by David Scott
“Thanks for the offer, Agent Harrison.” Dan replied gruffly, somewhat embarrassed and acutely aware of Sheriff Dawson’s presence.
Dan noticed that his reaction had upset Luke, so he softened his voice, “Unfortunately, I don’t think it will fit me. I appreciate the offer though.”
Dan was slightly overweight, with a cute little belly, but Luke liked that about Dan; it suggested that Dan was not one of the gym-obsessed men that usually seemed to go for Luke. And Luke liked a stockier frame. That was his type. He couldn’t give a reason why he preferred his men like this, he just did.
“Here, try,” Luke insisted, taking Dan’s response as encouragement to persevere, as he shuffled around trying to take his jacket off. The cable car swayed slightly with the motion. Dan did the reverse manoeuvre and found, to his genuine surprise, that the jacket fit him perfectly.
“Thanks Luke.” Dan said, pulling down the bottom of the jacket, “I mean Agent Harrison. That is much better. I have to admit, I was starting to feel quite cold.”
Dan was touched at Luke being so thoughtful, and delighted that the coat fit him, as he was pretty sure that he was turning blue beneath his shirt.
Sheriff Dawson looked somewhat bemused, shook her head, and gave a little chuckle. Dan gave her a stern look, to ward off any comments. He suspected, rightly, Sheriff Dawson was not the sort of person who would keep things to herself. Dan imagined how he and Luke would soon be part of the town gossip.
Dan considered the inappropriateness of his thoughts. Should he really be sitting feeling happiness over such a simple gesture, in the circumstances? Acts of terror happen but life goes on alongside them. In this moment in time, Luke’s act of kindness possessed Dan’s mind. It would soon enough be replaced by horror, so he forgave himself for this brief, secret, moment of joy.
The cable car jolted forward as it reached the top. It swayed around its steel perimeter before unclenching its jaws to release the captives from its hollow belly. Sheriff Dawson leaped out first, almost gazelle-like. Dan was nearest to the exit, so he went next, and Luke followed him out, treading gingerly as the car rocked from side-to-side.
“Mind your step!” Sheriff Dawson yelled out, “There is blood all over the place. One of our officers slipped earlier on, and nearly fell off the edge of the station platform. I reckon a plummet that far down would mean certain death.”
Luke followed Sheriff Dawson’s eyes back down the hill, and felt the world spin faster. He steadied himself by reaching for Dan’s arm.
“Are you alright, Agent Harrison?” Dan asked, searching Luke’s eyes to make sure. Luke just nodded and let go, regaining his balance.
A different kind of nausea took hold of him as he looked around the cable car station’s small lobby. The grey, concrete floors had splashes of blood and red smear marks all over it. Luke thought it must look like a slaughterhouse before the end-of-day cleaning takes place. The metal grills, which divided parts of the area, were soaked in blood; occasional dripping sounds echoed around the room, as some of the blood drained away.
Dan and Luke said nothing, as they tried to take in the surroundings. Several bodies lay around about the exit. All of them nicely dressed for an evening out, now dishevelled and dead, lying in their own bodily fluids, with various final looks on their frozen faces - surprise, shock, sadness, acceptance, horror, it was hard to say which. A last gathering of the mutilated middle-classes.
“This is only the start of it, I’m afraid.” Sheriff Dawson said, breaking the silence, “Outside we have even more bodies. And wait until you see the café. If you follow me. This way please. Watch out for the body in the corner, you can hardly see it but the legs are sticking right out and are liable to trip you over.”
Luke thought that Sheriff Dawson sounded like some kind of ghoulish tour guide, “And on the left you will see the lady with a severed head. On the right, the man who found a spear through his heart. And straight on, the best site yet with tens of bodies all lined-up together for your delight, with popsicles of blood everywhere.”
Outside the exit, Luke noticed that some heavy, white clouds were quickly forming overhead. They looked almost heavenly due to the illumination from the moonlight. Flecks of sleet floated gracefully down from the sky to wash away the human stains, and renew the landscape. Luke thought how in years to come, this might all be forgotten. There would be walkers and skiers, amorous couples and families, all walking around this area, enjoying life and having a good time, unaware of the terrors faced by the ghosts walking invisibly alongside them.
