Speaking Evil

by Jason Parent

  Frank tugged on his seatbelt, loosening it so he could turn around and face Michael. “So you didn’t see any more of those people in masks on your way back?”

  “No.” Michael leaned forward between the seats. “Well, yeah, actually, but that was in my vision.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow. Sam glanced over at him to try and get a read. He’d never commented on whether he believed in Michael’s ability or not, never so much as brought up the subject. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sam jumped in, afraid she might not want to know his thoughts on the topic. “What did you see, Michael?”

  Michael shuddered. “It was awful. Officer Paltrow’s head just exploded.” He tapped Sam’s shoulder. “You have to warn her, Sam. I don’t have much to go on, but I know there’s at least one Indian guy out there. He shot her like really close range, blew her freakin’ head off. I’m sorry I went nuts when I saw her.”

  “Can you tell us anything about the shooter?” Sam asked, her attention constantly shifting between Michael and the road.

  “Not really, no. Just that he was wearing one of those stupid masks.”

  “Was he fat or thin, tall or short?” Frank asked. “Were his hands white or black? Any tattoos that you could see? Any other features that stood out?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Michael slouched back in his seat. “Dark hair, I think... maybe. I’m sorry. It was dark outside, nighttime I think, with lots of trees, but I couldn’t tell where and it was like I was standing right next to her when it happened. All I could make out were the mask and her face, like my screwed up mind wanted to see it all happen up close and personal, way zoomed in.” He took a deep breath. “I couldn’t even say for sure if the shooter was a man or a woman. Officer Paltrow... she never even saw it coming.” He buried his face in his hands, which reminded Sam of his injury.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  “Oh,” Michael collected himself. “That was just me being stupid. Unrelated.”

  Sam sensed there was a lot more to that story than she probably wanted to know but let it slide. “Okay,” she said softly. “That’s enough for now, Michael.”

  They rode the rest of the way back to the precinct in silence. The more Sam tightened her muscles to try and prevent her shaking, the more she shook. Her gut told her that Michael hadn’t imagined anything. There was more to the hospital, those masked Indians, the stonewalling Dr. Horvat, and maybe to Michael’s new friend than she could determine from the facts she then knew. She chewed on her thumbnail, lost in thought and not snapping out of it until she found herself pulling up beside Frank’s car.

  Frank forced a smile and opened his door. Before closing it, he said, “We’ll pick this up tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  A pained expression came over him, and he leaned in closer. “Hey, is everything all right? I mean, between us?”

  Sam nodded once and pulled her ravaged nail out from between her teeth. The skin around it was bleeding.

  Frank pulled away, looking unconvinced. “See you, Michael.” He waved.

  Michael grunted, then got out and took Frank’s seat. He closed the door behind him then dropped the seat back as far as it would go.

  WHEN THEY GOT HOME, Michael plodded up the stairs to their apartment like a zombie. Once inside, he turned to Sam with heavy eyelids. “I’m zonked out. From the weed—or the vision. Probably both.” He sighed heavily. “I think I’m just going to go to bed if that’s cool. But wake me if you hear anything about Dylan. I’m really worried about him.”

  “Of course.” Now it was Sam’s turn to force a smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He turned and shuffled toward his bedroom. Within a few minutes, she could hear him snoring. She doubted he’d done any of his homework and would probably have him take a sick day in the morning. Standing at her kitchen counter, she brewed herself a pot of coffee, then sat down at the table to be alone with her thoughts.

  A knock came at her door, and she snapped out of a daydream. She looked at her watch and couldn’t believe it was already nine thirty. She ran her fingers down her face, trying to wipe the tired away. How long have I been sitting here?

  Her gun still at her hip, as comfortable there as if it were an extension of her body, Sam crept to the door and peeked through the peephole. Tag, still in uniform, stood outside. She relaxed and undid the chain lock, unlocked the deadbolt, then opened the door.

  “Officer Tagliamonte,” Sam said, amused by her over-formality. She sized up the clean-cut, tightly built, and decade-younger officer she’d always found physically appetizing. “What brings you to my humble abode at this late hour?” She was trying to be funny with the archaic phrasing but only felt silly when Tag didn’t so much as crack a smile.

  He took off his hat, his thick dark hair pluming in its freedom. “I just got off duty.” He fidgeted with his hat in his hands. “May I come in?”

  Sam stepped back and waved him in. “You want some coffee? Beer?” Tag stepped into the apartment, and she closed the door behind him.

  “I’m good, thanks.” He walked over to the kitchen table and put his hat down on it then turned to face Sam as she stepped closer. “I just wanted to apologize for today. I know how much that kid means to you, and I feel really bad that I let you down. I have a kid sister—I mean, she’s twenty-four now, but I practically raised her—and if anything were to happen to her, I’d...” His chin quivered, and he looked away to hide the powerful emotions that had come over him. It was an endearing side of the officer Sam had never seen before.

  Tag cleared his throat. “Well, let’s just say I know the lengths someone might go to protect the ones they love. If anything happened to Michael on my watch, I’m not so sure I could live with myself.”

  “He’ll be all right.” Sam crossed her arms but the wall she put up started to crack. She had no idea Tag felt that strongly about Michael or... about me? “Don’t worry about it. Really. He told me he was trying to ditch you. With that other kid. Did you find him?”

  Tag seemed to appreciate the change in subject. He sucked in a breath and became the same sturdy officer she could always rely on, though a hint of something—Grief? Worry?—remained behind his eyes. “Yeah, he’s fine. When he saw us, he didn’t know what to do, so he hid and went inside the hospital when the coast was clear. His father works there. We’ve looked into the boy and his father. Everything checks out. He said he was sorry he bailed on Michael. Sounded like he meant it.”

  “Good.” Sam sighed and stood beside him at the table, resting her fingers on its surface. “Thanks.”

  She considered waking Michael to tell him the news, but the rhythmic rumble coming from his room made her think better of it. She frowned. “I’m happy to see him making a new friend, but... ditching you guys and smoking weed? That isn’t like him at all.”

  Tag chuckled. “I bet you smoked pot before you were his age.”

  Sam snorted. “Jesus! If he did half the shit I did before I was his age, I wouldn’t be able to handle him.” She smiled. “He’s such a good kid.”

  “Maybe you should go easy on him?” Tag reached for his hat. “And hopefully me too.”

  His finger brushed against hers, just the slightest touch, but it sent a pulse through her body, a spark that ignited a fire. All her stress, all her bottled-up frustration, demanded right then for a release. She slapped his hat out of his hand, drove him against the counter, and pressed her lips tightly against his.

  He threw his arms up, not resisting exactly, but not immediately accepting either. He started to say something, but Sam cut off any protests with her tongue. And when she felt his hand on the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, his tongue flitting with hers, she moaned. Chest to chest, she could feel the warmth of his body, the excitement in his touch, and his heartbeat quickening. She knew she was wanted. A finger over her lips, she led him to her bedroom.

  AFTERWARD, THEY LAY sweating on opposite sides of Sam’s bed. Her body was warm and t
ingled all over, but some of the tension in her muscles had eased. And she felt young. As fit as Tag was, and she did enjoy the sight of him, it was he who’d had the harder time keeping up.

  She took a deep breath. Tag was fun, but their intimacy had to be a one-time deal. Although she wasn’t in his direct chain of command, he was still a subordinate. Such relationships were frowned upon, if not outright prohibited. She glanced sideways at him, his goofy grin reminding her just how young he was compared to her. For a second, she thought of Frank, as though she’d somehow betrayed him. But she dismissed the thought easily. She’d needed it, had enjoyed it, and she wouldn’t regret it.

  “I guess this means you forgive me?” Tag said coyly, adding to the boyishness she already sensed from him.

  She fixed him with a hard stare. “It goes without saying that this stays between us.”

  “Of cour—”

  “And that this was one night only.”

