A Long December

by Richard Chizmar

  And then, almost overnight, the pain doubled. Then tripled.

  And then it got so bad that he started to cry—something she had never seen before. Not when his mother died, not when they first learned about the cancer. Never.

  So the doctors had immediately injected him with the heavy stuff…

  …and most of the pain had gone away…

  …almost overnight, just as fast as it had come, it had gone away…

  …and her husband had gone away with it.

  Now he sleeps most of the time.

  And when he is awake—well, it isn’t much different than when he’s still sleeping. Or at least it seems that way to her. His eyes are so milky and unfocused, he barely moves a finger, he doesn’t talk…

  She feels miserable and guilty for thinking this way. Of course, she’s glad he no longer feels the pain. Of course, she’s grateful to the doctors for making him so much more comfortable.

  But God, she can’t help it—she misses his voice, his laugh, his charm; she misses the way he once looked at her.

  Without those things, she is not only afraid, she is all alone.

  She slides the ring onto his finger and closes his hand into a fist. His fingers are skinny and gnarled—like an old man’s—and she’s worried that the ring will fall off. Tumble down to the floor and no one will find it.

  She lets go of his hand and stares at it for a long moment, then walks over to the window.

  It’s almost midnight and a full moon is shining far away in the distance, coating the trees with a silver luster, making everything look wet and slick like just after a rainfall.

  She parts the curtains slightly and a sliver of moonbeam enters the room.

  She looks at her bag on the floor. Thinks about the letters and the photos inside. Wonders why she didn’t leave the bag in the car.

  She knows she’s stalling, but she can’t help it.

  She turns and looks into the shadows: at the blinking machines and the tangle of tubes and the clear, dripping bag with the big red sticker that reads: CHEMO: Do Not Handle Without Protective Gloves.

  She stares at the man she loves so dearly, the only man she has ever loved.

  Thirty-four years of life and he’s been there over half of them, she thinks.

  Just you and me against the world, kiddo…

  She puts her hand inside her jacket pocket.

  Walks to his bedside and leans over.

  Kisses his sweaty forehead.

  Closes her eyes and whispers: “I’ll forever love you, my darling.”

  And her words will live in this room forever.

  She places the gun to his forehead and makes good on her promise.

  There’s a sudden explosion of sound and light, and she falls hard to the floor.

  She looks up involuntarily and shudders.

  And then, for the first time in all their years together, she breaks her word to him. She opens her mouth wide, slides the cold barrel inside and pulls the trigger.

  A promise kept.

  A promise broken.

  And the unending silence of night.

  The Night Shift

  “Hey, where the hell you been? I’ve been calling…”

  “Traffic was a friggin’ mess. Backed up halfway down the interstate. And I left the phone at home in my other jacket. My kid finds it sitting there, he’ll be calling cross-country again. Cost me a fortune.”

  “You’re a cop. Haul his ass in.”

  “I might just have to when the bill shows up. You shoulda seen last month’s.”

  “You do it. Scare him a little. Teach him to respect authority and all that jazz.”

  “Yeah, right. Respect authority, just like your kid, huh? Mr. I-Got-

  Busted-My-First-Week-At-College-For-Smoking-Dope.”

  “Hey now…you know damn well he said he wasn’t the one smoking it.”

  “I know, I know, he was innocent as a newborn and he didn’t even inhale the second hand smoke.”

  “Let’s just drop it, okay, Logan? Anyway, we got a bad one in there tonight. Real bad. You hear?”

  “Yep. Thompson was out there in the parking lot doing his usual routine. Eyes big like silver dollars, face all red and sweaty, talking faster than a preacher on speed. He put on a helluva show.”

  “You gotta admit, he’s got reason this time. How much he tell you? Jesus, partner, this one’s bad…”

  “Hey, Ben, I just thought of something. Why no press in on this thing? They should be all over this—”

  “And they will be. Give it another hour or two and that parking lot’ll be packed. The thing went down real quiet. Middle of the day. Everyone’s at work, at school. Team was in and out in less than an hour. No leaks yet, I guess.”

  “They’re still over there, huh?”

  “Where? The house, you mean?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Oh yeah, they’ll be there thru the night, I bet. Bennie from Morning said it was like a House of Horrors. Like something from one of those true crime books he’s always reading.”

  “Press’ll love this shit.”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “I guess they’re keeping a real low profile at the house. Maybe we’ll sneak over that way later tonight. Take a look around for ourselves.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “The plot thickens.”

  “Huh?”

  “The story gets worse.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The strange grows even stranger—”

  “Dammit, Logan, just spit it out if you got something to tell me. I got paperwork to do and—”

  “I just got off the phone with Jerry Hammond’s kid. He works over the lab—”

  “I know where he works.”

  “Well, he said something pretty darn weird to me.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Well, he said there was something wrong with one of those heads they found.”

  “Something wrong with it? No shit, Sherlock, it was cut clean off.”

  “Nope, that ain’t it.”

  “Tell me then, dammit. What’d he say was wrong with it? What’s so weird about the head they found?”

