Monster: The Story Of A Maniac

by Peter Cry

  “I'm sorry,” he said softly, avoiding looking at her directly. “Apparently, there’s no hope of that.”

  Mrs. Mitchell smiled helplessly, and tears filled her eyes.

  “Why do you say that to a mother who has lost her mind, prays every day for her son, and is ready to give everything so that her baby does not suffer?”

  Alfred's face suddenly turned hateful.

  “I did say sorry,” he shot back coldly, spreading his arms out.

  “Oh yeah, and that changed everything,” Mrs. Mitchell retorted, sinking into hysteria. “It suddenly made everything much easier for me?”

  “What else can I do?!” Alfred yelled. “Take the corpse of another child from the morgue and show you, lie that this is your precious Andrew? Yes, we are cynical and soulless. Fuck all the rest!” he continued shouting and gesticulating. “I’m like that – heartless, ruthless. Look, I’m not able to find them! I can’t do it! Yes, we’re all okay. Our children are at home with us. You should have watched your children more carefully, and not taken things for granted. Now, you see, we have to give our lives to find them!”

  Alfred fell silent and tried to regain his composure. He took a few deep breaths. After wiping the rain from his face, he continued.

  “I don’t want to give my life for them. Do you understand? I don’t want to lose it! Besides the deception in which I now live, I have nothing. Nothing!”

  Mrs. Mitchell turned the photograph of her little son in the metal frame which she had pressed to her chest towards Alfred.

  “This is Andrew,” she said, now crying helplessly. “The best, the kindest boy. The sense of my life. The one for whom I live. For whom I used to live.”

  Seeing the toothless, half-naked, pot-bellied kid, Alfred's soul was devasted. Cheerful, playful, bright gray-blue eyes that shed endless joy and happiness. In the company of his loving parents.

  “Someone’s dirty hands...” said the sobbing Mrs. Mitchell, approaching Alfred, “seized him just as he screamed out and called for my help. Vile ruthless inhuman claws dragged him out of the school bus, wanting to harm, hurt, kill in the worst possible way, or rape. My Andrew felt wild fear and pain when it happened. Do you understand that? Who knows, maybe he still experiences all of that. You have no right to give up, do you hear! You must find them and return them to us!”

  Alfred could not take his eyes off the wonderful cutesy in the photo.

  “I'm sorry,” he said sadly, preparing to abandon the miserable mother who had lost her mind. “I have nothing to do with it anymore.”

  The frame slipped out of her wet hands. Hitting the asphalt, it smashed.

  “No, Andrew!” she cried out, falling to her knees, scrambling for the pieces of glass on the sidewalk and trying to push them back into the frame. “No, come back, please! Andrew, come back!”

  Alfred watched as she cut her hands and blood dripped onto the photograph. He couldn’t take it and grabbed Mrs. Mitchell by the shoulders trying to raise her from the wet asphalt.

  “What are you doing, stop it! You need to see a doctor! Do you hear me?”

  The frenzied woman grabbed Alfred's pants.

  “I beg you! Bring back my Andrew!” she screamed. “I know he is in pain. He comes to me in my dreams. He cries and asks me to save him. Please, you are strong. You are kind. You are the best. Please, bring him back to me!”

  Screaming as loud as she could, she kept repeating these words looking at Alfred as if he were an almighty God.

  Her eyes drowned in tears could not see the grief of the one she was appealing to. Alfred was also crying. The rain hid his tears. At that moment, under the merciless rain, he died, once and for all.

  “No,” he pushed the devastated Mrs. Mitchell away from him. “I can't do it anymore. Sorry, I just can't.”

  Lost, unable to control himself, he ran to his car determined to leave Indianapolis forever.

  Chapter 27

  Early in the morning, Rita, who had not slept much, opened the doors of the operatives' office, and looked inside. On the desk of the man who had fallen in love with her and then broke her heart, was a gun, ID, and badge of an FBI special agent. The woman, seeing this statement that the point of no return had been reached, was somber. Overwhelmed with sadness mixed with anger, she wandered back to her office. She opened the door, threw her raincoat on her chair and, glancing at her table, froze.

