Possession

by Rene Gutteridge

  “I just found out she’s been suspended from the Chicago Police Department. She was in a wreck while on duty. They think she was drinking at the time.”

  “So she comes and kidnaps your family?”

  Vance sighed inwardly. This guy was no pushover. But could he tell him more? Would he believe him? This was sounding more ridiculous by the minute. His only hope was that once they found Joe’s body, they could link the forensics with Karen and show that it wasn’t his gun that killed either of them. Then they could get somewhere. They’d call to make sure his story about Erin matched what was going on in Chicago. It was probably being done even as they spoke.

  But could he tell this detective what had happened all those years ago? He’d been willing to expose his darkest secret to Lindy. He wanted to. He wanted the weight off his shoulders. But now, would it help him get Lindy back or hinder him?

  And what a tangled mess to try to explain to a guy who thought he was looking a murderer in the face.

  Bob leaned back in his chair, quickly stretched, and then tapped his pencil lightly on the top of his pad. He looked Vance directly in the eyes and seemed to be thinking something over.

  “Vance,” he said, taking a lighter tone, “I understand you worked the D.C. sniper case.”

  “That’s right.”

  “That was some kind of crazy, wasn’t it?”

  Vance nodded, trying to figure out where he was going with this.

  “I can’t imagine working that case, to tell you the truth. That was a brutal month.”

  “It was.”

  “Is that why you left the force?”

  “No.”

  “But it was stressful on you.”

  “It was stressful on a lot of people.”

  “Do you think that maybe it put more stress on you than you think?”

  “What are you saying?”

  Bob paused, pressing the pencil against his thin lips. “I’m saying that maybe you’ve underestimated what that ordeal did to you.”

  Vance looked away. “It was difficult. But I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure about that? We found you unconscious on the floor of your home. Your mother-in-law says your wife has been worried about you. I’m just wondering if we should be looking at post-traumatic stress disorder.”

  Vance tried to hold a steady expression, but he felt the muscles in his jaw twitch. “That’s not what’s going on here.”

  “You didn’t snap? Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you felt out of control?” Bob leaned forward. “It’s understandable, Vance. You’ve been through a lot. I’m a detective, and I can tell you that had I worked that case, there would’ve been fallout.”

  Vance slumped in his chair, sliding the thumb of his left hand up and down the cold metal leg of the chair. “You’re not believing me, are you? That it’s my ex-partner.” He glanced up. “Please, Detective, you have to believe me. My wife and child are in an incredible amount of danger. This woman is capable of murder. She’s already killed two people. Please listen to me. I think she’s driving a red Cadillac. It’s the car that this Karen lady was driving. And I have no idea where she would be taking them.” Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought about how scared they must be. He prayed they were together, wherever they were.

  Vance took a deep breath, trying to pull it together. “Erin called me. She told me that she had Lindy and Conner. Check my phone records. The call came in around noon.”

  Bob took some more notes. “Sure. We can check all this out. We will. But look . . . I know this is hard to hear, okay? I had a buddy who served in Iraq, right? And he thought he was okay. But he wasn’t. Had nightmares. Thought he heard bombs going off. Maybe that’s happening to you. Are you hearing things that aren’t there, Vance?”

  Vance blinked away the rest of the tears and stared at the carpet. His head was starting to hurt again, and he was having trouble concentrating. Bob’s words rang in his ear. But the images were taking over. First it was Karen. Then he was at a gas station, watching blood drain out of a young woman.

  “Vance?”

  Vance looked up, pulling himself out of the dark places.

  The door to the room swung open. Chuck stood in the doorway, his expression nothing but sober, unemotional lines. “Bob, can I talk to you for a second?”

  Bob stood, taking his notepad with him.

  The door closed, and Vance sat still, listening to his heart pound violently in his chest. Were they dead already? Had Erin taken their lives? Wouldn’t he know in his heart if they were gone?