Luke was startled from his thoughts by the bright, sporadic flashes from the forensic team’s cameras, as they attempted to catalogue all of the corpses.
In the distance, by a lamplight, Luke made out a pile of bodies. He looked across at Dan, lost for words. Dan was looking back at him, looking equally disturbed. Luke wondered how anyone could possibly do this. What sort of mind-set must someone have to commit such atrocities? They must be mentally insane, or maybe just evil. Seeing the number of victims reaffirmed Luke’s suspicions that there must be a group or some kind of cult involved here. One person could not do this alone in such a short space of time.
“We have counted 21 bodies in this pile alone, so far. Mind you, some of them are pretty chopped up, so there could be more. I suggest we leave the forensics to it and move on to the café.” Sheriff Dawson said, matter-of-factly, before beckoning them on, “This way.”
Sheriff Dawson led them past the pyramid of dead people, and down a long path. Luke stared on at the mound of corpses, twisting his head around as they went past. He really was like a tourist now, desperate to spend every possible second with the star attraction. This image would be indelibly inked in his mind for the rest of his life. He had seen nothing like it, except photographs or recordings of war time or pestilence; he imagined such stacks of bodies would have been commonplace during the time of the Plague or when Hitler was in power. Here and now, it was alien and shocking.
The bar was fully lit up and, on approaching it, there was no obvious sign that anything was wrong. It simply looked like a normal place to go to have a drink, with welcoming neon lights and billboard drink promotions to attract people in. Now, it would be infamous, known to the world forever for the horrors that happened within.
The press had not yet arrived on the scene but it was only a matter of time before their sources reported the latest killings, and then they would swarm in, like bees coming to collect pollen from a flower in full bloom, buzzing around anyone who might have some information.
Dan did not want to be there when that happened. He already felt guilty that he had not been able to stop Pulcinella, and did not need to be asked countless times why they had still made no progress. Dan also hoped that, after seeing Bernie, he might actually have some positive news to comfort the nation that some progress was being made. Dan had no care for his own profile but he hated seeing the way that everyone had started to avoid going out at the end of the month, cowering away indoors to minimise the possibility of a deadly encounter. No one could really blame them. Seeing the images of the savaged corpses left behind, and the shattered families on their screens, was enough to make anyone afraid; no one wanted to be the next star of this frightful spectacular.
Sheriff Dawson parted the wooden doors and held them open, gesturing for Dan and Luke to go in first. On any other occasion, Dan would have viewed this as an act of politeness. Tonight, he was not so sure. Sheriff Dawson knew what sights lay ahead of them inside and clearly was in no hurry to see them again. She remained in place, stopping the powerful hinge from slamming the door shut, until Dan and Luke had fully entered.
The bar was eerily silent. The lack of noise was accentuated by the setting; unfamiliar and disturbing to a house of mirth and music. The smell of stale beer mixed with the heady scent of human excretions. Dan and Luke said nothing to one another, looking around at the scene before them.
Multiple bodies were slumped on the ground, cov
ered in blood. Wooden tables were smashed, with broken glass and various intoxicants carpeting the floor. Chairs had been flung to the far corners of the room, as though positioned for dunces. It was a place where a torrent of violence had been encountered; it reminded Dan of the ending from an old-fashioned western movie, where all of the patrons had taken out their weapons and struck out indiscriminately at anyone and everyone nearby, desperate to secure their own self-preservation and uncaring about the fate of others. A fight to the death with only one victor.
Pulcinella, the maniacal killer, had ripped this place apart; like some kind of whirling dervish of destruction. Everyone was dead, except Bernie. Dan wondered again exactly why Pulcinella had spared her, and started thinking about what Sheriff Dawson had mentioned earlier about the messages; warnings deliberately hidden from the public.
