by Brian Shea
Watching someone who doesn’t know they’re being watched is always fascinating. A person’s truest self is exposed during those moments when they think they’re alone. What if someone were watching me? What would they see?
The bearded man walked on toward an alleyway that was poorly lit. He paused only briefly to warm himself on the steam spewing up from a sewer grate. Then he disappeared back into the shadowy recesses of the narrow space between the closed shops.
Following someone who doesn’t know they’re being followed is a thrill in and of itself. Following the bearded man was more of a challenge because of the deserted street. Movement can be masked in a crowd, but much more difficult absent of such. It’s essential to move quickly once committed. With speed comes noise and therefore it has to be tempered with external conditions. The wind proved to be an ally and its wild gusts masked each pursuing step. The light of the street no longer captured the bearded man’s silhouette as the Ferryman slipped into the pitch blackness of the alley.
The vagrant was balancing on his tip toes hunched over an open dumpster, examining the object of his treasure hunt. The Ferryman stood directly behind the unaware man, absorbing the seemingly timelessness that existed before the chaos. His left hand rubbed the coin, a reminder of purpose.
Less than a foot away the knife slipped silently out from the tightly strapped, worn marbled leather of the sheath. The force of the first blow buried the blade deep between the cockroach’s lower ribs and drove upward until the hilt’s contact with the man’s flesh stopped the momentum.
The Ferryman anticipated the man’s reaction as he grabbed at the first wound. The blade had already been torn free and the whistling wheeze indicated the lung’s puncture, reducing the stabbed man’s scream to a raspy hiss.
The bearded man spun to face his attacker, his eyes widened in terror. The Ferryman seized this opportunity. The second thrust of the blade struck hard into the man’s neck. Horror gave way to shock, his legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.
Watching someone as they take their last breath is unlike anything else. So unique that most people have never experienced the twisted magic wherein life transitions into death. The beauty is that each person accepts death differently. The Ferryman watched as the man died, absorbing the elixir of the last seconds of anguish. The Ferryman inhaled deeply, imaging he was taking in the dead man’s essence. Soul eating.
The man on the ground twitched, his right hand clawed hard into the cracked concrete of the alley floor, and then all movement faded away. His yellowed beard was now dark with his blood. The gloved hand of the Ferryman spread open the dry, cracked lips of the dead man and placed the coin under his tongue.
The ritual complete, the Ferryman walked back into the light.
I am good. I am better. Without me they’d be lost. I carry them away.
I am the Ferryman.
13
Nick sat at his kitchen table. He looked at the clock. It read 7:30 a.m. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to get a fresh perspective on yesterday’s events. The clock clicked, taunting him with each passing second. He picked up his phone to call Anaya. She was an early riser too, and he wanted to make sure that she’d settled in.
He’d never worried about her before, but with a baby on the way he was suddenly filled with a constant sense of worry. Izzy’s death was a tragic reminder of how life can change in the blink of an eye.
A knock at the door disrupted his train of thought. He grabbed his pistol from the counter near the sink and bootlegged it behind his back. He didn’t think a serial killer would come knocking, but at this point in his life he didn’t know what to expect. He peered through the peephole.
He would’ve been as surprised to see the killer as he was to see Cheryl Simmons standing on his stoop looking around nervously. She stood holding a recycled gray cardboard tray containing two Starbucks cups.
Nick stuffed the Glock into the rear waistline of his jeans and opened the door, hugging himself against the cold that was as unwelcome as his visitor.
“Before you say a damn thing, I want you to know that what I did last night was the right thing. I needed to see you face to face. I needed to see your answers to those very simple questions,” Simmons said.
“Did I not answer them to your liking? Why are you here?” Nick said, making no attempt to hide his annoyance.
“I’ve been here all night.”
“You’ve been here all night? What the hell is wrong with you?” Nick asked.
“I had to be sure.”
“Be sure of what?” Nick asked.
“That it wasn’t you,” Simmons said.
“I waited as long as I could before waking you. By the looks of it I could’ve come earlier,” Simmons said shivering subtly. “Are you going to let me in?”
Nick didn’t respond.
“Listen, I brought coffee as a peace offering.”
Nick reached out and accepted the cup, whose warmth could be felt through the corrugated cardboard sleeve. He tipped the cup in her direction, giving an indication of the possibility of a truce, and stepped back from the threshold allowing her to enter.
“What do you mean you had to be sure it wasn’t me?” Nick asked.
“I’ve had a theory for a long time now that Ferryman is in our line of work. A cop, agent, someone who knows how we operate. Someone who can manipulate the system.”
“And you thought that someone was me?”
“It would’ve been a pretty smart move for the killer to name himself in a message. It would derail most investigators,” Simmons said.
“Then why are you brining me coffee?”
“Because it’s not you,” Simmons said bluntly before taking a sip from her cup.
“How do you know that?”
“The Ferryman claimed another victim last night. And because I sat outside your apartment and know that you never left.”
Nick walked into the kitchen and dumped two heaping scoops of sugar into his cup, pondering what she’d said.
