When the Night Calls

by Rashad Freeman

  Victor gagged. He could barely breathe. His mouth was hanging open as he struggled to take short breaths like a drowning fish. His threadlike eyes glared into the darkness, focused on the half-naked body slumped over in the back seat of his car.

  FIGHT OR FLIGHT

  “Sh...Sh... Sherri,” Victor stuttered, almost incoherently.

  She was stretched out across the torn, black leather seat like she’d been tossed through the window. Her red dress was partially ripped off and clung to the side of her hips. Tears and mascara were dried to her face and lipstick was smeared across her cheek. Her bloodshot eyes were still wide open, and her face bore the expression of someone that had died badly.

  Victor whispered again. He tried to move, but couldn’t. He simply tilted his head and stared sideways into the lifeless face that he once knew. His hands shook violently, and he struggled to compose himself.

  Trickles of blood ran down Sherri’s neck. It looked like her throat had been slit only moments ago. Victor stared out of the window, his eyes scanning the garage like a hawk. Although Sherri’s killer was probably still there, something worried Victor even more than that, Lawson.

  Victor knew he couldn’t be caught with the sheriff’s dead ex-wife, whether he did it or not. That would be all Lawson needed and if he didn't kill Victor first he'd make sure he rotted in prison.

  “Fuck! Fuck!” he screamed, slamming his fists against the steering wheel. “Why me Sherri? Why the fuck did you have to be dead in my car?”

  A million ideas rushed through his head. The only thing that stuck was that Lawson would have his ass for this. And that single idea was enough to erase all reason.

  Victor’s hands shook as he tried to think of what to do. He yanked at the few strands in his balding head and cursed loudly.

  Suddenly, the elevator lit up and the cart started lowering. Victor snapped around and glanced out of his window at the blinking red arrow.

  “Not now, damn it!” he screamed.

  Like a madman, he mashed the gas pedal and the Volvo swung backwards out of the parking space. He threw the car into drive and it roared, leaving a rancid smoke trail as he blazed out of the garage into the black night.

  Victor flew down the cobbled streets like a race car, unclear of where he was headed. He just wanted to be far away from there. Far away from Lawson and far away from whoever put Sherri in his car.

  Zipping past buildings, he drove faster and faster. The car screeched as he slung around corners, fleeing from his invisible pursuer.

  For the next ten minutes he zipped up and down random roads like a lost taxi. Nothing seemed right, everywhere he went there were shadows and sinister alleyways just waiting to devour him. His mind was a wreck with fear and anxiety.

  Victor finally started to slow down when he reached the industrial district of New Orleans. Tall manufacturing plants cascaded the street, looming over him like oak trees. The empty alleys and dust covered windows resembled a ghost town.

  He turned down a bumpy gravel road and slowly rolled through the dark. His headlights illuminated an abandoned office building up ahead and he pulled up and parked around back. He slowly turned the car off and sighed, bringing his hands to his face. He gritted his teeth and swallowed the dry scratchiness that had accumulated.

  "Not you...not in my car," he grumbled.

  Reluctantly, Victor looked back at Sherri’s body, which had rolled off the seat and was now resting face down on the floorboard. He stared at the back of her head and her knotted, blonde hair that was marred with blood.

  “Jesus!” Victor murmured beating his fists against his forehead.

  Hesitantly, he opened the door and stepped out, the loose gravel crumbled underneath his shoes. He shivered in the frigid night air as he turned and looked around. The chill he felt was more than just the cold, it was icy hands of death reaching out for him.

  The office park was nestled in between a number of steel factories on the outskirts of New Orleans. The area had been abandoned for years and aside from the light from Victor’s car it was completely dark.

  Victor opened the back door and grabbed Sherri by her feet. Her shoes were missing and the stockings she wore were torn and bloody. He slowly pulled her out of the car and her body sunk to the ground with a thud.

  He whimpered and stormed off, shaking his hands. The pull of his heavy breathing echoed into the night as his panic threatened to send him into hysteria.

