by David Wood
“Do me a favor,” the man drawled, “drink this, will you?”
Trey had smirked. “Any particular reason why?”
Dewhurst nodded. “You're pale, Mr.-- Trey. Very pale.” Dewhurst sat down across from him again. “Think perhaps you need something hot to drink.”
“Okay.” He took the coffee cup and sipped. The black liquid scorched his tongue, causing him to grunt. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Dewhurst said. “Freshly made just for you.” Trey said nothing and placed the coffee cup back down. Dewhurst stared at him. “Called your wife,” he said in his soft drawl.
“I'll bet that was fun.”
The detective chuckled. “I only told her you were here and needed a ride. Nothing more.”
“Oh, thanks,” Trey said with mock gratitude. He blew on the styrofoam cup, steam blowing back into his eyes and face, making him feel more awake.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Trey said nothing, only nodded.
“You didn't tell your wife you were coming down here, did you?”
Trey shook his head. “No. She thinks Dick and I came down to Houston to go disc shopping.”
Dewhurst's eyebrows raised. “Disc shopping?”
Another sip of the hot coffee. It didn't burn him this time. The black liquid warmed his throat before exploding in his belly.
“Frisbees. We play frisbee golf.” Trey placed the cup back down on the table. “Guess we won't be doing that again anytime soon,” he muttered.
“You,” Dewhurst said softly, “look a little less peaked.” Trey looked into the man's gaunt smile and felt like hitting him. “Glad to see that.”
“What's your game, Detective?” Trey asked in a growl.
Dewhurst's smile flat-lined. “My game is trying to figure out who slaughtered at least three children and wrapped them up like they were going to be sold at Hubble and Hudson's premium meat counter.”
Trey blanched.
“You haven't helped me out all that much, Trey.”
The meat. Flesh enclosed in Ziplock bags. Coils of grey intestines wound together like sausage for sale. The strange crimson scrawl of symbols on each bag. Buckets filled with a dark, frozen liquid.
Dewhurst's worried grimace was inches from Trey's face. “Trey?” the man said, loud enough to hurt Trey's ears.
Trey leaned back in the chair, causing the legs to tip. Dewhurst quickly placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him back to the floor.
“Easy, sir,” Dewhurst whispered.
“I--” Trey tried to speak, but his voice came out in a croak.
Dewhurst patted his shoulder and retreated a little, giving Trey some space.
“Thank you,” Trey said.
Dewhurst nodded. “You okay?”
Trey nodded. “I, um, have a type of epilepsy.”
“Absent seizures,” Dewhurst nodded. “Yeah, I know.” Dewhurst pointed to the cup. “Go ahead, drink your coffee.” He walked back around the table and sat in his chair.
The coffee was much cooler now. He swallowed a mouthful and placed the nearly empty cup back on the table. “Jesus,” he whispered, “how long?”
Dewhurst shrugged. “Couple of minutes.” Trey cursed. “Happens when you get stressed?”
Trey said nothing, but nodded.
Dewhurst's phone dinged. The man sighed, pulled his cell from the inside pocket of his jacket and checked the screen. He grimaced and then placed it back in the pocket. “Okay,” Dewhurst whispered. “Your wife said she'd be here in about forty minutes.” He looked down at his watch. “You shouldn't have to wait much longer.” He rose from his chair. “I have to go now, Trey. You can wait in here if you like.”
“Need some air, Detective.”
“Okay, Trey. I'll escort you outside.” The man's smile grew wide and genuine. “Let's get you another cup of coffee.”
35 miles to the north, Trey's house waited for he, Carolyn, and Alan to walk through the door and make it a home again. How long would Dick's house wait in silence for its owner to come home?
Dewhurst had told him which hospital Dick was in. The cops were waiting for him to wake up so they could talk to him, but Trey was certain the doctor would keep them at bay even if Dick woke up and wanted to talk.
Trey sighed. What the fuck had they been thinking?
No one would believe them. No one would take the psychotic and his pot-smoking neighbor seriously. The Ice Cream Man.
