by Dave Dykema
“It’s not him,” she said, letting out a sigh. “I mean: yes, he’s bothering me. But he’s not my problem.” She turned her face upward to look in his eyes. “I got a job offer from Tampa today.”
Dan couldn’t contain his shock. “What?”
“There was a message left on my machine when I got home. They want me to fly in next week and see their station. I’m thinking of taking a sick day and checking them out after my series has aired.”
Dan sat up straight. Melissa’s head fell back against the cushions. “I don’t believe this! You only started here a few months ago!”
“It wasn’t intentional. When I was job hunting I sent out a whole bunch of tapes to markets all over the country. That’s how Laura hired me: one of them came across her desk. To be honest, I sent so many I don’t remember sending one to Tampa.”
“How can you leave? What about your contract?”
“If it’s a top 20 size market they have to release me. It would also mean getting away from Reverend Stone, and that’s worth considering.”
He was at odds with himself. Her safety and his happiness were battling it out. Then there were still the wounds from Jerry’s departure. He also wondered if maybe he wasn’t a little jealous. After all, the people close to him were moving ahead in their careers while he remained at the same station. Leaving was a fact of television that he never accepted.
“It’s only to see what they have to offer. Think of it as a free one-day vacation.”
Dan fumed like a child denied a candy bar by his mother at the checkout lane in a grocery store. She ran a finger along his arm, trying to get cuddly. He brushed her off. “I’m not in the mood for this.”
“Dan, you’re overreacting.”
He stood up and paced, wringing his hands, mumbling, “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
Now Melissa got irked. “You’re being an ass. Stuff like this happens all the time.”
“Well, maybe so,” Dan said, grabbing his coat, “but I thought you’d be around for a while—at least more than three months!”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Outside. I’ve got to get some fresh air.”
Dan grabbed the doorknob and threw open the door. Without looking back, he slammed it behind him.
*4*
She was right. He wasn’t just being an ass, but an asshole. This occurred to him about ten minutes into his walk. Sighing, he turned around to head back. He wondered if she would still be there.
As he turned, he only had a moment to see the blur heading toward him before he was knocked to the ground. His head struck the concrete like a dropped gourd. Everything flashed white for a second before dissolving away to mere sparkles, stars in the night of his mind. One of his teeth broke off at the gum line and as the cold air hit the exposed nerve it sent a wave of nauseous pain through him.
Before he could collect himself a fist connected with one eye, puffing it closed. His brain tried to tell him he was being mugged, but its signals were getting crossed from the trauma. Instinct told him to roll as the next blow missiled toward him. The attacker’s hand punched cement as Dan struggled to his feet. He vaguely heard a grunt of pain, but the next sound was very clear: the click of a switchblade emerging from its sheath.
He shook his head, and the cold air helped in restoring some semblance of order to Dan. Reflexively, he flicked his tongue over his cut tooth and felt the slick blood on his lips. Another shot of pain bolted through him.
Dan tried to find his assailant. He crouched low, arms spread out in an arc in front of him, fingers outstretched. He looked like a basketball player on the defensive. Spinning around made him dizzy, but the need to survive was stronger.
He couldn’t see anyone. Time seemed frozen, the street a pall of quiet. The thudding behind his temples told him this wasn’t a dream, however.
Suddenly, his one good eye saw a glint of light on metal as the blade thrust at him. He dodged aside, sucking in his gut. For the first time Dan saw his attacker. He was a medium-sized man cloaked in a hooded sweatshirt and wearing jeans. He held his knife awkwardly, too far from his body, as though he was unaccustomed to it. Now that Dan’s senses were returning to him, he was able to forecast the man’s moves, avoiding the knife slicing through the air. But he was still sluggish, and once the blade cut across the knuckles on his left hand. Droplets of blood fell in the darkness. It only angered Dan.
“C’mon! Try it again, motherfucker!” he taunted.
The man seemed surprised by his dare, hesitating for an instant. Then his face twisted into a grimace and he thrust out angrily. More luck than anything, Dan swung an arm out and blocked the stab. Their wrists smacked together like jousting poles. The knife fell out of the man’s hand and landed on a runoff drain in the street, rotating like a spinner on a game board before slipping through the grate and into the sewer.
Both men stared after it for a brief interval, taking in what had just happened. Then Dan turned slowly and faced his antagonist. He was bigger than the man was, and younger. Dan had a mad grin on his face. Smeared blood covered his mouth and nose. When he spoke, red spittle sprayed in a mist.
“Try it now, asshole,” Dan said, fists clenched.
The man’s eyes were wide. For a split second they darted to the side, betraying an urge to flee. Dan lunged forward during his attacker’s indecision. Dan grabbed hold of his arm and swung him around, slamming him into a thick tree trunk. His cheekbone cracked like a plate.
The man yowled in pain, holding his swelling cheek. He turned to Dan and saw a heated fire in his eyes. Weaponless, he fled from the scene.