  “Get it together Victor,” he said and slapped himself in the face.

  He warily stepped back to her body and grabbed her legs again. Breathing heavily, he dragged her across the gravel, refusing to look at her. He pulled her to the front of one of the office buildings and dropped her legs then took a deep breath.

  All the windows to the office had been boarded up and were sprayed with graffiti. Knocked over trash cans and empty recycle bins were spread out across the yard. Weeds had started to grow through the cement walkway and piles of rusted metal were stacked against the side walls.

  Victor cautiously walked around to the front door. It was tilted to the side, barely hanging on the hinges. He gave it a kick and the door swung open then fell to the floor.

  He grabbed Sherri by her wrists and started to pull her inside, but stopped halfway in. The office was too dark to see any further. Sherri was too difficult to pull, everything was just too much.

  Victor fell to the floor in defeat. What the hell was he doing? A woman was dead, a woman he knew. And he'd driven her to an abandoned building to leave her like trash.

  What about the person that killed her? What about the police? Questions rattled through his brain as his head finally started to clear.

  "No!" he suddenly shouted and stood up.

  Cursing, he turned around and headed back to his car. He jumped inside and pulled the rattling Volvo right in front of the building so that the headlights were pointing through the door. He left the car running and walked back towards the office. He stopped in front of the doorway and looked down at Sherri’s dead body.

  “Oh man! Oh man…Oh man!” he stuttered. “Why’d you have to be dead in my backseat you selfish bitch?”

  Victor angrily grabbed her hands and pulled her inside. The aging floor creaked as he stepped across it. Sweating, he scanned the dusty office for a good spot. His headlights shined across the dirty hardwood, casting a dim glow into the dilapidated structure.

  It was still too dark inside and the smell of mildew radiated throughout. The middle of the office was clear and a stack of boxes and trash had been discarded in the corners. To his left there was a receptionist desk that had seemingly been untouched and he decided it would make the perfect hiding spot for Sherri.

  Victor tugged at the limp body and headed towards the desk. As he slid her across the floor her dress got snagged on a nail. Sighing, Victor tugged harder and with a loud rip, the dress tore and was yanked from her hips and slid down her legs.

  Victor shrieked and let go of her arms. She had bruises and deep gashes running down her legs. Her once perfectly tanned skin was now yellowing and smeared with grunge and dried blood. Her knee jutted out awkwardly to one side, her foot going the other way. She was a broken woman in every sense of the word.

  Victor stood there, gaping at her ragged body. He couldn’t believe he’d just seen her alive and vibrant only a few hours ago. Now she was gone, gone forever, and as far as he could tell she’d died a horrible death.

  The reality of the situation came roaring back into Victor's head. Sherri had been murdered, just like Doug and just like Cindy. And Victor had been there both times. He was the one single bond that the deceased had between them.

  He could be next. The murderer could be there, watching him, planning to kill him at that very moment. Or even worse, Lawson could be already piecing it all together and picking out a prison cell for him.

  Panic took over and suddenly every dark place, every corner looked like someone was coming to get him. He shivered and whipped his hea
d back and forth then tried to force himself to press on.

  Suddenly, there was a loud crunching noise and Victor froze. It sounded like someone walking across the gravel, like heavy steps were marching towards him.

  Victor’s hair stood on end and prickles ran down his arms. He didn’t move, he was frozen in fear, waiting for someone to step through the doorway. Waiting for the killer to take their next victim.

  His heart pounded like it was going to tear his chest apart. He held his breath and tried to calm his quivering hands. He strained his ears, listening for the slightest sound of movement, but there wasn't any.

  Five minutes passed and there wasn’t another noise. Only the thunderous raucous from his hammering palpitations and gulps of air.

  "Nobody's here...nobody's here," Victor finally mumbled, deciding it was all in his head.

  He quickly grabbed Sherri’s naked body and pulled her behind the receptionist’s desk. He grabbed a dusty, green curtain that was lying on the floor and tossed it over her twisted corpse.

