by Nolon King
“So, it was just an accident that you were cranking one out as those two girls passed by? With your curtains open?”
“They lied! I don’t know why, but they did. You all came around and asked me questions. I told you the same thing then that I’m telling you now — I ain’t into fucking kids.”
Mal stared hard through the two-way mirror and saw something rare — the suspect wasn’t lying.
He was hiding something, but Mal didn’t think he was into children.
Still, he might be their guy. He could have killed a kid without raping her.
“Come on, man,” Skippy said, his voice syrupy sweet. “Let me help you. Tell me what happened. It’ll be so much easier than if you don’t tell me.”
“I didn’t touch any kid.”
“Bullshit!” Skippy smacked the table again then shot up from his chair.
Terry flinched, taking furtive glances at Skippy as the detective went back to pacing.
“Here’s the thing. Right now is your only shot to get ahead of this. We’re willing to go easier on you if you tell us what we need to know now. But make us wait, especially if you make us wait until we find whatever sick shit you’ve got at your house, and we’re not gonna be in such a cooperative mood.”
Terry’s hands were cuffed and chained to the table, with enough slack to wipe at his tears.
“Then tell me why the hell you ran, brother.”
Terry shook his head and pulled at his hair, hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
Why hadn’t he hadn’t lawyered up?
Mal picked up the two-way radio on the table then pressed a button to communicate in Skippy’s ear. “Go Bad Cop. But just scare him, don’t give the guy another black eye.”
Skippy glanced at the mirror with a light roll of his eyes. He grabbed the Manilla folder off the table then started thumbing through it, not yet revealing the contents to Terry.
“I gotta ask, what’s with the symbols?”
“What?” Terry said, his curiosity piqued.
“The symbols on the body. You a witch or something? Wait, no, dude witches aren’t witches, are they? No, um, what are they called?” Skippy pretended to think. “Don’t tell me. I’ll get it … Oh, yeah, a warlock. You a fucking warlock or something?”
“No, I’m not a fucking warlock,” Terry said, sounding thoroughly confused.
“Like this one right here.” Skippy shoved a gory photo in front of Terry’s face. “What the fuck is this symbol?”
Mal watched his eyes widen in horror, his face twist in revulsion. Then he turned, gagging.
Skippy grabbed his hair, yanked it hard. Moved the photo even closer. “Look at it, you cocksucker. Look at it!”
Terry cried out, an agonized wail like someone had shot his dog in front of him. And still he kept trying to turn away.
“Look at it!” Skippy screamed before grabbing more photos and throwing them at Terry.
He kept wailing, closing his eyes, begging Skippy to stop.
“That’s my cue.” Mal rushed from her room to theirs.
She threw the door open and glared at Skippy. “What the fuck are you doing, detective?”
“This fucker did it. I know he did! Look at him. Fucking piece of shit!”
“Get out of my interview room!” Mal yelled.
Skippy feigned disbelief. “But—”
“Now!” Mal pointed at the door. “And take those photos with you.”
He gathered the pictures, retreated, then shut the door behind him.
Mal and the suspect were finally alone.
Now it was time to work.
Chapter 14 - Howard Loomis
Twelve days ago …
Howard loved to watch.
He was at the desk in his bedroom, staring at his laptop screen late at night as he scrubbed through the security footage from inside the apartment of that brunette he saw at Sloppy’s.
Her apartment complex provided complimentary security as part of the rent, and Howard worked for the company that installed the cameras. One on the outside of every front door and another in the living room.
Most customers kept their outdoor cams on at all times, but many only turned on the living room cameras when they went to bed. Few people liked the idea of someone recording their every move, if they bothered to even think about it.
If only they knew how easily it was to spy.
Howard had exploited a backdoor feature unknown to most, allowing him to remotely turn on cameras and record activities to cloud storage for his personal use. And he had quite the collection. He’d been watching people all over the county ever since such cameras became ubiquitous. He even found ways to hack into those installed by other companies. Howard masked all his traffic via a TOR browser so even if someone discovered an intrusion, nobody would know it was him. Not difficult, if you knew what you were doing.
Howard had spied on the wicked and the righteous alike. He’d watched all manner of illegality. Even witnessed a murder, though he never told the cops. Fortunately, he didn’t need to call anything in. The police saw the same exact footage, never knowing those seven minutes were some of his favorites.
Howard felt most at home in the shadows, so that’s where he chose to live. A place to stay invisible and watch without ridicule, indulge in his fantasies and wash the shame off his body.
After following the girls home from Sloppy’s, Howard started recording the brunette’s camera feed. Cami Rivera lived alone. The black girl was only hanging out with her.
Howard rewound the footage to last night, the part where she was sitting on the couch in just her bra and panties, talking on the phone. A single light left her looking a bit pixelated. He turned on the audio and heard her talking dirty to whoever was on the other end of the line.
As she slid her fingers into her panties, he pumped lotion into his hand then reached into his boxers. Kept his pace slow, not fast-forwarding to see where the video would go, how much Cami would reveal. Just enjoyed the show as it unfolded.
Her top came off. If only the resolution was higher or the lighting was brighter. He craved a closer look at her nipples. They were dark blurs on her otherwise milky white tits, tan-lines bold with her bra pulled aside.
He pumped faster as she moaned.
But then Howard heard Mother’s footsteps approaching outside his door. His heart started racing. He flipped the lid of his laptop down and quickly raised his boxers, seconds before the door swung open and light from the hall bled into his dark bedroom.
Mother’s hair was pulled back tight, making her face look even more severe than usual. She was in her nightgown, covering her body neck to ankles.
“Why’s it so dark in here?” Mother flipped on the switch.
The room went bright and her eyes went from the bottle of lotion on the desk to the bulge in Howard’s boxers he was awkwardly trying to cover.
“What’s wrong with you?” Mother asked, shaking her head in disgust.
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
She approached him — far too fast for her seventy years — and glared down at Howard.
He felt the same fear and insignificance he had as a child, the same heavy coat of shame.
“You sicken me,” Mother snapped. She snatched the lotion from his desk. “This is how you disgrace the Lord? In my house?”
“I’m sorry,” Howard whined.
“You know what to do …” Another disgusted shake of her head. “Unless you want me to do it.”
“No, ma’am, I will do it.”
“Are you sure you’re man enough?”
“I will atone, Mother.”
“Good.” She slammed his door on her way back into the hall, leaving Howard alone with his hurt and humiliation.
What the hell was I thinking?
She’s right.
I should know better.
He prayed for forgiveness as he reached for the lighter. Flicked it then waited for the flame to turn the metal hot. Lowered his
boxers, closed his eyes. Then Howard burned himself yet again, promising God he was sorry through the agony.
Pathetic sinner!
He pulled up his boxers, got up from his desk, then went to bed.
Mister K spoke from the shadows. The entity had yet to truly reveal himself, appearing to Howard in layers of darkness, more of a shambling blur of shapes than any solid form.
“You going to let your mommy keep making you feel shame, Howie?”
“Mother is right. I am a wicked sinner.”
“No,” said Mister K, “you are one of the chosen. But you do nothing to command her respect.”
Howard was silent except for his sobbing.
“You should show her what you’re becoming.”
“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
“Then show me again. Prove to me you’re worthy.”
He lifted his shirt and showed Mister K the iconography carved into the flesh of his stomach and chest.
“I believe there’s room for more,” Mister K said.
Howard climbed to his feet then trudged to the bathroom. He reached into the medicine chest for his razor blades.
“What shall I carve?”
After clocking out the next day, Howard sat in his van outside Cami’s apartment, waiting for her to come home so he could spring into action.
He felt an excitement and fear like he’d never experienced while working up enough courage to approach her. Howard still wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Mister K had only told him where to go — he’d offer further instructions upon Howard’s arrival. Getting into her place was the primary goal. Not too hard since he’d turned off her camera’s recording feature.
Cami pulled up in front of her apartment.
She got out in a rush then ran inside.
His radio crackled to life with Mister K’s voice. “There she issss.”
Howard’s adrenaline pumped with his pounding heart, mind conjuring images of all the many things he planned to do, starting with silencing her. Next, he’d tie the girl up, bring her somewhere else. A place where he could take his sweet time. Then he would slowly strip her, laughing as she begged him not to touch her.
But of course, he would. Too many women had denied him. But Cami wouldn’t be able to.
Howard grabbed his hardening cock, squeezing it tight. Savored the pressure and pain.
He remembered the way she had looked at him with such disgust while at Sloppy’s. He couldn’t wait until recognition flashed on her face and she was forced to acknowledge it was him who would own her flesh and him who would decide what would happen next.
Him and Mister K.
But Cami threw a wrench into his plans. She left her apartment, got back into her car, then drove away.
What is she doing?
Where is she going?
“What do I do?” Howard asked, feeling his plans fading away.
“Follow her.”
Howard obeyed.
Two cars behind Cami’s, he thought about the many years since his adolescence spent searching for and studying Mister K’s many scrawls, hidden in the margins of books.
He’d found the first one at age thirteen, at the pit of his suffering, the day Stephanie betrayed him and laughed at his awkward advance. The day he almost killed himself and ended things for good.
But he had a report due on Monday, so Mother had dragged him to the library instead.
That’s where he found the first message, in the margins of an encyclopedia, on the letter K.
Feel like the world hates you? Want to know the truth? Follow the next message in a classic seafarer’s journey.
Howard found two copies of Moby Dick, yet neither had any messages scrawled inside them. So, he asked the librarian for other classic seafaring tales and was told about an old book called The Seafarers, by John Bloundelle-Burton.
He found the next book then followed the messages from title to title, first in that library, then to used book stores. Even to a few garage sales over the years. In those messages, Howard learned what the world had always hidden from him. He discovered his power. Assembled a world history unlike anything historians ever recorded.