Fuck. The kids all loved him. “Except for Alan,” Trey whispered aloud. What did Alan see when he looked at the...the thing? Does he see what I see? Trey shivered again.
The face. The thing in the shadows peering at him over Dick's shoulder, all teeth and scarred flesh. The stench of rot and offal. But the worst part had been that maniacal, malevolent grin. When it had spoken and pointed at him, Trey had nearly wet his pants. That sound was the most terrifying thing he'd ever heard in his life.
But where had it gone? Its lair was covered. Dewhurst said the warehouse was a cornucopia of forensic evidence and the techs would be there well into the evening. Although Dewhurst didn't say it, Trey was certain the cops would be staking it out as well. They had its van and its food.
What would happen when it got hungry again?
Trey looked up as a car pulled in. Carolyn smiled and waved at him. Trey returned the smile and walked to the car. Something past the car caught his eye and he looked up as he opened the door. Standing near a street lamp across from the police station, something glowed in the day's soft light. A tall bum wrapped in a trench coat, a baseball cap pulled low over its face so that just a pair of eyes shone from beneath. They looked as yellow as the arc-sodium street lights.
Trey shook his head and looked back. The bum was gone.
He opened the door and got in. He turned to Carolyn as he fastened his seat-belt. “Thanks for--”
She slapped his cheek. The brilliant pain lit up the side of his face. Trey blinked at her, mouth open. She reached across and hugged him. “Scared the shit out of me,” she whispered. When she pulled back from him, he saw redness in her eyes.
“I--” Trey swallowed. “I'm sorry.”
“Trey,” she said, “how the fuck did you think I was going to react to a call from the police?”
He dropped his head to his chest. “I'm sorry, baby,” he whispered.
“Where is Dick?”
Trey looked up at her, fighting back his own tears. “Dick had a heart attack.”
She blinked at him, her lip quivering. “What--”
Trey nodded. “He's in the hospital.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered. “Is he--”
“I don't know. The cops told me he's stable.”
“Oh, fuck,” she said. “Where is he?”
“ICU at Ben Taub,” Trey said.
“We need to go--” She frowned at Trey. “Jesus. You have blood all over your shirt.” Trey looked down at the dark streaks on his sweater and nodded. “Did you get hurt?”
Trey shook his head. “It's-- It's not my blood,” he breathed.
She wiped away a tear and put the car in gear. “I'm taking you home,” she said. “We'll get Alan and then figure out what to do.”
The car moved slowly out into the intersection. Carolyn wiped at her face again and got up to speed. Trey watched her hands gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white.
“Dick didn't just have a heart attack, did he?” Carolyn asked after a few minutes.
Trey shook his head. His whisper was barely audible above the sound of the wind raking across the car. “No.”
“What did you do, Trey?” she asked, her words an accusation.
He hadn't dragged Dick down there. Dick had dragged him. It had been Dick's idea to go see the Ice Cream Man. Dick had wanted--
“Trey!” she yelled. Her hand grasped his left, her fingers tight against his own.
“I--” Trey said. They were on the tollway now, the freeways long behind them. “How long?”
“Too l
ong. Too damned long.” She exhaled through her teeth. “Taking you home, baby. You can tell me later.”
Trey closed his eyes. “Just don't leave me alone,” he whispered.
Chapter 53
The world was sleeping, except for Trey. He had finally admitted to himself that dreamland was a forbidden place, and stepped out of bed. The day's clouds had finally moved off, leaving a crystal chipped clear night and plummeting temperature. Even with his robe wrapped about him and his feet enclosed in the fuzzy, monster slippers, the cold seeped into his bones.
Trey stood in Alan's bedroom doorway watching his son sleep. The boy's hair was already a mess, tufts springing out in all directions against his white pillow. The grey bedspread was wrapped around him along with the blanket and sheet. Trey smiled. It didn't matter how tucked in the sheets were, Alan would have them wrapped around himself before the night was done. Especially if it was cold.
His wife was another world-class cover stealer. Sometimes he would wake to find his feet hanging out from beneath the twisted sheets and blankets. He'd have to fight her for the covers, twisting them back from beneath her just so he could keep from freezing to death. She never stole the covers after they made love, though. That night, she hadn't twitched.
