And it was nothing good.
His stubborn rage, his jealousy, the relentless way in which he behaved.
42
At the same time that the sicko was dragging Madelyne’s body under a mean, diminishing light on top of the withered flowers, somewhere in Maine, Andrew had a sudden connection.
A lacerating pain in his head seemed to be breaking it in half, like a coconut being hit by a hammer. He received information from the white Ford. Without a doubt, it was the same he had seen early that morning. Andrew was now lying down, and he got up as if a spring had pushed him up. He was sweating a lot, and something twisted within his guts and roared like a lion sweeping along his intestines.
A quite disturbing glance followed the snort. His eyes didn’t shine in the dark. Neither did his teeth, which he was clenching heard even though he had to open his mouth wide to take a breath. His nostrils were obstructed due to an allergy which was blocking his nose with a thick snot.
Even though the information was not clear, he saw the vehicle gleaming under the moon like thousands of fireflies crowding around a treetop. The major detail was that he could hear something: the sound of the uneasy waves that rhythmically caressed the sand on the shore. The Ford’s front tires had sunk under the tide and the driver’s door was open. He was sure about it because the vehicle’s interior light was on, throwing a beam of light to the sand. He saw something else, a wooden sign with white letters. His headache was unbearable, and he had to grab his head with both hands as if that could possibly alleviate the pain. His lips didn’t make any moan.
This time, everything appeared to be different.
The information he received like an electric shock, let him see a phrase:
South Long Island Short Beach
As fast as he could, he put his feet on the floor in an attempt to get up from the bed. As he did so, he farted so hard that it sounded like a chainsaw. He didn’t smile. It was the lion in his gut. He needed to look something up in the phonebook. He turned on the bedroom light and walked barefoot through the hall’s linoleum floor heading to his dull office. The floor wasn’t too cold, and he was still sweating a lot. Not only had he lost the connection, but also the sharp headache had disappeared with it.
He turned on the light on the hall and he did the same when he reached to his office. The big yellow stain bathed the entire place. Nervous as he was, he looked at the messy table and his chubby fingers grabbed the handle of the last drawer where the phonebook was.
His eyes shone like those of a child who has found a candy.
He held it, caressing it as if it were a Bible and he looked for Long Island’s police office phone number, in New England. His roly-poly index finger slid through the rough pages and he finally found it. He picked up the phone and dialed, one by one, the phone number. The clock with the big hands marked half past twelve. Its bloodless minute hand was pointing to the floor as if it were too heavy.
After twelve rings and a good deal of sweat rolling down his bald forehead, a voice picked up the phone. It sounded tattered.
“Yes?”
It hadn’t said “Long Island’s Precinct” and Andrew thought for a moment that he had dialed the wrong number. He considered hanging up and dialing again, but he didn’t. The phonebook was open like a coffin in a funeral while the family, inconsolable and mourning, extended their hands to touch the deceased.
“Long Island’s Precinct?”
“Yes, you called the right place, Sir. My name is Peter. What’s happening tonight? Some pimp is threatening you after you haven’t paid to his hooker?”
Andrew got colder somehow and rose up his eyebrows. He was confused and thought: “where the hell have I called? Maybe I dialed the wrong number and the guy is going with the flow just to taunt me. Son of a bitch”.
“Sorry, I think I haven’t called the precinct.” Andrew apologized with a sulky voice.
“Yes, you have. Sorry for talking to you like that but I’ve been working for several hours now. I’m tired. Tell me, how can I help you?”
Andrew’s eyes fixed on the wall that still had those light pictures, lighter than a honeycomb. He felt more relaxed even though he was still sweating excessively.
“I’m Castle Lake Hill’s detective...”
“Yes, I know the city. I go there on vacations every summer. My wife’s family lives there.” A young man’s voice interrupted.
“Could you please stop interrupting me?” Andrew barked, half-shutting his eyes. His ass, in white underwear, was sitting on the edge of the table which moved slightly making a damning sound.
“Okay, sorry. Spit out what you must.”
Andrew’s eyes half-closed a bit more.
“A vehicle has been robbed. It’s a white Ford SUV. I don’t remember the license plate now.” Andrew lied with this last statement and he added “The thief has confessed and states he has abandoned it near a beach called Short Beach in South Long Island. Can you verify if the vehicle remains there?”
There was a moment of dreadful silence.
“No problem. The beach is really small, it looks like a lake and it’s forbidden to get in there. Couples, though, usually go there with their cars to... you know.” He laughed like a dog growling.
“Save the details. I just need to know if the vehicle is there. If you find it, you can call me at any time. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
He hung up.
Forty minutes later, he received the confirmation that, effectively, the vehicle had been abandoned by the beach, in a corner next to the sign. Inside the glove box, they had found the vehicle’s owner’s identification. It was Ava Cox.
Andrew looked up to the ceiling in search of webs.
43
Who picked up the phone in the precinct a few hours back and heard the coroner’s confession couldn’t stop tapping his pencil against the edge of the table. Those words echoed in his head like a horrible nightmare. He felt nauseous and he hadn’t called Landon yet. He might not even call him, he would probably tell him about it the next morning, when the sunlight appeared from the back of the huge mountains and when the sheriff’s bony face appeared by the door.