  On it, in a transparent glass vase stood a thick, tightly bound bouquet of wildflowers. White daisies mixed with bright blue cornflowers that were so beautiful they momentarily took her breath away, and a yellow envelope. She reached and opened it.

  “My precious chocolate princess! First, I want to apologize for stealing a spare key from your office when I was at your place. I remember you said, you don’t want any familiarity in the office, but when we were together, I really wanted to surprise you, to leave a bouquet of wildflowers on your table. Probably, after my behavior at our last meeting, you are reading these lines with skepticism, or even hostility. Fair enough. But I would like to tell you that it's important not only what emotions you read this message with but also what I am feeling when I write it. I love you. Infinitely, sincerely, truly, with full confidence that I had never experienced anything like this before and I never will..."

  Rita sat down at her desk.

  “...I don’t care what your subordinates think of you, I don’t even give a damn what you think of yourself. I am sorry about that. What matters to me is what I think about you. After all, no one, including yourself, knows the real you. But I do. You are magical, you are the kindest of all those whom I have ever met. That is why I am so sorry that I’ve caused you so much pain with my cold silence and fudging. My sweet, my dearest Rita, there are no words that can wash away my guilt. But perhaps, it could be cleansed by my deeds. I’ve decided to proceed. Whoever I appear to be.

  Once, I was asked to choose a name for myself. I spent several days thinking about it and chose the unpretentious name Alfred. For the surname I chose Hope. I wanted to give hope and, in that way, to do at least something good for everyone who had helped me out and did not let me die of hunger. Although I’m sure that there are those who will say a lot of pleasant things about me, it seems to me now that I have failed. I let them all down and myself, but the worst thing is that I failed you, the person who believed in me, who stopped defending herself and, having taken off her impenetrable armor, loved me. I am endlessly grateful to you for every magical moment that you gave me. They, like seeds, took root and, rising to heaven, convinced me that I was myself and there is no one else I could ever be. Just like the tears of parents whose children were abducted by a monster who is strange to me, you saved me. Yes, I understand, I gave in, but that should be excusable in the case of a person who is only two years old.

  I’m not saying goodbye to you, Rita, because it’s impossible to say goodbye to a person who has settled in my heart forever. Your tender body is always with me – you gave me so much delight and pleasure. In my memories there will always be your amber eyes, bewitching me, making me feel like a man. I will always remember the warmth exuded by your timid heart.

  I don’t know who I was in the past. I don’t understand what is happening to me lately, but if I stop and don’t finish what I’ve started, I won’t be the one you’ve loved. I won’t be the man whom the unfortunate parents saw when I spoke to them. But that is what I am. I am the FBI special agent Alfred Hope, or the patrolman from Seattle who loves his job. I will forever be the man you saw in me. I love you, Rita. I gently hug you and kiss your sweet lips.

  P. S. I believe I have found the location of the criminals who kidnapped the five kids from the North West Central School, and probably the children are also still there. I hope that when I get there, they’re still alive and I can save them. A lot of terrible things happened in the house, the address of which you’ll find on the back of this letter. How do I know all this? I don’t know. But I have a theory. It’s just as scary as the event
s that took place in that house, between a forest grove and an endless corn field. How do I know about the grove and the field? I don’t know that either, my precious Rita. I am sure of one thing – you will find me in that house.

  Goodbye darling. You were the best thing that ever happened to me in my short life.”

  After reading the letter to the end, the anxious director Coleman turned the sheet. On the back was the precise address and even the GPS coordinates.

  “Why the hell have you gone to Iowa!” she thought, looking at the letter.

  Digging nervously in the pockets of her jacket, she found her mobile phone. Dialing Alfred's number, she brought the device to her ear.

  “Come on...,” she muttered, listening to the silence.

  Five seconds later, the automatic voice announced that the recipient could not be reached now.

