by J. Fritschi
Mike shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he stared at the ice and olives in his glass reflectively. He wasn’t sure that he was ready to open his soul to her but he knew he had been avoiding it long enough and figured maybe she was the one he could tell and maybe now was the time to tell her. “My father committed suicide,” Mike said vacantly.
Kate’s full red lips formed a perfect circle as her eyes grew wide. “Oh my God Mike,” she whispered softly as she reached for his hand across the table. “I’m so sorry.”
Mike waived it off with a grimace. His eyes were a steely gaze as he lifted his glass and took a swallow. “He called me before it he did it and asked me to come over and help him move something before my mom got home,” Mike said with a hint of irony, his eyes glazed over. “When I got to their house, there was an envelope for me taped to the door.” Mike paused and let out a deep breath. “I found him sitting at his desk like a wax figure with his brain splattered on the wall behind him. He put a gun in his mouth and blew his brains out the back of his head.”
“Oh my God Mike, that is terrible,” Kate said stunned. “What did you do?”
“It was like an out of body experience; like it wasn’t my dad, but just another dead body like all of the other ones I’ve seen,” Mike told her with a distant foggy gaze. “I felt like I was watching it happen to someone else. I treated it like any other crime scene and got it cleaned up before my mother came home.”
“What did you tell your mother?” Kate asked emotionally with glistening eyes.
Mike cringed. “What could I tell her?” he said vacantly. “I had to tell her the truth.”
“How did she react?”
“I think she was in shock and didn’t believe me until she saw the body at the morgue,” Mike explained quietly. “Once she saw him, it was real and final. At first she was angry with him for leaving me to find him, but then she became depressed and missed him.”
“How did it make you feel?” she probed cautiously.
“I was angry that he did this to me and my mom. That he left us to clean up his mess and deal with everyone’s judging looks of pity.”
“How do you feel about it now?”
“You know the worst part about it?” He asked slumped back in his bench with raised eyebrows. “That he didn’t feel like he could talk to me. He always told me that if I ever had a problem, no matter how bad it seemed, that I could come to him and he would always be there for me, but when he needed someone, he didn’t feel like he could come to me.” He let out a deep sigh as he looked up towards the ceiling.
“What would you say to him if he was here right now?”
“I would tell him he was a chicken shit bastard,” Mike responded angrily and then took a deep breath. “I would ask him why he didn’t come to me with his problems. What was so bad that he had to take his own life?”
“Maybe he wanted to protect you?”
“Protect me from what?” Mike grumbled under his breath. “There is nothing he could have told me that would have changed the way I felt about him. I would have walked through fire for him. I am a grown man who has seen more shit than most people can imagine and he should have trusted that I could’ve handled anything he told me.”
“Maybe he was afraid of what you would have thought of him,” she suggested tenderly.
“It can’t be worse than what I thought of him right after it happened.”
“Didn’t you ever have a problem that you thought was so overwhelming that you couldn’t tell anyone about it and you didn’t know what to do?”
Mike thought about his posttraumatic stress disorder and drinking problem, but was on a roll and quickly shrugged it off. “Yeah, but I always owned up to it and did the right thing because that is what he taught me,” Mike snapped irritated as he sat forward. “All I ever wanted was to be like my dad; to have his integrity and presence. Now I worry that I am just like my dad and that one day, when things get too hard, I will take the easy way out just like he did.”
“Have you ever had thoughts of committing suicide?” Kate asked alarmed as she leaned forward and attempted to get eye contact with him.
“No,” he replied unconvincingly as he thought about his dad’s gun hanging in his closet. “I’m just saying that if my dad, who I thought was invincible, had it in his genetic make-up, then I probably do too.”
“That’s not true. Just because your father committed suicide doesn’t mean that you are destined to repeat his mistake,” Kate assured him. “Your father may have had a chemical imbalance in his brain and been clinically depressed and not even realized it.”
Mike starred at his glass vacant, empty and drained. She was probably right. His dad probably was depressed and didn’t realize it, but that’s what worried him; would he realize it if he became depressed? Would he recognize the signs and get help or would he take his own life in a desperate attempt to end the pain?
“That is why it is important to talk to someone, anyone and share your problems with them. You can’t keep it bottled up inside with bullshit male bravado no matter how tough you think you are.”
“You know what the worst part about it is?” Mike said through clenched teeth. “Everything he did in his life prior to that day doesn’t matter anymore. Everything he was as a dad and a husband has been tarnished. All the great work he did won’t be remembered. The thing that everyone will remember when his name is mentioned is that he committed suicide. That is the legacy he left me.”
“That’s not true Mike,” she consoled him softly. “His legacy is so much more than that. It encompasses his whole life. One act does not define a person’s life. He made a mistake. A terrible mistake that his family has to live with for the rest of their lives, but that one act doesn’t define his life.”