  And where was this detective getting PTSD? That seemed to come from nowhere. Still, Vance couldn’t deny that on occasion—especially when he was stressed—reality seemed to fade into the fabric of fear, and he would hear glass shattering. He was sure he heard bullets punching through the air.

  But it wasn’t anything that affected him. It wasn’t clouding his judgment.

  Except the mud flaps. He still couldn’t explain seeing them on the truck. And then finding the truck without them.

  But that was the least of his concerns.

  The door opened again. Bob returned, with Chuck trailing. Both wore grim expressions, and Vance felt any hope he had for Lindy and Conner drown right there in the room.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as they both slowly took their chairs.

  Chuck looked at Bob and Bob looked at Vance.

  “We have some bad news,” Bob said, his hand stroking his tie so slowly that it hadn’t made it to the bottom before he continued. “We found the mechanic’s shop you were referring to.”

  “And?”

  Chuck spoke, his thin voice contrasting with his thick features. “There was no truck. And there was no body.”

  24

  It seemed like they’d been driving for hours. Maybe they had. Conner complained of being hungry and was told to shut up. Then he wet his pants. Lindy could feel the warm liquid against her leg, sliding down the leather seats.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered.

  She squeezed his little hand. And hate grew in her heart. Erin had no regard for them. Either of them.

  She thought they must be miles from home. It was dark out now. Conner had fallen asleep against her arm and she’d nodded off too. She felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Nauseated. The mask suffocating her was soaked with sweat and more uncomfortable than it had been.

  She tried to rest. She was going to need to be sharp-minded for whatever Erin had planned for them.

  She awoke, startled, as the car stopped. Turned off.

  Erin spoke calmly. “We are going to get out of the car. I am going to take your mask off. If you scream, I will hurt you and your kid. And frankly, Lindy, I don’t have much to lose here. So behave.”

  The front car door opened and she heard Erin get out. A few seconds later, her door opened. The mask was pulled from her head. Lindy opened her eyes, breathed deeply, her nostrils flaring with fresh air.

  Erin grabbed her hair. “Now, I want you looking down. At your feet. Don’t look around. Don’t look up. You got it?”

  Lindy obeyed and kept her gaze at the ground as Erin yanked her out of the car.

  It was dark. Pitch-black like it was the middle of the night. She grabbed Conner’s hand and pulled him out with her, then kept him close by.

  “Kid, just walk and obey and I won’t hurt your mommy, okay?”

  “My name’s Conner.”

  “Honey, shh,” Lindy said. She looked him in the eyes and was never more thankful to do so. She tried a soft smile.

  She quickly discovered they were at a motel. She could see the bottoms of doors and then their numbers as they climbed metal stairs to the second floor. Erin already had a key.

  The fact that they weren’t out in a field being executed meant that she needed them alive for something. What, though?

  The room glowed with amber lights from three different lamps. There were two beds, a table and chairs, and a TV.

  Erin shut the door. “
Go sit down.”

  Lindy sat with Conner on the end of a bed and studied Erin as she threw the keys on the table. The night before, she could barely even look at the woman.

  The last time she’d seen Erin, she was a striking blonde with long, wavy hair that never seemed out of place. She never wore much makeup. She didn’t have to. Lindy always thought her best feature was her sparkling blue eyes, like a glimmering ocean. But in those eyes, Lindy also saw a threat. They never looked kind. Or safe.

  Now her hair was cropped short and was dishwater blonde. Her eyes were still the same blue but looked stained with life, like old carpet trying its best to hold up. Her mouth was drawn down, sad without intention.

  Nearby a train rumbled past, shaking the lamp on the table, its whistle blowing through the shoddy Sheetrock.

  “What do you want from us, Erin?”

  “You shut up and I’ll do the talking.”

  “Then talk.”

  “I’ve got the gun and the power here. You need to remember that if you want to get out of this alive.”

  Lindy held her tongue. This wasn’t just a threat. She’d killed Karen, so she was capable of anything.

