Habeas Corpus: Black Womb (Black Womb Collection Book 1)

by Matthew LeDrew

  Mike smiled, dialing the seven digits into the off-white phone, its fluorescent numbers glowing back at him and reflecting off his eyes. It made him look sinister. Evil, even. Especially with that victorious smile across his lips, the one slowly fading with each number he dialed.

  The phone rang three times before someone picked up, and the voice on the other end sounded tired despite the fact that it was four-thirty in the afternoon. “Hello?” There were the sounds of traffic and car horns outside. The sounds of many people walking on concrete. The sounds were of downtown Coral Beach, where most of the cops would be anyway. The noise muffled the sound of Tim’s voice, making him even harder to understand.

  “Hello,” Mike responded, fighting to keep his tone even.

  “Hello?” Suddenly, there was the sound of shuffling as White seemed to realize where he was. “Tim White’s office, Agent White speaking,” he said suddenly, wishing he could have taken back the previous thirty seconds.

  “Catch you at a bad time?” Mike asked, cocking an eyebrow at Xander.

  Xander smiled wryly, picturing Tim asleep at his desk with papers stuck to his face. Then he thought about how those papers would contain the word rape, and that smile disappeared.

  “No, no of course not...” Tim trailed off, snapping his fingers and trying desperately to place the voice. Finally, he simply scrambled for his caller I.D. “... Brian Drew?”

  “No,” Mike responded without humor, balking at being compared to Xander’s adoptive father. “No, this would be Mike Harris.”

  “Harris,” White breathed. Mike could almost hear his lips curl in embarrassment. “What do you have?”

  Mike careened his head, checking up over the stairs to make sure that Cathy had not made her way out of bed to listen. Taking the cue, Xander got up from the chair and walked to the bottom of the stairs, playing lookout. “Don’t quote me, but we have a fourth rape. Attempted rape, I should say.”

  “Who was the third?” Tim asked, audibly confused.

  “Roxanne didn’t check in with you?” Mike asked, clicking his tongue against his mouth. “Well, you may want to get some info out of her. Allan did it; I was there. Tried to stop it, even.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. She’s The Factory waitress? Not the first time she called in about some drunken patron forcing her into things. We couldn’t pin anything, and eventually she stopped wasting her time calling.”

  Mike didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just didn’t. “Well, the new-and-attempted victim happens to be Cathy Kennessy, and she actually got a very good look at the third rapist.”

  “Who is?”

  “Dr. Phillips, school Guidance Counsellor at Coral Beach High School,” Mike said triumphantly.

  Tim sighed.

  “What?” Mike asked, the colour draining from his face. “What is it?”

  “What did I tell you today?” Tim asked him impatiently. “Haven’t you been paying any attention at all? That isn’t your information to give. It isn’t, I’m sorry. You have another third-hand story that I can’t admit into a court of law as evidence.”

  “Are you saying you don’t believe me?” Mike asked, getting Xander’s attention.

  “Oh, Mike. If you said that the Pope was the third rapist I’d believe you. Because I know you. That doesn’t make you a witness I can credit.” Tim sounded more tired now.

  “What if Cathy--” Mike began desperately.

  Tim cut him off abruptly. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this Mike, but the testimony of an emotional fifteen year old girl who is known for crying rape isn’t worth a whole lot to us.”

  “Fine!” Mike yelled, angered beyond anything he’d ever thought possible. He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, then picked it up and slammed it again just to be sure the message got across.

  On the other end of the line, Tim let the phone drop to the floor. He buried his forehead into his palms and shook it, now both mentally and physically exhausted. “Those’re the breaks, kid,” he sighed solemnly, then picked up his shiny new Federal badge and wondered exactly what it was good for.

  “We goin’ down like that?” Xander grumbled to Mike as they both slipped into their jackets. He was clearly pissed at Tim, all past aid the man had given him pushed aside. This was Cathy they were talking about.

  “No fucking way,” Mike spat, a rare curse coming from his lips to punctuate the sentence. “I got a lead I’ll have to go clear across town for. Could take awhile.”

  “Need help?” Xander asked, even though he knew Mike would never accept it.

  “Naw, no knuckle-bustin’ this time. Strictly recon,” Mike had thrown 80’s street lingo and military speak into that sentence at once. Either of which separately didn’t quite hit the mark coming from him. Together, it was just plain wrong.