  Suddenly, Agent Polaski burst into Rita’s office without knocking.

  “Chief, what the hell is going on?” he said breathlessly.

  Approaching her table, he placed on it two photographs of Lily Stodge.

  “This girl,” he continued excitedly, pointing at the pictures, “was abducted in Hampton, Iowa, many years ago. And this is her photograph, fresh, obtained from the laptop that Alfred brought from Chicago.”

  “Where did you get it from?” Rita said, exasperated.

  “Alfred sent it to me and the rest of the agents tonight. You are copied. He sent a lot of things. Have you checked your email?”

  The confused Polaski wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  Suddenly, the telephone rang in the office, followed by the mobile of Director Coleman and her subordinate. Excited, Rita rose from her chair and picked up the phone.

  “Yes!” she responded, turning pale. “Sure, I'll send Polaski right away… No problem, sir.”

  In a state of semi-shock, she slowly put the phone down. “Benjamin Blake is landing at Indianapolis Airport in 10 minutes. You have to go and meet him.”

  “Okay,” he obediently nodded his head, hurrying to the exit.

  “Call all the agents. Before Benjamin is here, they must be at their working places, every single one of them!”

  Agent Polaski, feeling the seriousness of what was happening, disappeared from Director Coleman’s sight, closing the door behind him.

  “What are you doing, Alf?” Rita quietly asked, grabbing the letter saturated with love.

  Chapter 28

  Before turning onto Highway 63, Alfred stopped at a traffic sign indicating the distance left for Hampton. Sighing wearily, he let the car on the oncoming lane pass and, pressing the accelerator pedal, turned onto the road leading to his goal, which was still 50 miles away.

  Without getting a wink of sleep that night, he was exhausted. But he was driven, and he had to finish what he had set out to do. He hoped that the truth would allow him to stop short before toppling into the abyss. Surely there was a way to save the children, if they were still alive, a way to punish the criminals involved in the abduction, and evade more injuries, either mental or physical. Everything that had ever happened to Alfred, had occurred for a reason. Recently they included those strange associations, from which a nauseating suffocating lump rose in his throat, and the fact that so many terrible videos with young children seemed familiar to him. He had to find out the reason for this, whatever it was. Surely all these questions had a reasonable explanation which would not leave Alfred Hope toxic. Yet a small part of his subconscious was telling him, or rather shouting – “Run, because you are creating your own inevitable fall!"

  Alfred paid no heed, for he believed that a simple turn of a steering wheel would allow him to disappear among endless highways and dark nooks of the bustling city. Alfred Hope had still not forgotten his past of being as inconspicuous as possible within the urban landscape.

  ***

  When the FBI Deputy Director Benjamin Blake entered the operations headquarters, the federal agents stood up, focusing their alarmed eyes on their boss from Washington. He was accompanied by several middle-aged men dressed in dark formal suits. Sternly looking at Rita, Benjamin nodded his head greeting her. She used the same gesture and greeted him in response. Taking off his dark-beige coat from his strong broad shoulders, he threw it on a free desk.

  “Have a seat, colleagues,” he said with a metallic voice.

  “So, my friends, apparently our strange star boy from Seattle, upon whom we all placed our hopes solved the case that was dead for two years. Have you read his letter?” he turned to Rita.

  “I have,” she answered.

  “Fine,” Benjamin walked back and forth like a tiger in a cage. “Everything sent by him seems extremely convincing, except for the fact that the children are still alive. Unlike you bums, Alfred Hope proceeded in some strange way, and, as if by magic, found something that the agency’s best minds couldn’t find. This complex case must have driven the poor fellow insane, so he rushed to the place where, it seemed to him, the children are being held, alone. At first, he did not answer our calls and messages, and now his phone is simply turned off. Shortly before I arrived, I was informed that cameras on the 63rd highway captured Alfred's car heading towards Hampton. According to these facts, I have only one question,” Benjamin sternly looked at Rita. “What the fuck is going on here? Has he gone crazy, or are we really just one step away from solving the crime of the century, arresting the kidnappers, and saving the children?”