  Without so much as a second glance, Victor turned and headed out of the door. He darted across the gravel and dove into his car. Sighing, he collapsed onto the steering wheel and began to whimper quietly.

  "It's over...it's all over. Just go home, Victor," he said to himself.

  With his hands still shaking, he started the car and yanked the shifter into reverse. He mashed his foot on the gas pedal and the Volvo roared like a farm tractor. Kicking up dirt, he sped out of the parking lot and swerved onto the road.

  SURPRISE SURPRISE

  Daniel awoke to the sound of strange voices in an unfamiliar language. He had no idea where he was, but he was lying in mud and the smell of pig feces filled the air. His head throbbed like he’d been kicked repeatedly and his eyes were watery and burned. He tried to move his hands, but they’d been bound behind his back.

  “Danny, we really fucked ourselves on this one,” Tom’s voice echoed in the dark.

  Daniel rolled over and looked to his side. Tom grinned back at him with broken teeth. Fresh blood trickled from a gash over his left eye. His hands and feet had been tied together as well.

  “Where the hell are we?” Daniel whispered.

  “You took a pretty hard blow, didn’t think you’d remember much. We’re fucking knee deep in gook land,” Tom chuckled. “Somebody compromised our location. I’m kicking the shit out of those Langley fucks when we get back.”

  Daniel furrowed his brow and scowled. He didn’t see how Tom planned on doing any of that, he was certain a gory end was in their near future.

  As his eyes started to clear he began to take in his surroundings. They were under some type of hut locked in wooden cells. Three other men shared the cramped quarters with them. They were all huddled together on the ground, doing their best to avoid a swarm of tenacious mosquitoes. In the far corner a sixth man was partially buried in the mud, his body twisted and bent.

  Men’s voices echoed above them. The clatter of footsteps sounded like drums across the wooden floor. It wasn’t English they were speaking, but they sounded agitated. Daniel could tell they were in a heated argument.

  Suddenly a glass broke and the sound of scuffling feet could be heard leaving the room. Daniel glanced back at Tom. He was squirming around in the mud trying to reach his feet.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Not waiting for these assholes to come down here and suicide me,” Tom yelped as he pulled a sliver of broken glass from in between his toes. He put the glass in his mouth and started sawing at the ropes around his hands.

  Within seconds his ropes were cut and he started working on freeing Daniel. The other men in the cell had taken notice and began to grumble and wiggle towards him.

  “Hey, do mine next, I don’t wanna die here,” a frail, hairy-faced soldier pleaded. His tattered uniform was soiled with blood and piss. His face was disfigured from daily beatings and was covered in mud and pig feces.

  Suddenly, there was an explosion outside and gunfire erupted. A sense of urgency overcame them all. Tom frantically hacked at Daniel’s ropes, his face revealing a worry that Daniel hadn’t seen before. As soon as the rope snapped, Daniel reached down and untied his own feet while Tom ran off to free the other prisoners.

  He slid to the ground and chopped and pulled at their bindings. The glass shard ripped into the rope as well as their skin, but the desire for freedom was greater than any amount of pain. As Tom looked up he could see the feet of several men running towards their cages.

  “They’re coming!” he screamed back.

  Daniel had finally freed his legs and darted across the cell to help Tom untie the other men. Together they all quickly crawled towards the door, Tom holding the tiny piece of broken glass like a knife.

  There was a rattle outside of the cell. Someone was fumbling with the lock. Any moment Daniel's situation was going to get a lot worse.

  "Quiet," Tom whispered as he readied himself for the inevitable fight.

  Then, without warning, a grenade went off. It blew the door open and obliterated whoever was standing outside.

  Daniel was thrown backwards and landed on his back in the mud. Smoke and screams filled the tiny prison. His head rung and his vision went blurry.

  He put his hands over his ears trying to block out the piercing sound. He let out a low grumble and rolled over onto his stomach.

  “Daniel!” Monica’s voice snapped.