  “Get over here.”

  Erin took out a pair of handcuffs and cuffed Conner’s right hand to the bed rail. She next uncuffed one of Lindy’s hands and cuffed her left hand to the other bed rail.

  Then Erin grabbed a chair from the small table by the window and moved it over by the bed. But instead of sitting, she lifted a sleek black laptop out of a bag already in the room and set it on the chair. Silently she took out a disc and inserted it into the computer, then opened the screen. She turned it so they both could see.

  “I’m going out to get some food,” she said, those severe blue eyes staring hard at Lindy. “I want you to watch this. You’ll want to see it. And we’ll have a lot to talk about when I get back.”

  * * *

  The jumpsuit was bright orange like a roadside hazard cone. It draped over Vance as if meant for a man twice his size. He wore socks with rubber slides. Lindy hated socks with any kind of sandal. He’d tried it at the pool one time because he had a blister on one toe, and she told him it was as atrocious as an elderly man wearing a thong at the beach. He didn’t make that mistake twice.

  He sat in a cell by himself, though there were two beds. He’d been thoroughly booked and had the ink stains to prove it. White orbs still hovered in his line of sight from the flash.

  How had a move across the country to try to keep his family intact resulted in his landing in jail, unable to help his kidnapped wife and son? His body was numb with the grief of it, and his mind ran circles around his emotions. He could do nothing but stare at the bare concrete walls.

  The numbness turned to cold. The blanket on the bed looked old and smelled of strong detergent.

  It was a strange sensation to be unable to get up and go, to not even know what time it was. He was at the mercy of the legal system, which almost always went with statistics, and statistics said that he was the one who did it.

  Karen’s bloody body.

  Bob’s voice, asking him if he was going crazy.

  He was certain he wasn’t.

  Except there was no truck. And no body in a truck.

  What was real and what wasn’t? Had he done something to harm Karen? Or his family? Could he do that and not remember it?

  His hands trembled in his lap. He couldn’t imagine it.

  But he’d never gone to get help after the sniper case. He’d told Lindy he had, but he never showed up for his first appointment and never told her otherwise.

  Instead, he struggled through the images, pressing them into the back corners of his mind, where his childhood memories mingled with the bloody details of bullet-punctured bodies. Each day it seemed easier.

  But sometimes the memories were like a sea monster, like the kraken lifting out of dark waters, thrashing around, and grabbing anything it could with long, strong tentacles.

  It used to remain mostly quiet. But not these days.

  He heard metal clanging against metal and stood to look out the small window of his solid steel door.

  “Back up to the far wall,” an officer ordered. He obeyed, and then the officer asked him for his wrists. “You have a visitor.”

  Vance followed the two officers down concrete stairs into a large room, glowing white from fluorescent lights. Outside it was still pitch-black.

  The room was empty, though it had a dozen tables and yellow plastic chairs, except for a very small man. He couldn’t have been over five feet two, and with fluffy white hair and a thick mustache, he looked a little like Albert Einstein, had Einstein been black. He appeared tired, with one side of his hair sticking up like he’d just risen out of bed. He stood as he saw Vance.

  Vance shuffled over to him and sat down. The officers locked his hands to the table and left.

  “I’m Conrad Biggs, your attorney.”

  Funny. Had she not been dead—and a prostitute in real life—he would’ve called Karen to avoid a court-appointed attorney.

  “You’ve been charged with second-degree murder. You’ll be arraigned tomorrow. Well, today, actually.” Biggs checked his watch, moving it closer and then farther away from his face like the numbers were blurry. “At 1 p.m.” He peered over his reading glasses. “I don’t normally take clients charged with murder. I prefer the hard white-collar crime cases.” He smiled slightly.

  Vance blinked. He had no recollection of anyone asking him if he had an attorney, but he was tired and hadn’t slept.

  The lawyer took out a yellow legal pad and a Bic. “Tell me about this PTSD.”

