Skellyman

by Rie Sheridan Rose

  He grinned, dumping the cups into one of the trash receptacles just outside the screening room. His arm draped comfortably around her shoulders now, as if it had always belonged there.

  She let her head rest against his shoulder. So strong, sturdy, and utterly male…a girl could really get used to this. Her good arm stole around his waist, and they walked out of the multi-plex entwined like lovers.

  In no hurry now that the film was over, they strolled through the parking lot to Phillip’s car. Before they got to it, Brenda stopped short.

  Phillip looked down at her. “What is it, Brenda?”

  She pulled her arm free of his waist and pointed a shaking finger at the car. One of the headlights had been smashed, and scrawled across the hood in foot-high letters was the word “WHORE.”

  Chapter 40

  Suddenly Brenda went from being scared to death of the skellyman and what he intended for her remaining family to being white-hot boiling angry. This psychopath had no business terrorizing her and Daisy—not that Daisy seemed too upset about it, but who knew what the incidents would trigger for her later in life?

  Brenda’d had just about enough of this stranger commenting on her life and making her feel weak and defenseless. He was playing with her emotions, trying to drive her insane.

  “God damn it,” she muttered. “I will not let this bastard win.”

  Phillip hugged her swiftly.

  “That’s the spirit. Let me borrow your phone, would ya? I need to take some pictures of this mess, and my phone doesn’t have a camera—force issued, and they’re cheap when they can get away with it. After I do that, we’ll go find a car wash.”

  Brenda dug through her purse and found the phone, reactivating it and handing it over.

  “Won’t they want to dust for prints?”

  “Probably, but for once, I don’t care. If they can’t find any prints on the photos, I bet they won’t find any on the car, and if they do find prints on the photos, they won’t need any from the car. I doubt seriously there’re two psychopaths out to get you.”

  Brenda nodded. “That makes sense. All I know is that I’m through letting this jerk play me like a fool. It’s time to bring out the offense.”

  “Whoa, now Brenda—let’s not get carried away,” Phillip cautioned her. “Let us do our jobs. We’ve had a lot more practice than you have. We’ll catch him, I promise.”

  “I know, Phillip. I won’t step on anyone’s toes. But I need to be more pro-active. For one thing, I need to remember the camera on my phone and keep it with me at all times. That way I don’t lose any more evidence like the footprints or the message on the bathroom mirror.”

  “In theory, a great idea, sweetheart, but—unless you plan on bathing with it—I don’t see how having your camera would’ve helped in either of those cases. You’d have to carry the phone with you everywhere, just on the off chance something happened.”

  “It’s a good habit to get into anyway. I don’t want to be out-of-touch with Daisy right now.”

  “Whatever you think is best, darlin’.”

  “Now you’re just humoring me,” she growled, punching him in the arm.

  “Maybe a little.” Phillip grinned down at her. “But I do think this is a step in the right direction.”

  He snapped several photos of the car and the damage, looking for evidence of whatever had broken the light, but not finding any likely candidates nearby.

  “I also need to go back to my house and pick up some things,” Brenda commented. “I can’t run around in t-shirts and sweats forever. Especially if I’m going to be helping Penny at the school. I don’t want to give the other mothers more to gossip about than necessary.”

  “Sure thing. Oh—I almost forgot.” He dug a key-ring out of his pocket. “Here’re your new keys. There’re two for each lock. I checked each one to make sure they all worked.”

  “Thank you for doing so much for me, Phillip. I really do appreciate it,” she said sincerely.

  “No problem in the least.”

  For a heart-stopping second, she thought he was going to kiss her again, but the moment passed, and then he was helping her into the car.

  “We’d better add a parts store to our list of errands, or I’ll wind up with a ticket for the broken headlight. Nothing a cop likes better than busting one of his own over something like that.”

  Somehow, she found the statement hard to believe, but she knew there was a parts store on the way to her place, so it wouldn’t put them out any. She nodded, clicking her seatbelt fastened. She was getting good at this one-handed stuff.

  By the time they had completed the other errands on the list and pulled up outside Brenda’s darkened house, her stomach was beginning to announce that it was definitely dinner time.

  She made a face at a particularly audible grumble. “Let’s go inside, and I’ll make you the dinner I promised you…was it only last night? God, what a weekend it’s been,” she groaned. “I would swear it was five days long.”

  Phillip laughed.

  “I hope at least some of those were good days.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Bits and pieces.”

  The new key was a little stiff in the lock, but she liked the solid thunk as the bolt slipped free. It was a sturdy lock. No one was coming through that lock without permission.

  She stepped into the house, and for a moment it felt like someplace she had never been before. She felt disoriented. It wasn’t really home anymore.

  Someone had tidied up the flour in the kitchen—or maybe Phillip had done it when he picked up the kitten. At any rate, it was much neater than she ever left it. Especially with Daisy prone to “helping” spells.

  The rest of the house had the same air of unreality. Robbie’s room was back to normal, including the bat in its accustomed place.

  “Where did that come from?” she asked Phillip, pointing at the bat.

