Monster: The Story Of A Maniac

by Peter Cry

  “No,” Mr. Brannon shook his head. “We have a huge rotation in our business. Many fribbles dream of finding another Leonardo DiCaprio, selling him on some huge project and getting a percentage from it. But only a few lucky ones are capable of that. I think the person you are looking for is no longer doing this,” the man was silent for a moment, seriously thinking about something. “If someone famous came to Indianapolis from L.A., I would have known about that.”

  “Well,” Alfred shrugged, “that’s all for now. I will have to torment your secretary then. Please excuse me if something was wrong.”

  “Yes sure, I understand everything,” Mr. Brannon hurriedly answered, getting up from his chair, intending to see off the federal agent. “You’re just doing your job.”

  Alfred went to the door and opened it.

  “Let me tell you one more thing before you go,” said Mr. Brannon, holding the doorknob.

  Alfred nodded his head.

  “I don’t know if your theory about castings works out. To me it seems a bit far-fetched. Sorry about that, Agent Hope,” before closing the door, Mr. Brannon stuck his head out, looking into the reception. “Cindy, give our guest all the information that he asks for regarding sales of actor profiles.”

  “As you say,” the secretary smiled fearfully, glancing at the guest, then at her boss.

  Damien Brannon closed the door. Left alone in his office, he removed all ostentatious politeness from his face. After a short pause and catching his breath, he hurried to his workplace. Sitting in his chair, the man angrily stared at his phone. After a moment, overcoming his fears, he grabbed the receiver.

  ***

  Lying on a comfortable double bed in the nice room of the Omni Severin Hotel, located downtown, Alfred peered into the pages with the information received from the secretary of Damien Brannon.

  The clock on the bedside table showed 01:34 a.m. Opening his eyes sleepily, he yawned loudly, covering his mouth with his fist. In the corner of the room stood a tall lamp with a delicate peach lampshade. Because of the light spreading from that lamp, the walls and dense curtains were painted with an incredibly warm, cozy color, contributing to deep relaxation, bordering with absolute nirvana. Light from the muted TV fell on the dark carpet. It was hard to fight the discouraging nap. But Alfred struggled, wanting to look through all the papers up to the end. He paid attention to the names of the email addresses used by people who bought profiles, trying to catch the sinister meaning hidden between the lines.

  “Damn...” Alfred muttered with displeasure.

  His hand, which held several stapler-bound sheets, collapsed helplessly onto the soft bed.

  The young agent was disappointed, having studied the whole information up to the end, he found out that between the time the photographs of Michael O’Neal were taken and the time he was kidnapped, no one bought the profiles. Moreover, at that time no one bought a single profile of a child under 16 years old.

  All his attempts were useless. It was necessary to put the puzzle together, but it came out unclear, stupid, and ugly. It was way too far from his version, which he would like to see harmonious, logical, and reasonable. Probably, he went the wrong way, and, instead of flying solo, he should finally, after finding a common language with his colleagues, work on the main version, which, alas, did not exist.

  Having fallen asleep, Agent Hope quietly snored.

  Chapter 20

  The huge sliding doors squealed. Two strong men, dressed in work overalls, were hardly able to push the high heavy white-gray doors in opposite directions. With a loud noise, the doors stopped.

  Rita looked at her watch and yawned. Work was work, and she, being the boss, could always be late. That is why she could not understand what the hell she was doing at a private airfield on the outskirts of the city at 8:30 in the morning.

  Despite the hour, Rita looked divine. She was wearing a short fitted light gray jacket, with a black satin ribbon at her waist. Director Coleman looked like an elegant hourglass in it. Under the jacket was a white tight-fitting blouse with bare shoulders. A gray fitted knee skirt restricted her movements so much that she could not take even half of her usual step. A pair of her patent-leather, black high-heeled shoes with a sparkling gold buckle completed her graceful appearance.