I’ve been around since The Beginning, read one of the messages. And I’ll be around in The End.
Mister K knew the truth.
And Howard yearned to know it, too. Longed to see the true face of the only person, or whatever he was, who had ever been there for him.
“Slow down. She’ll spot you,” Mister K said on the radio.
He obeyed, easing up behind Cami. “What should I do when I find her?”
“Patience, Howie.”
“Am I almost ready?”
“Soon, Howie. Soon you will be ready.”
“Can’t you please just show me what you look like?”
“Why? Do you not have faith?”
“It’s not that. I just—”
“It sounds like doubt.” Mister K’s voice grew angrier.
“I bel—”
“There are others to share my knowledge with if you doubt me. Those who don’t share your weakness.”
“I believe!” Howard shouted.
Silence, then static, followed by the braying of the AM talk show, Rich Macklin, ranting about the global elites.
Cami’s car slowed down as she pulled up to a house then into the driveway.
Howard parked across the street, watching in his side passenger side mirror as she spoke to a woman at the front door.
Who is this?
Two blondes, one around thirteen and another around ten or eleven, hugged the woman before heading to Cami’s car.
A friend? Babysitter?
Cami got in after the kids then pulled out.
Howard sighed. He couldn’t do anything now, not when she had witnesses.
“What are you doing?” asked Mister K.
“She has kids with her,” he explained.
“Perfect. I’ve got another idea.”
“What?” Something awful turned in Howard’s stomach.
Mister K made his usual demand. “Do you have faith or not?”
He was indecisive and speechless. What did Mister K have in mind? Howard didn’t want to hurt any children and didn’t need any witnesses to what he planned on doing with Cami. He couldn’t even imagine wanting to do those things kids around. He wasn’t a pervert.
“Do you have faith or not?” Mister K repeated, impatiently. He wouldn’t ask again.
“Yes,” Howard whimpered.
“Then follow them.”
Howard obeyed.
Chapter 15 - Jasper Parish
Jasper hadn’t seen Officer Hernandez for two days. Jurko left the medicine on his sink the first night. On the second day, Officer Dalton Springs walked in then set the cup on his sink.
“What’s the deal you got going?” Springs asked before leaving.
“Huh?” Jasper played dumb.
“Hernandez said to just let you take your meds, that you could be trusted. Why?”
Springs stared at him suspiciously. Jasper remembered how quickly the guard had come down on him with the baton after Jasper shivved Kenn. Prisoners were supposed to stay subservient to their COs. He didn’t cut deals.
“I just want to see my girl one more time.”
“Your girl?”
“My dead daughter. Only way I see her is without the pills.”
His eyes narrowed on Jasper. “How’d she die?”
“Suicide.”
Dalton’s shoulders relaxed. His face softened ever so slightly. “How old was she?”
“Sixteen.”
“I lost my little boy when he was six months old.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
“Yeah, fucking SIDS.” Springs sighed. “What’s Hernandez get out of this?”
“Honest?”
“No, lie to me.”
Jasper had to smile. Maybe this guy wasn’t a total asshole. Hard to get a decent feel for people while his senses were
dulled as a residual effect of the drugs.
“I snitched on who killed Wally.”
“So, you’re a rat?”
“Just desperate to see my girl again. And sorry, I don’t dig the Aryans. Nothing personal if you are one.”
“Not every country boy is a racist. Fuck Kenn. That asshole got what he deserved.” Dalton walked out the door. “Sorry about your daughter,” he said before the door shut with a buzz.
After breakfast on the third day, Jordyn paced his cell. She wore a bright pink and purple hoodie with black jeans and big black boots. A pink heart sticker decorated her right cheek, and she was singing an unfamiliar song.
“What is that?” Jasper asked.
“Indigo Girls, ‘Closer to Fine.’ You like?”
“I do. You have a good singing voice.”
“Thanks. So do you.”
“How would you know? You never heard me sing.”
“You used to sing me to sleep when I was little.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“I still remember.”
“What was your favorite song?”
“I liked when you sang ‘Time after Time.’”
“Your mom loved that song. First dance at our wedding.”
“I bet Mom looked beautiful.”
Jasper thought back to how stunning Carissa had been in her dress and felt a sting of tears welling up in his eyes. He wished she would visit again and wondered where she was if not with him. Spending time with someone else who remembered her? Someone who made her happier? Who didn’t remind her of how much pain he’d brought upon them all?
Jordyn started singing “Time After Time.”
She sounded better than Cyndi Lauper. At least more soothing. He closed his eyes and imagined them back home before Carissa died, before his daughter killed herself. Jasper would do anything to rewind time and get a chance to live his life over again.
He wiped the tears from his eyes as she finished. “That was beautiful.”
“Why, thank you, sir.” Jordyn blushed. “So, how long do you think you’ll be in solitary?”
“I dunno.”
“Do you mind being all alone?”
“I did before you came back. Now I prefer it.”
“Sorry you couldn’t see me. I was always with you, though. Not always. But I saw you every day.”