  He grimaced. “If that’s the way you want it. But I like you, Sam. I’ve always liked you. And I think, deep down, you’ve always known that, or else tonight wouldn’t have gone down the way it did.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Let’s not make a thing out of it, make anything awkward. Let’s say it was just sex.” Then, to placate his ego, she added, “Good sex.”

  He turned to face her, propping himself up on his elbow, his strong arms gleaming in the moonlight. A twinkle came to his eyes, a wry smile to his mouth. “All the more reason to do it again sometime.”

  Sam pursed her lips. She couldn’t argue with that logic. “Maybe. But for now, you should go. I don’t want you to be here when Michael gets up.”

  Tag begrudgingly rose out of the bed then shuffled around the room to pick up his scattered clothes. Sam drew the sheet over her naked form and watched him dress. As he pulled on his pants, he reached into them and took out her underwear that had somehow ended up inside them during their athletics. He tossed them to her.

  As she put them on under the sheet, she re-erected her wall. “Lock up behind you.”

  Fully dressed though a wrinkled mess, Tag opened the bedroom door to leave but stopped when Sam called to him. “His father... what does he do for Brentworth?”

  Tag shook his head. “Always the detective, huh? He’s on the board or an administrator or some shit. Pretty high up. I can find out more if you’d like.”

  “Yes, do. And Tag?”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s his last name again?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Something wasn’t right with Tessa.

  Unable to sleep, Jimmy paced his room, his mind repeating how she’d treated him that afternoon. She didn’t even know me.

  He had to admit, he’d found her suspicions a little far-fetched. Then Link came looking for her in his room. He might have been looking for her because she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

  He shook his head, frustrated that he couldn’t see the whole picture. Whether he was dealing with some wicked conspiracy or the delusions of a poor, troubled girl, he couldn’t decide. Yeah, Link had appeared menacing, but with looks that had earned him the nickname “Missing Link,” how could he seem anything but?

  Then there was the Bandage Man. Jimmy rubbed his shoulder, still sore from where the mummified patient had grabbed him, his skin bruised in the shape of fingertips. What had he said? Stay away from the girl, or you’ll be next.

  Next for what? Despite her strange memory lapse, Tessa had seemed much happier. Maybe her treatment had some side effects, but if it helped her feel better, to manage that place, then he supposed it was all for the greater good. A fleeting pain, spawned by a sudden but powerful flash of selfishness, stung his heart and caused his breath to hitch. He wished she’d remembered their short but meaningful night together.

  She’s sick, Jimmy. He sighed. Probably delusional. Heck, maybe it’s all the meds they’re pumping into us. His thoughts seemed logical, but the Bandage Man’s threat, that had been real. And so he circled back to something not being right with Tessa. They had gotten her and had done something to her. And if that mummified douchebag was to be taken seriously, Jimmy had to play it cool or he might be next.

  He paused, a moment of clarity breaking through all his doubt like rays of sunlight parting the clouds. It didn’t matter whether Tessa was delusional or not. He had promised to help her. And Jimmy had every intention of keeping that promise. If he could just get to her room, talk to her, and try to get a feel for how much they had tampered with her.

  He took a deep breath and approached the door, listening for sounds outside it. Hearing nothing, he opened it and stepped into the hallway. The dim lighting cast shadows where none should have been. The pungent smell of disinfectant, perhaps masking the underlying stink of unwashed bodies, made his nostrils tingle. Yet, he saw no one and heard nothing.

  Just a quiet night in the loony bin. He relaxed a little, thinking he would use the excuse that he couldn’t sleep if someone caught him wandering. As he walked down the hall, his feet would now and then stick to the stained carpet and pull away with a slight pop. He wasn’t sure which room was Tessa’s but knew the general direction, hoping he’d guess right when he knocked.

  As he made it to the corner, he peeked around it. An arm clamped around his neck, another under his arm. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream out for help as his assailant dragged him backward. Kicking his feet and throwing out elbows, he tried to shake free of his attacker. He hadn’t even heard the person behind him. Jimmy had let his guard down, oblivious to the man’s approach. Am I going to die? He struggled harder. Wheezing, he was losing air fast. His blows lost their strength.

