I had no idea if Olin had been caught in the explosion too. If he followed me, there was a pretty good chance he was hurt. Perhaps he was lying somewhere not far from where I lay, bleeding from the head or something. I couldn’t die knowing my actions had caused his kid to be left without a father. I had to do something but I still couldn’t see. Perhaps my eyeballs had been scorched to shriveled meatballs. I tried to move my arm.
“Don’t move.”
It was Olin. I should have known he wouldn’t have been hurt after all.
“Fuck off.”
I saw a large, blurred shape in the direction his voice had come from and I made sure the full brunt of my verbal whiplash was directed straight at him.
“I see the bump on your head hasn’t had any effect on your sparkling personality.”
The blurred lump came closer and I could now make out some of the features on his face. I never realized before how big his nose was in proportion to the rest of him. I started to laugh.
“Do I look funny to you?”
“The part that I can see, yes.”
“How many fingers?”
He stuck a blurry hand in front of my face. It looked like he was wearing a large, pink mitten.
“Fuck if I know.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded and started to cough.
Olin didn’t elaborate on the gravity of my situation but my vision was slowly returning so obviously my eyeballs were intact. The rest of my body was starting to hurt like hell, which I took as a good sign. At least I hadn’t lost any body parts. I tried to sit up.
“I told you not to move. I think you should wait for the paramedics to arrive.”
“I’m fine.”
I managed to wave my arm in Olin’s direction but failed to actually stand up like I had intended. Instead I half stumbled, half crawled to what I assumed was a tree and slumped against it.
“Got any cigarettes?” I barked through another cough.
“You were almost roasted alive and you want a cigarette?”
“That’s right, I damn well deserve one. If I can’t have one now, when can I?”
Olin didn’t answer but disappeared and then reappeared moments later with one. When he held the lighter up for me, his hand was shaking.
“Are you hurt?” I was worried.
“No.”
Of course he wouldn’t be.
“Am I hurt?” I groaned.
“No. I don’t know. You look kind of,” he paused.
“Crispy?”
“For lack of a better word, yes.”
“I think I’m fine.”
I may have thought I was fine but I must have looked like hell for Olin to voluntarily give me a cigarette. As I smoked I felt my jangled nerves slowly steady. My vision had almost returned to normal. My skin was mildly singed and my temporary lack of vision had only been caused by the brilliance of the blast. My head was another matter. It felt like someone had hit it repeatedly with a hammer.
“The shack?” I asked.
“It’s gone.”
“And pot head? The shooter?”
“I don’t know. Gone too I guess.”
Olin sat down next to me. I got the feeling he wanted to hold me but the sound of sirens blasted the air and the moment slipped away.
“About damn time,” Olin flagged down the first ambulance.
They swarmed to me like ants to a sugar bowl, dragging stretchers and equipment bags as they prepared to take action.
“I’m fine,” I shouted over the sirens.
I knew they heard me but somehow they didn’t seem to care. One paramedic started pulling open my shirt to try and listen to my chest with a stethoscope while another attempted to put a blood pressure cuff on my arm.
“Get the hell away from me.”
I wasn’t taking any of this shit. I’d been threatened with a gun, sexually assaulted, almost strangled and now fried to a crisp. I scrambled to my feet, brushing them off me.
“Let us help you,” the first paramedic said.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” the other one added.
The paramedics could have been creepy twins. Two sandy heads and four pale blue eyes bobbed about in front of me. Maybe my vision wasn’t quite right, maybe I actually did have a fractured skull or something but I knew I didn’t want anyone touching me.
“Look, I’m declining medical attention and I’ll sign whatever you want but get your hands off me. Got it?”
“Ma’am, please.”
They both stepped closer and I felt threatened, backed against the tree with nowhere to go and not enough strength and co-ordination to fight them off. I scanned the swarming crowd for Olin and finally spotted him talking to a group of firefighters. Of course his back was turned towards me.
“Olin,” I shouted across the din. “Olin.”
At first he didn’t hear me but then almost by chance or perhaps by the sheer will I was sending in his direction, he turned and looked over. Relief washed over me as he left the firefighters behind and came over to where I stood with the overeager medics.
“Problem?” he asked but it was directed more at the paramedic twins than it was at me.
“She needs to let us treat her.”
“She has injuries.”
They talked as if they were clones. It was freaking me out.
“Olin,” I warned. “Don’t make me hurt them.”
He looked from me to them and back again, weighing up what I was asking of him. To take a chance that I wouldn’t drop dead in an hour.
“She’s fine guys. Thanks.”
“But we need to examine her.”
“We have to.”
Olin grabbed my arm, which hurt but I bit my tongue and forced a smile as he pulled me past them and away into the crowd.
“Was it just me or were they a little weird?” he frowned.
“Yeah,” I choked. “What’s going on here?”
Now the adrenaline was wearing thin, I was starting to feel rather dizzy. I lost my footing as Olin dragged me past cops and firefighters. I fell into him and he caught me and pulled me along. I just wanted to close my eyes and sleep. Lay down in the warm sand and rest. I tried to tell Olin so but the only thing that came out was a raspy cough.
“I think we need to get you to a hospital,” Olin whispered.
THRITY TWO
She doesn’t move now. She lays on her stomach, her back bare and beautiful, her buttocks firm and round. He runs his fingers over them gently, feeling aroused and excited. Up until now he hasn’t touched her in this way. It has all been business. He knows he has to keep his focus, he knows he shouldn’t even think of her like that. An artist doesn’t find his canvas arousing, it is just there for him to create his masterpiece upon, a tool for him to use.
So he concentrates on his work, slicing across her skin in steady, even sweeps. The blade is sharp. It cuts through so precisely that if his hand wavers at all then the line will not flow smoothly. Exactitude is the name of the game. He’s getting better. At first his strokes were short and simple, now they are long and intricate. He creates the designs he has seen in his sleep for weeks now, peels them off her body like tissue paper. The effort has quelled his desires, now he only desires to finish the job. To see his creation come together and then to move on to the real job at hand. Sam.
He hears the explosion and the sirens in the distance and chuckles to himself at the genius of his plan. He’s playing everyone like pawns in a chess game. No one moves unless he directs them.
He feels powerful and strong. They are far too stupid to figure out what is going on. They are ten steps behind him with no chance of ever catching up. He lays his scalpel down and dresses the wounds he has made with ointment and gauze to keep the skin fresh and supple. He has other matters to attend to for now.
THIRTY THREE
“I don’t think I need to go to the hospital.”
I had seen my charred appearance fleetingly in Olin’s wing mi
rror and concluded a good shower would cure most of what ailed me.
“You do and I’m taking you there right now.”
“I don’t have insurance. Do you know how much it costs to go to the emergency room? And God forbid if they actually admit me. I’ll be paying off medical bills for the rest of my life.”
I waved my arms and legs about.
“Look. No broken bones.”
“What about internal bleeding, lung damage, concussion?”
Obviously I didn’t have Olin convinced. He had no idea just how many times I’d cheated death. Injuries came with the territory and along the way I learned that there wasn’t much some gauze, tape and pain killers couldn’t fix.
“Honestly. I feel fine.”
“You should get some insurance.”
“We can’t all have cushy county jobs like you. I’m an independent contractor. Even if I found someone who’d take me on, I wouldn’t be able to afford the monthly premiums anyway.” I paused and tried to change the subject. “And what was with those paramedics? Was it me or did they seem, I don’t know, off?”
“Off is an understatement,” he said.
I began to laugh and even though my lungs were still full of soot and every muscle in my body ached, it felt good. Olin started to chuckle as well and the more he did the more I laughed until tears were streaming down both our faces.
“Look, if you don’t want to go to the hospital that’s your decision but I need you fully functional on this case. This isn’t just kidnapping and murder anymore. Shit is blowing up in our faces now.”
There was an awkward pause in which I tried to think of something nice and non-inflammatory to say but Olin started up again.
“Listen, I shouldn’t have told you to stay behind. It was wrong of me, I admit it. I said we were partners but I didn’t act like we were. I nearly got you killed.”
“Don’t be stupid. I nearly got myself killed because I’m hard headed and stubborn.”
“Yes you are. Exactly the traits I look for in someone who is going to watch my back.”
“Wow, you really lucked out then, meeting me.” I laughed but it quickly spiraled into another choking fit.
In the end we compromised. Olin took me to the nearest walk in clinic where there was no chance of being admitted for observation and unnecessary, expensive tests. A few x-rays and some prodding and poking later, I left the clinic with my broken ribs bound and a prescription for painkillers.
“I don’t need them,” I protested as Olin drove by the drug store.
“Have you ever had broken ribs before?”
“No.” But I was tough. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.
“Trust me, you’ll be begging for these later,” he grinned.
“I won’t take them,” I said.
“But at least we’ll have them just in case.”
His certainty that I would need drugs was only fueling my resolve not to take them but I had to admit it seemed a bit narcissistic. Every time the car hit a bump in the road it felt like shards of glass were being thrust into my side.
“So where to now?” I wheezed.
“Home.”
“Great,” I slumped back on the seat. “Golden Sun Motel, here I come.”
Only when I opened my eyes it wasn’t the orange glow of my motel that I saw but the outline of a house, blurred by the setting sun. The yard had a distinctive Olin feel to it. Not too neat, not too messy. It screamed, I’m a cop so watch out.
“If you’re hoping to get some tonight, you’re out of luck,” I grimaced. “Just take me back to my motel.”
“There is no way I am leaving you alone right now.”
“I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t fine. I barely made it out of the truck without some serious assistance from Olin. If he’d had his way he would have carried me but I flatly refused and hung onto his shoulder with every last ounce of strength while I stumbled along. I’d been eating junk food all week, my jeans were snug around the waist and I felt like a heifer. No way was I going to let him try and pick me up.
Inside the house was sparse but neat. The black couch sagged in the middle and the coffee table was scratched. Toys spilled out of a wicker basket in the corner and outside a blue bike had been abandoned by a swing set. At least he wasn’t a neat freak.
