Tell Laura I'm Back

by Mark Edwards

  “You not going to get away with this, Zack,” I breathed.

  “Oh, yeah?” he whispered, blowing hard. “Baby, you don't have a clue how hard I am for you right now.”

  “Get off on yourself,” I suggested, with my weakened, voice after spitting in his face.

  He wiped my mouth water from him as it ran down his left cheek.

  SLAP!

  My head throbbed against the wall, at each jawbone jab he landed me. I started seeing stars and blurred vision of everything else, including him.

  “Enough of you, Laura. Enough! Enough! Enough!”

  BANG, BANG, BANG!

  AARRGGHH!

  He fell to the floor but not before staggering stubbornly.

  “Thanks,” I breathed out, holding on to my badly wounded side.

  It was Tiffany; she had taken my gun from off the floor while Zack and I struggled. She was blowing short like mad. She held her hands over her mouth, surprised at what she had just done. She looked down on Zack, who lay there on the floor in the embrace of his own blood. The sun shades had fallen from off his face. She continued staring at him, puzzled.

  “What is it, Tiffany?”

  She didn't answer.

  “Don't worry, Tiff,” we've gotten the serial killer.”

  She stood still, in total shock.

  “Tiffany,” I pulled. “We've got to get medical help,” I gasped.

  I hopped towards my car while Tiffany held me up. She kept looking back inside my apartment.

  NINETEEN

  ______________________________

  Tiffany

  It had been ten days since they've put away the serial killer, they say. Something however, still seemed wrong. Shock ran throughout my entire body after seeing Zack on the floor in a pool of his own blood. I couldn't believe I had actually shot him. He wasn't the person who attacked me, that I knew for sure. He may have sported a similar haircut and have similar body type but he was not my attacker. I wasn't drunk that night. I didn't even get a chance to drink. I was snatched away from the lounge too early, by the attacker. And there's something Laura needs to know but, how do I even say this to her, without being called awful? This is a secret I must forever keep. Laura had been good to me, and she was a great cop too. I had finally managed to convince her that I would be fine on my own. Westervill had become peaceful, no more gruesome reports of murders or any weird shit like that since Zack was taken in. I had promised Laura I would call her if I ever run into any sort of difficulty. She promised she would be looking out for me like a guardian angel, and this I really appreciated. I really needed to turn my life around, in a moral way.

  I began the quarter mile journey, through the alley, to my apartment. Justin offered me a ride home but I didn't accept, not after knowing how I ran off, leaving him at the lounge. Had he known the true story of my abduction I knew he wouldn't hesitate to call me a bitch. Couldn't blame him though. I had been through a lot; just needed some time alone. Maybe it was too quick but I needed to overcome my phobia of simply living a normal life, thanks to my gruesome ordeal.

  It was mid evening, about 5. Noisy kids in the projects were playing double dutch and a few chains down there were older teenagers flipping over their skateboards so I wouldn't have called this a lonely walk. A car or two even pulled in. And the streets smelled the way they always do, stink. The overburdened garbage bins were a sure sign the garbage truck hadn't been repaired since the last time I slept at my own apartment. It was an ok evening or maybe it was.

  I heard the engine. Yes, other cars may have pulled in but they drove past me. This car in particular growled heavier than the others, confiscating my attention. And I noticed the car stayed right behind me, maintaining a distance not closer than a few brick houses from me. I took a side glance at its large chrome grills and its pair of double headlamps. I hurried on, not that I was necessarily fearful but I needed to pee, to the point where it burnt, down there. My apartment would have been about 8 or nine houses down. Another look behind me I realized that the car was red...and it was a station wagon. It could have been some other red station wagon but I hoofed it faster. I needed to reach home. I could hear my instincts crying out in my head. They told me to run or call Laura. I started running, obeying my sixth sense. The car pulled closer. The heavy breathing of its engine brought my panic on. It was him. My body became washed with cold sweat. I forced my wobbly feet to carry me faster. I pulled my bag and popped my mobile phone out. I needed to call Laura. Luckily I had her number stored as a one-click dial.

  “Tiffany?” Laura answered, in the wink of a second.

  “Laura ––”

  “Tiffany, where are you?”

  Damn it! My mobile phone fell to the ground and so did I. By now everybody else in the alley seemed to have disappeared.

  It was if he had changed gears. The louder engine note spooked the shit out of me. The car roared towards me even as I lay there on the ground. It's not going to stop.

  I tried to roll from its path but I wasn't able to move that quickly. My knee was badly wounded. I held my head. I closed my eyes––

  I heard the BLAM, the ear-deafening noises of shattering windshields.

  His station wagon had actually plowed into Old Mister George's pickup truck. The old man had apparently reversed his pickup truck from seemingly nowhere into the path of the Killer's station wagon.

  “That was a close one', I sighed. “Thanks, Old Mister George, and sorry for ever telling you you're too old to drive that truck,” I gasped, sweat pouring down my eyebrows.