Dan staggered a few steps to follow, and then his head swam. During the fight he ran on adrenaline alone. Now that the threat was gone, his nerves reminded him of the damage done. His mouth and eye throbbed. He felt so lightheaded he feared his head would simply detach itself from his shoulders and float away. He hobbled over to the tree and slumped against it, sliding down, not mindful of the bark as it scratched and tore at his back. He drew his knees in and clasped them tight against his body.
*5*
Dan woke with a start. How long have I been here? He pawed for his watch. Only a few minutes.
He didn’t remember falling asleep. More likely, he passed out. A sudden fear gripped him and he looked hurriedly around for his mugger. He didn’t see anyone, and felt for his wallet. Still there.
He had to get back. He tottered to his feet and took a few tentative steps. Dizzy, but thought he would make it. He felt his mouth. The blood was beginning to dry, turning sticky. Thankful he was still alive, he embarked on the journey home.
I can’t believe I was mugged, he thought. This is usually such a safe neighborhood. Then a cold icicle stabbed his belly. Waitaminnit! That guy never demanded money from me! I still have my watch… All he did was attack. What if—?
Suddenly the need to get back was very strong. Despite his dizziness, Dan picked up the pace to a brisk walk, then a jog, and finally an all-out sprint.
Suspicion
*1*
The day after Dan came into his office, Cameron sent two men to Reverend Stone’s church. He thought Dan’s story too involved and bizarre, but he would have neglected his duty if he did nothing.
When the detectives returned they had nothing out of the ordinary to report. In fact, Stone’s politeness and courtesy struck them both. He appeared saddened by Janet’s death, saying he had lost a faithful and vital member of his congregation. Outside of the church he claimed he knew nothing of her life. He called Dan’s accusations the “rantings of a delirious and jealous boyfriend.”
Cameron had seen promos on channel 4 for a series called “New Religions” beginning Sunday night at eleven. From what the ads showed, Reverend Stone looked to be featured prominently. Cameron decided he would make a point to watch the special reports.
He also decided to put in motion the paperwork that would allow him access to search the back of Stone’s
church. Being a religious organization, there would be many legal hurdles to clear before a warrant could be issued. He didn’t even know if he would pursue it that far, but he wanted to get started because of the time involved.
But that idea got sidetracked when Mrs. Hardy appeared at his door, nervous and huddled over, clutching her purse.
*2*
That was two days ago. He had started down a new path since then, and things were slowly coming together.
When he returned from the bathroom after passing several cups of coffee he found a fresh fax in his incoming tray. He snatched up the flimsy paper and glanced over the copy quickly.
The note was short, to the point. It read:
From the Office of Dr. David Phillips, Psychiatrist:
Dear Sergeant Cameron:
I’m sorry I was out of the office when you called. I’m faxing you some information I hope will prove helpful.
In regard to your inquiry about my patient Dan Freeman, please understand that what we discussed in our sessions is private. To talk about them with you would be a breach of doctor/patient privilege. However, there are certain things on record that would not betray my trust if I shared them with you.
Mr. Freeman was sent to my office through his health plan at his place of employment. His insurance covered it, and after some initial reservations on his part, I saw him regularly over a period of two months.
His visits were caused by a traumatic experience he suffered while on the job. Mr. Freeman was shooting tape at a train accident when he came upon a scene of great violence. It was overwhelming to him. He was haunted by nightmares for a time until we worked through them together.
Our last appointment was dated March 12th. I haven’t been in contact with him since, but I am confident he has learned to live with the ordeal he experienced in December of last year.
If you wish to talk more, I will of course cooperate to the best of my abilities. You can reach me by the number at the bottom of the page.
Sincerely,
Dr. David Phillips, Psychiatrist
555-2579
Cameron folded over the paper, looking off, speculating…
In therapy, huh? How severe was this “ordeal”? Could something have occurred to make him crack again?
*3*
Dan nursed a Diet Coke in the break room. The dentist had capped his tooth and drinking the cold beverage caused some discomfort, but thirst was thirst. He stared at a list of job openings offered by other stations in the same broadcast group, wondering if it was time for him to move on.
“There you are!”
He looked up as Melissa entered, looking a bit harried.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” she said in an almost whisper.
“What’s up?” he asked as she walked toward him. She had really been supportive the last few days. When he stumbled back to his apartment after his beating, she was still there, sitting on the couch in the dark with her arms folded across her chest. As soon as she saw how hurt he was, she applied cold towels to his face and took him to the emergency room. She took time off from work to drive him to the dentist even though he was capable of doing it himself. He supposed she didn’t want to be by herself. After his attack, neither did he.
She looked very concerned. “Laura told me the police called earlier, and wanted to talk with her. From what I could gather, I think they’re starting to investigate you.”
Dan’s throat suddenly felt dry and constricted. He took a large gulp of pop, but it didn’t help. “Shit…”
“What are you going to do?”
“Mel, one thing’s for sure. They’re going to want to talk to you soon.”
“Me? What should I say? What should I do?”
