by Dan Dillard
An idea formed in his head. He stopped at an ATM and pulled out a few hundred dollars. It was absurd, but necessary. It was enough to steer him home, even if he was greeted with screams by a four year old girl.
When he got there, he held her until she tired of beating her fists into his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have taken better care of your mommy.”
He joined Stephanie in her tears and his mother watched them both, heartbroken. Rocko jumped at his back, then hers, licking at her saltwater-stained cheeks and wagging his tail. After a few minutes, she grabbed the dog instead and hugged it tight. Ray took his mother aside.
“I want you to take Stephanie and the dog and go to this address.”
“Raymond? We haven’t been there since your father died.”
“Please?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I will explain things once this is all over. I have something I have to do and I need you to take her. You can’t speak to anyone about it. Not for a couple days.”
“Raymond?”
“I’ll come find you in a couple of days. Go pack some things.”
The look on his face was enough to get her moving, even if her look of confusion and worry remained. She went and did as he instructed. Stephanie and the dog wandered after her.
Once they were safely on another floor of the house, Ray called the number for Dr. Babbit’s office again, determined to set up a meeting.
“I’m sorry, but Dr. Babbit is in surgery this afternoon,” the receptionist said.
“It’s important that I speak to him, does he have any free time today?”
“No sir, he has two more scheduled today which will take him through this evening. Can I have your name? I’ll leave him a message.”
“No. No, it isn’t that important.” But it was that important. Ray would have to go to contingency before the initial plan was even realized. If the doctor was in surgery, then he could get his family on the road. Not only that, if the doctor was in surgery, he wasn’t home.
***
Mrs. Noonan left the driveway in her car with Stephanie safely strapped into a child seat in the back. A brand new stuffed lion occupied the little girl while the dog hung his tongue out the window, sniffing everything he could sniff. Ray waved from the driveway.
He called for a taxi and asked to be taken to a shopping center in town. There was a rental car company in walking distance of the drop off and there, he found a small car that would be inconspicuous. Ray pulled up next to the hospital. Babbit’s car was easy to spot. It was a large, black Mercedes and it was parked in an assigned spot.
Ray watched for an hour when his phone buzzed. It was a text from his mother that read simply: SAFE AND SOUND. They had driven for just over five hours by his watch and that put them right where he wanted them.
Another hour passed before he saw the doctor leaving the exit door. Babbit wore jeans and a v-necked sweater as he climbed into his ridiculously expensive car. It rolled out of the spot like a shark following the scent of blood and Ray followed.
Twenty minutes in pursuit brought him into a wealthy part of town, large houses on sprawling lawns. Ray was thankful the neighborhood wasn’t gated. He stopped at the corner, still able to see the black sedan as it rolled down an gentle incline and then up the other side of the hill into a the driveway of a massive home with stone walls, a beautiful piece of construction as intense as the car, and as intense as the doctor.
The car stopped and waited for the garage door to open, and then disappeared inside. Ray followed and stopped just past the doctor’s driveway where he parked. He didn’t much care if he was seen. His little girl was the only important thing. It was five full minutes before he gained the courage to open the door and move on with his plan.
Ray walked toward the house, unsure of what he might do. Once on the driveway, he knocked on the door. James Babbit answered, wearing scrubs.
“Ray Noonan, what a surprise.”
“I’d like to come in,” Ray said.
“You want to see what I’m up to, no doubt. Sure, we have no secrets, you and I.” He let the door swing wide and gracefully offered Ray entrance. “I’m flattered that you followed me. I’ve never had a fan before.”
“I’m not your fan. I want you to move on. I want you to find another family to terrorize.”
“Terrorize is a harsh word. Yes, I heard you’d asked for a transfer. I have lots of friends, Ray. Many people tell me things. Alex is lousy at golf, but he is a great conversationalist. We have a tee-time tomorrow morning at 9:15.”
