by Anthony Izzo
Rafferty took a step back. “I’m taking you back to the station, Charles. I want to hear your story, and I mean all of it. If I don’t think you’ve told me everything, I have a Tazer in my office and I can use it on some very unpleasant places on your body. Tell me the truth and we won’t have a problem. Got it?”
Dietrich nodded.
Rafferty motioned him ahead with the revolver, and they headed down the alley.
CHAPTER 3
Jill glanced at Matt as they sped down Elmwood. He narrowed his clear blue eyes and seemed to take aim, as if the car were a torpedo and there was a ship to sink in the road. What if he was a psycho? Nah, he was just wound like a jack-in-the-box after their encounter. So was Jill, the muscles in her neck feeling like tangled barbwire.
Her hand crept down to her belly. The blood had gone sticky in spots and although there was a lot of it, the wound would amount to nothing more than a bad scratch. The shirt, however, was a loss, unless she clipped it and brought it back as a crop top. Or a dust rag.
She took another glance at him. Good-looking in a college boy sort of way. Close-cropped hair, nice flat stomach and a fine set of blue eyes. Looked like a guy who might bag your groceries, help you to the car and say, “Have a good day, ma’am.” Looked innocent enough at first glance.
He peeked in the rearview mirror and braked. She watched the speedometer needle drop from fifty-five to thirty-five. The engine rattled and knocked. The only sound in the car was Jill’s breathing.
“We were a pretty good team back there,” she said.
“I’d say we’d get the gold in the run-for-your-life Olympics.” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “What were you doing out at that hour?”
“Jogging,” she said. “I usually do it in the morning, but today I overslept.”
“It almost cost you your life.”
She couldn’t disagree with him. If he hadn’t shown up when he did, there was no telling what would’ve happened. She had been jogging on Elmwood when she heard the metal door screech and fly open with a bang. A man darted toward her, quicker than she had ever seen someone move. Jill was no slowpoke, but before she knew it, he had his arm across her throat and dragged her into the warehouse. Her throat still felt raw from the attacker’s grip.
“So what happened?”
She told Matt the story, adding, “And when you got there, things started getting weird.”
He looked at her belly. “Do you want me to take you to the hospital for that?”
“Eight hours there was enough.”
He looked at her quizzically and then looked back at the road.
“I’m an R.N. at Lincoln Mercy. We should be taking you there for that ankle. I banged you pretty good with that crowbar.”
A smile curled up at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing that crutches and hours of painful physical therapy won’t cure.”
“That’s rotten,” she said, but laughed anyway. It felt good, drained some of the tension. “You should have yourself checked out. I can go with you and have one of the docs look you over.”
He shook his head. “Hospitals give me the willies.”
“Typical man.”
She gave him directions to her house on Wharton Street.
Normally she would never invite a stranger into her house, but he had helped her out of the worst jam of her life, and he looked like he needed some repair work. A purple-yellow bruise was beginning to swell on his cheek, and she knew his ankle must have been killing him. “At least come upstairs and let me have a look at you. Maybe do a little first aid.”
He shook his head again.
“You sure you won’t let me pay you back? Dressing your wounds is the least I can do for you.”
Matt blew out a stream of air. “I should call my aunt and let her know I’m still alive. Would a free phone call be included in the deal?”
“I think I could manage that. And after you call your aunt, I should call the police. We really should have called already, but—”
“No police,” he said. “Not in this town.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She brushed hair off of her forehead.
“They’re crooked. The chief’s the worst one.”
“I take it you’ve dealt with them before.”
“Yeah. Just let’s leave them out of this, okay? Maybe I can explain it to you some other time.”
That was weird. She hoped that he didn’t have some sort of record, maybe for kidnapping and raping joggers. Looking at him, she dismissed the thought. He looked weary, and incapable of doing her any harm at this moment. There were purple bags under his bloodshot eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well. Maybe he hadn’t. She decided to drop the matter of calling the police for now.
“Can I ask you something? Something weird?”
This night couldn’t get any weirder, she thought.
“Were you dragged into that building by a man?”
“Actually, it was an Ethel Merman impersonator.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah. It was a guy.” Despite her joking, her heart thudded and she could almost feel the guy’s arm tightening across her windpipe. His forearm had been sweaty, and she remembered the slimy dampness of his skin pressed against her throat. “Why do you ask that?”
“Did you see what was chasing us? You had to have heard it.”
“I didn’t get a good look at it, but yeah, I heard it.” She just didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. Things like that could blow holes in the fabric of your sanity. She’d always had a healthy appetite for all kinds of novels, science fiction and horror included. But to think they had been chased by something that should exist only in a movie or a book blew her mind.
“Where are you going with this?” she asked.
“I can’t explain it all right now, just like not calling the cops, but I have my reasons. I want to tell them to you. But not right now. I hope you don’t think I’m nuts,” Matt said.
“A little odd, but not nuts.”
“Did you get a look at the guy?”
“He was tall, blond and pale. For some reason I noticed he had thick lips. Don’t ask me why.”