“Just tell the truth. Only say what you know. Don’t speculate. The less you’re involved with this the better.”
She bent down and hugged him from behind, full of questions. She was involved, and wasn’t going to let him stand alone on the thin twig they were balancing precipitously on, threatening to snap.
“I’m scared,” she said. “Are you?”
More than you know, he thought, but only reached back and patted her hand.
*4*
Stone tried to remain as calm and polite as possible.
“Am I to understand that you won’t let me view the footage?”
“That’s correct,” said Laura.
“I don’t see why not.”
“You have to see it from our perspective. If we allowed every special interest group to screen our content before it aired, our coverage would become very compromised. I’m sorry, Reverend Stone, but it’s a policy you’ll find at every station in the country.”
“But surely I’m not some politician trying to—”
Laura interrupted him, trying not to lose her patience. “If we bend the rules for you, we’ll have to start bending them for everybody—a precedent will have been set.”
Stone grit his teeth, absently twirling his crystal between his fingers. “I see.”
“Once again, I apologize,” Laura said.
“Don’t apologize. I understand. Thank you for your time.”
He hung up, fuming. He wanted to know what was in that piece. He knew he didn’t say anything damning himself, but he was afraid of what Janet had told that photographer friend of hers.
You’ve no idea how dangerous he can be…forget you ever met him, for her sake as well as yours. Don’t let her go back there.
Would some of that negativity show up in the report? He now realized it was a big mistake to allow any interview at all, but his ego had gotten the better of him in a moment of weakness brought on by an attractive girl. And what of some of the things Dan Freeman had said?
She’s not satisfied with what she knows. She plans to keep coming back again and again as long as it takes for her to get some answers…You didn’t teach her about the bodies brought in the back…I’m sure the police would be very interested to hear about the late night activities Stone’s conducting over there.
The police had shown up. He was able to dismiss them with his charm, a self-preservation trait he had learned over time, but it still caused him some concern.
The bungled attempt on Dan’s life didn’t help matters. Since that fiasco, he reeled his people in a bit, regrouping, mapping out a new strategy.
Melissa and I know that there are things going on there…
How did he and that bitch reporter know so much? Would they expose him on TV?
Those questions gnawed at Stone like worms fattening themselves on the buried dead.
*5*
There was a knock at his door. Dan clicked off the TV and stood up, arching his back.
“Just a second!” he called out.
Quickly, he straightened up some magazines on his coffee table and closed the cardboard lid of his Chinese takeout. The room now presentable in a bachelor sort of way, Dan opened the door.
Sergeant Miles Cameron stood on the other side.
Dan gulped and said, “Come in.”
Cameron thanked him and entered, glancing around the room. Dan saw him doing this and was glad he threw out all his horror memorabilia when he did. It would have made him uncomfortable to have the sergeant see all his ghoulish friends on the walls and bookshelves of his apartment.
“Did you see Stalker?”
For an instant Dan’s legs felt like Jell-O. He thought Cameron knew all about his stalking activities. Afraid to speak, fearing his voice might quiver, he only nodded.
“So did I. My boy Ronny begged me to take him. He’s only twelve, and I didn’t think it was the most appropriate entertainment for him, but he said all his friends at school had seen it. Sometimes a father has moments of weakness. Do you have any children?”
Dan shook his head.
“I didn’t think so. Just asking.” Cameron made his way over to the poster, staring at its lustred finish. “I figured nowadays with DVDs and the Internet that he’d see it one way or
another, so he might as well see it with his pop. It would give us something to talk about, and with a twelve-year-old boy, that’s rare.”
He spun around so suddenly Dan took a jerking step back. “A big mistake. Nothing redeemable about it whatsoever.” He swallowed. “Of course my boy loved it.”
Dan’s Adam’s apple clicked in his throat. He knew what was coming next.
“What did you think of it? This poster suggests to me you’re a fan.”
“I’m more a fan of the director. Stalker is good, but Phobia was better,” Dan said, lying. That made him nervous, but he just didn’t feel safe telling Cameron the truth about how he thought it was one of the scariest movies ever made. “But I think the art is eye catching.”
Cameron frowned. “If you like that sort of thing, I suppose…”
Eager to change the subject, Dan offered Cameron a seat. “Could I get you something to drink?”
Cameron sat in an easy chair, taking off his overcoat and laying it across the arm. “No. I’m fine, thanks.”
Dan stood in the middle of the room, rubbing his hands together. It was awkward. He wasn’t sure what he should do next. Finally, he sat on the couch, his mind buzzing.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I came over,” Cameron inquired.
“Some kind of follow-up, I guess,” he said, trying to sound naïve.
“That, and some other things,” Cameron said, taking out a notepad. “Don’t worry, though. This is routine in murder investigations.”
Dan nodded his understanding. “Don’t worry.” Ha! Was he kidding?
Cameron went through a list of standard questions, like how long did Dan know Janet? How long did he date her? Why did they break up? Most of them were already asked when he went to the police. He thought some of it was a little too personal. But then: