Monster: The Story Of A Maniac

by Peter Cry

  “I will knock the shit out of you for as long as it takes until you tell me who the fuck he is, and where he is.”

  “That piece of shit took pictures of three of the five kidnapped children,” the federal agent pointed a gun at the head of the man who was hiding in the corner. “Two and a half years before the abduction, bitch!” he growled angrily. “Thirty fucking months! You followed those children for many years. Then, all in one school! You decided on the abduction and triumphed. But not for long, you scum.”

  “I’ve nothing to do with it. I just did a casting for Nathan. Yes, I lied it was for Walmart, but I was a pathetic loser. I had to survive somehow, and he always paid well,” the miserable coward Brannon, choking on his own saliva, spluttered, trying to evoke sympathy in the agent who was looking at him like he was a piece of shit.

  “I have no idea what he did with the profiles of the children after that. I heard that he resold them to someone, but I had nothing to do with that.”

  Alfred pulled the gun away from Brannon's head.

  “How many profiles did you sell him?”

  “He bought all profiles with children no older than 12 years old,” he muttered, wiping blood from his chin. “But I’m telling you once again, this is standard practice, there’s no crime in it.”

  “Then why are you in such a hurry to pack your shit up?”

  “Until the very moment you told me that my agency had a profile of the abducted boy, I had no idea about it. You’ve scared me. I know that some of our photos and videos from castings are on the Deep Web, with addresses and phone numbers. But it’s not my fault. Those who bought the data from me are to blame. I can’t control them. I’m just not able to do that!”

  Alfred moved away from Brannon and sat down in a chair near the desk.

  “Have you already called Nathan and told him about me?”

  “No,” the trembling Brannon rose timidly from the floor. “To be honest, I have called him, but his number is no longer valid. He changes them often... But I know where he lives.”

  “So, sit the fuck down and write me his address, email, first name, last name, everything you know,” Alfred instructed.

  Brannon sat down and without paying attention to the blood dripping onto his white shirt, began to write the address on a yellow sticker.

  “He moved to Chicago recently. As a photographer, he is in great demand, so he is often on the road. His major profile is children's photoshoots.”

  With his hand trembling, he handed the yellow sticker to the federal agent. Alfred glanced at the text. As on a business card, the name NATHAN ZIMMERMAN was written in capital letters, and under the name, there were detailed coordinates and his email.

  “I will find him,” Alfred said coldly. “And most likely, when I find him, and it turns out that he is connected to the abduction, if he suddenly tells me you were involved and he got Michael O’Neal’s pictures from you, I’ll put you in jail or give you to Simon O’Neal, who will definitely rip you to shreds.”

  He begged me to do that.”

  Brannon shook his head.

  “I have nothing to do with it, I swear.”

  “So, you will remain in Indianapolis and, when it’s necessary, you will give evidence in court as a respectable citizen. By doing that, you will allow everyone to understand that you have become a hostage of accidental circumstances.”

  “Of course, I will do everything as you say.”

  Alfred stood up and, walking over the crisp broken glass, headed for the exit.

  “Never lie to a federal agent again,” he said arrogantly at the door. “Especially to me, especially when it’s about children. You will never again take pictures of children for false reasons and sell their profiles to unverified people. Understood?”

  Looking at Alfred as an executioner who had just changed his mind about punishing him, he agreed to everything, Brannon nodded his head. He resolved there and then to never work with children again. There would be no more auditions, photographers, and filming. Anything but that damn show business.

  “Sorry for the door,” Agent Hope said sarcastically as he left.

  Chapter 22

  After a few tense weeks after moving to Indianapolis and becoming an FBI officer, Alfred finally found a suitable apartment for himself.

  Located somewhere between the downtown and his place of work, it was not too extravagant. It included a kitchen, a spacious living room, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a balcony. Having examined a dozen options, the newly appointed federal agent decided on it because it was in a new building and its interior corresponded with the image, he cultivated of himself.

