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Call Me Dreamer

Page 13

by Ryan Maitland


  Rather than confront the killer, I tried to do something unexpected, turning to the ghost prancing at the victim’s feet, just to my right. This meant that I was turning away from the killer in, what I hoped was, a display of power, showing how unconcerned I was that he was here.

  “Just why the hell are you laughing?” I asked the ghost, surprising the young man. “You obviously committed suicide, so what does this poor bastard have to do with that?”

  “Mr. Silverton,” the young man sneered, “was my teacher! He knew I was being bullied and yet, when I called him one night, in tears, he talked me into killing myself!”

  Okay, a man that talked a kid into killing himself is pretty damn evil in my book, and probably deserved whatever hell he was put through, but I still had to put on an unaffected air as my persona demanded it.

  “Ghosts!” I scoffed, turning to the Cryptic Killer. “It’s just one sob story after another with them, isn’t it?”

  “You can hear them, too?” the tall man asked in an awed voice.

  “Wish I didn’t,” I answered, sneering at him. “But what’s your story? Why do you do this?” I asked, motioning to the man on the ground and wishing Earl would hurry the hell up.

  “I was called by God to carry out the justice the victims have been denied,” the man intoned. I could hear the capital ‘G’ in his tone.

  “Yeah?” I scoffed. “How’d that happen?”

  “I used to be a much larger man,” he started, clearly starting to enjoy this and not fearing me one iota. He saw me as a friend, not a threat!

  Oh joy… a serial killer sees me as a friend! Add that to my resumé!

  “Then one day,” he continued, “I had a massive heart attack! They tell me I was clinically dead for two minutes! The doctors told me that if I didn’t change my ways, I would not live to see the end of the year!”

  “And that’s when you started hearing the voices,” I continued for him, recognizing that, according to Earl, at least, most spookies come into their powers after a near-death experience.

  “Yes!” he declared, looking joyous. “That’s it, exactly! At first, I thought I was going mad! But then, I started doing research on what I was hearing and found that the voices were speaking the truth! I had been chosen to do God’s work!”

  “But why this?” I asked, gesturing to the man on the ground whose darting eyes told me he was still alive, at least for the moment… “Why not take the matter to the police?” I clarified.

  “Oh, I tried that!” the man hissed, his face turning angry. “But nobody would believe me!”

  “Until you met a doctor that did…” I added, connecting the dots. We knew he must have a medical doctor helping him in order to get access to the paralytic he was using. Finding a doctor that believed in his cause made the most sense.

  “Yes, exactly!” he proclaimed, his face turning rapturous at the thought of finding a kindred spirit. “I have been called just like you!”

  “Sorry, Mr. Crazypants,” I mocked, wondering, again, what the hell was taking Earl so goddam freaking long! I could only distract him for a little while more!

  “My idea of justice isn’t killing people in cold blood!” I continued.

  “But I’m not killing them!” he insisted. “Their victims and their guilty conscience are killing them!”

  “Poh-tay-toh, poh-tah-toh!” I dismissed. “You’re still kidnapping them, torturing them, and then bringing them to the middle of ghost-city to scare them to death! That makes you a cold-blooded murderer in my book!”

  I realized, after-the-fact, that I had gone too far in distracting the killer. I should have played the whole ‘kindred spirit’ angle, but instead, I let his self-righteous attitude get to me and, for a moment, he seemed to become Jack Offerson, my biological father, and all the hatred I had for the man came exploding out of my mouth!

  At least, that’s the explanation I tell myself for what happened next…

  The man’s face turned furious, but before he could do anything, Earl was there with his gun pressing to the back of the man’s head.

  “Federal agent!” Earl called, jabbing the gun at the tall man. “Hands behind your head! On your knees!” Earl commanded using a tone that brooked no argument.

  The Cryptic Killer, oddly enough, surrendered peacefully, for which I was supremely grateful. He seemed to be directing all his anger at me, for which I was not grateful, but I could live with it. After all, he’s not the first asshole to hate me for no good reason.

  When I heard the clink of handcuffs, I dropped to Mr. Silverton, the man on the ground, while his ghostly victim screamed at me in a horrendous rage! Mr. Silverton was still breathing, but the breaths were quick and panicky.

  “You’re safe now, Mr. Silverton,” I assured as best as I could, dropping the Agent Dreamer persona. I could hear Earl calling for a paramedic and I hoped they would get here in time!

  I glanced up at Earl and I could see him jerking his head left and right, like he was responding to the sounds that had been continuous to me since I entered this accursed place.

  “What do you hear?” I asked Earl, echoing his questions to me earlier.

  “Probably just the wind…” he answered, his voice a little shaky.

  Both the cryptic killer and the ghost laughed at Earl then and I could see the CIA agent start to panic.

  “Relax,” I told him, remembering at the last moment not to mention his name, since he was using an alias. “The ghosts can’t hurt you.” I directed this last part to the man on the ground, whose breathing was getting quicker! I put my hands to his head, connecting to his mind, and immediately felt a searing pain in my chest, which suddenly felt as if an elephant was sitting on it, even as I looked into my own eyes, which were quickly filling with horror!