As the night went on, Owen couldn’t stop going over that conversation. The man who had seen Ava Cox that afternoon and whose eyes were closed just like hers had had to cover the night shift working overtime. His brown eyes were staring at the walls, the neatly organized desks, the ceiling in search of some inexistent spider web and the dust bins.
His protuberant knuckles were crashing again on the desk and on his thigh. Sometimes he would pick up the pencil and tangled it up between his fingers. He was sweating and thirsty. The vending machine, however, only had sodas and chocolates. He needed a beer. Next to it, there was a dispenser with water and coffee. He didn’t drink anything at all. He was nervous. His body moved from one side to the other in the precinct’s halls while his partner, Steve, looked out at him from the corner of his eye from a desk, sprawling on his chair.
When he wasn’t tapping the edge of the desk with his fingers, he would pull his short dark hair and then he would massage his think beard.
“This is Herbert Smith, one of Augusta’s coroners. The dead woman’s body is here, and I’ve already done my job, but I must inform something out of the ordinary.” He said with a hoarse voice, almost trembling.
Owen remembered how he got goosebumps after assuming that Smith would describe how he had gutted the woman. The same woman Owen had seen in front of him a few hours back and who looked as if she were sleeping.
“What is it about?” Owen asked while his feet were on the desk and starting to shake.
There had been a pause only interrupted by the interferences in the communication. Somewhere in the world, there was snow or, but in Castle Lake Hill it was spring, and the temperature was around 68 degrees, maybe even hotter. Everything seemed to go by just like any other day, except for the sneezes of three of his co-workers. After that lapse in the conversation, the trembling voice had r
eturned.
“She had her eyelids glued. I had to separate them with the scalpel and what a surprise when I opened them! The socket was empty except she had some perfume in it. I gathered a perfume sample for analysis, but the fucking eye wasn’t there. It had been snatched along with the optic nerve.”
“Please don’t go on. I’m feeling nausea.” Owen said putting his feet on the ground.
Herbert was still talking.
“I found the same thing when on both eyes.”
Owen felt like throwing up. His skin got so pale that Herbert could have seen it through the phone.
“What kind of sicko could have done this?” Owen asked, almost dizzy. He was sweating so much; both his smooth forehead and his rough back were soaked in sweat.
“A crazy one?”
“Do you have a cause of death?”
“Asphyxiation. The killer used a method to cut out the oxygen. She hasn’t been strangled or has marks on her mouth as if he had forced her mouth shut with his hands.”
“Could he have done it with a pillow?”
“Possibly, but even so, that would have left marks: cotton threads, mites, or a significant purple mark. I don’t really think so. To me, it’s as if he had vacuum packed her.”
Owen rose his eyebrows while Steve, who was throwing paper balls in the dust bin, made gestured with his hands when they were free.
“Have you found anything else?”
“Yes.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Her eyes.”
That dreadful silence had returned, and Steve’s mouth was drawing a grimace while his eyes were like two white plates. Owen was petrified but was still holding the phone on his right hand.
“This... Eh... Whe...” He wanted to ask where, but words just couldn’t come out.
“In her throat. He made her swallow them or maybe the killer introduced them with his hand. I’ve found some wounds in her larynx. It was nauseating.” Herbert declared with a trembling voice.
Owen became paler and Steve had quietly left his chair to get closer to him. Owen disconnected the call without saying goodbye. Neither of them felt like saying goodbye. Steve asked who it was and what he had been told to look like a walking dead man.
Owen decided not to say anything and spent the entire night tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk.
44
This happened on Thursday morning.
She entered with her unraveled clothes and dull hair. Her eyes were like balloons about to explode, as if they would spread a white dough like pellets, her tears would blend in with the blood of her lips. The girl was scared, even terrified. Her voice was like a siren and it repeated a phrase repeatedly while her bare feet dragged over the precinct’s floor.
“He tried to kill me!”
Landon had arrived way before the dislocated girl and Owen had told him about the eyes. Landon’s face was pale and almost disfigured. However, he took a toothpick to his mouth as if nothing had happened. Owen felt embarrassed after seeing his boss with no reaction at all. The clock on the wall, hanging like a painting, marked five past eight. Landon, who was slumping in his chair with his lips wrinkled and his frowning look, had arrived at seven thirty.
The precinct got crowded early in the morning. At quarter to eight, there were neighbors who wanted to file a claim and among them, there were junkies and thieves who had been caught red-handed when they were trying to break a vending machine.
“Please calm down, miss,” Kevin said moving his hands. A pretty absurd habit.
The girl was blonde, and she had really pretty green eyes that now were swollen and wet. She was thin but had good breasts. She wasn’t wearing any makeup but, even so, she looked beautiful.
“The guy was carrying a woman on his shoulders! She wasn’t moving!”
Landon got up from his noisy chair and raised an eyebrow.
“What was that?” Kevin disguised his confusion. He wanted to touch her arm to soothe her, but the girl moved it away really fast.