  Still on the ground, reeling from the torturous pain in my knee I saw crumpled bumpers and broken headlamps on the sidewalk. And then I saw his boots coming towards me. I knew I needed to get my arse up, pain or no pain.

  I pulled myself up and started hopping away, at the speed of a turtle.

  “Help me! Someone. Anyone. He's trying to kill me!” I wailed. My mouth went dry and my throat burned. I could hardly hear me.

  KNOCK, KNOCK, I desperately slammed my elbows against the door of this house to my left. I knew the occupants – The Barleys. I figured that was the best place to stop. I did some voluntary work about a year ago for Sergeant Barley. He was a cop. The door opened up; Mrs. Barley stood at the doorway, wearing an apron.

  I took quick deep breaths, trying to calm myself down in order to talk.

  “He's...”

  “He...going to,” I breathed out, “–– kill me,” Mrs. Barley.

  A crease formed between her brows. She turned her nose up. She pulled the apron up over her unkempt brown hair. “Who's going to kill you, child?”

  I turned around, pointing her to the killer, with the cord in his hand, who by now was close to three brick houses away from us. “Him.”

  I heard the thud of her door against the door jam. I heard the click of her lock. I was locked out.

  “Mrs. Barley, don't do this!” I wailed. “He's going to kill me, Mrs. Barley,” I bawled, pounding that blue front door of hers but it would only stare me back, right in my face. The boom, boom, boom from my striking of her door only came back, like a boomerang, sending echoes of distress across my chest.

  I was on my own now. I felt the golden warmth of my own piss along my legs, gluing my stockings to my feet.

  I heard the clip clop of his boots. He was coming. He was relentless. He was ––

  AAAAHHH!

  I felt his strong arm around my neck. And before I knew it I was pulled from the doorstep of Mrs. Barley. I had this familiar feeling – as if my end was near. I tried to breathe, I tried to see. My vision became blurry. He kept pulling.

  “Now, who you going call, Tiffany?” he boasted, pulling his cord from his pocket.

  “Please,” I panted. My throat became so dry, it felt as if it had been slashed already. “Don't harm me. I'll do anything. Name it.”

  “Tiffany, you're overdue. I haven't slashed a single throat for the past, let me see,” he cleared his throat, “week and a half or so
because I so badly needed to kill you.”

  By now the streets looked like a desert but I was hearing the opening and closing of windows and a few curtains popped in houses nearby. Nobody dared coming to my rescue though. Nobody.

  “Leave the woman alone.”

  It was Sergeant Barley; he had just pulled in, from grocery shopping I presumed. I managed to get a glimpse of his brown paper bag that he had rested on the hood of his cherokee. He had his gun pointed at my attacker. Too relieved I became, words couldn't tell. Too happy I was – like a criminal hearing the Not Guilty verdict from a judge. I breathed relief but only too early.

  “Go ahead, shoot!” he jeered the officer, making me his shield. He had his hand around my neck while pinning me so close to him.

  “You better let her go,” Sergeant Barley warned, pointing towards him – us while I was being escorted to the dark lonely lane on the left.

  “Leave us alone, Cop,” he giggled, hauling me through the lonely lane even as I shielded him from a shot from Sergeant Barley.

  *

  “So it's really you, Hoag?”

  He was stopped in his tracks. It was Detective Laura.

  TWENTY

  ______________________________

  Laura

  I pointed my gun towards him while he had Tiffany strapped to his body, a hand around her neck, using her as a shield. So, Zack really wasn't the serial killer then, I said in my mind. But he did try to kill me though. My stomach churned at the sight of Hoag's eyes. They were red enough to light a fire. He really didn't die, a year and a half ago. How he pulled this one off I had not a clue. I really couldn't put anything past this mongrel.

  “I know, right? You thought you killed me, Detective Laura? Nice Try.”

  “I'm sure going to do it this time, Hoag. You better release the woman.”

  By now he was cornered. The sergeant edged closer, pointing his weapon towards Hoag.

  “Come on, let the woman go, rascal,” he commanded, seeming a bit overly excited. He discharged a shot in the air. BANG!

  Hoag then abruptly fired at the sergeant with a luger he popped from his coat. BANG, BANG, BANG!

  His body jerked from each lead until he crash-landed on the pavement, wounded.

  “One down, two more to go,” Hoag giggled, rapidly turning towards me, still clinging to his human shield – Tiffany.

  We aimed at each other. Tiffany panted, standing between us while being held firmly against Hoag.

  “Tiffy, Tiffy, Tiffy, you're my sweetest target. Such a pretty girl. I'm so tempted not to kill you, you know,” he smiled, wiping his tongue along her neck, still pointing that luger towards me. And yes, I still had my gun pointed at him, ready and waiting. He started lugging Tiffany along like grocery, towards this stink abandoned street, still using her as his shield. We still aimed at each other. I followed slowly. I had to bring this bastard down without hurting the innocent – Tiffany.