  “Good,” Xander nodded. “I’m going after Phillips.” His expression was grim, even as he held up the ripped out telephone page for P in Coral Beach.

  Mike looked about to protest, then thought better of it. Hopefully, he’d catch the old pervert alone. Should be an easy tag for either of them. “What about Cathy?” he asked, concern finally seeping through his lips.

  Xander’s stone gaze softened as he peered up the stairs to where his poor friend slept, no doubt plagued by nightmares of the events of the past days, weeks, and months. He glanced around again, then sighed. “She’ll be fine.”

  6020 Temple Ridge Drive, just a thirty-minute sprint to the high school. The home of Dr. Darren Phillips, his name engraved deep into the seeder sign outside.

  He stood in his living room, calmly placing orders into the phone that touched his lips. “Yes, she got away. I know, Bram. I know. We need her to be shut up, like the Donaldson girl and that waitress bitch. What do you mean you? Alright, I’ll do it. Just get Allan and bring her here. If she’s not at her place, then she’ll be at Drew’s. Yes, fine. Do what you have to with him.

  “We’re going to kill them both anyway.”

  The sky had become a dark pink and most of the trees had turned their leaves a bright orange in the past few weeks. The combination of colours looked absolutely gorgeous together, as if someone had taken a paintbrush and a meticulous eye to it. The air all around the buildings practically glowed with the dusk light, from the quaint houses lining each side to the small purple convenience store on the corner that was the only thing that ruined the picture, yet made it real all the same. Let the viewer know that this beauty was completely natural. It was lost on him. Xander hardly even noticed it as he leaned against one of those trees, leaves slowly falling down around him as if he were in some magical, gigantic snow globe. He took a moment to glance at the page in his hand and verify Phillips’ address, then let it go and ignored it as it flapped away in the wind. He glared at the front door expectantly, waiting for something to happen. Wishing for it, too. Silently daring it to burst open in a cloud of smoke and for Phillips, Al and Raine to scramble out of there with guns blazing. Guns that would have little effect on him save to piss him off.

  Yeah.

  It was exactly that type of fairy tale that he kept telling himself before he even got out of bed in the morning now... And before he went, for that matter. The illusion that he was a twenty-something superhero instead of a fifteen year old with no life who’d barely even kissed a girl. Who cried himself to sleep every night, then woke up to see the blood on his hands and then cried again.

  He washed all of those thoughts away, letting the fear swell up inside of him. Like an actor with stage fright, the fear would fuel him. Feed him. Drive him to do what had to be done. For Cathy. For Sara.

  If you’re innocent, you’re hurt, or you’re scared: I’ll be there.

  He remembered those words from the other night. Somehow they transformed the fear into courage just as the sun went down and he walked over, opening the door to the rapist’s home and delving deep into the belly of the beast.

  He expected the door to creek open. The doors always creep op
en and then a ray of light shines from the door, slitting a line straight through the darkness, where his three opponents would be waiting to take him on one at a time. That was just the way it worked.

  In actuality, the doors hinges were quite well oiled. When he opened the front door and stepped quietly into the main hallway, he found that it was actually very well lit, showing off the leaf-green coloured interior. Off to each side was a different section of Dr. Darren Phillips’ living room, each carpeted teal with a nice, homely feeling to it. Xander stepped in slowly, finding that the walls were lined with traditional American paintings. One from every state, in fact. There was even the old-fashioned forty-eight-star American flag hung over a fireplace and a gun display case, all three of which were antiques and looked like they’d been military issue. All this plus the fishing and hunting trophies on the far wall lead Xander to believe that this was the den. The only thing throwing it off was the closet that seemed out of place here. Obviously, renovating had been done. Xander took another step in. In the previously hidden corner of the room he saw Phillips.

  He was standing casually, his suede overcoat draped over one shoulder, snapping his fingers as he listened to an old Neil Young - Harvest Moon record. There was a lot of distortion.

  Phillips looked up, giving Xander a big smile when he noticed the boy. “How are you?” he asked pleasantly, his nice-guy routine still firmly in place. The same smile he used to lull the girls into the dark now charming Xander.

  “Been better,” Xander admitted, unable to hide the cuts around his eyes and cheeks.