  “I found it under the couch when I was looking for the kitten. I remembered you told me where it belonged and put it back. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  The house was beginning to creep her out more than a little bit, and she wanted the familiarity of her kitchen and the ordinary tasks associated with making dinner.

  “What’re you in the mood for?” she asked, leading the way into the airy kitchen. She poked her head in the refrigerator. “I was planning on steaks last night, so I have those thawed. They’ll have to be eaten soon, regardless. Or I can make spaghetti…or…hmmmm. Looks like those are really the only choices.”

  “Why don’t I fire up the grill and do the steaks?” Phillip offered. “That way I won’t worry about you straining your arm.”

  “Far be it from me to come between a man and his grill,” she replied with a laugh. “If you want to, go ahead. The help would be lovely. I’ll see what I can find to go with them.” She pulled the steaks out of the fridge. “Normally, I would’ve marinated these for a bit, but at least they aren’t frozen.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Let me work my magic.” He winked at her. “Where’re your spices?”

  “In that cabinet over there.” She pointed across the kitchen. “Feel free to use whatever you like. Mi cocina es tu cocina.”

  Phillip gave a little bow of acknowledgment and began rooting in the spice cupboard.

  She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. Thank God, she remembered a bit of her high school Spanish.

  What possessed me? Was I showing off for him? I feel like I am back in the eleventh grade with a crush on a Senior boy…

  Putting the thought aside for the moment, she searched the cabinets for something to go with the steak. She had planned to bake potatoes last night, but it would take too long now.

  There were a couple of cans of beans…and she had a bit of wilted lettuce. It would make a sparse salad.

  When is the last time I did a full-fledged marketing trip? she wondered. The cupboards were almost Mother Hubbar
d bare.

  She also found an avocado in the fridge, and a handful of cherry tomatoes to add to the salad. If she melted some butter and stirred in garlic to make garlic bread, it would be a respectable showing.

  Better than she deserved.

  What was I thinking to offer a spontaneous dinner? Am I really going insane?

  Well, if she was, she had reason. The events of the last few days would drive anyone around the bend.

  She mixed up the garlic butter and threw together the salad. By the time she was finished with all her preparations, Phillip had the steaks well in hand.

  “How do you like yours?” he called from the back porch.

  “Medium well, if you please,” she answered, bustling around the table. She set two places with her wedding china. Might as well go whole hog.

  She finished getting everything to her liking just as Phillip came into the room with the plate of steaks.

  “Everything looks great!” he told her, serving the steaks onto their plates.

  “Thanks,” she replied, suddenly shy again. She really wanted to please this man, and she wasn’t sure why it mattered to her so much.

  She bit her lip. “I was thinking of wine with dinner originally, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. With all that’s been going on, I might not want to stop. I think I saw a beer in the fridge if you’d like, or there’s Coke—”

  “Coke sounds great. Let me get it. You sit down and rest. Is it in the fridge?”

  “I think there’re some cold ones in the crisper. If not, there should be some cartons in the bottom of the pantry. There’re glasses in the cabinet beside the sink.”

  She sank into her chair and reveled in the luxury of being waited upon. It felt good. She couldn’t remember Ethan ever being this helpful in the kitchen—and then she felt guilty for the thought. There was no good to be had by comparing the two men.

  Phillip brought her over a can of soda and a glass of ice.

  “Oh! Did you call Penny? I would hate to have her waiting dinner for us…”

  “Did it while I was outside with the steaks. It’s cool.”

  “Great.”

  She poured the soda into her glass, anticipating the meal. The aroma of the steaks was making her mouth water.

  He came around the table and cut her steak into bite-sized mouthfuls. She felt her face heat at the necessity, but accepted the courtesy gratefully. She didn’t think she could manage to do it one-handed. “Thanks,” she murmured.

  “De nada,” he replied casually, as if it was all part of his normal dating ritual. Maybe it was…maybe he treated all his women like this…

  The thought that maybe there were other women sent a flare of jealousy through her, and she was taken aback. What right do I have to be jealous of his love life?

  They started the meal, doing the dance of new acquaintance—asking more questions about each other’s childhoods, telling more embarrassing stories on themselves. This time Brenda gave as good as she got.

  It was the most relaxing meal she could remember in a very long time.

  The insistent ringing of her cell phone broke the mood.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured, sliding her chair back from the table.

  She fumbled in her purse on the kitchen counter, but by the time she answered the phone, she’d missed the call. The number displayed was unfamiliar to her and, as she was trying to figure out who it might have been, the message tone went off.

  She looked at the phone and saw there was a new voicemail in her mailbox. Concern flashed through her that it might be Mary about Daisy—just because she didn’t recognize the number didn’t preclude that. Her mother didn’t have a cell phone, and if she was out of the house, she’d have to borrow an unfamiliar phone.

  Brenda dialed into the voicemail-box.

  The eerie strains of a piece of music filtered out through the tinny speaker. There were no lyrics to the music at first, and then some sort of chant began to run through it. She didn’t recognize the piece. It played for about two minutes, and then the mechanical voice of the service chimed, “end of message.”

  Brenda looked down at the phone in bewilderment.

