Skin the Cat

by R Sean McGuirk

Back in the Chevy truck in a series of right turns, the way of the cop on patrol, bringing the pattern out wider and wider while we discussed the pros and cons of dessert versus a couple of appetizers. The pharmaceutical side effects kicking in as they often did. The paranoia. In our unpredictable route, the idea coming on that we were being followed. A vehicle, a dark four-door sedan, pulling in tight whenever I gained more than a block. Melanie noticed my quick and frequent glances into the mirror.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You have a little sweat on your forehead. Are you okay?”

  I thought about the prescription drugs and hesitated. “My mind wanders.”

  She glanced out her window. “How about a hot fudge sundae. How’s that sound?”

  “Now you’re speaking my language,” I smiled with eyes locked on the review mirror. The fucking sedan, turning and turning and following. My mind racing. I considered swerving into u-turn. But why. Was there actually a car following us at all? No. Yes. No. Fucking pills. Next hard right, a blonde almost stepped right off the curb into the street, right into our path. I twisted the wheel and over corrected almost losing control of the pickup, Emily glaring at us as I swept by. She was blonde. But it wasn’t Emily. Another look into the rearview mirror. The car was gone. Now it was back. No. Yes. No. I came to a quick conclusion. If we were actually being tracked, I needed to get Melanie the hell out of the truck and deal with it. If we weren’t, well, better safe than sorry. I took a right on Deluth Street, a hill so steep it aimed at the sky. When a car appeared behind us, I stomped on the gas hard, all eight cylinders roaring to life as we crested the peak fast, the headlights of the sedan shrinking far behind and finally vanishing.

  Melanie looked at me, eyes wide with surprise, begging the question. But before she could ask, I filled in. “Just wanted to see what this bucket of bolts could do.” Moments later, I pulled into Chief Wadsworth’s driveway.

  “Why are we here?” she asked, tilting her head at me, eyes curious. “Shade, what’s wrong?”

  “I made something for you,” I lied. “I want the Chief and your grandmother to see it. I’ll be back within the hour.”

  Melanie shook her head in disbelief. “You are as a white as a sheet,” she said put her hand on mine. “Shade are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded, my head humming. Yes. It was the pills. No. Someone was actually following us. No. Yes. No. I focused back. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  Melanie pulled her hand away, nodded vaguely and got out of the truck.

  “Thirty minutes,” I smiled. “Mark my word.”

  She walked to the front porch, not looking back, knocked on the door and the Chief answered. He looked puzzled, but waved as I drove off. On a side road with my real-or-imagined stalker still gone, I pulled the truck over and threw it into park thinking of what to do. My mind. These drugs. The paranoia. Flipping out again. I needed some help. The idea of needing help was counterintuitive. But I did. I couldn’t deal with this alone, my mind, without some support. muddled over my options. Who could I trust?

  I dialed the phone and Luke picked up. He answered like he already knew the question. “The kids are fine,” his voice grinned.

  “Luke listen,” I said. “You remember what I told you about those pills a few days ago. It’s happening again.”

  He brought his voice to a whisper. “What is it Shade?” He had to whisper. Vanessa couldn’t hear this shit. She obsessed over me to the point it was borderline dysfunctional. Luke and I finally agreed awhile back she was projecting her own loss of Emily onto me, treating me like a glass vase that needed to be packed in bubble-wrap.

  Embarrassment welled up of having to admit what might not be true. “I think Carlina is stalking me.” I felt my face go red. “I can’t shake the idea that she is following me and Melanie around town.”

  Silence. Then a door shutting, Luke’s voice coming on, tinged with a little disappointment. “Oh Shade. I’m so sorry. Let’s get you another appointment. They said these things take time, that meds have to be adjusted.” Vanessa’s voice rolled in the background and Luke waved her off, said it was a paperwork call from the precinct, to leave him alone.

  “In the meantime, will you help me out.”

  “Shit Shade it’s getting late man.” He was not enthusiastic now, realizing what I was asking.

  “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not really out to get you.”

  “Kurt Cobain,” Luke said it unamused, knowing where this was going.

  “Joseph Heller.”

  “Whatever,” he waved me off.