  Daniel jumped up and opened his eyes to find himself in his room on the floor. He looked around as his brain cleared and he came to his senses. He was no prisoner in a Vietnamese camp, but in his New Orleans home with his wife.

  “Sorry, guess…guess I was dreaming,” Daniel said as he rubbed his face.

  Monica slowly walked towards him placing her hand on his head. She ran her fingers through his hair and patted his back. He sighed and let himself fall into her grasp.

  Daniel didn’t sleep much, but when he did these flashbacks were common. His therapist had yet to uncover the cause, but Monica was convinced Ned was helping.

  He pressed his head against Monica’s stomach and the baby kicked.

  “He knows his daddy is here,” Monica smiled. “Get yourself ready we have a lunch…well a dinner date before you head off to work.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s the occasion?”

  “Oh, nothing special, my husband is just taking me to my favorite restaurant to make up for last night.”

  Daniel grinned and hopped to his feet. He stretched his hands and moaned. “I guess I can do that,” he said before heading into the bathroom.

  Monica slapped him on the ass as he walked past her. “When are you going to see Ned again?” Monica called after him.

  “Pretty soon, I’ll call him when I get out,” Daniel replied as he closed the door.

  Yawning, he stumbled over to the sink. He stared at himself in the mirror and splashed water on his face. The mirror blurred and Daniel paused. His flashbacks were getting worse. He almost felt like he was in a dream now and the war was his reality. It felt so real. He could still smell the mud and the stench from the dead man lying next to him.

  Daniel shook off the feeling and tried to gather himself. He stepped into the shower and turned the knob. Leaning his head against the wall, he listened to the drumbeat of the water pouring down like rain. Daniel started to fade into a dream again as the water peppered his face, but Monica yelled out to him almost instinctively.

  “Hurry up, hon, we’re gonna be late.”

  Daniel snapped awake and finished showering. He quickly got dressed and headed to the living room where Monica was waiting for him.

  “Are you ready to go?” she asked. “You clean up nicely.”

  Daniel was wearing a pair of black dress slacks and blue button up shirt with a black sport coat. He looked at Monica and grinned. She seemed to glow in her red cocktail dress with her baby bump slightly protruding.

  “Not so bad yourself.”

  Daniel gr
abbed the keys and they walked out of the door leaving Pocket barking from the couch. Date night had been a scarce event as of late. Daniel's practice was as busy as ever and he was glad to have some one on one time with his wife.

  They arrived at La Vue thirty minutes later. It was right outside of the French Quarter and served some of the best Creole food in the nation. Just about the entire building was made with glass and gave the impression that you were eating inside of an aquarium.

  Daniel and Monica walked in and were immediately greeted by Sandra, better known to Daniel as the agent from hell. Daniel turned to Monica, narrowed his eyes and grumbled under his breath.

  “Monica, Monica, so good to see you again. And Daniel, you just get more handsome every time I lay eyes on you,” Sandra said with a wink then wrapped her massive arms around both of them.

  She was a very tall lady, at least five eleven and as broad as a refrigerator. Her dark, black hair only made her pale, cold skin stand out that much more. She wore a pink coat that made her look like a stuffed flamingo, and a blue dress that was three sizes too small.

  "You look lovely, Sandra," Monica lied.

  Daniel chuckled then straightened his face. "Surprised to see you here," Daniel said and cut his eyes.

  "Hmph. Well follow me," Sandra replied and headed off.

  Daniel reluctantly followed her to the table, squeezing Monica’s hand a bit harder than he should. She grinned at him apologetically and raised her eyebrows.

  “I’ve ordered us some champagne if you don’t mind. We’re celebrating!” Sandra exalted.

  “Celebrating what?” Daniel asked and turned to Monica with a puzzled look.

  “Oh my, you little devil. Monica, you haven’t told Daniel the great news? Well, Daniel, Monica’s book just made it on the bestseller list. We’re heading to New York in a week for the kick-off of our book tour!”

  Daniel offered a little smile to Sandra then looked to his wife. “Congratulations, babe!”