  “When I'm done with her, then I'm coming for you, Laura.” ♪Revenge time – my favorite time of the year, he sang.

  Nightfall started to cast its shadows; the hour seemed even more desperate.

  ARF, ARF.

  It was the thunderous barks that echoed in the alley from this medium-large breed Doberman Pinscher that had apparently been feasting at the reek garbage dump in the lonely dark alley. Eyes red and dangerous, it wielded fierce teeth as it barked ferociously at Hoag.

  “Git lost, mongrel,” Hoag fanned, still clutching to Tiffany.

  I discharged a bullet into the air. The dog leaped towards Hoag. It took him by the hand.

  AAARRRGHH!

  Hoag wrestled with the berate animal, still clutching his gun.

  “Good for you, Bitch,” I gushed out. “Run Tiffany.”

  AAARRGGGHHH!

  I pulled Tiffany as we ran from the cold dark alley, leaving Hoag to the fate of the doberman.

  “Hurry, Tiffany.” She started limping. “Come, we've got to get you out of here.”

  I popped my phone out and then I dialed for backup, even though I was still on suspension.

  “My knee hurts, Laura.”

  “You'll be fine, hon. Just come with me.”

  * * *

  We turned the corner, after exiting the alley and then immediately I felt as if my hearth was in my mouth. I held on to Tiffany tightly. He stood before us, Hoag. He clutched two weapons, one for each of us, I presumed. My stomach became totally worked up at the way bloody wounds and scratches meandered his face. He looked like a killer doll sporting a bob haircut.

  “Enough of the both of you.”

  We shuffled backward. I shielded Tiffany.

  He cranked the triggers.

  BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!

  Hoag was the one who fell on the pavement after staggering at each shot.

  It was Mrs. Barley, the wife of the wounded sergeant, whom he had sprayed over earlier. “You better make sure my husband don't die,” she blasted, holding on to the gun with trembling hands. She took another glance at Sergeant Barley, on the ground, slowly moving his hand along his wounded side.

  “And Hoag, this one is from me to you,” I offered, pointing my revolver towards his head, while he lay there on the ground.

  BANG, BANG, BANG! His body jerked on the ground at each and every bullet.

  “Don't wish to see you ever again, not even in my dream.”

  We heard the wailing of sirens and the flickering blue lights from the cop cars dazzled our eyes. My superintendent, Sievright, alighted from one of the patrol cars.

  “Laura?”

  “Westervill will be safe again,” I shrugged, walking away from the scene, taking Tiffany along with me.

  TWENTY ONE

  ______________________________

  THE FOLLOWING MORN

  Tiffany

  We threw stones in the pond, causing ripples to swirl. We both had our feet in the water as we sat on the wooden ledge.

  “I'm happy I've met you, Laura,” I said, looking over at her swinging her feet in the water. “I hated cops; that was until I met you, of course.”

  “Same here, kid – nice meeting you.” she giggled, pushing her shoulder-length dark bob-cut hair behind her. “It's always nice having a new friend, Tiffany,” she hugged.

  “Wait, there's something in the water, Laura,” I shouted, looking at the movement of the ripples.

  “Ok, let's get it,” Laura grinned, throwing out her fishing rod.

  “This fish is so small but we could still fry him though,” I giggled.

  We then heard the roar of this engine. It was this shiny red merc, a station wagon, about mid 1980s. It drove past us. The driver was this old woman who seemed to be bringing her husband and their grandkids on a picnic by the lake. It was a nice and sunny evening.

  Laura and I looked at each other.

  “Nah,” we grinned.

  Should I tell her or should I not? Maybe. Maybe not.

  “You know? Laura, there's something I need to tell you,” I breathed out, pausing our happy moment.

  “Tiffany?”

  “Well...” I stuttered.

  “Come on, go ahead girlfriend, what is it?”

  “It's about Zack. I –– went to this party about three months ago...”

  “And?”

  “We met.”

  “Go on, Tiffany.”

  “We had a few drinks and –– we kind of got –– ”

  EPILOGUE

  ______________________________

  BLUE LAGOON

  NASSAU, BAHAMAS

  2 DAYS AFTER.

  Laura

  BAM BAM BAM. I knocked on the door.

  “Hello, who's it?” I heard him calling out from inside the hotel room. I heard his footsteps drumming the floor inside.

  The door opened up. Chase stood there wearing only a towel, tightly wrapped around his waist.

  “Miss me?” I purred.

  “Miss you, of course I missed you, Laura. Where have you been?”r />
  “Calm down, Chase. Why you so nervous?” I giggled.

  “Sugar Pop, you better get your arse inside here and finish what you started.”

  It was her, Rhonda, the woman whom he met at the beach side. She walked out from the bedroom, wearing only tiny black lacy undies on her arse. Her eyes popped wide open when she saw me standing at the front door.

  “Chase?” I blasted. “You didn't tell me there was a prowler in our hotel room?”

  I zipped my handbag open.

  * * * * *

  The End