  Chapter 41

  He crouched like a spider beside the payphone, receiver dangling over the tape recorder as he played the music into the phone. He imagined the tune rising up and flowing down the wires like a poison into Brenda’s cell phone on the other end. He hadn’t found his playmate for the evening yet, but he’d had this idea…

  She would never recognize this phone number—why should she? It was an innocuous phone booth, miles away from the house. Outside a corner convenience store remarkable only for the fact that it was on her way home from taking Daisy to school, and sometimes she stopped there to grab a cup of coffee or a carton of milk.

  But if that policeman of hers checked it out, he would see there was some small connection to her—if only this much—and maybe he would begin to doubt…that was the key. Sow doubt in Brenda’s story at every turn. Make her look paranoid, crazy—useless.

  I doubt she’ll recognize the music either. She should, but she never really paid attention to the things I thought were important…

  He hung the receiver back in its cradle, careful to handle the handset only with his grimy jacket wrapped around his fingers. No prints to make it easy. He snickered to himself.

  No doubt they would have checked the photos for prints by now. But they wouldn’t find any. He wasn’t stupid. Besides—he glanced down at his bony fingers, the tips marred with scar tissue—there wasn’t much by way of prints left to find.

  He rose to his full height now and shambled off into the night. Back to the flophouse where he was paying fifty bucks a week to crash. It was anonymous and indifferent to his comings and goings. He liked it that way.

  He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a window as he passed and grinned. He had really begun embracing Daisy’s designation of skellyman. It sounded evil—and he felt evil.

  He’d even begun to enhance the image, hollowing his gaunt cheeks further with a bit of greasepaint; shaving his head daily to help facilitate its skull-like appearance—it’d been hard—his hair one of his few vanities; fasting most of the time so he’d lost another ten pounds in the last week—it freed up more cash for meth anyway. He could count his ribs even through his shirt now. All according to plan.

  He knew he was making himself even more obvious…he’d seen mothers cross the street when he walked by, shepherding small children to hurry past as they gazed back in fascination. He liked the attention. It was dangerous to draw so much of it to himself, but the danger added even more of an adrenalin rush to his nights.

  Soon…soon Brenda will get hers. Bitch. Whore. Slayer of dreams.

  She had destroyed his as surely as if she’d shanked him in his sleep.

  The skellyman turned into the rundown tenement, taking his key from the night man without a word. They rarely spoke. They liked it that way.

  He could tell the coke-head manager felt the same way he did—people were a nuisance to be tolerated only so long as they were useful. And they were currently useful to each other. They had a mutual need—he needed his key every night, and the kid needed his fifty-dollar-a-week rent.

  The skellyman—he thought of himself exclusively by that name these days—unlocked the door of his tiny cubicle of a room and stepped inside, throwing the deadbolt behind him, and then putting on the chain-latch for good measure.

  He slipped out of his filthy jacket, hanging it on the waiting hook protruding from the back of the door. Scratching at his prominent ribs, he studied the wall next to his single-wide bed.

  The wall was covered with pictures of Brenda and Daisy: at the funeral—Brenda looking like a broken automaton, Daisy a fallen cherub; at the school—Brenda tired and grim, Daisy chattering up at her; at the house—Brenda frazzled, Daisy playing some silly game. There were even a couple of pictures of Daisy and her new puppy.

  He grinned, showing a mo
uthful of neglected teeth. He’d heard her calling the dog ‘Bones’—and he didn’t think it was a Star Trek reference. No, that little girl had a lovely streak of morbidity in her he was dying to cultivate.

  For now, he needed to pay lip service to his own mortality at least. He flipped on the coffeemaker sitting on the window sill and began to heat a pot of water. Digging a cup of ramen noodles out of a grocery bag, he waited impatiently for the water to heat.

  He growled at the delay, infuriated by the necessity of hoarding every cent this way. He should be living high on the hog—lying on some tropical beach somewhere with a beautiful wahini, or playing the odds in Monte Carlo, not starving to death in some dive.

  Well, he’d get his. It wouldn’t be too much longer. Everything was on schedule. Soon he’d see the culmination of all his plans. Plans he’d been fomenting for years now. Baby steps had gotten him this far, and they would see him to the finish line.

  What is the saying…ah, yes— “slow and steady wins the race.” Rushing never gets anyone anywhere worth getting.

  In fact, it’d almost cost him everything. But he was much more careful now. Much more careful.

  The water finished heating, and he poured it over the noodles, fishing a packet of soy sauce out of his jacket pocket and stirring it into the cup. It almost made the noodles edible.

  When this was all done, he’d order himself the biggest steak he could find, and eat it all at one sitting—if his teeth would let him. With a heaping mound of those garlic potatoes he liked so much…and maybe an entire cherry pie for dessert. He’d gorge himself insensible.

  When this is all done.

  Taking the noodles over to the rickety desk that was the only other piece of furniture in the room, he flipped through the pages of his well-thumbed journal until he found an empty page.

  Sipping at the broth of the noodles, he scribbled down on the page:

  Phase three begun. That Bitch was with the Spic again. He may need to be taken out of the picture. What would work best?