“Director Harrison! Come over here.” Sheriff Dawson shouted out, “Quickly! Look what I’ve found.”
Dan and Luke both ran over. Next to Sheriff Dawson were a middle-aged couple, draped over the table with their heads flat against the sticky wooden surface, facing towards one another, open-mouthed. And nearby on the floor, a teenage boy was spread out, with deep crimson patches staining the back of his once-white T-shirt.
Sheriff Dawson held a compact camera in her gloved hands. She had turned the camera on, and was looking at the picture display on the back of it. The battery indicator light was showing one bar left, and it was flashing, so they needed to be quick.
They huddled around the small screen, like a family admiring some holiday photos. A smear of blood ran diagonally across the glass. This alone would normally be an interesting sight but the shot underneath it was a revelation. They could make-out a tall figure, draped in a sweeping black cloak. Its arms were stretching out with what looked like knives coming from its hands. Two red eyes stared menacingly ahead, from behind some kind of mask, into the camera lens. A blurred vision of terror taken by a dead teenager.
The camera automatically turned itself off as the battery died. Dan felt a sudden chill take hold of him, as if someone was walking over his grave.
They looked back up from the screen and stared at one another, still taking in what they had just seen. Dan’s mind raced as he thought about the image. This was their first sighting of the murderer. It seemed to confirm that only one person was involved, not a group as he suspected. The killer looked almost inhuman; a vampire-like nightmare. What were they dealing with? How could he possibly take down so many people on his own?
Dan’s internal musings were interrupted by Luke, who spoke out with nervous excitement.
“Well, that is one creepy picture.” Luke said, “What are those things coming out of his hands? I mean, I assume this is a man, given his height and all. They look like blades. And what’s with those red eyes? Maybe it’s the camera filter? I think he’s wearing some kind of mask too.”
Dan noticed that Luke was moving from foot to foot, clearly unnerved.
“Sheriff, please can we get a copy of the picture as soon as it has been analysed by the lab?” Dan said calmly, “A digital copy, please, together with a full-size print out would be ideal.”
“Sure, Director Harrison.” Sheriff Dawson replied, genuinely pleased to be able to do something to help, “I will arrange that straight away.”
“It goes without saying, Sheriff, that this image should be controlled with the maximum of confidentiality and security.” Dan said firmly, “It cannot get out into the press, as it could cause widespread panic. Anyone who wants to see it must have my prior authorisation.”
“Of course, Director Harrison.” Sheriff Dawson said firmly, “I can assure you that no one will hear about this from me. What a picture. It’s awful to think that this is the last thing that poor young man saw. I can’t imagine how he must have felt.”
The forensics team walked through the doors, causing all three of them to jump. There were photos to be taken, bodies to be outlined and bagged, and any trace of evidence collected; prized personal possessions would be sealed for testing and analysis, but would not be missed; the dead probably have no need of a wallet or a phone in the afterlife.
Sheriff Dawson’s walkie-talkie crackled into life.
“Sheriff,” A voice rang out, breaking the silence, echoing in the quiet of the room, unaware of the horrors surrounding it, “The hospital says that Bernie has been given the all clear, and that you can speak to her now. They haven’t told me anything. They want to speak with you first.”
“Ok, thanks Deputy.” Sheriff Dawson replied, “Tell them we’re on our way now, and not to let anyone talk to her until we arrive. Over and out.”
The trio quickly retraced their steps back to their cars, passing the growing number of officials on the scene. All units of the force were coming together to lock-down the site; to document, analyse, and obtain evidence.
Luke drove, with Dan riding alongside him. As they sped down the road, following Sheriff Dawson’s car, Dan suddenly felt anxious about the task that lay ahead. While he really wanted to speak with Bernie, he knew that her evidence would be crucial to the case, and suddenly doubted whether he was equipped to deal with such an interview. How do you even start to ask someone to describe an experience like the one Bernie had just gone through? Dan wasn’t sure.