  “Pity,” Philips said. “You know, a kid your age getting hurt like that, it could lead to some real violence building up in you over time. Cause some real psychological damage. Maybe anger management would be in order...” he trailed off as the record played on, tapping the side of his temple contemplatively.

  Wide-eyed, Xander began to wonder if the nice guy act wasn’t an act. If he really was a kind hearted man who’d apparently just gotten up one day and decided that he was going to be a rapist. To commit horrible acts on young girls. He kept the images of Cathy and Julie and Greer in his mind, kept thinking about how they must have cried. How they suffered. “Sir --” Xander started.

  Phillips cut him off, closing his eyes and listening to the music, “I love this part,” he explained. He turned it up slightly, the music blaring, as he started to hum along. “When we were strangers, I watched you from afar...When we were lovers, I loved you with all my heart...”

  Usually the song was wonderful, but now the words seemed to hold a near freakish meaning. As if the bastard thought his victims loved him. Without even so much as opening his eyes, Philips pulled a series ten revolver from behind his back and fired once, piercing Xander through the right breast with an ear-shattering bang. Xander fell to the ground, crashing through an end table as he slammed down. Chips of ashwood twirled in all directions at once, some of them sticking into the back of his head. Immediately he felt hard to breathe. His lungs were filling up with blood and he could feel the wound becoming infected already. He coughed, gangrene coming up his throat in a sick burp. Phillips walked over to Xander, the music still playing.

  “Because I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again... Because I’m still in love with you, on this harvest moon.”

  -BANG!-

  He shot Xander directly through the central plexus of his chest. The young man’s body jumped slightly from the sudden impact, but did not move afterwards. Phillips grabbed him by the arms and dragged him into the closet, hoping that the blood would not stain his carpet.

  “Well, isn’t this absolutely pathetic?” Genblade asked rhetorically, gazing down through the darkness as a pool of blood seeped from Xander’s open wounds. “That dude busted more holes in you then he did that brunette.” He laughed, then his brow crumpled and he seemed contemplative. “Why didn’t I ever think of that?”

  Spider stepped out of the darkness, smiling warmly. It was a smile one would expect from a mother after a three year-old scrapes their knee. “I’m sure you will eventually, darling,” she assured him.

  He smiled seductively in response.

  “Not now,” she scolded him. “I have to tend to the boy-womb. Run along, Adam... You can let your Eve tempt you later.”

  He smiled, glancing down at Xander with something mixing jealousy and fear. Then he walked away, fading into the darkness that surrounded them like a bad memory.

  Spider leaned over Xander, touching his two throbbing chest wounds softly. It stung at first, but only at first. After that, it felt good. It felt as though he were healing. Without warning, she dug her nails inside of the bullet hole. Xander screamed wildly, thrashing about until she withdrew them again. Her fingers were almost completely covered in blood, but now held a thick banded golden ring which was spotlessly shimmering.

  Xander looked up, confused. “Where did that come from?” he asked, his voice hoarse from the pain.

  “Inside of you,” she said simply and truthfully as she stuck her thumb into her mouth, sucking some of his blood off. “It’s a ring, Xander. More than that, it’s a circle. See, circle,” she spoke to him as if he were a baby. There wasn’t much he could do about it. “Are you paying attention, little Abel?” she asked, using the Biblical references that her creators were so fond of. “Pain and power are both on a circle, Abel. Just like this one. And it doesn’t matter where you start when you begin your traveling. If you start at pain, it will lead to power. If you start at power, it will lead to pain.”

  He kicked the door where the deadbolt was, shattering the wood around it. He thought there would be something more than that somehow, given whose house it was.

  Mike walked into the hall of the cheap, low-rent home. It was really just a door that led directly into their kitchen/family room, but they called it a hall for lack of a better term. He stomped a boot down onto the slick tile. Most of the house’s interior was either off-white or simply not painted at all, some furniture homemade from other things that had broken. He’d heard rumors that the family had just gone through a tough divorce. Which had given her a reason to see the school counsellor every day. Which in turn had given Phillips the perfect opportunity to choose her for his first victim.