  Director Coleman felt that at that moment all the attention had switched to her. The future of everyone present in the room depended on what she would say.

  Sighing tensely, she said: “Yes, he found the children and, most likely, the place where they are being held. The only thing I don’t understand is the reason for this bravado and his decision to go there alone. But the cited facts in the letter that we all received tonight indicate that he solved the case. Agent Hope has been acting extremely strangely lately, but in private conversations he hinted that he had found a thread that leads to a solution.”

  “Then you,” Benjamin pointed at Rita, “take my plane and fly with the agents to Des Moines. From there you can reach the location by helicopter.” He turned and looked at one of the men who had arrived with him. “All our best people, everyone we have in that hole in Iowa, all the special forces, I want all the police on their feet. Surround that place and wait for the order, mine, or Director Coleman’s. Go!”

  The usually quiet and half-empty room responded with nervous energetic, noises. The agents rushed to follow the order. FBI Deputy Director Blake grabbed Rita by the hand.

  “Be there before Alfred,” he said quietly, pulling her closer to himself. “His behavior, his sudden resignation, his letter and his trip out there – I don’t like it. Something is definitely wrong here.”

  Rita understood her boss, for she was experiencing the same conflicting emotions. Nodding, she immediately left the operations headquarters and headed for the airport.

  ***

  “Is everyone ready?” Howard smiled, looking at the children chained in collars with his cold eyes. “Your parents have already called me. They are going to pick you up one by one.”

  Five schoolchildren, exhausted from hunger, constant semi-darkness, and abuse, barely hiding their tears, not believing in the fairy tale that was happening, smiled timidly, looking at the frightening man pretending to be a bearded wizard. Could he have finally changed and would never use his brute force again to hurt them, dragging their weakened bodies each time up the creaky stairs to his bedroom to rape them. Hardly! But against all odds, they all hoped.

  Even though thaws had occurred in the soul of merciful uncle Howard before, and as a result he had always lied to the kids, this time something told them they would really see their dads and moms. That they would take them home, where it was always warm, cozy and safe.

  Yes, Howard the bearded man was sometimes cruel and merciless, but they had left the past in the past. On their horizon appeared a dream of the familiar li
fe, which they once used to lead and which they had been seeing only in their dreams and memories lately.

  Smiling little Emmy, noticed something different.

  “Why are you wearing white gloves?” she asked their torturer.

  He smiled kindly.

  “Err... Well, you know, I must clean and wash everything before your parents come. There will be such a going-on here soon.”

  “Can we help?” Andrew Mitchell asked, rising to his knees from the dirty mattress.

  Howard's eyes sparkled with a sick glow. He came closer to the boy and, taking off his gloves, began to stroke his head with his sweaty greasy hand. Out of habit, the boy closed his eyes in anticipation of a blow.

  “My sweet Andrew... You were the best of all the ones I ever had. Every hour, every moment that we spent alone with you... I will remember you forever. These memories will warm my heart. You have already helped me, and now it is my turn to help you.”

  Howard looked at the children, with whom he had spent a little more than two years. “Will you miss me?” he asked rhetorically.

  The children, not believing their ears, looked at each other warily. The question addressed to them sounded so weird.

  “Believe me,” the dark-skinned Michael said calmly and seriously, looking right into Howard's eyes. “We will never forget you.”

  “I’ll leave you for a while now, as I have something to do, and then I will return. After that, as soon as your relatives arrive, we will go up to the kitchen. There I will give you a drink and ensure you are not completely hungry. Then you will be free.”

  Howard stepped out of the basement and locked the door. Inhaling the heavy viscous air, he headed for the kitchen. Somewhere outside the window, far away, a mechanical rumble was heard, reminiscent of either the noise of a helicopter or a propeller airplane. Light engine aircrafts often flew over the endless farm fields, spraying fertilizers, which is why he did not pay any much attention to the noise.