  “Luke.”

  “What Shade.”

  “I really have to rule this out,” I said trying to make sound like something other than begging. “Or I won’t be able to sleep for a week.”

  “This is really getting old,” he grunted. “You swear you’ll make another appointment Monday?”

  “Swear,” I said. “This will only take a few minutes.”

  “Okay then,” he took a deep breath. “Is Melanie with you?”

  “No, I dropped her off at the Wadsworth’s.”

  “Good. Did you tell him anything?”

  “Like what. That I was going crazy again?”

  “Hilarious.”

  “Meet me in the alley behind the precinct as soon as possible.”

  “Shade,” he moaned. “This is the last fucking time.”

  When I got to the precinct, Luke was already there, pulled up around back in his F-150. He hopped out and jumped into my truck with a loaded 9mm.

  “Any sign of her?” he asked, eyes giving me a slight grin. “In your imagination?”

  “Hilarious,” I shot back. I checked my Beretta in my lap, clicking the safety off and back on.

  “Even if she’s on the other side of the world Luke, I have to rule her out of my mind.”

  He looked at me with mild concern. “I think your chasing demons,” he sighed, nodding forward. “I’m tired. Let’s get this over with already.”

  I headed into the historic district to the old movie theater and picked up a slow right-hand pattern, branching out block by block, Luke’s head on a swivel, tracking t either side constantly. As I steered, the thought came to me and I dialed her.

  “Hey there,” Wadsworth answered.

  I pulled my phone arm’s length to recheck the number. Melanie. “Chief, this isn’t your phone.”

  “Nicely done detective,” he laughed. “Melanie forgot her phone.”

  I stopped the truck in the middle of the street, no traffic to be seen. “What do you mean forgot her phone?” Luke glanced at me.

  “She left a couple minutes ago. Then her phone rang from between the couch cushions.”

  I was a little pissed she didn’t listen to a simple request. But then again, I wasn’t honest with her about my motive for dropping her off. No harm no foul. “Did she say where she was headed?

  “Over to her place,” he replied, sounding distracted, fumbling in the background. “She worried she left the stove on. Just couldn’t be sure. Didn’t want to burn the place down.” He hung up.

  “What now?” Luke asked.

  I hesitated, thinking it over. “I’m really not sure.”

  45

  Nothing Left to Hide

  Blood is the great equalizer. I recited it over and over as Melanie got out of her car. You will not escape this time my love. He ruined everything. Now you will pay. She was so close I could smell her and my heart ticked in my throat. Ah, the nostalgia. This is the exact place where the final act was to be played out. This front porch. These very steps. The FedEx delivery. The bomb. I’d made the perfect plan, dark vengeance my own. On paper, the plot had been brilliant. But then the human element will let you down every time. Who could’ve anticipated the knight would fail to come rescue the princess? Who would have tho
ught the princess would have escaped? These two. He’d felt me following him tonight. It didn’t matter. Tonight, I’ll do it differently. I’ll skin her alive. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. When he arrested Svidi, Detective Bardane ruined everything. I’d record Melanie’s last moments, just for him. I’d slice her up and send him her eyeballs in a jar. I’d fade away for a few days, and then I’d ambush his ass. Revenge. Then…Brazil. Already rented with lease signed. A flat in Rio de Janeiro.