  Elegant but cold, Rita would never dress like that for ordinary operational work, especially if she was not accompanying her boss Benjamin Blake. The SMS from Alfred Hope was to blame. That morning he had suddenly decided to see the major material evidence. After Rita said she wouldn’t go there again and that, moreover, she didn’t even have the keys from the hangar, her subordinate, with whom she had already been annoyed, said he would take the keys from Kate. Hearing that, Director Coleman spruced up, and 30 minutes later she was at the site. All three turned up – Agent Hope, Kate Duncan, who also looked extremely attractive that day, and Rita Coleman.

  The spacious white hangar, polished to a sterile shine, reverberated with the steps of the people paying a visit. A yellow Thomas Saf-T-Liner school bus was on display. A bit dusty, it nevertheless seemed brand new. Agent Hope approached it, fascinated by what had been the last refuge of the children before they were abducted.

  “You won't find anything there, Agent Hope,” Rita said.

  Alfred stopped at the entrance to the bus and turned around, looking squarely at his boss.

  “I appreciate your support.”

  Rita realized that she had said something wrong again.

  “I didn’t mean it. All that you need you can find on your … “

  Alfred did not listen her anymore and climbed into the bus.

  “... laptop,” she continued, raising her voice. “If something isn’t clear, I’ll find time to explain.”

  Rita noticed that her subordinate was not listening to her. He was intent on studying the bus from the inside.

  Looking at Kate, who stood nearby, she sought reassurance. “He won’t find anything there, will he?”

  “I agree with you totally,” she nodded politely.

  Alfred was inspecting the bus. Walking past the rows, he carefully peered into each seat as if someone were sitting there. After a couple of minutes, he was dizzy. Most likely, it was because of a feint unpleasant odor.

  “I can smell chloroform!” Alfred shouted so that his colleagues who remained outside would hear him.

  Kate and Rita looked at each other.

  “That’s impossible,” Agent Duncan replied. “We found traces of it at first, but the substance is too volatile, it just could not have lasted there for so long.”

  Alfred became even dizzier. Walking between the rows, he grabbed the handles on the backs of chairs, to steady himself.

  “I’m telling you, I can smell chloroform here,” he reiterated, feeling nausea on top of the dizziness.

  He wiped away the cold sweat from his forehead and sat down on one of the chairs. After Alfred Hope had lost his memory, during his grueling rehabilitation, he had often experienced something similar. He thought those attacks were behind him, but after more than a year later, the disgusting sensation overtook him again.

  “Hold on, pull yourself together,” he told himself, “you don’t want to disappoint the ladies.”

  Throwing his arms over the back of the chair in front of him, he pressed his wet forehead against it and closed his eyes.

  “What’s he doing there, meditating?” Rita was worried and tried to peer through the windows.

  “Probably,” Kate responded. “You yourself said he needs a special approach.”

  Rita looked curiously at her employee. She, despite her well-groomed and attractive appearance, did not seem cheerful.

  “So, tell me, did you get enough sleep?” Rita was surprised at her own forwardness, and embarrassed.

  “Excuse me?” Kate was puzzled.

  “I’m asking as a friend,” Director Coleman awkwardly stroked the shoulder of her subordinate. “How was your dinner with Alfred? Did you enjoy it?”

&n
bsp; “Ah, that’s what you’re asking...” she relaxed. “Unfortunately, no. I mean, there was no dinner. After I spoke to you, Alfred convinced me that starting a relationship now, when he is just trying to connect with the team isn’t wise and could get him dismissed. Kate sighed sadly. “And I don't want him to get fired. I really like Alfred.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Rita comforted her employee and tried to cheer her up as best she could. “But he’s right. I think after the case is closed and everyone returns to their departments, it will be easier.”

  “That’s what I thought too,” Kate smiled. “We have to be patient.”

  For Alfred, the dizziness and nausea gradually subsided. He tried not to focus on his sensations and not to think about anything. Breathing heavily, he leaned back in the seat and tried to calm down. After a while he got up and stood in the center of the bus looking at the driver's seat. A few moments later, he went and sat behind the wheel. Grabbing it, he tried to generate thoughts and associations that might give him a clue.

  Suddenly, he heard a cry from behind. He distinctly heard a boy shouting "No, please, don’t do that!"