“It’s funny the things you remember.”
“There was something else about him.”
“What’s that?”
Jill thought about not telling him, thinking that maybe she had imagined it. “He smelled funny. It was almost like, I don’t know—I can’t put my finger on it.” She frowned, frustrated at her inability to describe the odor accurately.
“Like rotten eggs, maybe sulfur?”
“Yeah! When he had me in that armlock, the smell was so strong that my eyes started to water. How did you know that?”
He watched the road.
They approached the corner of Wharton and Elmwood. It was nearly midnight and the pizzeria on the corner was still open. A white sign with purple letters proclaimed PIZZA MAGIC: WHEN ORDINARY PIZZA ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH. Next to the lettering was a cartoon chef complete with a floppy hat and curly mustache drawn over his lip. A few teenagers stood at the pinball machines, swerving and juking as if body English would influence the little silver ball.
Matt still wasn’t talking. He had insider knowledge and didn’t want to give it up. He would, Jill vowed silently.
“You know something about what was in that warehouse, and I wish you’d tell me. I’m having trouble accepting the fact that we might have been chased by the bogeyman—I think if I admit it to myself I might go a little bonkers. At least if you admit it too then maybe I’m only half a crackpot.”
“Not right now,” he repeated.
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Promise? I know we barely know each other, but we need to talk about this,” she said.
“I promise.”
They turned down Wharton, drove under the canopy of leaves created by the maples that lined the street. She told him to start slowing down and pointed out her house. Like most
of the houses on the street, Jill’s was a double, with a large porch upstairs and down. He turned into her driveway.
Faintly, in the distance, she heard a howl. Maybe just a neighborhood dog, but maybe not.
“Let’s hurry and get upstairs,” Jill said.
“I heard it too.”
The two of them got out of the car; Matt went around the rear of the Cavalier and opened the trunk.
“What’re you doing?” she said.
“Do you mind if I change clothes? I can’t go to my aunt’s looking like this.”
She said she didn’t mind, because he looked like he had just fought the Third World War and lost single-handedly. His T-shirt was torn and smeared with dirt; his hands were covered with dust and grime.
After pulling his suitcase out of the rental, he slammed the trunk and followed Jill up the front steps. She produced a single key from the pocket of her running shorts, opened the door, and flicked on the foyer light. There were two doors in front of them; Jill explained that the one on the right led to the downstairs apartment, which was vacant right now.
He followed her through the door on the left and went upstairs to her apartment.
Jill went around and turned on the lights. There were cardboard boxes lying around, some marked BOOKS and others KITCHEN. A laundry bag with a white shirt poking out of it lay slumped in the corner of the dining room.
“Excuse the mess. I’m still in the middle of unpacking, as if you couldn’t tell.”
She went over to the answering machine and pressed the Play button. Matt didn’t listen to the content of the message but the woman had a shrill, nasally voice. Jill explained with a sigh, “It’s my mother calling to check up on me. “Sit down. Want a Coke or something?”
“Coke sounds good.”
He limped into the living room and sat on the couch, his ankle throbbing the whole time. Jill had three big oak bookcases in the living room, two flanking the fireplace and one on the wall near the door to the upstairs porch. He scanned the titles and saw a who’s who of popular fiction: Dean Koontz, Janet Evanovich, James Patterson, and a few Stephen King titles. There was also a book of poetry by Robert Frost and a collection of short stories by Edgar Allen Poe.
“Nice collection of books,” he said, raising his voice so she could hear.
“Surprised?” she asked from the kitchen.
“Not really.”
“Most guys assume because you’re a woman that all you read is Danielle Steele and Judith Krantz.”
He heard an ice cube tray being bent and cracked. Then he heard her digging in the cupboard for something and heard it clang as she pulled it out.
She walked into the living room carrying a tray with two cans of Coca-Cola and two glasses filled with ice. There were also two folded dishrags that looked suspiciously lumpy, and he knew she had made makeshift ice packs.
“Be right back.” She disappeared through a hallway that ran off the dining room.
While he waited, he surveyed the living room and noticed a picture on the mantle. It was a young Jill flanked by a man and rather dour-looking woman. The man was tall with thick chestnut hair and was handsome enough to be in the movies.
The woman was dark-haired, with an Elmer’s glue complexion and puffy purple circles under her eyes. She looked like she’d been pretty at one time and either time or a hard life had caught up with her.
He didn’t see a picture of a boyfriend, and that was a good thing. Jumping from city to city didn’t make for long-term relationships with women. But if he got to know Jill, who knew what could happen?
She reappeared from the hallway, carrying a box of gauze, Band-Aids, a bowl of water and a tube of Neosporin. A washcloth completed her homemade first-aid kit.
“Take your shoe off.”
Matt leaned forward, untied the sneaker and pulled it off slowly. Then he pulled his sock off and rested his foot on the table. “I feel sorry for your table.”
“Don’t worry about being embarrassed. I’m a nurse. Besides, right now I don’t smell like a peach tree either. Now off with the sneaker.”
