Was there any magic left?
My obsession with this strange and bizarre case had killed our relationship. That’s the truth of the matter. Opposites attract my ass.
The paranormal aspects of this case were about opposites. Good versus evil. Satan needs God. The Beatles need the Stones, and ham pizzas need pineapple. To be evil, Satan needs good things he can abuse. Things like intelligence, power, and will. Those good things come from God. God gave man free will. Man has the choice to go down whatever path he wants or so I thought.
Maybe it was more about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The line between being unlucky and lucky is exceptionally fine. I’ve seen what happens to those poor women in and around town. Perhaps with my run of bad luck I should buy the local cemetery just to stop people dying.
Loomis then came back into the room. “Alright. Two minutes. This way.” The officer led me into what was little more than a broom closet with a small desk and a wobbly cast-off table. I didn’t wait to be asked. I plopped down behind the desk in one of the chairs and dug in my briefcase quickly.
I found the file and put it on the desk in front of me. “I don’t need you to confirm or deny what I know. I know girls are missing, but you should know that this is happening in many places and not just here. Not just in Eugene Springs or New Field. This is happening all over the tri-state area.”
Loomis licked his dry lips and shook his head as if he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. “What’s happening? I’m not too keen on this cloak-and-dagger stuff, Mr. Coleman.”
“Fine, but I’ve been following cases like the one you are currently working on for quite some time and I am familiar with this guy’s modus operandi. Blood loss. Gash at the neck. The victims suffered tremendously before they died.”
Loomis’ friendly expression vanished. Like most cops, he didn’t like for anyone else to have the upper hand or know what he knew. “You said two minutes, so I’m gonna keep going. This is a wider phenomenon than what you’ve been led to believe. Other girls in other places have gone missing, and it’s not going to stop.”
“Mr. Coleman, you’ve got one minute left.”
I flipped open the folder quickly and pulled the pictures out. “This is Maggie Travis. This is Amber Miller. This is Sarah Jackson. Did Reynolds tell you about any of these women? There are more, but I don’t have pictures of them all. You know what they have in common?”
Loomis rose from his chair; obviously, this meeting was about to come to an end. I continued hurriedly, “I can tell you what they have in common. Not skin tone, not hair color, not eye color. Not body types, not education, not anything except they all attended or had family members who attended a Black Knights concert.” I leaned back in my chair with a satisfied expression on my face. I thought for sure this guy would get it. Why was I the only one who got it? My hopes were quickly dashed.
He shook his head, the dark curls around his forehead bouncing slightly. “Mr. Coleman, I appreciate your time and your willingness to help, but I think you need to go back to your newsroom and let the professionals work these cases.”
“I can’t believe this. I give you a story so big that it would automatically put you in line for detective and you want to push me out the door? I’m telling you the truth! Something is going on at these concerts, something involving blood loss or sacrifice, or God only knows what.”
“Sir, that is enough. I really think you should leave.”
I stared at the guy like he had two heads. “There’s no way this kid Wallace killed these girls. He doesn’t even fit the profile and you know that. I thought you guys were all about profiling these psychos.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Coleman.” The officer walked out of the tiny room and slammed the door behind him. I was infuriated, but I wasn’t ready to give up.
People were dying. This was really happening. Swearing quietly, I grabbed my folder, stuffed it back in my briefcase and hotfooted it out of the police station. The rain began to fall, just sprinkles at first, but by the looks of the sky it was going to become a downpour. I raced across the street to McGinty’s Deli and claimed a table near the window.
The police might not be interested in the information I had, but I could guarantee Levi Wallace would be.
I could wait. But if I had any hope of saving the next girl, I didn’t have long.
Chapter Twelve—Levi
One of the officers offered to give me a ride home, but after spending all day with those guys, I wasn’t really in the mood to hang out with more cops. It sickened me to know that anyone could believe I killed my sister or harmed Melissa in any way.
What the hell was going on? Melissa was missing and I could do nothing. Nothing at all except wait.
My mind turned over that weird experience with the Creep on the bus. I will never forget seeing him staring at my mother from the street. But he didn’t kill Naomi. He killed Debbie and possibly taken Melissa. Why? Who had I pissed off? Even as I pondered this, I knew what the cops believed—that the Creep was a figment of my imagination.
They believed the Creep was a ruse, or at the very least evidence of psychosis. In fact, Reynolds encouraged me to see a shrink. They would even provide one for free.
Yeah, right. I wasn’t a fool. All they needed was a reason to declare me crazy. Then through the cuffs on me.
That cop Reynolds wanted to do nothing more than put a noose around my neck. Meantime, Melissa was out there somewhere! The cops had taken Naomi home hours ago, and no doubt she had no problem leaving me behind. She probably believed that I murdered Debbie. God, I wanted to die. A kind of darkness fell on me, the kind that probed at my mind, that encouraged me to give up, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Twenty blocks to my house? It was well past dark, probably eight or nine o’clock, but I looked forward to the walk. I had so much to think about and all of it was horrible.
Debbie! I let you down, little sister. I wish it had been me.
“Debbie!”