  Julie Peterson jumped up from her kitchen table, the wooden chair falling back off its legs. The poor girl’s face was still bruised, so much so that her freckles were barely visible. Her amazing smile that had shone with youthful innocence in her yearbook picture was gone now, and if anyone had asked, they would have said this girl was not capable of such an angelic display. She looked old and tired, so much so that Mike had a hard time believing that she was only fourteen.

  “Hello,” Mike said, faking a bit of cheer. I hate doing this, he thought, but the image of Phillips looming over Cathy’s ripped and torn body kept his charade going. At least for a little while longer.

  “W-What are you doing here?” she asked, stammering with fear as she backed herself up until she was against the wall. She jumped when the cold boards touched her back, as if she had thought someone was behind her. She was covering herself very well, wearing a fluffy pink pair of pajamas with flowers on them. They seemed seasoned and shabby, like she had been wearing them all day. Beneath the frills of the shirt a white undershirt was visible, but only until she pulled the top a little tighter.

  It occurred to Mike what this sad child must think. Why else would we be here? Hating himself, he carried on. “I’d like to have us a little chat,” he smiled, the malevolence in his own words frightening him.

  Her expression was anger now, her face turning blood red as she struggled to point an accusing finger at him while holding the pajama top together. “How did you get--“

  Julie Peterson’s words stopped in mid sentence, as her cute little pointed nose and triangular chin both seeming to quiver. In reality, it was her body that was shaking. “No...” she whispered silently, her bottom lip no longer under her control. Those magnificent
green eyes filled with unholy fear, something that went far beyond anything Mike had seen before. He didn’t pretend to understand. “Gawd, no--“ she continued, no longer shouting at them. It was just a frightened whisper now, like someone slowly praying in the darkness during one of those slasher movies.

  Derek Smith finished walking into the door, closing it behind him with a soft click. “I let him in,” he said flatly, no trace of emotion or grief anywhere in his voice. He smiled though... but somehow it was an emotionless smile. Like it was a photograph pasted onto his lips.

  “Your Mom still went out to the Clarksburg wedding reception with you home like this?” Mike asked, trying to sound menacing instead of absolutely shocked. “Tisk tisk.”

  “That won’t do, will it?” Derek laughed, his fingers dancing wildly along a nearby wall.

  “Don’t hurt me...” Julie pleaded, huddling into a little ball on the floor now, rocking back and forth but never taking her eyes off of them. “Please--”

  “We won’t,” Mike cut off, a bit too quickly, then added. “As long as you give us what we want.”

  Tears jerked down the girl’s face, and a series of dry sobs escaped from her lips. “What do you want?” she asked, very afraid of the answer.

  Mike turned and looked at Derek.

  The both of them smiled wickedly.

  “You’re crazed,” Xander said finally, a small dribble of blood rising to his lips with the words. The pool of blood that surrounded him had grown exponentially, spreading out in all directions. It was glowing with an ethereal presence, because the dark life-liquid should not have been visible there, in the darkness of his mind.

  Spider grabbed him by a handful of hair, throwing him. His body turned for the first time since he arrived, and he slammed his back against the floor. Again, blood came to his lips. It made him gag, wishing that he could force himself to throw up. “Ingrate,” she spat, her upper lip curling in disgust and her eyes narrowing in contempt. After a moment her lips lost all their emotion. Her slanted eyes remained narrow, but abandoned the anger that they had readily embraced seconds ago and replaced it with something that could only be described as hunger. She sat on his gut, her legs tucking around either side of his head and her dress curling about on his chest. The red gown was slit up both legs, making him feel like there was nothing separating the two of them at all. Her long black hair swung about wildly as she looked down upon him with an almost sensual desire. Suddenly, her features softened. Her body became warm onto his and she leaned down and kissed him, lightly, on the lips. “She always loved you, you know,” she informed him, her expression growing sad. Her hands fluttered over her abdomen, as if Sara was talking to the madwoman through stolen ovaries. “She loved you, but she didn’t know how to love you. You were so much more to her than a boyfriend, Xander. They all used her, her body at least. I don’t think one of them much cared about her mind. You were so wonderfully different. She simply did not know how to react to it.” She paused and glanced down at him. Her fingers slid down her own legs and then onto his chest and neck, nails punctuating every word. “The night she died, when you were about to kiss her... that’s when she knew she loved you, Xander. She did. I can feel it.”