  His foe turned, backed them onto the hard wooden floor of the nearest room. There, he tossed Jimmy onto the bed, closed the door, and turned to face him.

  The Bandage Man.

  “I’ll kill you,” Jimmy snapped, his face filling with the warm gush of rage. Panting, he hopped onto his feet and raised his fists. He’d be damned if he was going to let some sick pedophile have his way with him without fighting to his last breath.

  “Easy.” The Bandage Man held out his hands.

  “Fuck you.” Jimmy charged at the man, swinging wildly and missing with his first punch. The second connected with the Bandage Man’s ribs, who grunted but swayed with the blow, hooking his arm around Jimmy’s. He tugged on the pinned arm, pulling Jimmy closer, then hooked around his other arm.

  Jimmy tried a headbutt, but could only connect with the taller man’s chest. His upper body useless, he did the only move left he could think of—he rammed his knee as hard as he could into his enemy’s balls.

  The Bandage Man groaned and collapsed onto his knees. Jimmy seized the opportunity and ran around him to the door. The Bandage Man grabbed Jimmy’s pajama leg, but his grip was weak. Jimmy easily pulled free after landing a right hook to the man’s face. The bandages shifted, revealing a patch of purple skin beneath.

  “Wait,” The Bandage Man croaked as Jimmy headed for the door.

  The doorknob twisted in Jimmy’s hand. He only needed to open it, and he would be free.

  “I’m FBI.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Home sick on his third day of school. A masked man shooting at Sam. More of them possibly assembling behind Brentworth. We should have stayed on vacation.

  Michael stood at the threshold of Sam’s room, tracing circles in the doorframe as he thought about some of the horrible things he had said to her last night. Sam’s job came with certain baggage, but he couldn’t believe he would have been better off had she not plucked him from that crime scene that he was thankfully too young to remember. She’d been someone constant, and eventually, someone more. She’d even given a home. He’d seen what had become of another with his gift, what he himself would have probably become had not Sam been in his life. And he had treated her as if she were the cause of all his problems.

  And now, he was wishing Sam were home, if only to tell her that he was sorry. She’
d already gone to work for the day. She’d needed to check something out and had warned him to stay inside with the door locked and bolted, to let no one in except her. As if their flimsy plywood door would make him feel safe. At least she’d told him Dylan was okay.

  He stepped over dirty clothes and past the unmade bed to a window partly covered in grime. Looking out, he saw the patrol car right where it was supposed to be. From two stories up and forty yards away, he couldn’t recognize the officer in the driver’s seat sipping hot coffee out of a Styrofoam cup. He waved, but the officer wasn’t looking his way.

  Still in his boxers and the wrinkled T-shirt he’d slept in, he went back to his room and threw on a pair of jeans and ankle socks. He didn’t bother putting on his gloves, gearing up for a boring weekday alone with Netflix.

  He sighed and plopped down on the couch with a massive bowl of chocolate cereal. His feet up on the coffee table, he reached for the remote, scrolled through his recommendations—mostly true crime documentaries based on Sam’s inability to distinguish between their profiles—then settled on an anime. Let the binge-watching begin.

  About midway through the seventh episode, a knock at his door made Michael jump. The empty bowl tumbled from his lap onto the carpet. Slowly, he pulled his feet off the coffee table and placed them silently on the floor. Hitting the pause button on the remote, he listened for sounds outside his apartment.

  The knock came again.

  “Yeah?”

  A muffled but familiar voice came through the door. “Hey, Badass. It’s me. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Dylan?” Michael got up and walked to the door. He looked through the peephole and saw Dylan picking at his braces with his tongue. Something black was stuck in the top row.

  Michael unlocked and opened the door. “What the heck are you doing here?” He leaned over the threshold and checked the stairwell. Seeing no one else, he crossed his arms and scrutinized his friend. “Where’d you go last night?”