  “Agent Flagg!” I called to Earl, getting him to focus on me as my connection with the man on the ground suddenly cut off, though I was still clutching his head! “I’m not getting anything!” I added in a blind panic now!

  I really hoped the killer construed this as I wasn’t getting a pulse and not anything else…

  Earl rushed over to the man, felt the man’s neck, and immediately started CPR.

  “What… do… the… numbers… mean?” Earl asked as he did chest compressions that looked like they would break the man’s ribs!

  I’m pretty sure Earl was trying to distract me from the horror that was unfolding before me. I’m glad he did… otherwise, my panic might have paralyzed me, keeping me from doing what needed to be done…

  I bent down, using what little light I had, and was able to make out the numbers 20, 18, and 21.

  “Proverbs, chapter 18, verse 21,” I told him as that specific verse sprang to my mind. “It translates to ‘Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits.’”

  “What does that mean?” Earl gasped as he continued chest compressions.

  “He’s a teacher,” I answered gravely. “He convinced one of his students to commit suicide. The boy slashed his own wrists…”

  “Jesus Christ!” Earl exclaimed loudly while still continuing the chest compressions.

  It was then that I heard the sirens of an ambulance.

  “Guide them here,” Earl commanded. “Use my flashlight!” Earl paused briefly enough to fish out a small, pen-sized, flashlight from a front pocket.

  I took it and went back up the hill, waving the flashlight towards the main path. I was as close to running as I got in those days as I made my way to the entrance. The paramedics arrived before I managed to make it to the entrance and I directed them with the flashlight to the small hill where I had left Earl. They rushed to the scene while I sat on a headstone, trying to catch my breath and ignoring the woman screaming at me to get off her tombstone. The paramedics returned just a few minutes later with Mr. Silverton on the stretcher as one of the paramedics straddled the man and continued chest compressions.

  The police, harrowed as they were, arrived
shortly after that and took the Cryptic killer away, trailed by Earl, who looked as worn out as I felt…

  “Come on,” Earl commanded gently, taking my arm. “Let’s get back to the motel. Agent Simon will want to speak with us tomorrow, but you should probably let me do all the talking, okay?”

  “Okay,” I mumbled numbly, letting Earl steer me like I was a little kid.

  We drove back to the motel, where I spent the rest of the night just clutching Mr. Fluffybutt to me and humming Freres Jacques quietly, since there was no way I was going to be able to get to sleep! Not after what happened this night…

  It was a long night for me…

  Chapter 20

  Debriefing

  The next morning, or a few hours later, since we had gotten back to the motel after midnight, we made the short trip back to the police station to meet with Agent Simon again. We left at first light since none of us, Simon included, had gotten any sleep and it didn’t look like we were going to any time soon. I was on my second or third cup of coffee as I fought off a wave of exhaustion while I tried to remember the last time I had gotten any real sleep.

  We walked into the temporary office Simon was using at the police station and I noticed that he looked as worn down as I felt. It also seemed like he couldn’t breathe without sighing by now. I took this as a sign of his agitation.

  “The two of you did good work out there,” Simon started off as he shuffled papers around.

  “How is Mr. Silverton?” I blurted, feeling anxious to know the fate of the killer’s latest victim.

  With a sigh that puffed out his cheeks in a way that made him look way too much like a frog for me to be entirely comfortable with, he answered, “He died at the hospital shortly after they admitted him. They did everything they could, but, in the end, his heart just couldn’t handle the strain…”

  “Oh…” I squeaked, fighting off a wave of depression. “So, it was all for nothing then…”

  “Not for nothing,” Earl chided gently, concern etched onto his face. “We caught the bastard that did this. He won’t be hurting anyone else again.”

  “He’s right,” Simon sighed, giving me a strange look, like he didn’t recognize me anymore. It took me a moment to realize what was going on with him. I had been playing to the idea of the cold bitch he thought me to be, but, now, here I was, showing grief for a complete stranger. I could see him reevaluating me as he tried to work out just what kind of person I was.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, shrugging off their concern. “I know…”

  “Did you get anything from the killer?” Earl asked Simon in a bid to either change the subject or to get this debriefing over with as soon as possible.

  “Plenty,” Simon answered with a sigh. “His name is a Mr. Bjorn Eagan. He’s confessed to everything and then some! He’s even confessed to bodies we haven’t even found yet! Apparently, some of them are cached away in actual crypts! Hell! He seems proud of what he’s done!”

  “Don’t they all?” Earl smirked, rolling his eyes.

  Simon shrugged before continuing, “He says he could hear the voices of the people the victims killed. That’s how he selected his targets!”

  At this, Earl just scoffed, shaking his head a little, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Gotta give Earl props, he’s doing a heckuva job acting!

  “It gets weirder,” Simon continued, giving a small sigh in the process. “He also says that you, Agent Dreamer, can hear the voices too!”

  Now it was my turn to scoff! “The man is clearly delusional,” I mocked, putting as much disgust as I could in my voice, which was not the least bit difficult.

  “Clearly,” Simon agreed, nodding.

  “Any word on accomplices?” Earl asked, businesslike.