With his jacket in a 68 degrees environment, Landon skirted his desk and headed to his crystal office door which was closed. He had been able to hear what that crazy girl had said. She didn’t appear to be more than twenty-five years old, maybe twenty-six according to his first conclusions.
The agents Luke and Jacob stared at her. She looked like Carrie after being bathed with a pig’s blood. She was dirty and covered in blood. Her blue dress was ripped on a side and you could see she wasn’t wearing panties. The bra was undone, and a breast wanted to pop up while she was yelling.
“That man threw that woman to the floor and came for me! Look what he’s done!” The girl was showing the palm of her hands red with blood. “He wanted to kill me, but I escaped!”
She was now the center of attention and the lights in the precinct witnessed her disgrace.
“What are you trying to say?” Landon asked without his sunglasses on. He had closed his office door with a slam that made the crystal clink.
The girl got closer to him with her eyes dilated almost as if trying to get out of their sockets and yelled at him so closely that she spat, bathing Landon’s face.
“Haven’t you heard me? I huge guy tried to kill me and was carrying another woman that could be dead by now!”
Landon slowly moved his hand with his palm down as if he were in front of a wild horse trying to calm down. Everybody was staring with inquisitive eyes. For a moment, reason and sanity seemed to have been gone.
“In this case, you must file a formal complaint and state everything you know. We will help you with everything we can but before you must tell us when and where this happened....”
“It has been right now! I’ve come driving from Park Beach!” That girl’s hooting voice interrupted.
While this happened at the Castle Lake Hill’s precinct, one mile away from there, detective Andrew was massaging his temple after setting foot on the hot ground.
45
“Damn nightmares and headaches,” Andrew whispered to the floor while he was getting up from his bed. His huge ass in white underwear took off from the sheet. The sunlight had started scratching the walls awhile back and now they looked like tongues appearing under the blinds.
It was not common for him, but that morning he had woken up pretty late. He was usually up around seven. He caressed his bald head pull from the blind’s strap and the sun bathed his face and body with a bronze light. He stretched his arms and closed his eyes when he felt the sun’s warmth.
Slowly, he got dressed. First, the gray trousers and then the white shirt. Last, his white socks and his black shoes. When he headed to the kitchen, he thought he’d smelled eggs and bacon, however, there was no one else there, except for the mean light and all the plates piled up in the sink like bodies in a grave.
He headed straight to the fridge. He opened it and another mean light lighted up the bottles of milk. He grabbed one of them and took it straight to his dry mouth. It felt great. Fresh milk in the morning always sat well with him. Something in his gut moved from one side to the other while the fridge’s door was still open. It was slowly getting warmer, like a transparent fog fading in the air.
He went to his office and saw, as if done on purpose, some light strings that touched the pictures disturbingly enlightening them that morning. He felt that something not that good would happen that morning.
He sat on his chair and stared at those pictures, contemplating them as if they were a work of art until the needles in the clock marked five past nine. A tingling along with punctures in his ass like tens of needles woke him up from lethargy, something that the clock hadn’t done. He moved on the chair that moaned on the floor and something else caught his attention.
The second photograph
He had written “Madelyne” on it and had seen something.
Her eyes were closed, and her skin was shining under the sunlight. Motionless and immersed in a deep sleep. Her entire soul was beautiful but breathless. She coul
d have been another one except that she was the second in line. It had happened again. He had seen it clearly. He wouldn’t tell that to Grayson, though, who had decided to pick up the phone and call right then.
He hadn’t seen that in his vision. Not that. Suddenly, his cellphone started ringing. Not his home phone number, though. He had his trench coat on already. He took it from the coat hanger that was in his office, with its sleeves like arms falling next to the body but without a head. He was only missing his hat. He didn’t have one, though. Landon, however, did and he smiled briefly.
He took the phone out of his pocket where he had left it the night before. He had little battery, but it was more than enough to show the green incoming call button. He didn’t remember when, but he had added him to his contacts as “the crazy guy”. That was precisely what the screen showed. His thumb pressed the green drawing. Before he took his phone to the ear, he had already started to hear that mellow, deep and irritating voice, all at the same time.
“Andrew? Are you coming to your appointment this morning?”
“Oh, sorry! Something unexpected came up.” Andrew said jokingly, thinking about Madelyne.
“Wow! It’s the second time you leave me hanging this week.” Grayson complained. His eyes were out of orbit. It was as if Andrew could see him.
“Life’s like this. You know I’m still active and these past hours have been pretty complicated. I can’t give you any details now, but I’ll explain when this is all over.”
Andrew’s deep voice led to silence and after it, a snort crossed the sky as certain waves.
“Fine. I understand. I suppose it’s something serious. Yet, I’d like to see you and know from first hand if you’re still having...” He stopped for a moment. He was about to say, ‘crazy stuff’ but he refrained and continued “those nightmares.”
Andrew smiled to the blind where the sun rays slipped and thought: ‘he was about to call me ‘crazy guy’ or something like that, I can see it coming. What I need is a good woman, not a shrink. How does he go to sleep at night dealing with so many morons? Is he okay? Does he listen to voices in the middle of the night?’
Eyes that do not Open Page 9