Carnival

by Kory M. Shrum

  This woman is crazy, Lou thought. More than a little crazy.

  Look who’s talking, a voice chided.

  Diana scoffed. “I suppose you view yourself as some kind of white knight. You ride in and save the damsels before even a hair on their pretty little heads falls out of place. But women don’t need to be saved. They need to pick up the sword.”

  Lou didn’t identify with the label white knight. When she’d hunted Angelo and his brothers, it had never been about saving anyone. She’d simply wanted the men who’d murdered her father to pay.

  But how could she explain that to Dennard?

  “I don’t think women need to be tested to prove they’re strong,” Lou said.

  Dennard wrinkled her nose. “How feminist of you.”

  A sudden jerk hooked through Lou’s navel. White-hot heat rippled through her core, climbing up her throat. She knew instantly who was in danger and how little time she had.

  Mel.

  The surprise of it must’ve shown on Lou’s face, because Diana stiffened.

  “What?” she asked, glancing behind her as if expecting a monster to appear.

  “I have to go.” Lou slid out of the booth, grabbing her sunglasses off the table. She finished the coffee in a single go.

  “Another damsel in distress?” Diana regarded Lou with a look that couldn’t exactly be described as friendly.

  Lou threw a $5 bill on the table.

  “Until next time then, Lou.” Diana sat back, stretching her arms along the top of the booth.

  Lou had no time to worry about what such a malicious smile meant. Mel had no time at all.

  So without a goodbye, she stepped out of the diner and into the night.

  * * *

  Diana waited until Lou disappeared into the trees surrounding the diner’s parking lot before taking her empty coffee mug and the $5 bill, slipping them both into her bag.

  34

  With the duffle hanging heavy at her side, Mel limped from the streetcar stop into the station. Because of the hour, it wasn’t crowded. A group of teenagers stood together smoking, laughing too loudly at a joke a redheaded boy made, complete with pantomime. A girl with a laugh like a horse’s high whinny overtook all the others.

  Mel’s arm ached by the time she reached the end of the station platform and stepped out into the adjacent plaza. A water fountain equipped with lights changed the water from red to blue to green, and there, against a concrete wall overlooking the Mississippi River, stood Terrence. His head was bent as if in prayer as he cupped a hand around his cigarette.

  She switched the bag to the other arm and limped forward. She closed the distance until there was only twenty feet between them.

  He turned at the sound of her approach. His eyes slid from her face down to the bag in her hand. He frowned. “That sure looks heavy. You better not have given me a hundred grand in dollar bills.”

  The wind blew in off the water and pushed Mel’s hair back from her face. It pulled water from her eyes and iced her cheeks.

  “Where are my cards?” she asked, dropping the bag at her feet.

  He slipped his hands into his pockets and stepped forward. This moved his face into the light of the adjacent streetlamp, adding an orange glow to his cheekbones and chin. It also added fire to his eyes.

  “I think I’m going to hang on to them,” he said, looking at her from under the brim of his hat.

  “You said—”

  “I know what I said. But if I’d known you would’ve parted with your money so easily, I would’ve asked for more.”

  Mel’s anger rose inside her, uncurling like a viper in her guts.

  “So here’s what we’re gonna do,” he said, taking another easy stride forward. “You pay me, you get a few cards. Pay me more, you get more. Maybe you’ll get all your cards back in, oh…twenty years.”

  She clenched her teeth, gathering what was left of her sanity. Don’t lose it now. See this through.

  “Think of it as alimony.”

  “My cards—”

  “You shouldn’t have lost them if they meant so damn much to you.”

  Mel bent down toward the large duffel at her feet. She unzipped it and looked inside.

  “You won’t ever stop torturing me, will you?” she asked softly.

  “Why would I stop when I enjoy it so much?”

  She exhaled slowly. “That’s what I thought.”

  Mel stood and pointed the gun at her husband. She cocked the revolver, saw the loaded chamber slide into place.

  Terry stilled. Every muscle in his body tensed like a stag sensing danger. His mouth parted ever so slightly in surprise.

  “Don’t look so shocked, Terry,” Mel said, adjusting her grip on the gun. “You’ve given me little choice, haven’t you?”

  Terrence’s face twitched almost as if he were working to keep a snarl suppressed. When he spoke, his voice bore the false geniality that she’d always despised.

  “You ain’t gonna shoot me. Shooting a man is different than clipping one with a car and leaving him to die.”

  “Is it?” she asked without inflection. “I’m sure it’s all the same in the eyes of God.”

  Terrence must’ve thought she meant to do it, really meant to put a bullet in his heart and be done with him. His eyes widened. His hand began to lift, extending toward her. A no formed on his lips.

  But it was too late.

  Mel pulled the trigger.

  35

  Good police work meant following the rules. But King understood that in order for the right thing to happen, sometimes lying was necessary.

  As soon as he terminated the call with Konstantine, who had more than a little irritation in his voice, King noted distantly, he decided now was one of those times. Lying was suddenly very necessary.

  “Christ.” He threw back his covers and hobbled across the room to a dresser drawer. He lifted a stack of sweaters and found the two burner phones he kept hidden there.