“Why not just let me stay in Connecticut? If there was another murder while I was away, then it would’ve given you the answer without dragging me across the country and away from people who need me,” Nick said. The embers of last night’s interrogation started to burn again, and he fought to quell his urge to yell.
“I thought about it, but there is another reason I brought you back.”
“I can’t wait to hear,” Nick said sarcastically.
“The Ferryman has picked you. Taken an interest in you. If you weren’t the killer, then I figured maybe I could use it to my advantage.”
“So, what now? I’m now your bait?” Nick asked.
“Looks that way to me,” Simmons replied.
Nick said nothing and took the opportunity to gulp the sugary liquid, letting it burn its way down.
“It’s only happened one time before,” Simmons said.
Nick noted the seriousness in her tone. “And who was that lucky person?”
“Me.”
“Shit.”
“It started with a simple message, and then it got personal,” Simmons said.
“Personal how?” Nick said.
“He came after my family,” Simmons said, breaking eye contact.
“Jesus. What happened?” Nick asked, concern ebbing from his words.
“My parents. The sick bastard killed my parents.” Simmons’s eyes watered as she spoke, causing them to shimmer more brightly.
Nick noticed that without the false bravado and pit-bull attitude, Simmons was stunning. The subtle humanity evident in her reaction at mention of the death of her parents instantly changed his opinion of her. He didn’t pity her but could empathize. And from that understanding, Nick realized that he had a new-found respect for Cheryl Simmons.
“Well, your forcefulness with regard to this case makes a hell of a lot more sense to me now,” Nick said.
“I’ve been close before, but then poof. Nothing. Completely off the grid un
til now,” Simmons said.
“Why now? And why me?” Nick asked.
“Wish I knew. That’s the million-dollar question.”
“What’s next?”
“I’m glad you asked… partner,” Simmons said, giving a half-cocked smile.
“Partner?”
“You and I are gonna be besties!” Simmons said, flicking her hair with feigned enthusiasm.
“I’ve got a ton of case work. I can’t just up and leave my victims hanging while I run off to chase a ghost.”
“You’re officially reassigned.”
“Reassigned? I don’t work murders, especially not serial cases,” Nick pleaded.
“Not that much different than sex crimes except for the bodies.”
“If this guy targeted your family, what’s to say he won’t come after mine?” Nick asked.
Simmons dipped her head and broke eye contact with Nick.
“I agree, it’s a real problem. We need to get a protective detail assigned to your closest family members,” Simmons said seriously.
“My girlfriend is in Michigan. She just got there yesterday. I should fly out to be with her, so I can keep her safe,” Nick said. His mind raced to find acceptable solutions.
“Not sure that’s a wise move. If the Ferryman’s sights are on you, it’s not going to matter where you go. At least here, we can throw more assets at the problem. Best bet is to get her back here as soon as possible. In the meantime, I can coordinate with the Detroit field office to get a security detail to post on her up until then. Any other family close?”
“My mother. She’s at Pine Woods. It’s a retirement community not too far from here. She’s in a ward designed to handle late-stage Alzheimer’s.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Most of those facilities are relatively secure. We can probably get local support for that. Anyone else?” Simmons asked.
“That’s it. My father and brother are deceased.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Nick didn’t like to talk about that part of his life. Patrick’s suicide had left a hole that time had failed to heal. Izzy had been the only one he’d confided in. That was, of course, until Anaya came along.
“I’ve got to call Anaya,” Nick said, grabbing his cellphone off the table. “She’s got to know what we’re up against.”
“I’ll give you some privacy. When you’re done meet me in the car.”
“Okay,” Nick said.
“We’ve got a crime scene to work. Partner,” Simmons said, closing the door behind her.
14
“Here she comes,” Cavanaugh said.
“The sexy redhead?” Ed Spangler asked, looking up from a squatting position.
“Trust me, once she speaks you’ll see there’s nothing sexy about that woman at all.”
“We’ll see about that,” Spangler said.
Nick followed behind Simmons as she entered the alleyway, crossing under the yellow Police - Do Not Cross tape. Any time Nick moved past the onlookers and onto a scene, he couldn’t help feeling that it was like being a VIP to the macabre. Or, as he had bluntly put it many times before, the front row seats to the freak show.
A short potbellied man with a high forehead and glasses stood up. He removed his purple latex gloves and tossed them into an open bucket marked Disposal. He adjusted himself, tucking his unkempt shirttail into his wrinkled khakis. He reached his hand out to Simmons. She accepted it, and the stout man shook it vigorously.
“Ed Spangler, Crime Scene. The big guy here says you’re running the show,” Spangler said, breaking the handshake and thumbing back at Cavanaugh.
Nick looked on as Spangler barely took notice of him. Cheryl definitely caused a distraction to the team working the scene. Spangler looked starstruck. He was surprised the ogling wasn’t followed by howling catcalls and whistling.
“Ed, nice to meet you face to face. I didn’t get a chance to see you at the motel. But I did see the report you drafted and your summation of the scene. Solid work,” Simmons said.