  Frightened, Alfred turned around without taking his hands off the huge black steering wheel. He was trembling, sweating.

  The bus was empty. But then he heard the screams of other children and loud footsteps. He thought he was losing his mind. The children's cries were heart wrenching and frightening. They were screaming for help and begged not to be hurt. With his peripheral vision, Alfred also saw his boss communicating with agent Duncan.

  A second later, an even stronger wave of nausea and dizziness hit him. The young agent wanted to overcome the hallucinogenic agony he was experiencing and to run out through the open doors. His colleagues would help him, but his hands were frozen to the steering wheel. He closed his eyes and counted to three… Someone grabbed his head and turned it round almost 180 degrees.

  “Howard!” he sputtered suddenly in a vile unnatural voice, “Shut those fuckers up and lay them down between the seats!”

  The head of the young agent was bursting with incredible pain, and after a second, he passed out.

  “Wake up, come on! Wake up!” he heard a pleasant but alarmed female voice. “Alfred, common on... Open your eyes!”

  The young man felt himself crawling toward the light through something black and slimy like tar toward something warm and affectionate. He was in no hurry because the viscous mucus enveloping his body was pleasant in strange way he had not experienced before.

  "No!" he yelled, in the darkness.

  Then the disgusting smell of ammonia hit his nose. Alfred opened his eyes.

  Rita Coleman's warm graceful hand held his head. With her other hand she waved a small piece of white cotton in front of his face.

  “Thanks, enough,” he muttered exhaustedly.

  “Well, finally,” Rita sighed with relief. “What happened? Are you okay!”

  Alfred was not sure.

  “Quite frankly boss, I feel weird, but that magical stuff brought me back to life.”

  Kneeling, still holding Alfred's head, Director Coleman threw away the piece of cotton wool soaked with ammonia spirit.

  Alfred inclined his head slightly and looked at the yellow bus standing nearby.

  “When I got behind the wheel, I immediately became sick, dizzy... and then I don’t remember anything.”

  Breathing heavily, still in a delusional state, he turned on his left side and, resting his hand on the ground, stood up.

  “Where's Kate?”

  “She ran with the guards to meet the ambulance,” Rita answered, rising from her knees.

  Going around him, she held out her hands.

  “Can you get up?”

  “I think I can.”

  Holding the wrists of his boss, he wobbled and stood up. Facing his savior, Alfred gradually came to his senses. Unable to rest on his weak legs, he suddenly leaned back. In order not to fall, the man caught Rita's waist with his arms and pressed her to himself.

  “Hold on,” she exclaimed excitedly, grabbing her co-worker by the shoulders.

  Hugging, without saying a word to each other, the two colleagues stood like that for about 20 seconds. Raising his tired head, Alfred looked sadly at Rita.

  “Don't you dare scare us like that again. Never,” she complained.

  “Do you mean you personally?”

  “Yes,” she smiled sarcastically. “I mean me personally. Are you satisfied now?”

  “No… I beg you, let's go for a date,” he suddenly dared to ask her. “You still like me, don’t you?”

  “I like you,” Rita carefully escaped out of his arms. “But Kate likes you too. On the one hand, I’m happy you never had dinner with her, but on the other, I feel uncomfortable about it.”

  “Kate is a nice girl,” Agent Hope adjusted his clothes. “But she still freaks me out a bit, unlike you.”

  “Again, you’re saying something very strange and romantic,” Rita said, feeling that she had no choice. Her heart was trembling because he was next to her. “Yes, Alfred, I really want to go on a date with you and I don’t even know why. You have to understand, I’m gorgeous,” she joked, “and you are…”

  Alfred beamed. “I adore you. I always wanted to have such a boss who likes me and at the same time almost hates me.”

  “Don’t say that, I don’t hate you,” Rita gently dusted off his black jacket.

  They heard a vehicle arriving. An ambulance drove in through the open hangar doors. It stopped a dozen feet from Agent Hope and Director Coleman. Kate was the first to jump out. She ran to Alfred with a smile.

  “How are you, do you feel better?” She struggled to restrain herself from hugging him.

  “I'm fine, I lost consciousness. With a head like mine, it’s not surprising.”

  Two doctors, a young woman, and a middle-aged man, jumped out of from the back of the ambulance.

  “I'm fine,” Alfred greeted them, raising his right hand.

  “We’ll know that for sure only after we examine you.”

  “I don't want to go to the hospital,” Alfred pleaded, looking at Rita.

  “You must, you definitely need to do an MRI. Go with him, Kate.”

  Apprehensively, Director Coleman glanced at the attractive Agent Duncan, and then at Agent Hope, conveying to him what she thought about the interest of her two subordinates in one another.

  The medical personnel took Alfred to the ambulance and sat him down. Inside, he did not pay attention to them or Kate. Instead, he watched Rita walking to her car. There was something sad and graceful in the way she walked which both captivated and enfeebled his weary heart.

  The rear door of the ambulance closed and, after the siren started screaming, they rushed to the nearest hospital. Seated next to him, Kate laid her gentle palm on Alfred's hand. He looked at her gratefully but thinking only about how to remove his colleague's cold grip so as not to offend her. Raising his arm and flexing his shoulder, he smiled awkwardly.

  “Apparently, I’ve pulled my shoulder when you dragged me out of the bus.”

  Kate nodded her head knowingly.

  “It was not us. In our outfits and high heels, Miss Coleman and I could not have done that. The guards pulled you out. Seems they accidentally hurt you.”

  “It's okay, I am grateful to you that you got me out so quickly.”

  Agent Duncan thought for a moment.

  “What happened inside the bus? Does this kind of thing happen often to you?”

  “It used to be a part of my everyday life. The last time I had it was a year ago. And now suddenly it happened again.”

  Alfred did not show it, but he was scared. Frightened by the fact that the nausea and pain might return, and who knows what would follow. What if he lost his memory again? What if this happened suddenly and nobody began looking for him again? The intriguing and alluring Rita Coleman would disappear from his life... What if?

  On the way to the hospital h
e asked himself a lot of questions. But he did not want to dwell on what really frightened him, on the words he had cried out before losing consciousness. Something unbearably disgusting! The emotions he had experienced at that moment were alien to him – animal fear and demonic malice. He hoped the strange horror would not reoccur. Probably, it had just been a hallucination induced by the emotional impact of the abduction and murder. His brain, exhausted by the terrible trauma he was not able to recall, was over-stretched. He should just let it go and carry on.

  Still feeling slightly dizzy and nauseous, Alfred lay down on a comfortable stretcher. Kate reached out and stroked his black silky hair.

  “Everything will be fine,” she said gently.

  “Yes, it will,” he responded, turning his head to the right, hinting to his colleague that he did not want to be touched.

  Chapter 21

  The Soldiers and Sailors Monument is situated among tall gray-beige and brown buildings in downtown Indianapolis. The 284-foot-tall neo-classical limestone tower is almost as high as the Statue of Liberty. The father of one of the abducted boys made an appointment to meet with Agent Alfred Hope at the majestic site.

  Hidden among the concrete-glass lanes of the business districts was a small Italian restaurant “Buca Di Beppo” beloved by the local office workers.

  Alfred parked his car a few blocks from downtown and decided to walk for a while to kill the extra time left before the meeting. Young people and those who, with the help of sports or money, tried to prolong their youth, dressed in black and gray business suits, with phones in their hands, rushed about their business. In appearance, the federal agent blended into the surrounding crowd. Without knowing his profession, the attractive fellow could have been one of the local white-collar workers and not a law enforcement officer.

  Stopping by a small summer terrace, under a striped white-green canopy that hid visitors from the sun, Alfred glanced at his watch. His inexpensive model showed seven minutes to one. He still had some time before meeting with Ted Edison. Turning around, he looked at the noisy terrace, full of people. All the tables were occupied, and those that were free, had "reserve" signs. Alfred did not want to spend the seven minutes under the scorching August sun. Noticing a sign with “We have air conditioning” he went inside.