  He dialed the non-emergency line in Fish’s county. That was the only way he could be sure to get the police in that area.

  “Knox County Police, how can I help you?”

  “Yes, hello!” He added as much panic to his voice as he could manage. “There’s a man attacking a woman. Right inside her house! I can see it from the street.”

  “Where are you located, sir?”

  King rattled off McGrath’s address. “I’m out here walking Lady”—he glanced at the dog sitting erect in her oversized bed, watching him with alert eyes—“and oh god! He’s chasing her! Please send someone! He’s going to kill her!”

  King hung up the phone. He hoped that would be enough to get someone to the house. He knew ending the call so quickly might make it seem like a prank.

  “How did I do?” he asked Lady. The dog rose from her bed and walked toward him expectantly. “No, it’s okay. I know I said your name, but I wasn’t calling you. You can go back to bed.”

  She turned several circles on her large cushion before settling down again.

  King went to his own bed with the burner phone still in his fist.

  His original plan had been to call the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation and say that he’d taken up investigating cold cases in his retirement. One such cold case had led him to Jeffery Fish. He’d hoped to already have that evidence in place when he approached the OBCI, but that would never work now. His anonymous tip was the best he could do.

  Please go to the house, he thought. Please. If you don’t, Lou is definitely going to kill him.

  His feet rested on the little rug beside his bed. His socks sank into the white shag. The roar of Carnival raged outside.

  What else can I do? He massaged his forehead. Damn it, Lou. She must’ve known blowing his cover would incite Fish to act like this. He racked his brain. What else can I do?

  The good news was that now Fish had openly attacked the woman, they should be able to obtain a warrant to search his home. This assumed he was captured at the sce
ne and Jennifer McGrath lived to tell the tale. If Jennifer was able to give a statement claiming Fish had been hunting her for the weeks leading up to the attack, it would give a judge enough probable cause to issue the warrant.

  King groaned and dragged his hand down his face. He fell back against the bed and tried to consider his options for pinning Fish to the mat. Minutes bled into each other. His mind wandered. He was almost asleep again when his ears popped.

  “Get up,” Lou said.

  King jumped, making the bed creak. Lady yipped.

  His hand went instinctively to his chest. “Shit.”

  “Mel’ s in trouble. We have to go. Now.”

  “What?” But King pushed off the bed and stumbled to the dresser. He grabbed a shirt out of the top drawer and searched for a pair of jeans to pull over his boxers. “How do you know she’s in trouble?”

  Lou twirled her finger in the air. He understood this meant her compass had told her.

  No doubt it had also told her about McGrath’s close call with Fish.

  “Do you think it’s Terrence?” he asked, forcing his second leg into the jeans.

  “It won’t matter if you don’t hurry up.”

  “Okay, okay.” He wanted to ask her about McGrath and Fish and learn how the situation had played out. But apparently now was not the time.

  “Did the girl make it?” he asked.

  “Yes, and they arrested Fish.” Lou scratched Lady behind the ears.

  King slipped the burner phone and his cell phone in his pocket, just in case he had to make more calls tonight.

  “Ready?” Lou asked.

  “Stay. Er, pas…pas bouger,” King said to the dog, and Lady whined.

  “Sorry, girl,” Lou said as her hand fixed on King’s arm. “We’ll be back.”

  The darkness gathered around them.

  What the—? King’s mind sputtered.

  Had it ever happened like that before? Lou had always stepped into the shadows—as Lucy had—and passed through them like a thin gossamer curtain to wherever lay on the other side.

  But this, whatever had just happened, had been almost like she’d called the shadows to her.

  The darkness pooling in the corners of his bedroom and beneath his bed had seemed to stretch toward them, overtaking her.

  You’re imagining shit, he warned himself. You’re tired, you’re up past your bedtime, and you haven’t slept properly since Carnival started up. Get ahold of yourself.

  But he couldn’t shake the image of the darkness cutting across her pale face. She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t moved, but the shadows had. He was sure of it.

  Pressure doubled, tripled in his head, squeezing it in the imaginary vice he detested so much. The floor, which was no longer a floor at all, dropped out from underneath him. His stomach dropped with it. For a moment, his old claustrophobia reared inside him.

  He was squeezed, twisted. This continued until the moment when he felt he might fall into complete panic—what a hell of a time to have a panic attack—then the world finally, blessedly opened up.

  Sidewalk sprang up under his feet, jarring him forward. Lou held fast to his arm, unmoved by his momentum. She held him in place until he righted himself.

  “God, I hate that,” he said. He clasped the back of his neck.

  Lou wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were searching the plaza. King realized they stood under an overhang, in the dark of a pavilion. During the day this was the seating area of the Living La Vida Lobster Bar and Grill. King noted the absurd plastic lobster looming above the tables.

  “What’s he saying to her?” Lou asked, pressing one shoulder into a pillar.

  King squinted across the pavilion, focusing on the man in the leather hat with the crow feather protruding from it. Across from him stood Melandra. Lou and King were too far from the pair to hear their conversation. King noted only the low drone of their voices.