  I watched her bound up the steps like a deer from my car. Soft, sweet meat. This would be much different than cutting an old lady. My stomach jumped with nervous excitement. She popped the front door open and didn’t bother to turn and lock it. Withering Oak leaves trickled down on a cool breeze, lending a vague whiff of moldy rust to the night air as it eased into the crack of the car window. The white kitchen curtains bathed in blue starlight went incandescent orange with a blink. Melanie’s silhouette swayed this way and that behind the blowing fabric. I had to physically restrain myself from leaping out of my car, and going into the house. Not yet. The trees beside me suddenly caught a pair of headlights and I sank deep into the driver’s seat watching the beams stretch wide and pass. Five minutes. Eyes peeled, searching for any idea of movement, and none coming from within. The kitchen sat still and empty. Seven minutes. Upstairs, a light blinked on. Melanie appeared in front of the vanity, wrapping a thin yellow scarf around her head, pulling the hair out of her eyes, working and rubbing her face in the mirror. Just like clockwork. So fucking easy. I’d love to see the look on his face when he sees the mess I’ll leave behind. Blood is the great equalizer. I would get my revenge on the detective when I stepped forward and touched Melanie with my blade. Nine minutes. Time. The leather roll of scalpels, twist ties, the gag and the syringe all safely nestled in place, I slung my bag over my shoulder. I almost put on my surgical gloves before I tossed them on the floorboard, snickering. Everyone knew who the I was now. There was nothing left to hide. I tried the front door and it clicked open. Once inside, there was a mild odor in the air. A pan of burnt potpourri sat in the sink. The ceiling creaked. With footeps. I looked up, pulled my favorite scalpel from my belt, and crept up the steps to the second floor. I reached the top of the landing in the darkened hallway where light spilled from the crack under the bedroom doorway. I could hear the sound of running water filling a bathtub.

  46

  Flowers

  There was no sign of anyone home at Melanie’s place. The place was dark. There was a car parked on the front street and it looked like hers. We circled around, parked the Chevy a couple blocks away, and made our way on foot to the back door where we stood listening. I tried the doorknob. Locked tight. I stepped back and kicked it open. Heading in, Luke grabbed my arm. “What the fuck are you doing?” I pulled my arm off him and shot him a dark look.

  “Follow me.”

  Inside the dark kitchen I detected the mild odor of something burnt. Probably the potpourri Wadsworth had mentioned. And the odor of something else maybe. I grabbed Luke by the elbow and positioned him behind a wicker couch in the sitting room. “Stay put. Gun out.” Creeping slowly up the steps, I pushed open Melanie’s door. And I found the source of the smell. Fresh cut flowers were arranged in several vases all around. I remembered that she mentioned that, one of the perks of owning a floral shop, bringing home all the unsold flowers. Then came the sudden sound of someone creeping up the steps…

  47

  Vanity

  A sink faucet squeaked shut and the sound of flowing water stopped. I froze in my tracks just outside her bedroom door, letting my blade rise. I could hear her coming back into the room. I peered into the crack, Melanie sat on the other side of the bed, leaning over, probably slipping off her socks, the yellow scarf still tied on her head. I sat the bag down softly on the floor, uncapped the syringe and slipped in. The scalpel in my right hand and the needle in my left and tiptoed all the way up to her like a spider, back to me, inches away. I brought the syringe up and lunged forward.

  Melanie spun off the bed just outside of my reach. There was a bang and a flash. My thigh exploded open and blood fanned out over the wall beside me. Pain shot up like a thunder bolt and I dropped the syringe. But I held the scalpel steadily as I stumbled across the wall, my thigh letting blood off like a popped balloon until I caught the window, and sat on the sill. I glanced up as my shooter pulled the yellow silk scarf off. “I got the jump on you this time Carlina. When Melanie came up, I sent her down the back steps to the safety of my backup cop. They are long gone.”

  “Shade Bardane?” I growled, my head roiling with blackened hatred, the rage coming on. “You motherfucker.”

  “Easy now Dr. Malhotra,” he murmured with the gun still leveled at me, a wisp of blue smoke curling up from the nose. He spoke calmly. Sweetly. Like we were old friends. “It’s all over now. Everything’s finished. Let me cuff you and tie that thing off before you bleed to death. Okay?”

  “What can I do?” I smiled with a light shrug.

  “Cooperate.”

  “Okay,” I nodded my head.

  “Drop the blade.”

  I didn’t. Not yet. I wasn’t ready. In a puddle of my own blood, I did my best to stand up. My own blood. The Great Equalizer.

  He didn’t move, the little, ugly gun still pointing at me. “Carlina, drop the fucking blade.”

  But I didn’t. Not yet. Give a lady her space. I still wasn’t ready. A bead of sweat trickled down his nose and dispersed into the crack between his lips. I took a step forward.

  “Carlina, whatever you’re thinking,” he said gently, bringing out a pair of handcuffs. “Please don’t. You need help. I want to help you. Please let me? Won’t you?”