  “We pulled the name of a doctor from his phone,” Simon answered, just as businesslike. “We’re investigating him, now…”

  “Good,” Earl nodded, sounding like he was wrapping up. “I’ll send you our reports a little later. After that, we’ll leave everything to you.”

  “Right,” Simon nodded before giving another sigh that puffed out his cheeks.

  And with that, we were dismissed. I chugged the rest of my coffee and followed Earl back to the car, which was already packed for our return trip back to normality, or what passed for it, at any rate…

  Chapter 21

  Decompression

  I must have dozed on the way back to Amana and, ultimately, my home. The next thing I remember is the crunch of gravel under the tires. I awoke with a little start, blinking at the brightening light of morning. The clock on the dashboard said it was after seven, almost eight. As Earl slowly drove up the gravel-paved drive, I noticed Sheriff Carter’s civilian vehicle, the large black SUV, once again, in my driveway.

  “I called her on the way back,” Earl explained before I could ask. “I didn’t want you to be alone after what you just went through.”

  “Thank you, Earl,” I cheered, looking at him in a new light. Before, I had thought of him as only tending to an asset he had developed, but this little act of kindness showed that he might actually care about my well-being as a person. “That was really sweet,” I added for good measure.

  I got unsteadily out of the car, my stiff limbs protesting a little, and grabbed my bag from the back.

  “Jane?” Carter asked, looking unsure.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I confessed, feeling a little embarrassed. “I forgot I was still wearing my disguise…”

  Rather than ask me to explain why I was wearing a disguise, she just turned to Earl, who was standing behind the driver’s side door. “Earl, I presume?” she asked.

  “I am,” he nodded, genially.

  “Would you like to come in for some coffee?” I offered to Earl.

  “Maybe another time,” he shook his head. “I’ve got reports to write.”

  He looked like he was about to get into his car, but he had an afterthought. “By the way,” he added, looking a little sheepish. “You’ll find a flash drive in your bag. It’s got that software we discussed. I recommend you try it out!”

  I confess I didn’t know what he was talking about, at the time, and just gave him a standard, “Okay,” before turning back to Sheriff Carter. Now, in my defense, I was pretty severely sleep deprived, even with the little nap I had had, not to mention undernourished! It wasn’t until I plugged the flash drive into my computer, maybe a day or two later, that I realized what it was. It was a language course in learning Russian… the first of many to come… later…

  Anyway, back to Sheriff Carter…

  “How about you?” I asked the tall, muscular, woman. “I can have coffee ready in a few minutes.”

  “Sounds great,” she smiled, following me to the door, where I was met by Peter and Wendy, who looked like they wanted to give me a hug, but couldn’t.

  “Hi kids,” I smiled at them before unlocking the door. “Sorry I was gone so long…”

  “We missed you!” Peter cried.

  “I thought you were never coming back!” Wendy whined.

  “I know,” I soothed to them. “I had an important job to do…”

  “Did you catch the bad guy?” Peter asked, looking excited once more.

  “I did!” I smiled at them, leading Carter to the dining room.

  I set my bag down, carefully pulled out Mr. Fluffybutt, and placed him on one of the chairs, somewhat reverentially.

  “What’s up with the bear?” Carter asked, looking mildly concerned at how careful I was being with a stuffed animal.

  “Do not mock Mr. Fluffybutt!” I whirled on her, my face screwed up into one of righteous fury before completely falling apart into a giggle fit as I saw her face!

  Throughout this, Carter’s face went from one of utter alarm, to relief, before joining me in my giggle fit!

  “The look on your face!” I wheezed out between bouts of laughter.

  “Mine?” she mocked, suppressing her own giggles. “You should have seen yours! I’
ve never seen someone look so serious over a stuffed animal!”

  “Mr. Fluffybutt is special to me,” I smiled, sobering a bit. “Some idiot was going to throw him away, but I saved him. This little rabbit has been in someone’s family for generations and is filled with feelings of love and security.”

  “And you can pick up on that,” she stated, remembering the little lesson I had given… was it just a few days ago? Seems like longer…

  “I can,” I smiled, happy that she understood.

  As the coffee was brewing, I returned to the dining room and pulled out the hair clips holding the wig to my head, before finally pulling it off and draping it on the Styrofoam head. It was a great relief to finally pull off the hairnet and scratch away how damn itchy the wig was!

  I left the dining room and poured coffee while Carter watched, giving me time and space, for which I was grateful. It was nice to have someone to share in the weirdness that is my life; somebody that wasn’t Earl.

  “Okay, I give,” Carter finally broke the silence as we sat down at the dining room table, still holding the Styrofoam head. “What’s up with the disguise?”

  “Earl didn’t want the FBI to know what I looked like while we worked with them,” I answered, caressing the mug and savoring the warmth.

  I was glancing at Peter and Wendy, who were floating in the doorway, as unobtrusively as I could while Carter formulated her response. I guess the kids wanted to hear what happened as much as the sheriff did!

  “Why were you working with the FBI?” she asked, sounding a little suspicious, like maybe she already knew the answer but wanted me to confirm it.

 

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