Mike gazed at his glass silently; contemplatively. Kate reached her hand across the table and laid it down flat to get his attention.
“Look at me,” she admonished him sternly.
Mike raised his glazed eyes and stared into hers.
“You are not your father. Your life is not predetermined. You get to choose your fate. You are a great person who has done so many brave things for anonymous people with no regard for your own safety. You should be proud of yourself.” Kate smiled at him gently. “You are your father’s legacy. If you catch the Sterling Killer no one will talk about his suicide. When they mention his name, they will talk about his son, the hero who put a stop to the Sterling Killer. His legacy is in your hands.”
chapter 55
FATHER JOHN COULD sense that someone or something was watching him and adjourned to the living room where he clicked on a table lamp and sat peacefully in the high back arm chair next to the window that afforded the opportunity to anyone who wanted to keep an eye on him. He placed his tall glass of water on a crystal coaster next to the lamp on the round side table and began to read his leather bound bible with the uneasy feeling that something ominous was about to happen.
He could feel someone’s eyes on him like the glare of the sun on the moon. He wasn’t sure if it was the police or the Sterling Killer, but either way he didn’t have anything to hide or fear so better to make himself visible for all to see.
If the Sterling Killer was looming out in the darkness, Father John hoped that he presented an inviting target. He welcomed the opportunity to confront his evil adversary. If it was going to happen sooner or later, he just as soon get it out of the way now before the Sterling Killer murdered another innocent young lady.
If it was the police that were watching him, he wanted them to know where he was at all times in the unfortunate event that there was another murder. At least then they would know that he was not the Sterling Killer and they could get on with finding the real killer.
Father John didn’t blame the police or Detective McCormick in particular for his split personality theory. They didn’t have anything else to go on and from an outsider’s perspective he could see that it might appear plausible. If he wasn’t so sure
that he was witnessing the murders through his dreams, he might have believed himself that he had a multiple personality that was committing these heinous crimes, but he knew the difference between a dream and a memory. Besides, he was sure that it was not part of God’s plan that he be a cold blooded murderer.
He had to admit that the whole yin of the Sterling Killer’s evil personality versus the yang of his Father John good personality did make for an intriguing story line. The fact that all of the women were stabbed in the heart with a knife shaped like a cross was an interesting twist and even the connection that he was disemboweling the women because his mother died giving birth to him was not lost on him.
But he knew in his heart and soul that he was not and could not be the Sterling Killer. That was not his fate and he couldn’t help but wonder when his part in this tragic act would finally play out.
As he sat quietly in his arm chair reading scripture, he could sense that something evil was looming in the air like a roiling black cloud of trepidation. The house was creaking and groaning uncomfortably as if it was digesting a rotten meal. Father John glanced around at the ceiling like he was following a house fly buzzing about as the house shuddered.
Father John had a sense of déjà vu and at first he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or if the beers were making him drowsy. He laid his book on the table at his side and then folded his hands peacefully in his lap as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes waiting for the evil to come and get him.
chapter 56
AFTER DINNER, MIKE drove Kate home and walked her to her front door. His stomach felt queasy and his heart heavy as they stood under the front porch light in the stinging haze of the fog. All he could think about was going to The Precinct and getting drunk. He was craving a Jack Daniels neat with a Budweiser back. That was the usual feeling he got when he thought about his father at his desk with his brain matter splattered all over the wall behind him. The image was etched vividly in his mind’s eye. He could even smell the rotten burn of the gun powder.
Normally when he walked a beautiful young lady to her front door, he would have been thinking about getting a kiss and hoping to get invited in for a night cap, but not tonight. It didn’t so much as cross his mind as he stood with his hands stuffed in his pockets feeling claustrophobic as he tried to figure out how to get out of there as quickly as possible without seeming like there was something wrong.
“Thank you for a great dinner and the pleasure of your company,” Mike said in a gentlemanly tone as he leaned down and gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. “You better get inside. You’ll catch your death out here.”
Kate couldn’t believe it. He was trying to blow her off with a small peck on the cheek. She was beside herself with humiliation. There was no way she was going to allow him to get away with that.
“I can’t believe you actually made me pay for dinner,” she mocked him teasingly as she looked up at him with an enticing grin.
“A bet is a bet. This way it gives me an excuse to ask you out again.”
“What makes you think I will go out with you again?”
“You can’t help yourself,” Mike replied proudly. “You’re attracted to bad boys.”
“Are you a bad boy?” She asked with a seductive twinkle in her eyes.
“Only if you want me to be.”
Kate smiled at Mike with fluttering eyelashes as she gazed up at him temptingly. She wanted to kiss him, but more than that, she wanted him to kiss her. She was admiring his rugged good looks and glimmering eyes as she wondered what his head looked like and what color hair he had under his beanie.
“How is your head feeling?” she asked in tender tone.
Mike raised his left hand and ran it lightly over the top of his head.