It was as if Heidi Klum had leaned in and given him a kiss. Spangler’s face flushed at the compliment.
“Cavanaugh, you said she was a real bitch. She’s seems really nice to me,” Ed said over his shoulder to the enormous, now mortified, Homicide detective.
“What? I never—. Ed you son of a—,” Cavanaugh stammered.
“No. He’s right. I can come off as a real b-i-t-c-h. Isn’t that right?” Simmons said looking at Nick.
Nick gave an exaggerated nod emphasized with a wide roll of his eyes. “You have no idea.”
“Meet my new partner, Nick Lawrence,” Simmons said.
“We know Nick. He’s been basically slumming with us city guys off and on for years. We told him he’s too ugly to be in the Bureau,” Cavanaugh chided.
“Someone’s got to keep you guys in line,” Nick jested.
“What’s Jones going to say when he hears that you’re cheating on his large brisket-loving ass for a redhead?” Cavanaugh boomed.
Nick gave a wide smile.
“Well, now that all that’s out of the way, what’ve we got?” Simmons asked.
“This fella here had a bad night of dumpster diving,” Spangler said. “It looks like a couple of alley cats got the best of him.”
Nick gave a tired smile at the weak joke. He was sure Spangler had used some variant of it on every new face arriving at the scene.
“Two puncture wounds. One lower right ribcage. The second, left side of the neck. The neck wound was the fatal one. Early guesswork would be middle of the night. Hard to tell until the M.E. gets him on the table,” Cavanaugh said.
“So, we are assuming knife? Any reason to think otherwise?” Simmons asked.
“It’d be my guess. The size of the wounds would be consistent with that,” Spangler said.
Simmons walked closer and gave a quick once over, looking down on the dead man. She turned back toward the group.
“Let my partner see the token,” Simmons said.
Nick gloved up, putting two gloves over each hand. His big hands tested the limits of the latex’s elasticity, indicated by the faded white stretched across the ridges of his knuckles.
“We’ve already done photos, and everything’s been tagged for collection. Just watch your step,” Spangler said.
“It’s in the mouth,” Cavanaugh said.
Nick took up the same position Spangler had been in when they first arrived. He squatted down next to the head of the dead man. The bearded jaw was already open. Nick balanced his forearms on his knees and leaned in, hovering close to the man’s mouth.
He peered closely. Amidst the sea of rotten teeth, he saw the circular metal shape buried underneath the corpse’s twisted tongue. Nick stood and the rush of blood in his legs caused him to wobble.
Nick looked at Simmons who was staring at him intently. The potential that this killer was coming for him, for his family, shook him to the core. He blew out the tension with a loud exhale.
“Two bodies in less than a week. It’s never happened this quickly before. I’ve never seen the deaths timed so close together,” Simmons said.
“What do you think it means?” Nick asked solemnly.
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s mad or really trying hard to get your attention.” Simmons turned toward the street.
“Well, he’s got it now,” Nick said, looking back down at the body of the homeless man.
“One thing I do know is that we better get our asses in gear and find this guy before the next body drops,” Simmons said.
Nick stripped off the gloves and tossed them into the bucket. Even in the cold of the morning, his hands were now slick with sweat.
“Don’t worry boys, the bitch is leaving.” Simmons cast a glance at the large detective. “Cavanaugh, I’ll be checking in later.”
Nick tried to shrug off the awkward departure, giving Cavanagh and Spangler a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders as he hustled after Simmons.
15
“I understand why you’re here, but can you make yourself a little less visible?” Anaya asked, leaning into the window of the unmarked Michigan State Police vehicle.
“I’ll do the best I can, but I’ve got orders to maintain eyes on you and the house at all times. Rules are rules,” the trooper replied.
“I know. It’s just the little girl over there has been through a lot, and I want to minimize any unnecessary judgement from neighbors. She’s trying to start a new life here.”
Anaya looked back at Mouse who sat on the stoop of the front door petting her golden lab. She couldn’t help but be amazed at the child’s resilience. The trauma she’d faced would’ve crippled most people, but Mouse was not most people. Anaya’s goal was to make sure that she got a chance at normalcy, a chance for her to be a child. Seeing her now gave her hope that this was becoming a reality.
The trooper grunted his reluctance but caved to Anaya’s request. “I’ll move down the street a bit. I guess there isn’t really another approach to the house except by boat, so it should be all right.”
“Thank you. It will only be a few more days until I leave. I really appreciate you looking out for us,” Anaya said.
She turned and began walking up the white stone driveway of Mouse’s new home. The house was set back from the road and nestled against the expansive ice-covered Lake Huron. From certain angles, when looking out from inside the spacious open layout of the house, it appeared to be floating on the water. Anaya smiled broadly, pleased with herself for getting Mouse to this destination. It couldn’t have been a better location to begin life anew. She thought of how Nick almost gave his life making sure this little girl would have a chance. She loved that man without reservation. She knew that he’d put as much into raising his own child who was growing inside her.
Her contentment was interrupted by the muffled chime of her phone penetrating the thick lining of her heavy winter coat pocket.