  “What do you think is in that bag?” King asked. “It looks too heavy to be a payoff. See how she’s leaning?”

  “What do you want to do?” Lou’s shoulders tensed under her leather jacket.

  King knew what she was going to say before she even asked.

  “Can I—?” she began.

  “No,” King said, thinking of the first conversation he’d had that evening, before the story of Fish had broken.

  “There are no families in this case,” Lou said. “No one needs to know what happened so they can sleep at night. Melandra will know what happened. Isn’t she the only one who matters?”

  I found the camera footage, the cop had explained. You can see everything.

  “I need the guy alive for other reasons.”

  Lou looked at him through her damned mirrored sunglasses. How the hell did she even see through them at night?

  “I’ll explain later. But for now, don’t kill him,” King said. “Please.”

  Lou was obviously disappointed. Her shoulders slumped.

  King couldn’t worry about that. “I’ll call the police and tell them where we are.”

  He had an uneasy feeling about that duffle bag, and his gaze kept sliding between it and the husband. King hoped he was wrong.

  He removed his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911 for the second time that night. There was no need for the burner. He hoped his clout and reputation in the city would actually help them now.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  Mel pulled a gun.

  “Shit,” Lou and King said in unison.

  “Go,” King said, and the shadows overtook Lou before he’d even finished pronouncing the word. “Go, go, go!”

  This time he was sure of it—that the darkness had in fact moved toward her, enveloping her and blotting out the orange lanterns circling the riverwalk and pavilion. She hadn’t stepped back into it as he’d often seen her do.

  She’d called the darkness. Had she even noticed?

  “Hello? 911, what’s your emergency?” a woman said.

  “Yes, hello,” King began, moving toward the tables. A cat hissed and ran out from underneath one of them. It bolted toward the restaurant and the cluster of trash cans to the left of the door. Once it was safe between two cans, it looked back over its shoulder at King appraisingly.

  “I want to report an armed robbery in progress. I’m in the Julia Street station plaza. My name is Robert King.”

  “We have a car in the area, Mr. King,” the responder said blandly. “We can get someone to you quickly. Are you in a safe place?”

  King opened his mouth to answer. That was when the shot rang out.

  * * *

  Lou stepped from the shadows of the closed pavilion with its discarded napkins and crumpled receipts tumbling in the icy winter breeze rolling off the river. When the world reformed around her, she was standing between Mel and her husband.

  It hadn’t been the exact spot she was aiming for, but the darkness must have been thickest where their bodies’ shadows overlapped on the stone. And she certainly hadn’t meant to turn her back on the man, who in her core Lou understood was dangerous.

  But that’s where she found herself nonetheless.

  Lou had only a millisecond to note Mel’s gasp of surprise, register her widening eyes. It seemed like the gun jerked at the last second, rolling slightly away from its target.

  Then the whip crack of a gunshot rang out.

  And Lou knew something was terribly wrong. Terribly wrong.

  The force that slammed through her body staggered her.

  A hot-cold sensation ran through from her head to her toes. It began as ice water, rolling down her spine and the back of her legs. Her flesh tingled.

  Then the water suddenly heated, filling her with a feverish, hot sensation that seemed to stand the hairs on her neck and arms on end.

  There was a moment of blissful ignorance before the pain came. It bloomed bright and biting at the base of her throat.

  She reached up to touch her neck, half believing that she wouldn’t
find it there. But her fingers found flesh. Blood pumped against her hand.

  A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and her knees buckled.

  “Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.”

  Lou wasn’t sure who was speaking, but she wanted them to shut up. The pounding in her head had escalated to a tumultuous thunder that obliterated all thought with its battle drumbeat.

  She couldn’t think. She barely saw the cold pavilion under her palms. The blood was dripping from her throat onto the stones beneath her, soaking her hand.

  The black pool spread out. It was like a lake opening up just for her. If she wasn’t careful, she would fall right through—maybe to La Loon.

  Or maybe to a darker, wilder place.

  “Lou.” A hand touched her back. A white-hot hand that made her feel weak all over. She wanted to knock it away. She thought she might have shrugged, but she wasn’t sure. Her arms were losing feeling, tingling the way they do when waking from sleep. And they were no longer obeying her commands.

  “Lou!”

  The greedy hands turned her over, rolling her onto her back. She stared up at the industrial gray sky, smoky white clouds full of diffused orange light sliding by, uninterested in her petty drama.

  It was King staring down at her. “Fuck. Lou! Lou, can you hear me? No, she’ll choke. Roll her. Lou?”

  “Stop shouting,” she said, or tried to say. Her throat couldn’t quite find enough air to force into her lungs. The pain radiating through her right shoulder was unbearable.

  “Give me your shawl,” King said. “Give it to me!”

  “I’m trying!”

  Something rough pressed against Lou’s throat, intensifying the pain. Someone was screaming. Distantly, she wondered if it was her own voice.

  “I’m sorry,” King said. “But we’ve got to compress this. You’re losing blood too fast.”

  His shadowed face only darkened, giving a hint of features she no longer recognized.