He continued leading Ray into the giant house. Everything was immaculate, designed and furnished for a pretty penny. Ray kept one eye on the doctor, still rolling scenarios through his mind.
“So, since you’re here, Mr. Noonan, let me show you my latest project.”
He opened the door to what might have been a study in any other mansion, but behind that door, Ray saw a brightly lit nightmare. It looked like an operating room of sorts, where a young man lay prone on a stainless steel table. Blinding lights illuminated multiple open wounds, each wiped clean of blood. Some had clamps, others stitched and others still were peeled open.
“Welcome to my office. I figure, if I can practice golf on a golf course, why can’t I do this? Practice does make perfect, right?”
Ray stood dumbfounded. Bile bubbled into his throat and he choked it back. “There’s something wrong with you,” Ray said.
Babbit grabbed his arm, and put one hand on the back of Ray’s neck, squeezing hard enough to compel him to follow. Ray didn’t struggle. He was still working things out in his mind, although it was racing.
“I want you to look at my work, Mr. Noonan. How beautiful it is.”
He shoved Ray into the room and let the door close behind them. He pushed Ray toward the body of the young man.
“Look at it!” he shouted.
Ray looked at the poor soul strapped to the table, but couldn’t help watching Babbit. “Is he dead?” Ray asked.
Babbit’s head dropped, the gleam in his eyes lost momentarily. “He is. He held on until last night, but lost his battle sometime early this morning. I need to gain better control of the blood loss. A nurse would be a fantastic asset.” He looked briefly at Ray as if considering him for the job. “You’re too shaky. Just look at you, we’d have blood splattering everywhere. No, I need a pro.” Babbit let go of Ray’s arm to ponder his thought further.
Ray backed away, looking at the array of items on the stainless table. Scalpels and saws of every size. Clean. Weapons. “Why was Courtney so sloppy?” he said.
“What do you mean?” Babbit said.
“The detective said it couldn’t have been the work of a surgeon. He said you were meticulous. This room is spotless, why was she so torn up?”
Babbit smiled and picked up one of the scalpels, tapping the blade with his forefinger. “That was anger, Mr. Noonan. You pissed me off. Plus I didn’t have time to bring her here. I had to make my point. Did I make my point?” He gouged the air with his scalpel, smiling.
“Yes. Point made,” Ray replied. There was one item that stood out on the stainless cart. A single syringe lay there, and it was full of some liquid. Ray looked back at Babbit.
“Courtney was unfortunate. I had hoped the poison would take care of her, but she was strong. She fought me when I took her. That angered me even more so. I had to resort to more barbaric means.”
Ray inched toward the tray.
“You see, Mr. Noonan, there are many ways to kill a person. Some are necessary and some are just downright pleasurable, relaxing. Quite like painting I imagine.” He turned away for a moment, lost in his speech.
It was just long enough for Ray to grab the syringe, stab it into Babbit’s shoulder and depress the plunger, emptying its contents. Babbit swiped the scalpel across Ray’s hand, opening a deep wound. Ray recoiled, grabbing his hand and as the blood flowed down his arm in sheets, Ba
bbit began to laugh.
“I did not expect that, Ray. Didn’t think you had it in you.” Babbit stepped toward him.
“Why am I lucky?” Ray said, stepping back to take refuge on the opposite side of the corpse.
“That little concoction is something I brewed up to keep people alert. Fortunately for you, it also causes paralysis. If I were you, I would take advantage, Mr. Noonan.” Babbit fell to his knees.
“So you’ll be able to hear me? And know what I’m saying?”
“Yes, but you won’t be able to talk me out of what I’ll do to you and your family when the drug wears off.”
“You won’t survive long enough.”
Babbit smiled. “I do hope so, for your sake. You have surprised me once today already.”
He continued smiling. Ray saw it as a final fuck you. It didn’t matter. He grabbed some gauze from the counter and bandaged his hand. There were other things on the counter, things that could be used to clean the tables, the tools and the floor. Things that could remove him from the crime scene. He opened a bottle of bleach and poured it over the trickling of blood that had dripped from his hand.