Of course, Dan had questioned many victims of violent crimes in the past, but nothing compared to this. No one could prepare to encounter this sort of situation. Dan would have to rely on his intuition, and trust that his emotional intelligence was sufficient to get him through it. And he had Luke, of course. Although Luke was inexperienced in the field, he was clearly intelligent and thoughtful; perhaps the Academy had taught him some new interviewing techniques which weren’t around during Dan’s tenure. If nothing else, simply having Luke there was of comfort.
The hospital looked surprisingly small to Dan, although he questioned himself as to what he expected from a provincial town. There was only one entrance at the front of the red-bricked building, and the glass door automatically opened to welcome them in.
Dan inhaled the strong smell of bleach; the same antiseptic odour common to every hospital, chemical cleaners to wash away the inconvenient stains and smells of the sick and dying. He hated everything about hospitals; their deathly detergents, shiny floors, maze of corridors, incomprehensible signs pointing in every direction, sticky vending machines, and multi-coloured bed linens used to hide any bodily emission.
Hospitals only served to remind Dan of the many hours he spent with his mum, as cancer slowly ate-away various vital organs, leaving her to waste away in body and, ultimately, soul.
Seeing someone you love go through such a transformation, and at such a young age, was crushing. A vibrant, energetic woman turning into a hopeless skeleton; saggy skin resting on hollow bones. Sitting waiting for hours for her to die, with nothing left to talk about; you can only recount cherished memories and say “I love you” so many times.
Death came as a welcome stranger to take his mum away, but left Dan feeling alone with nothing but guilt, as he had prayed for her to die quickly to end the suffering, and anger, because they had been parted from each other so soon.
Dan was left alone. His successful brothers were too busy shoring up their fortunes in far-flung states, with their cosy bourgeois families, and did not make the effort to come to see their mother or to help Dan; no, they always had reasons to delay the visit, most of which Dan suspected were convenient fabrications. As for his dad, Dan had not heard from him in years and wasn’t prepared to break FBI protocols by tracing him; he wasn’t worth it, and, in any event, he had been out of Dan’s life for so long, there was no reason to bring him back. There was no solace to be found from his phantom father.
Dan struggled to focus, as painful memories returned as spectres in his mind. Luke placed his hand gently on the square of Dan’s back, watching him with a look of concern, having noticed that something was not right and wanting to let him know that he was there
to support him. Dan gave Luke a sad-smile, in thanks. Luke stood confidently beside him, ready for the difficult conversation that lay ahead. All Dan felt was uncertainty and sadness.
They were met in reception by the Doctor in charge of Bernie. After some brief introductions and identification checks, Doctor Tern led them through the sterile, narrow corridors and on to Bernie’s private room.
There were no pleasantries or small-talk on the way. Dan simply focused on the clip-clopping of Doctor Tern’s heels on the floor, as she marched on ahead. He noticed that her hair was tied tightly in a top-knot bun, held firmly in place by some constricting red bands. The colour of the band matched her lipstick and shoes perfectly. This was clearly a lady who took pride in her appearance. Dan hoped that such attention was equally placed on her patients.
The bedroom was small and, with the four of them surrounding the single bed, it felt overly crowded. The plain white walls almost seemed to close in on them. A television hung on a black wall-bracket, almost resting on Dan’s shoulder. The news was showing, and the story was breaking.
“Terror in the mountains, as another month ends, and the notorious serial killer strikes again, murdering another 43 people. We now head live to our news team on-site.” The news presenter said, with well-rehearsed emotion.
Without asking, Doctor Tern picked up the remote control resting on the bedside table, and switched the television off.
Bernie sat looking ahead at the blank screen, her own reflection staring back at her out of the darkness. She then hung her head down low, to face the bed. From the angle at which he was standing, Dan could see the beginning of blood stains seeping through the back of Bernie’s blue hospital gown.
Doctor Tern began talking in a monotone, matter-of-fact voice, “The patient is in fair physical condition, except she has deep skin lesions on her back. Her mental state remains uncertain. Clearly, she has been through extreme trauma, and still seems to be in shock. This is to be expected in this type of situation.”