All the adrenaline of the day, the stress, terror, all felt very distant, as though it had happened to someone else in another lifetime. Then he closed his eyes, and before sleep could take him, he remembered that Dick was still in the hospital. Still in ICU for observation. That's what kept him awake.
That and the face of the thing.
When they had reached home, Carolyn had made him wait in the garage until she ushered Alan to his bathroom for a quick soak--she didn't want the boy to see all the blood on Trey's sweater. Trey had stripped in the laundry room, rubbing cleaning solution on the blood stains. He'd pulled a fresh shirt from the dryer and quickly dressed himself.
Once Alan was through with his bath, Carolyn ordered Chinese. The three of them ate, both Carolyn and Trey pretending that Dick had only had an accident. Trey didn't think Alan believed them. The boy was too smart for that, but to Trey's amazement, he didn't push it either.
It wasn't until after Alan was finally in bed that Carolyn sat next to him on the couch and held his good hand.
“All right, baby,” she whispered, “what happened?”
Her voice was soft, her face expressionless. Trey had wanted to melt under her stare. He'd opened his mouth to speak and then closed it with a sharp click. What could he tell her? That he and Dick had wandered into a serial killer's lair? That he'd seen the zip-locked body parts of at least three children stacked like steaks in a meat market?
What he'd told her wasn't a lie, it just wasn't everything. The break-in, the discovery of murder victims, and the attack were all he managed. While he spoke of the attack, he'd had a seizure. A short one, but it was enough for Carolyn to let him off the hook.
When he finished, she sat silent for a moment, her eyes glued to the far wall. “You didn't tell me you were going.”
“No,” he agreed.
She swung her eyes to stare into his. Her expressionless face flushed red, the corners of her mouth turned down. “So you lied to me.” It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. “Why?”
“I didn't want you to worry.”
“Worry?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. “Why the fuck would I worry, Trey?” she spat. “Why would I worry about you two assholes playing vigilante? Why wouldn't you want me to know you were going out there to get yourself fucking killed?” A tear dripped off the end of her nose. “You didn't want me to know,” she said in a vicious whisper, “because you knew I'd talk you out of it.”
For a moment, Trey said nothing. Finally, he nodded. “And I didn't want you to worry that I'd finally gone insane.”
She barked an unhappy laugh. “Finally?” She shook her head. “Jesus, Trey. I can't believe you dragged Dick--”
“No,” he said, “you are not going to make this my fault, Carolyn.” He clenched his fist, the knuckles cracking. “Dick was going to go with or without me. Period.”
“What?”
Trey nodded. “We both needed to know.” He drew in a deep shuddering breath. “We both needed to see.”
“Why, Trey? Why couldn't you--”
“Because it could have been Alan!” Trey shouted. His voice broke as his son's name crossed his lips. He shook his head at the shocked expression on Carolyn's face. “Because, it could have been my boy,” he whispered. “It could have been our boy, Carolyn.”
Trey broke down and held his head in his hands, unable to stop sobbing.
Carolyn let it go, helping to calm him down. After a tandem shower, they'd fallen into bed and into one another's arms. Carolyn had fallen asleep soon after. But not Trey.
He left Alan's bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him. He walked down the carpeted stairs and into the foyer. He looked out the windows toward Dick's house. Dark. Cold. Empty. He brushed a hand against his face, wiping away a stray tear. That thing could have killed them both. Could have.
Why hadn't it? Trey glanced at his study door. His machines would be waiting for him, sleeping quietly like the rest of the house. He thought about Googling monsters. Who the fuck knew what the thing was? There was no name for it. No hint as to where it had come from.
What had Dick seen, he wondered. Had he seen the same thing Trey had? What if it was still just his brain sliding into that delusional state, seeing something that wasn't really there?
The thing...what if it was just a man? Just a man holding a knife, and snarling in a foreign language? Could be just a man. The guy who cut the tattoos off those people, he was just a man. Not some monster from a horror movie. Just a man. Yet...