  The windows pulsed with blue and red lights. More cops. I didn’t see this coming. None of it. The pain shot up and over, electrifying my lungs, the spasm forcing me to take a rigid gasp.

  “Here, put these on,” he threw the cuffs at my feet. “Drop the blade. The ambulance is here. Right downstairs. Given your past, the child abuse, foster homes, drug addiction, a jury will be lenient. I swear.” He paused. “You won’t even get the chair.”

  A cold cage instead of pink sand beaches in paradise. I squeezed my scalpel, and took a step toward the handcuffs. and cracked a smile. “Do you have any faith detective?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Faith.”

  “Sure,” he stammered. “Sure, I do.”

  “Good,” I nodded. “Because faith without works is dead.” I lunged at him with my knife.

  “No Carlina!” his face twisted inside blue flashes, the gun jumping and popping. The force punched me backward, my chest caving into a new shape with each impact, all my agony bubbling out in mouthfuls of blood. Falling back and back, I crashed through the glass, toppling into the night, and smacking the pavement below on my back. A starlit sky unfolded before me and a hole opened inside the shimmering blanket of the galaxy. A white light grew inside the hole, and expanded all around, wrapping around me, taking me in, turning me into a beam of light. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.

  Following the sudden and violent death of Carlina Malhotra, Story Mount exhaled a collective sigh of relief. Yet it was a knee-jerk reaction that didn’t last. Not because there were any more killings. But because Skin the Cat changed the way the community and its people saw the world. Carlina Malhotra had made her mark from the institutional top of Story Mount all the way down to the individual psyche. The darkness cast in shadowy corners would now forever be more menacing. Parents at the park would always throw a few extra glances to make sure their kids hadn’t vanished. The former silence and tranquility in the mountainous Cumberland countryside now stirred with something haunting and empty. Sure, Carlina was gone, but in many ways she still lurked among us, much like a discoloration, or a stain. Though these wounds would never go away, they would fade with time. These Kentuck
y mountain people thrived with some brand of pioneering heartiness that assured they could wear the scars she left behind with pride. Maybe even with a little vanity. This was a rugged and beautiful land. And so were its people.

  On the Saturday following Carlina’s death, the wind blew warm and sweet across the Bluegrass. Brant, Lilly and I loaded up a picnic basket and some fishing poles and headed into town to pick up Melanie when she closed the floral shop at noon. Cruising down Exodus Avenue, Brant and Lilly spotted Danny, the man in overalls holding a metal bucket and hammering on trees. “Daddy, what’s that guy doing?” Lilly asked.

  “Hunting Argopelters,” I smiled as I steered the wheel.

  “What’s that Dad?” Brant asked.

  “I’ll explain it some other time.”

  We pulled up to the floral shop where Melanie stood out front, smiling and waving. She hopped in the passenger seat and I aimed the truck toward Cumberland Gap National Park. Thirty minutes later, we were out hiking on the Wilderness Road, where Daniel Boone crossed over into this great nation with the settlers. On the route, a small sign on a post announced that the edges of that portion of the trail still had the original wagon wheel tracks cast in the clay mud. With disbelief, I discovered the long ruts in the trail and stooped over, gazing at them close up. The indentations were several inches deep, stretching down in the overgrowth on this side of the mountain. Hundreds of years and the mud hadn’t changed shape. I liked that. Time somehow allowing something to be permanent. It felt…safe. I looked at my kids and thought it over. In many ways Brant, Lilly and I had become pioneers in our own unfolding drama.

  Melanie and I strolled over the course of a rolling footpath that meandered through the woods and led up to a mountain lookout. Lilly and Brant followed close behind, sword fighting with sticks and throwing rocks into the woods. At the top, we gazed at the blue folds of the Cumberland Mountains flowing out over the landscape like ocean waves. Lilly and Brant clutched my pant legs. We stood together at the horizon, staring into vast space, feeling a sense of weightlessness and peace. I looked at Melanie and wanted to feel so much more than the fear of getting hurt again. Love. Maybe if we kept it and held it for just one person, that if they left us, they took that love with them. And maybe it never came back. Maybe it never existed to begin with. Maybe all this was a fairytale. Or maybe, true love was dead.