“It’s feeling better. I think it’s almost back to normal.”
“Where did he hit you?”
“Right back here,” Mike pointed to the lower left side of his head. “Do you want to see it?”
“I don’t know. How bad is it?”
“Not too bad,” he assured her as he pulled the beanie off his shaved head. “Take a look.” He turned his head so that she could see the scar.
Through the haze of the fog, in the dim light of the porch, she could barely make out the dark line of stitches that ran through the stubble of his hair like a large backwards J.
“Oh my gosh,” she whispered as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled him down for a closer view. “It looks like it hurts.”
Mike became soft inside with her touch as her warm breath tickled his ear. “It hurts more mentally than it does physically. I wear beanies so I don’t feel like everyone is staring at it. You can touch it if you want.”
Kate took her first two fingers and gently ran them over the ridges of the stiff stitches. Her touch felt like a magic tingle that started on his scalp and reverberated down his spine. Her warm, sweet breath captivated him as he turned and faced her, gazing longingly into her alluring eyes. Silently he leaned down and kissed her fully on her moist lips.
Kate stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck as she opened her mouth and began to warmly kiss him. She pulled her body against his as she kissed him softly. Her insides glowed with ecstasy as she tantalizingly pulled away and looked up at Mike for approval. She could see in his dazed eyes that she had his attention.
Mike stared down at her sweet, golden face as Kate bit her lower lip seductively and he knew he had to get out of there before this went any further and he did something that he would regret. If she invited him up for a drink, he wouldn’t be able to say no, and once he got inside all he would be able to think about was getting naked and under the warm sheets with her. He didn’t want to do that on their first date, not that she would either, but if she did, he didn’t want to put himself in the position where he would either end up sleeping with her, thus ruining their chances for a long term relationship, or having to deny her, thus insulting her which would also ruin their prospect for a meaningful relationship. He had been down this road too many times before and he wasn’t about to repeat the same mistake he made with those other women whose relationships turned out to be nothing more than a short dalliance. He needed to make a graceful exit before it was too late.
“Thank you for a great night,” Mike said with a mesmerized voice and then cleared his throat. “Can I call you some time?”
“I would like that,” Kate told him softly as she pulled away from him while rubbing his arm affectionately.
Mike pulled his beanie back on his head and adjusted it carefully around his wound. “Next time I’m buying.”
“Okay.” Kate held her door tauntingly open.
“Good night.”
“Good night. Don’t forget to call Dr. Schafer about the symbol,” she reminded him casually. “If he doesn’t know what it means, then nobody except the killer does.”
“I will,” Mike told her as he jogged down her steps. “I mean I won’t…forget to call him that is,” he said as he turned around at the bottom of the stairs with a smile.
Kate was standing in the doorway leaning against the door, the light behind her casting a curvy silhouette. “Drive safely,” she cautioned him caringly as she shut the door.
On his drive home, Mike sat in the dark with the glare of the lights from the dashboard shining reflectively upon his sullen face as he silently contemplated what Kate said about him being his father’s legacy. She was right. There was no reason his father’s life had to be defined by his suicide. He was so much more to Mike as a father and a mentor. It was up to Mike as to how he wanted to remember his dad. Was he going to let all of the years of memories be ruined by that one selfish act or was he going to choose to remember him as the loving father that he was?
Why should he give a shit what anybody else thought about his father? Those who knew and loved him would remember the great person that he was, and those who didn’t know him really didn’t matter.
Mike realized
that maybe it was time to forgive his dad in the same way that he hoped Denise and her family would one day be able to forgive him. Once he caught the Sterling Killer, maybe he would be able to forgive himself and walk into a room full of people and not be embarrassed to be Michael McCormick Jr., son of Michael McCormick Sr.
But first he needed to figure out if Father John was the Sterling Killer and if he wasn’t, how did he know what he knew about the crime scenes. Maybe Kate’s colleague would be able to tell him what the symbol meant and why the Sterling Killer was leaving it at the crime scenes.
chapter 57
ALL OF THE doors and windows of the shanty style Watch Dawg Bar were locked and covered up. From the street outside, the leaning, one story, wood frame hovel appeared dark and closed, as if no one was inside.
Inside the aroma of musty, stale beer permeated the bar where Jenny, Mark and Chris were sitting under a dim light nursing their pint glasses of beer as Nirvana Unplugged played softly in the background so as not to draw attention to any passer-byes. It had been a quiet night and Jenny closed the bar early so that she and her two friends could partake in extracurricular activities.
Jenny, a darkly clad young bartender, stood on the tender’s side of the bar chopping up a pile of cocaine on a small Bailey’s mirror that lay flush on the worn and splintered bar. Chris and Mark watched from their stools on the other side of the bar with silent anticipation as her ring covered fingers with black painted nails spread out three 2 inch long lines with her drivers license.