  “He said it ain’t exactly human.”

  “Jesus, you get a look at it? A close look?”

  “The head?”

  “No, the foot. The hand. Yes, the damn head! Thing was creepy as hell.”

  “Yeah, I checked it out. It was…interesting.”

  “Interesting? You call that thing interesting…hell, you’re just as nuts as the sicko who did it, if you think that thing’s interesting.”

  “It is though. You saw it.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s interesting, partner. We got us a freak living two streets down from an elementary school, he goes out and kills seven people over a fifteen month period and this is the first we catch a sniff. I mean, Jesus, we get lucky on a damn traffic stop and catch the guy. Freak’s got heads stuffed in an old freezer in his basement. Body parts in the garage. And then this damn thing…whatever the hell you wanna call it.”

  “It’s a head.”

  “Not like any head I’ve ever seen.”

  “Still a head though.”

  “I guess so, you wanna get technical about it. I ain’t trying to argue here.”

  “Gotta admit, it is interesting.”

  “I don’t give a flying fart what you think. I think it’s weird, and I think it’s sick.”

  “No need to argue about it.”

  “How big you think that thing was?”

  “The head?”

  “Yeah, the head, dammit. Don’t start that shit again.”

  “Hammonds said it was seventeen-and-a-half inches top to bottom. Don’t remember how wide he said it was.”

  “Thing was huge, I know that much. And creepy as hell. You see the mouth, those weird teeth? And those crazy eyes? Weren’t shaped like no eyes I’ve ever seen. And just what in blue blazes were those things on the b
ack of the head?”

  “Couldn’t really tell.”

  “Did you look?”

  “Yeah, I looked. But his hair was still half-frozen all crazy like that and—”

  “You know what they looked like, don’t you?”

  “I’m not gonna say.”

  “C’mon, you saw, you know as well as I do.”

  “Maybe…but I’m still not gonna say.”

  “Why? You scared? You scared to say what they looked like?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “I’m stuffed.”

  “Me too.”

  “Can’t eat another bite.”

  “Same here.”

  “You wanna head on over to the house?”

  “Your call. What time you got?”

  “Just past midnight. Hey, where’s your watch?”

  “My kid borrowed it for the prom last weekend. Lost it.”

  “Jesus.”

  “You’re not kidding. That was a good watch.”

  “Big-time detective like you needs a watch. How you gonna log in all that paperwork you don’t know what time to put on the form?”

  “How about I just borrow yours?”

  “Ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Hell, I knew that. Okay, let’s get outta here. The house or the station?”

  “Ahh, let’s head on in, I guess. I got a lotta—”

  “Paperwork.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Hey, Logan, the Captain wants to talk to us. In his office. Right now.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh is right. And it gets worse. I think I saw some Feds in there with him.”

  “Jesus.”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “Now that was weird.”

  “You’re not kidding. Weirdest thing I ever been a part of.”

  “Hell yes it was. Me too.”

  “Straight outta that show The X-Files or something.”

  “That’s exactly what I was gonna say.”

  “Great minds think alike, I guess.”

  “I mean, Jesus, what’s the odds of that? A freak goes out and kills seven people, stuffs their heads in a freezer and one of ’em turns out to be—”

  “A million-to-one, partner. A million-to-one.”

  “Gotta admit what they said in there gave me the creeps big-time. Never heard anything like it. And to think…that thing was just walking around here…man, that’s nothing I want to think about, must less talk about. Hell, I was happy to sign those papers.”

  “Me too.”

  “Captain said we all gotta sign ’em. Almost twenty of us. You think anyone’ll bitch?”

  “I dunno. You never know with some guys. But they won’t if they’re smart. Those guys in there looked pretty damn serious.”

  “You bet they are.”

  “Besides, what’s the point in bitching?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Hey, you hungry?”

  “Christ, Ben, we just ate.”

  “That was almost three hours ago.”

  “How you know? You ain’t even got a watch.”

  “I just looked at yours.”

  “Well, you can stop staring at my wrist, thank you very much. Just ask me what time it is from now on like a normal person would. Next damn thing you know, you’ll be trying to hold my hand.”

  “Jesus, c’mon, Benny, my stomach’s growling.”

  “You’re a sick puppy.”

  “I’m a hungry puppy is what I am.”

  “Alright, alright, lemme grab my hat, it’s gettin’ cold out there.”

  “Meet you in the parking lot?”

  “Give me five minutes. Gotta pee.”

  “Pizza?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE

  Fingers of dense fog caressed the shadow that emerged from the abandoned rowhouse. Across the street, two drunks scuttled into an alleyway, oblivious to the miserable cold and wind and the sudden appearance of the mysterious figure. A wall of gray mist immediately swallowed them, muffling their footfalls, erasing their existence.

  The shadow moved silently across the littered walkway, its face shifting with a subtle metamorphosis. Arrogance, loathing, and disdain bled away like flowing lava; quickly replaced by a mask of compassion, tenderness, and understanding.