Trey shivered. The Grubby Man was just a man too, although it had taken him decades to realize that. Not a monster, just a man. A mentally ill man.
“Like me,” Trey whispered. His own voice made him shiver. The sound of it, so weak and raspy, seemed to echo in the foyer.
“I believe in human monsters,” Dewhurst had said. Trey nodded to himself in the darkness. The Grubby Man. The Ice Cream Man. Human beings who did monstrous things.
Trey yawned and looked at the stairs. His wife would be snoring. His son would be curled up in the blankets still, perhaps rolling in his sleep to a new position. Trey took one last look out the window and then made his way to the second floor.
He walked to the linen closet and paused with his hand on the knob. He took a deep breath and opened it, half expecting a pair of green eyes to stare back at him, and opened the door. Nothing but bed linen. He exhaled and tried to ignore the pounding of his heart.
He pulled a heavy blanket and a spare pillow out as quietly as he could. He didn't bother closing the door. Walking heel to toe, he once again entered Alan's room. He put the pillow down next to Alan's bed and slowly lay down on the carpet. Once he was covered in the blanket, he closed his eyes, listening to Alan's breathing. In no time at all, he was finally asleep.
Chapter 54
Trey felt pressure on his chest and opened his eyes. A face was nose to nose with him. He choked back a scream before he realized it was Alan. “Hello, Daddy,” Alan chuckled. “You're not supposed to sleep in my room.” The boy was crouched atop him, each leg to the side with his rump on Trey's bladder. Alan kissed his father's nose and then giggled.
“You,” Trey groaned as the boy slowly bucked up and down, “better get off me if you don't want me to pee all over you!” Each word exploded with a puff of air.
Alan squealed and then leaped off his father.
Trey moaned and rolled on to his side. “Now I really have to pee!” he whined.
“Daddy has to pee-ee! Daddy has to pee-ee!” Alan sang, dancing from one foot to the other. He stopped as Trey stood up. His smile dropped. “You know what, Daddy?” Trey blinked at him. Alan leaned forward. “Now I have to pee!” Alan ran giggling from the room.
Trey sat up. H
is bladder really did feel like it was going to explode. He headed out Alan's door, not bothering to pick up his blanket or pillow, and stumbled into the hallway. He walked into the bedroom. Carolyn was already gone and it was nearly 730.
Trey cursed as he made his way to the master bathroom. He flipped up the lid, held himself, and paused, waiting for the stream to start. His bladder burned, the pressure more uncomfortable every second until the plumbing started to work.
“Daddy?” Alan's voice called from the hallway. “Are we walking to school?”
Brow furrowed, Trey turned his head slightly toward the open door. “Why wouldn't we?”
“It's cold, Daddy. Very cold.”
Trey grinned. “Tough. Put on some warm clothes, kid. And deal.”
“Okay!” Alan yelled back.
As soon as he finished and tucked himself back into his pajama shorts, Trey turned to the closet. The closet. Since the hospital, he hadn't felt nervous about entering it. He knew there was nothing there but clothes. Trey smiled. “Wonder if there's room in there for my stuff?” he said aloud.
Without turning on the light, Trey walked into the large closet. The walk-in was at least three times larger than the space the Grubby Man had kept him in. Trey sighed. “Fucker,” he said softly and walked back out.
No time to take a shower. He'd have to get dressed quickly and get Alan some breakfast. Trey stripped off his pajama bottoms and walked naked to the chest of drawers. He pulled out a t-shirt, a pair of socks, thought about underwear and decided against it. He was going to wear jeans anyway. Dressing in silence, Trey wondered how Dick was doing. That was a call he'd have to make once he got Alan to school.
“Alan?” Trey called as he pulled on his socks. “Are you dressed?”
“Yes, Daddy!”
As he stepped out of the bedroom, he pulled on a sweater and made his way to the stairs. “Come on, kid, let's get you some breakfast.”
They sat at the table. Alan wolfed down his mini-wheats while Trey drank coffee. Alan put down his spoon, crunching the last of the cereal between his teeth.
“Daddy? Is Dick going to be okay?”