“Are you there, Babbit?” Ray said. “I’m going to say this once, so I hope you are paying fucking attention.” He grabbed the doctor under his armpits and dragged him out of the room, his slippered feet sliding easily across the marble floor of the grand living room.
“Where’s a bathroom, you sick rich bastard?”
Babbit was catatonic and rigid. His eyes remained open but didn’t focus on anything. Ray lay the doctor down and hurried through the downstairs room. The third door he checked opened into a massive master suite. He ran into the bathroom and turned the hot water on in the tub. It steamed nicely. After dragging Babbit into the bathroom, he stripped the doctor bare, folded his scrubs into a nice pile and set them next to the sink. It took more effort than Ray expected, but he got Babbit in the tub and arranged him into a sitting position. Babbit’s head lolled to the side as if he was watching Ray, but his eyes were as blank as marbles.
Ray walked back to the operating room and found a suitable scalpel to take back with him. He placed it in Babbit’s hand and using his own hand to guide the surgeon’s, dug deep into his opposite wrist, slicing all the way to the crook of his elbow. Then he switched hands and mirrored the effort.
When he was finished, he let the scalpel drop into the water and watched the blood flow. Ray sat on the floor and leaned on the tub with his elbows, staring into Babbit’s blank face. “It’s like this, Doc. You see, people commit suicide all the time. Especially sick fuckers like you. Doctors and surgeons are tasked with such great responsibility…occasionally, they slip. Occasionally, they have to ease the tension.”
Ray watched as the color ran out of the doctor’s skin. He turned the water off when it had covered the doctor, leaving only his knees, shoulders and head exposed above the cloudy red liquid. He took a towel from the closet and wiped down everything he had touched in the bathroom, then went to the operating room and cleaned up his blood from the floor and from the scalpel Babbit used to cut him.
When he left, he took the towel and the syringe with him. He tossed them out the window along the long stretch of wooded two-lane that led him back to the rental office where he returned the car. Inside, he paid and thanked the woman at the counter, then hailed a cab to get home.
Ray deleted all of the emails from his phone except for the one from Tabby, and then he doctored the gash on his hand before getting in his own car and going to meet Stephanie and his mother.
***
Two weeks later, Ray was settling into his job in Boston and Stephanie was busy enjoying Rocko, the stuffed lion that replaced Bananas–she named it Sniffles, and her new daycare. She had her fifth birthday and looked forward to starting Kindergarten. Ray’s mother was planning a visit and Ray was exhausted from work and moving and all he wanted to do was get off the phone.
“Don’t think I won’t look for an apartment when I get there,” Mrs. Noonan said.
“That would be great, mom. I’ll help you search.”
“I can’t wait to see that little girl. My, she starts school this year.”
“Yep.”
“Well give her a happy birthday hug from Grandma, and scratch that little dog.”
“I will.”
His phone buzzed indicating another incoming call and he was secretly thankful. “Mom, I’ve got another call, can I talk to you later?”
“Go ahead. I’ve kept you long enough. Love you.”
“You too.” Ray clicked the line. “Hello?”
“Mr. Noonan, Detective Wilkins.”
Ray’s heart sank a little. He knew it couldn’t last forever, but was glad—if nothing else—that Stephanie was safe from Babbit–that everyone was safe from Babbit–and that he was burning in hell. He thought Stephanie could live with his mother if he went to jail. She would have the dog, and they could visit him on weekends. The thought made him a little sick and gave him a nervous chuckle. “Yes, detective?”
“Hey, terrible news about Babbit, huh? Some coincidence?”
“You could call it that. I have other words for it.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. Noonan. From now on, please call me Jerry. I’d like to call you Ray.”
“I don’t understand.”
The detective cleared his throat. “We found some pretty sick shit in that house. There was a ledger in his study that detailed the things he’d been doing. Not to mention the poor schmuck on that operating table.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jerry.”