I paused on the sidewalk, but nothing stirred, and no one was out except a garbage truck that rolled by and left a smelly trail in its wake. For a moment I thought it was me and I smelled my T-shirt. I’d not had a fresh change of clothes for days and if I stripped naked right now on the sidewalk my garments would probably make it home before me. Even my teeth felt like I’d skinned a cat with them!
“Who’s there?” I called out into the darkness. There was no answer, but I know what I heard. Who could be calling for Debbie? I mean, I knew there were hundreds of people named Debbie in the tri-state area, but just when I thought about her…it seemed an odd coincidence. Who was that? I turned around awkwardly but still couldn’t see anyone. Not a single soul. Which was also weird. I kept walking. The one person who depended on me, the one person who needed me was gone and in a painful way. It had to be terrible, right? I let her down, and now she was dead. I would never forget the image of my sister’s pale face, her body perfectly still on the gurney.
No, this must be a nightmare. All of this. I’ll wake up any moment. I pinched myself but of course, this was not a dream. As I hoofed it toward home I thought about those first few seconds, standing at the coroner’s window.
After they’d covered her up again, I stared and waited for the sheet to move. I believed I would see her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest. Maybe she would get up and say, “Ha-ha, Levi! Gotcha!”
It felt wrong to leave the police station without her. I would have to talk to Naomi about the arrangements; I couldn’t do this by myself. I’d been so immersed in my thoughts that I didn’t immediately notice the car that rolled along beside me slowly. Clearly this guy wasn’t a good detective; after trailing me for half a block, he sailed past me and sloppily slung the vehicle into an empty parking spot and cut its lights off. The guy who got out of the car was undoubtedly not a cop. He wore a rumpled pale blue suit and a goofy hat.
“You’re a fast walker! Levi Wallace?”
“Who’s asking?” I asked defensively. The guy with the goofy hat flashed an equally goofy smile.
“I am. My name is Charles Coleman. I work for the Tri-State Free Press; well, I freelance for them. I’d like to talk to you if I may.”
“If you’re hoping to get a confession out of me, you’re wasting your time. I didn’t hurt my sister or Melissa. If you want to do something constructive, tell those damn cops to look for her. That’s what I plan to do!”
Up until I said it, I hadn’t realized exactly what I was going to do. Now I knew—I was going to find Melissa. Come hell or high water, with or without anyone’s help. I lost Debbie, and I couldn’t lose Melissa too. If she wasn’t lying on a gurney in that morgue, there was a chance. Yes! There was a chance!
My heart raced at the thought of grabbing the Creep by the neck and strangling him to death. Could I do that? Could I really kill someone? Hell yeah. At least I thought I could. For Deb and Melissa, I could.
“I’m not looking for a confession, Levi. I know you didn’t kill your sister or anyone else. Those bozos at the Eugene Springs PD are amateurs. They aren’t equipped to deal with any of this.”
Debbie…
I heard that voice again, not with my ears this time but within my head. How was that possible? I glanced around nervously.
Coleman didn’t miss a beat. He kept talking excitedly, “As a matter of fact, I have information that I think you will find helpful in your search for Melissa Dance. If that’s really what you want to do. You should know, it’s not going to be easy. She’s in true danger, I’m afraid. Could we go somewhere and talk?”
This was the first person who hadn’t treated me like a criminal. That was refreshing, but I really wanted to check on Naomi. It was entirely possible that the Creep posed a threat to her too. “I need to get home and check on my mother.”
“I’ll be glad to give you a ride. Listen, Mr. Wallace, I’m not some lunatic. I really am a reporter, and I really do want to help you. There’s a common thread that you don’t know about, but you should. You should know it all.”
Suddenly, the idea of catching a ride sounded great. That freaky voice calling for Debbie had my hackles up, and I was bone tired. Not that I’d be able to sleep, not without closing my eyes and seeing my sister dead on that cold silver tray. Walking twenty blocks was going to take forever.
“Fine, but I’ve got to get home quickly. And don’t call me Mr. Wallace.”
“Great, L
evi. Hop in.” Charles Coleman shook my hand like we made some sort of deal, and I got in the car. I rolled up the passenger window and stared out the dirty glass at the streets that flew by me.
“I’m sorry about your sister, Levi. I’m sure she was a lovely young lady.”
“Thanks,” I said, wishing I didn’t have to talk to this guy at all. But while I was here, I might as well learn something. “You said something about having some information for me?”
“Okay, well, I’ll get right to it. Pardon me if I seem tactless, but you don’t have a lot of time to find Miss Dance. I’ve been following a series of murders that stretch along the coast. Horrific deaths involving blood loss and, in some cases, torture.”
What was he telling me? “Are you saying a serial killer murdered my sister? That he tortured her?”
“In a way, you see, and this is where I tend to lose people. I have found five deaths with similar MOs as your sister’s. Blood loss, puncture wounds in the neck. Contusions on the wrists, like they were bound. Many of them were abused in other ways too. I am sure I don’t have to spell it out for you.”
“Stop the car.” My head reeled and my stomach flipped.
“I’m sorry to tell you this. I would have thought the police would have mentioned it, but I guess not. Please, don’t leave. I have more to tell you.”
The Vampire's Song (Vampires of Rock Book 1) Page 9