  The facade, uncomfortable though necessary, fit like a favorite glove. The face, once gaunt and callous, was now chubby—even cherubic. The face wasn’t pretty or pleasing to the eye, wasn’t meant to be; but it exuded a vulnerability that cried out for protection against a hostile world. It was the desired effect.

  A full moon watched the shadow’s progress from above, its brilliant luster defeated in the heavy fog. The night phantom crossed yet another filthy intersection, gazed skyward. Another change would soon come; a change once dreaded more than anything, but now welcomed like the winter’s first snowfall.

  The boy—he’d been on the street for three years now and considered himself a man, but was nonetheless barely sixteen—sat shivering in the back seat of the police car. Earlier in the evening, juiced up on crack, he’d wandered down a side alley, a shortcut to a friend’s house. He’d heard someone screaming up ahead of him, the most awful screaming he’d ever heard, and in the heavy fog that had enveloped the city, he was certain he’d seen two people struggling. Instinctively, he’d turned tail. Hauled ass. Ran headlong into a patrol car responding to an anonymous call, and here he sat, a prime suspect.

  He lowered his head, feigning sleep, as he listened to the detective and the beat cop who’d grabbed him.

  “No way the kid could’ve done that,” the detective said. He was a fat, ugly man. His face all flab and scar tissue. Oddly though, in stark contrast, he spoke with a soft, almost melodic voice. The boy didn’t know why, but he sure liked the sound of it.

  “He’s strung out on crack,” the cop said. “You can’t predict what they’ll do when they’re on that stuff. And he was fleeing from the scene.” In comparison, the cop was handsome and young. Very young.

  “Scared away, more like it. I wish we could arrest him and wrap it up, but it’s more complicated than that.”

  “More complicated?” the cop asked.

  “Looks like the victim was attacked by a pack of wild dogs or something. Chunks of meat gouged from his neck and torso. No way Junior over there could have inflicted those wounds without being covered with blood.”

  “But the kid’s on crack, sir—”

  “Ahh, fuck the crack, will ya? Not a speck of blood on him. Nothing.” The detective started pacing. “No way we can take the easy way out on this one. Trust me, I wish we could. But there’re other factors involved. And besides, that stiff ain’t no John Doe. It’s Judge Langford. Judge Miller Langford.”

  “Jesus,” the cop whispered. “What was he doing out walking on a night like this? Shit, I’d have thought he’d be all cozy cruising around in a limousine or something.”

  “Don’t read the papers much, do you, son?” It was a statement, not a question. The detective was a street-wise veteran. Close to fifty, he had two dozen years under his belt, along with too much booze and too much pasta. He used his hand to rid his thick gray hair of a sheen of rain.

  “The good judge helped deliver food to the homeless,” he continued. “You know, the ones who pollute the streets rather than hole up in a shelter. Went out twice a month; just him and another volunteer. Way I figure it, he’d finished up for the night and was on his way home. It’s only two blocks away, you know. Decided to cut through the alley to save time and ran into a pack of street dogs. Trust me, the only perp we’re going to get from this is one who barks.”

  The cop laughed, adjusted his cap. “What about the kid’s story? He said he saw a fight going down. Two people struggling. Didn’t mention no pack of wild dogs.”

  “Like you said, the kid’s stoned. Take him in to the station and get a statement, but don’t include it in the official re
port. Unless the ME says otherwise, he was offed by a pack of dogs. No reason to further complicate matters, if you get my drift.”

  The detective waved and started to head back to his car, stopped in mid-stride and motioned the policeman to his side. His voice low, he said, “Listen, Charlie, when I said there were complications involved here, I meant it. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’ve got a feeling you know something’s a little weird here. This is all I can tell you right now…” The detective wiped the moisture from his brow, lowered his voice another notch. “…this ain’t the first killing we’ve had like this. Mutilated. Chewed up. There’s been others. Quite a few, actually. Homeless bums and drunks mostly. But a few law-abiding folks, too. Enough to make some important people nervous, if you know what I mean. The ME says it’s gotta be some kind of wild dogs, but we ain’t never seen ’em or heard from anyone who has seen ’em. The bottom line is this: if there’s some nut out there doing this, we sure as shit don’t want it getting in the papers. So…keep a lid on this until I tell you otherwise. Got it?”

  The cop nodded and mumbled a response. Shook the older detective’s hand and started back toward the patrol car.

  The boy breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about now, but he’d heard enough of the earlier conversation to know that he was off the hook. Damn sure wasn’t no pack of dogs, he thought, but as long as he wasn’t being charged, it was no skin off his back if they believed him or not. He hadn’t told them the whole truth anyway. That poor old man hadn’t been fighting with just anyone back in that alley. He’d been fighting with, shit, no way to get around it—a goddamned werewolf. And not one of those big dumb hairy things he remembered seeing on the tube, either. This werewolf had fur all right and teeth the size of switchblades. But it also had knockers. No fucking way they were going to believe that. A werewolf with tits! Jesus!

  He settled back, rested his head. No use making waves, he thought. Just keep your mouth shut.

  He had more important things to worry about, like getting some more cash before his stash ran dry.