“Lie here.”
He led me to the couch then helped me lower myself onto the cushions.
“You sit here and relax.”
“But I need a shower,” I protested. “I smell.”
“You smell of smoke, like always.”
“I’ll smear soot all over your couch.”
“I don’t care. Look, the only way I’m letting you in the shower is if someone is in there to make sure you don’t fall and crack your head open. Now the only person here is me so unless you’ve changed your mind about getting lucky you are just going to have to stay sooty until tomorrow.”
“Fine,” I slumped back on the cushions.
He made grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee. We ate them in front of the television, both of us too tired to talk but I had to admit it felt good not to be alone.
“You all right?” he asked.
I just nodded. The pain had been so unbearable that I popped a couple of painkillers while he was in the kitchen. They kicked in about an hour ago. I was completely out of it. If Olin had wanted to have his way with me right then and there, I wouldn’t have even cared. He didn’t say anything, just smiled. I’m pretty sure he knew I caved to the lure of a pain free existence.
He gave me an old t-shirt and some boxer shorts to sleep in. While I changed and scrubbed some of the day’s dirt off in the bathroom, he made the couch into a makeshift bed.
“Sleep tight,” he kissed the top of my head.
I fought the urge to throw my arms around him and sob or follow him back to his bedroom. I wasn’t in my right mind. I’d only regret it in the morning and then act all distant and cold. That wouldn’t help the situation at all. But it would have felt pretty damn good.
THIRTY FOUR
I awoke amazingly free from pain, until I moved and my body exploded. I staggered into the bathroom to take the shower I had been denied the night before and as the warm water ran over my body it washed away not only the ash and soot but some of the pain as well. Spectacular bruises were forming all over my body in swirling patterns of purple and green. It was going to be one hell of a day.
By the time Olin surfaced in the kitchen I had already made coffee and was stuffing bread into his oversized toaster. I also popped half a painkiller. Just enough to dull the pain without sending me loopy. The toast popped out and landed on my plate.
“Want some?” I asked.
He rubbed his eyes sleepily and nodded.
“You’re not really a morning person are you?”
“No.” He grumpily attempted to straighten his hair.
We ate in silence. He flipped lazily through the newspaper. I eyed his sad looking houseplants and wondered when they’d last been watered. Olin wasn’t really the plant type. I guessed they were the last remnants of life with his ex. I wondered why she hadn’t taken them with her. I couldn’t stop thinking about what she was like. Pretty? Smart? Sassy? If she’d snagged Olin then she had to be a least some if not all of those things.
“Are you going to take me back to my hotel so I can get some clean clothes?” I asked.
“Yeah, just let me get dressed.”
“All right,” I paused then added. “I’ll water your plants while I’m waiting.”
“Don’t bother,” he said.
He threw his dirty dishes in the sink. While he was in the shower, I watered them anyway. Maybe the good plant karma would protect my orchids back home who were probably shriveling up by now. I should have asked the neighbor to water them for me, only I didn’t like people snooping around my house while I wasn’t there.
Olin’s house was closer to my hotel than I thought. We were back there in less than ten minut
es. He didn’t seem too keen on returning to such an exposed place after everything we’d been through. I didn’t care if the Tangerine killer was lurking in the bushes or hiding under my bed, the smell of my charred clothes was turning my stomach.
“I’ll see you in a minute,” I said.
“Hold on,” he grabbed my arm as I went to get out of the truck. “You think I’m letting you out of my sight?”
“I’m fine,” I flashed my gun at him. “See?”
“That won’t help you if there is another explosion.”
Begrudgingly I admitted defeat. Together we carefully opened the door to my orange room and stepped back to wait for an explosion. Nothing happened. I hadn’t expected anything to but after yesterday Olin was stuck in some kind of hyper vigilant mode. Deep down I knew he was right to be on guard. In fact I was surprised he didn’t have the bomb squad there waiting for us.
“I won’t be long.”
“I’ll wait right here,” Olin sat on the edge of the bed.
“You’d better. This door doesn’t have a lock.”
I took another shower since I still smelt of smoke having put my soiled clothes on over Olin’s boxers. Plus the warm water really helped ease the pain. I wondered if Olin was tempted to peek through the crack in the door. I pictured him sitting out there on the bed, trying desperately to restrain himself.
That couldn’t have been further from the truth. When I reluctantly left the steaming bathroom I found a pale faced Olin standing there holding a brown envelope. It was dripping blood onto my orange carpet.
“The desk clerk said someone left this for you.”
“What? Who?”
“He doesn’t know but I’m going to take him down to the station to get a composite sketch done. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find out the killer dropped it off himself.”
“You really think he’s that stupid?”
“He’s cocky. Who knows, maybe he’ll make a mistake.”
“Is it another finger?”
“Probably but I’m not taking any chances. This is going to the lab in its entirety. If there is any shred of evidence on this thing that we can use to find the son of a bitch, I want it.”
The Tangerine Killer Page 11