  The spacious rooms with high ceilings were a triumph of hi-tech, minimalism and masculinity in design. Moreover, white-gray tones, angular shapes, sparkling glossy surfaces.

  Most of all, Alfred loved his new bedroom. Embossed rough walls were covered with dark gold paint with the addition of patina. Above the headboard hung a huge plaster face of the Buddha, who, with a faint smile, approved of everything happening on the wide soft bed. On the shelves that were installed inside the relief walls, there were thick new scented candles.

  When he had flown from Seattle to Indianapolis all his belongings, had fitted into two large suitcases.

  Excited, and satisfied, Alfred was running around the apartment completely naked and singing along with Ariana Grande who was on his huge plasma TV in his living room. The view through the window from the fourteenth floor was magnificent.

  Alfred threw one of his huge, heavy, suitcases on the floor. He opened it, dropping a few things on a soft white carpet.

  “Where are you... where?” bending over the suitcase, scattering shirts and socks, he muttered. After groping for his electric shaver, under his stuff, he stood upright and feeling like Prometheus in all his magnificence.

  He danced into the bathroom, from where the steam and the wonderful smell of shower gel and shampoo escaped. He was preparing himself for a date with Rita Coleman.

  In the bedroom, on a khaki satin bed, there were black boxers, black socks, white shirt, vanilla tie, fitted dark blue jacket and the same dark blue pants. Next to the bed were the sparkling brown Oxfords polished to a mirror shine. After putting all of them on, Alfred went to fix his hair before the large mirror in the hallway. He neatly parted his hair on the side and examined himself from head to toe. Exhausted, smelly, battered, and sick Alfred Hope had never looked so good. But that was not so important. What overwhelmed him were doubts, fears, and an insane desire to please the graceful Rita Coleman.

  Patting himself on the chest, making sure that the necessary set of cash, credit cards, keys from his car and his home were safely tucked away in his pockets, and spaying himself again with a fragrance for confidence, he went to meet Rita.

  ***

  The Indianapolis Museum of Art, located close to downtown, surrounded by a park and several lakes, was a complex of impressive dimensions. It included a couple of buildings, as well as numerous installations in the open air. The place was no less crowded in the evening than in the afternoon.

  Because of the coolness coming from the lakes and the green park, a lot of citizens, especially on Friday and Saturday evenings, flooded its alleys and paths which were neatly laid out between lawns and groves.

  Realizing that this, perhaps, was the only chance to introduce the masses to serious art, the management of the complex even after dark tried to do something more for their visitors than just open the doors. You could see strange installations of contemporary artists, watch an arthouse cinema on a huge screen under a starry sky, and walk around illuminated musical fountains.

  Alfred, who devoted all his time to work and a little to sports, had never been to, and not even heard of the local art museum. Learning about the meeting spot from Rita and googling it, he was intrigued by the possible format of their date.

  Having parked his car not far from the entrance, Alfred went to the spot where he was supposed to meet Rita. Like all good men
he had made an effort to arrive a few minutes before her. But noticing the silhouette of a slim woman a hundred feet ahead of him he suddenly realized that his boss also had the habit of arriving on time.

  Rita stood next to a round flower bed. It was surrounded by low bushes and had an installation reading “LOVE”, made of huge rusted iron letters, placed on top of each other. Approaching her, Alfred stumbled and almost fell. Maintaining his balance, he continued towards his gem.

  Rita, dressed in a light, white dress, stood in patent-leather, white, high-heeled shoes. She tried to be as inconspicuous as possible for the people passing by. She was not successful. For the entire world around her, the emaciated and stern director Coleman was a beautiful, slender, and very sexy woman, who did not look her age.

  Alfred walked up to Rita and silently stopped behind her. Turning, she didn’t even flinch.

  “Hi,” she said softly, holding out her hand.

  Alfred silently shook her thin gentle palm, gazing at her amber brown eyes. Usually, people who meet each other not for the first time, experiencing mutual sympathy, smile, but Rita and her subordinate simply stared at each other calmly.

  Their eyes were now roughly on the same level, all because of Rita's high heels. She had huge silver earrings, a neat pendant with a small blue pebble around her neck, and ashy-chocolate sparkling hair pinned into a tail.

  Alfred could not tear himself away from Rita's endearing beauty, just as a drug addict cannot tear himself away from a dose of heroin.

  “Hello,” Alfred almost whispered, constantly shaking his boss’s hand.

  “When do you plan to stop that?” Rita smiled sweetly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, how long do you plan to keep shaking my hand? I can’t say that I dislike it, but it starts to seem a little strange, especially from the side.”

  “Ugh! I’m sorry,” Alfred released his hostage. “It's because I’m excited.”

  Hearing his confession, Rita relaxed a little. “You look,” she began to say.

  “No!” his colleague interrupted her. “I should say that first. When I was getting ready, I was rehearsing a few phrases to launch a conversation. And that was my phrase number two, right after I greet you.” Alfred took a deep breath and swallowed a nervous lump squeezing his throat and stifling eloquence. “You look absolutely fantastic. Sorry, but I honestly didn’t expect you’d be so divine.”

  Rita smiled. “Apparently, you are the master of strange ambiguous compliments, Agent Hope.”

  “Yeah, probably,” he smiled back. “When you watch a movie, how people behave on dates, everything seems to be so natural and easy. But in real life, when dating someone you like, you always behave like a nerd.”

  “Don’t demean yourself, Alfred.” Rita went around him and took him by the arm. “You loosened up and I’ve never really known how to do it. I, myself, feel like a nerd, walking on heels on the gravel. You must support me. You’ll not let your boss fall flat on her face, will you?”

  “Of course, I won’t!” Alfred's arm snuggled closer to the body.

  Turning his head, without disguising his feelings, he gazed at his princess in her snow-white dress, waving slightly because of the cool summer wind.

  “Command, boss. Where are we going? I'm here for the first time.”

  “Honestly – me too.” Rita looked around. “I didn’t want to spend such a wonderful evening sitting in a restaurant. We can walk here, and then continue with dinner somewhere.”

  “As you say, chief,” he said, slowly leading her along the path somewhere towards the sparkling fountain.

  “Firstly,” Rita said sweetly, “please, do not call me boss, chief, or anything like that. I can live with that in the office, but now I don’t like it.”

  “Okay, Rita. And secondly?”

  Hearing how the strange and attractive patrolman from Seattle, whom she liked so much and who smelled so good, called her by first name, the rigid director Coleman melted. For the first time in many years, she felt that she was not the most important person in the world who could, and always wanted, to express her opinion about everything. She was being led by the same bully on a sports bike, in tight jeans. Only then he couldn’t guess that the best girl in the world was secretly in love with him. But now he has wised up, refined his taste, added a little more mystery, and become ten times more handsome.

  “And secondly, you also look very good, but that bothers me a little.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you heard of self-irony?” Rita smiled.

  “Can’t you see, I’m all fun and games,” Alfred looked at his companion with a poker face. But after a few seconds he beamed.

  “You scared me,” Rita hit him on the shoulder with her purse.

  “I’m sorry. So, tell me why it bothers you so much that I don’t look like a chewed, scruffy shoe.”

  “All that gloss... Fitted jackets and shirts... I must confess, you are an extremely attractive man. But you haven’t had a girlfriend for two years, at least not a steady one, judging by the dossier. That leads to certain thoughts and assumptions.”

  “Like what?” Alfred did not understand what his companion was talking about.

  Rita smiled playfully.

  “Well, let's say that when a young man looks like you and he doesn’t have a steady girlfriend, then he is either a womanizer or gay.”

  Alfred suddenly stopped by a noisy fountain and pulled back from Rita. She, looking into his cunning eyes, realized she had apparently said something wrong.

  “So, let me make it clear. You always look good,” Alfred said quietly, “always wear high heels and everything that emphasizes your wonderful figure. You smell fantastic and have that playful purse on your arm. Yet you are single... That means you’re a lesbian or change your partners like Miley Cyrus, doesn’t it?”

  Rita looked at her date with restrained admiration

  “And that's all weird, is it?”

  “Your propositions?” he joked.

  “None. The fact is that you and I are standing here, and we are not being very successful in flirting with one another. We want to hit it off, yet just recently were arguing and trying to assert ourselves.”

  “You tried,” Alfred interrupted his colleague, “to assert yourself at my expense. I’ve been well disposed towards you from the very outset. I never tried to look down on you. I already liked you back in Seattle, from the moment I shook your hand. Now I look at you and think it happened even earlier, when I saw your silhouette in the dark, in that interrogation room at the police station.”

  “Hmmm...” Rita smiled appreciatively. “Then perhaps I should apologize for my behavior.”

  “No. I think if you had been quiet and gentle, this date, like with Kate, would never have happened. Yes, I would have noted for myself, somewhere deep inside, that you are attractive, but there would not be the emotions that I feel now.”

  “And what are they?” Rita’s heart quivered.

  Alfred looked past his companion, mentally dissolving in the sparkling lights of the evening city. After overcoming his hesitance, he no longer held back. “I want to scold you and spank you like a naughty little girl, and at the same time, I want to hug you, feel the real you. I want to figure out, are you really so feminine, sensitive and tender as it seems to me, or am I just a naive fool?”

  Rita thought for a moment. She threw the black patent-leather clutch bag onto the ground and, throwing her arms around Alfred's neck, hugged him.

  Dumbfounded, the patrolman from Seattle timidly raised his hands and gently hugged his woman.

  “That kind of you I like as a distraction,” he whispered softly.

  “I like that kind of myself too,” Rita whispered.

  She released her arms and took half a step back.

  “Promise me,” she said in a serious tone.

  “What?” Alfred was bewitched by the tenderness of his boss.

  “Despite what happens between us, no matter ho
w our relationship develops, good or bad, it will not affect our work and communication in the office.”

  “I promise.”

  “I know this sounds stupid, as one of us will always be happier or more subdued than the other, but I do not want this to affect our work. No one should know there is something personal between us. It’s highly important for me.”

  “Don't worry, Rita,” Alfred reassured her with a smile. “In the office, you will still be my boss, and outside if I'm lucky... Well, who knows?”

  “Thank you for understanding this,” Rita took his hand. “Come on, I have hours of questions for you.”

  She picked up her clutch and slowly headed with Alfred towards a well-lit tree-lined alley.

  “You’re enveloped in obscurity,” Rita continued. “Please, don't think I’m a psycho, but I’ve used my position to find out at least something about you.”

  “And what have you discovered?” Alfred encouraged her to divulge.

  He was enjoying the sensation of feeling her hand.

  “Nothing, Alf. I’ll call you that from now on,” she said, tenderly. “So, where were we... Ah, there was nothing on you, Alf – you do not fit the descriptions of those who are missing or are wanted. That is why I had a theory that you are either a secret spy sent to America undercover, or an alien.”

  “What? An alien?” Alfred laughed. “People have called me many things, but never an alien.”

  “Of course, I could use my connections and ask agents Mulder and Scully to clarify the situation. But all of that is top secret, and I hope you understand that I’m not supposed to say anything about it.”

  Alfred laughed. “Oh, I had no idea you have such a brilliant sense of humor.”

  “And you yourself... Aren’t you interested in getting to the bottom of the truth? I mean, who are you and where are you from?”

  “Well, how shall I put it...” Alfred became serious. “On the one hand, yes, I want to know, but on the other... Remembering the fear and pain that I experienced when I woke up in the woods near the river, I’m a bit frightened that I might suddenly recall something which destroys me.”