He looked at the ankle and saw it hadn’t swollen. He had expected it to look like someone had stuck a balloon under the skin and inflated it.
“We should really get you some X-rays,” Jill mused.
“No hospital.”
She frowned at him, giving him the same look that a mother might give a petulant child who refuses to take medicine. Shaking her head, she took an ice pack off of the tray, sat on the table and put the pack on his ankle. He flinched a little at the cold, but then it felt mercifully cool on top of the pain.
She poured the Cokes, handed him one and joined him on the couch. While he drank, she tended to his wounds, washing out the cut on his face and applying a Band-Aid. He sipped his Coke and it felt icy cold to his parched throat. Matt was surprised she had let him up here considering she’d almost been killed by a stranger. It had been a long time since he had felt a woman’s touch and it felt good. At the moment, it wasn’t erotic or sexual, but comforting. Her hands were soft, the skin cool, and she touched him with the delicacy only a woman possessed.
Jill asked him a few questions (how many fingers am I holding up, what day is it, do you know where you are?) and concluded that he probably didn’t have a concussion but told him he should go to the ER anyway. Again he refused. He noticed she had tended to her own wound while in the bathroom with a piece of gauze and some tape. The torn shirt remained.
“Why are you doing all this for me?” he asked.
“You saved my life.”
“Something tells me you can handle yourself pretty well. Maybe you wouldn’t have needed my help.”
“Trust me, that guy was quick. I didn’t stand a chance without a helping hand,” she said. “And you gave it to me.”
“But you don’t even know me. What if I’m really a serial killer or a rapist or some other kind of freak?”
“I don’t think many serial killers have rushed into dark warehouses and tried to stop a woman from being assaulted. Besides, it’s my nature to help people.
“Take these,” she said, producing two Motrin. “They’re not as good as the prescription kind, but they’ll help. I imagine you’re going to be one hurting puppy in the morning.”
“Don’t remind me.”
For a moment, he thought about what happened in the warehouse and whether he should tell her what he knew and how much danger she might be in, but decided against it. If he spilled his guts right away to her about Lincoln’s secret, she would think him a crackpot for sure.
“That thing in the warehouse gave me the creeps. Must’ve been some sort of animal that got loose.”
He agreed with her for the sake of argument, but he didn’t think that she believed her own statement. He didn’t know any animal that frequented warehouses and made shrieking noises like the thing at Folsom did.
“Do you mind if I use the phone?”
“Be my guest. I’ll bring you the cordless from the dining room.”
She got up off the couch a little gingerly and went into the dining room to retrieve the phone. As he waited for her to come back, he pondered how to explain his tardiness to his aunt.
It turned out Dietrich was being a good little suspect after all.
After arriving at headquarters, Rafferty led him into the back entrance to the police station and down into the holding cell area. As he passed the holding cells, he saw Hamil flat on his back, snoring. That was good.
Now they were in a small room at the far end of the cell block. It had a thick steel door and Rafferty had lined the walls with foam rubber to dampen the sound. A rectangular table and two chairs sat in the center of the room. Dietrich sat in one of the chairs, naked and handcuffed.
Rafferty left him that way because it made a man feel more vulnerable, less likely to give him any shit when he wanted questions answered.
So far, Dietrich had told him he had broken into the Folsom warehouse looking to boo
st something to sell for smack. He had smelled the woman coming down the road, her scent carried by the hot breeze. Becoming excited, he smashed the locks on the door, cracked it open and waited for her to pass the warehouse.
“So you grabbed this woman and decided to have a little fun with her, am I right?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d she look like?”
“About five-six, curly dark hair, light eyes. Killer body. Made her tell me her name. I think it was Jill.” Dietrich wriggled and his moist skin squeaked against the chair.
“You got her in the warehouse, right?”
“Right.”
“And then what?”
“I got her inside and started to get, you know, more aroused. And then the Change happens. While I’m going through that shit, she breaks free and runs.”
“And?”
“I climbed up on the racks. I wanted to have a little fun with her, you know, hunt her without her seeing me.”
“Draw it out, in other words. A little cat and mouse.”
“Yeah. You got it. Pretty good, huh?”
Rafferty stood up, pushed his chair away and backhanded Dietrich across the face.
“Ow, what the fuck!”
“I’ll tell you what the fuck. The Harvest is in two months and everyone knows the rules. No kills four months before the Harvest.”
“I wasn’t going to kill her,” Dietrich protested.
“Bullshit. You were out of control—once you got the scent of her you knew what would’ve happened.”
Dietrich pouted, blood dribbling from his swollen lower lip.
“Any idea who this girl was?”
“No. Never seen her before. Why?”
“Because I’m gonna pay her a visit if I can find out who she is. Check her out. Maybe save her for myself when Harvest time comes. You said her name was Jill?”
Maybe the new girl in town that the old woman called about.
“Yeah. Can I go now?”
“Yeah. But you spread the word among your lowlife friends that I want no hunting or killing before Harvest. Anyone that does will deal with me. Got it?”
Dietrich nodded.
Rafferty unlocked his cuffs and the naked man stood up.