  Vance didn’t say anything.

  “They mentioned it when they filed, which is probably why they didn’t charge you with first-degree murder. According to the charges, you had the woman’s blood on you?”

  “I guess.”

  “And who was this woman?”

  “My wife’s attorney. A prostitute.”

  Biggs smirked. “Not fond of attorneys?” Then he offered a full-toothed grin that put Vance at ease.

  Vance managed a small smile. “I’m a big fan right now.”

  “Good, son. Good,” Mr. Biggs said. “Because I’m afraid I’m the only friend you’ve got at the moment.” He flipped a page on his notepad. “Why don’t we start from the beginning?”

  “No offense, Mr. Biggs,” Vance said, “but nobody asked whether or not I wanted my own attorney. This is a big case, and I know court-appointed attorneys are every bit as savvy as their hired counterparts, but I’m just wondering if I should hire an experienced criminal defense attorney.”

  Biggs’s gentle eyes left his notepad and settled onto Vance. “I’m not court-appointed,” he said. “I was hired to take care of you. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

  25

  Lindy awoke, startled by a sound she didn’t recognize. She yanked her arm and a searing pain shot through her shoulder. She realized she was still cuffed, still in the motel room. Conner was asleep next to her.

  The noise came from the motel door. It sounded like a key. Soon it opened and Erin walked in. The heavy drapes had been pulled shut. She glanced at the computer, where the screen saver had come on.

  “I brought you something to eat. And your kid a change of pants and a package of underwear.” She plopped a Walmart sack on the table, then pulled out a container of chicken strips. “Here.”

  Conner woke up, and Erin walked over to him. Lindy scrambled to a sitting position. “Don’t you dare touch him!”

  “Chill out,” Erin growled, ignoring her and unlocking his handcuff. “I’m sending him to the bathroom so he doesn’t pee himself again. Should’ve bought the kid some Pull-Ups.” She looked at Conner. “Hurry up. Go get your business done. Look in that sack. There are some sweatpants and underwear. Change into them.” She gave him a menacing wink. “And if you’re real good, kid, I’ll make sure and not tell your whole class that you peed all over yourself, okay
?”

  Conner’s wide-eyed stare turned to Lindy, who tried to give him a reassuring nod. “It’s okay—go change and then we’ll eat.”

  “I heard the train last night. It made the walls shake. It must be big.” Conner pulled out a pair of sweatpants from the sack. And then the package of underwear.

  “Just go do what I said,” Erin snapped.

  He walked to the bathroom slowly, like he was keeping his options open.

  Erin took a chicken strip and then pulled another chair over from the table, sitting next to the one with the laptop on it. “You watch it?”

  Lindy looked away. “What happened to you? You look horrible. You used to be pretty.”

  Erin laughed. “In a threatening sort of way?”

  “Apparently I’m the threat.”

  Erin’s laugh cut short. She nodded toward the computer. Casually crossed her legs. “Did you see it?”

  “Yeah. About a billion times before the screen saver started.”

  “What’d you see?”

  “A woman crashing her car. Then stumbling around on the dark street like she was drunk.” The car had slammed into a light pole, doing quite a number to the vehicle but not demolishing it.

  “That woman is me.”

  “I know.” She listened for Conner. The toilet flushed.

  “It was captured on a security camera.”

  “I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

  “I traveled a very long way to get this disc.” She laughed a little. “And the kicker is—it doesn’t matter much anymore.”

  Lindy didn’t know where Erin was going with it. She’d noticed that the time/date stamp was October tenth of 2002. Four fifteen in the morning. The image was pretty grainy, but she had made out that it was a woman and deduced it was Erin. She wanted to get as much information from Erin as she could before Conner came back.

  “Your husband had this disc.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he thought he was helping me, I suppose. There was a time when Vance cared deeply for me, as you know.”

  “Maybe you should just spell this all out for me,” Lindy said.