“If you’d like to play it that way. What I’m saying is, there was an entry there about your wife. There was an entry for your assistant there too. There were entries there for seventeen other people’s wives, husbands, brothers and sisters. Ray, what I’m trying to say is thank you. There’s one less sick bastard in the world. I also want to apologize for not taking you at your word from the start because we might have saved at least one of those people.”
“But it was a suicide, right?”
“That’s what my report says.”
“And Detective Allen?”
“He agrees. Do you get what I’m telling you?” Wilkins said.
“I do.”
“You go and have a good life, Ray. Take care of that little girl.”
“I will, det- Jerry. Thank you.”
SEVENTEEN
It could have been imagination, but I’d swear on my grandmother’s Bible he was there.
It was a simple exploration…I’m not even sure why I went down there in the first place. I was at a meeting with Hollingsworth and Hall, Attorneys at Law to have some divorce papers drawn up. Papers that had been a long time coming. I didn’t want the divorce, at least not at first, but Erica did. Throughout its course, she went from loving mother and wife to some snarling beast I didn’t even recognize. I suppose I had moments where I wasn’t myself either—corner a wounded animal and all that. We just didn’t fit together anymore and she saw it first. That’s all it was.
It turns out signing those papers wasn’t as hard as I thought. Mr. Hollingsworth shook my hand and smiled warmly, more grandfather than attorney.
“Good luck,” he said. “I wish you both the best…you’re kids too.”
“Thanks,” I said and felt like I was speaking in a dream.
As I left out of the back door of the building, I noticed something that looked like my grandmother’s root cellar doors—yes, the same grandmother that owned that bible. Those green metal doors called to me the way a tree begs a ten-year-old boy to climb it and I just couldn’t help but take a peek. I reached down and grabbed one handle and opened the doors with a creak.
The staircase that was revealed was thick with dust and layers of cobwebs. The doors snapped into place and then hummed as the old metal vibrated. The steps were old concrete, nibbled at the edges, and they crawled with life in the brig
ht sunlight. Roaches and cave crickets froze in place, seemingly startled to see me, as if the cellar hadn’t been opened in quite some time. After a good look, me at them and them back at me, they scurried into the dark of the corners. At the bottom, maybe ten feet down, was a single wooden door, its veneer face warped by moisture. It smelled like mildew and decay.
With a glance at the back door of the law office, worried someone might be watching, I exhaled, hearing my breath shake as I took the first step. No one was there, and save a few SUV’s and a Mercedes, even the parking lot was empty. The downtown streets around bustled, traffic noises and music from a nearby restaurant blended and disappeared and I heard nothing aside from my own breathing.
Cave crickets jumped to the walls and crawled in their mechanical way and I hated them. Three steps down, I felt a knot in my throat and then my heart stopped as one jumped on me. I slapped at it and let out a squeal like an infant pig. I don’t think anyone heard it as no one came to my rescue.
Six steps down, I met the overhang above the door. Underneath it was covered with tiny, dead exoskeletons all tangled in spider webs. I wanted to scrape them away for fear of something dropping on my head while I passed beneath, but I couldn’t stand the thought of touching them.
The brass doorknob felt icy cold in my hand and I twisted it, opening the door into a dingy basement full of old cardboard boxes. The walls in front of me were made of two-hundred year old bricks…to my right, they were cinder blocks and a poured concrete floor—recent construction that didn’t match the age of the building. I heard the air conditioning unit above my head and the occasional drip of water, somewhere in the back of the manmade cavern. I stepped through the doorway quickly, felt the hair on my neck stand up and brushed phantom things from my neck and shoulders.
There was a light switch to my right which I flipped and relief filled my body as the room beyond flooded with light from a single incandescent bulb. Beyond another stack of cardboard boxes and wooden crates, I saw an opening to the left.
Something shuffled as I approached that corner and I shuddered.
“Get hold of yourself,” I whispered, “just a raccoon or something.”
