Fragments

by James F. David

  Elizabeth squeezed Wes’s shoulder. “Oh no! Frankie has Daphne.”

  35

  PARTY

  When Classen was injured at the 7-Eleven it left a power vacuum at the Kappa house, and Billy took control. Classen had lost support with each brother who left the fraternity anyway. Only a half-dozen brothers were left, and three of them were Billy’s toadies. Sammy Chow was intelligent but didn’t give a damn about school, living to party with Billy. He was skinny as a rail, but still some of the girls went for his Eurasian looks. Emil Loprenzi was large and soft, with a Roman nose and curly brown hair. Only the ugly girls went for him, but he didn’t care, usually dating two or three at a time. He’d been Rimmer’s best friend until he’d been killed, but now he hung with Billy’s group. Billy’s best friend was Grant Brewster, who was nearly as good-looking as Billy, and the two of them did everything together, Grant always willing to follow Billy’s lead.

  The house would have to close by fall if the members didn’t come back, but for now Billy could lead—if only he knew which direction. Everyone was too scared to go out, and no one would come to the house to party. Frustrated, Billy paced the living room, kicking at the newspapers spread on the floor. Grant watched from the couch, a football game playing on the TV.

  “Want to play some basketball?” Grant asked. “Emil and Sammy might get into it as long as we didn’t leave the driveway.”

  “No, I don’t want to play basketball. It’s boring.”

  “How about some racquetball? Want me to call for a court?”

  “No! Jeez, you’re boring. I want to have some fun.”

  “Having fun gets you killed, or didn’t you notice?”

  Billy was frustrated. “It’s those damn mad scientists. They did it. We had a bitchin’ good time around here until they came.”

  Then they heard someone pounding on the back door.

  Billy led Grant through the kitchen and saw a girl through the back window. It was the retarded girl—the one they suspected of killing Rimmer. Billy’s teeth ground together as he looked her over. She didn’t look dangerous—he could take her easy, and with Grant it would be a piece of cake. She wasn’t a beauty, but she wasn’t bad either. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she’d tied it with a blue ribbon like a little girl. He could only see down to her waist, but her figure was decent. When he lifted his eyes from her breasts he saw her smiling, and then she winked. Curious, he reached for the handle. Grant slapped his hand away.

  “What the hell you doing?” Grant demanded. “You know who she is?”

  “Yeah! So? I mean what is she gonna do? There’s two of us and she’s only a girl.”

  “Remember how strong Rimmer was? He’s dead, man!”

  “Don’t be a wuss! We don’t have to let her in. We’ll just see what she wants.”

  Reluctantly Grant stood aside.

  Opening the door, Billy said, “What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for a party,” she said, smiling.

  With the door open Billy could look her over top to bottom. She was wearing a blue sweater over a white blouse, and a navy pair of pants. The pants were loose so he couldn’t see her legs well, but the sweater fit snug, showing off her breasts. Aroused now, he didn’t bother sneaking peeks at her body, he stared openly, then looked her in the eye. “Funny you should ask about a party, we were just getting ready to start one.”

  “Are you nuts, Billy? You know what Classen will do if he finds out?”

  “Now think about that, Grant. Just where is Classen?”

  “Oh yeah. But it could be dangerous.”

  Billy shook his head sadly, then turned to the girl. “My friend here is afraid of you. He thinks you might be some psycho killer.”

  “Now my feelings are hurt,” she said. “How could you say such a thing about me?” She smiled and swung her hips. “But if you’d feel safer you can search me.” Then she lifted her arms in the air, inviting them to pat her down.

  “Oh, man,” Grant said, stepping forward. But Billy cut in front, putting his hands on her hips, then sliding them up and around her waist and down onto her bottom. He felt her muscles tighten as his hands cupped her buttocks. Then he dropped to his knees, starting at her right ankle, feeling up her calf, and then slid his hands up her leg to her thigh, one hand between her legs. He pressed firmly at her crotch and then repeated it with the other leg. Now his breath came in short rapid breaths and his heart was pounding.

  She kept her arms above her head when he stood, and he put his hands back on her waist, sliding them up until he could feel her bra under her clothes. Bringing his hands around, he slid them across her back and then around to the front, coming slowly toward her breasts, expecting her to stop him at any second. She didn’t, and his hands soon cupped her breasts where he lingered.

  “Satisfied?” she said, smiling.

  “It’s a start. Come on in, let’s party.”

  Billy turned and pushed Grant ahead of him, whispering, “She’s hot, Grant. Really hot.”

  Behind them she stepped in, dropping her arms, catching a knife as it started to slip from her sleeve. Pushing it back, she shivered as she remembered his hands on her. Feeling the cold of the knife along her arm, she smiled in anticipation.

  Wes, Elizabeth, and Karon raced to the street, spreading out up and down the block, looking for Daphne. When they couldn’t spot her, Elizabeth took the car, slowly driving up and down the blocks. Karon went to the neighbors while Wes ran for the fraternity house, bounding up the steps and pounding on the door. No one answered, but he could hear rock music and he pounded again. Finally, he saw a shadowy shape coming down the hall. The boy who answered looked Asian and he was frowning.

  “What the hell do you want?” he said.

  Wes could smell beer on his breath. “I’m looking for one of the kids staying with us. Her name is Daphne.”

  “She’s not here. We don’t want those retards around here.”

  “It’s important we find her. . . .”

  “The cops say you and those retards are behind all the killing.”

  “That’s not true. Let me explain. . . .”

  “Get the hell out of here!”

  The door slammed in Wes’s face, but at least he knew the fraternity brothers were on edge and Daphne wouldn’t get near them. Yet Wes wanted them to understand that it wasn’t their fault—his fault. If they would listen to him he might be able to explain that to them—but first he had to find Daphne. Chills rippled along his spine as he thought of what she might be doing.

  Roy Winston was at the station laying out a search pattern when the call came.

  “It’s Ms. Foxworth. She says it’s important,” Chris said.

  Speaking as soon as he said hello, she sounded frightened and out of breath.

  “Daphne’s missing and we think Frankie is in control. You’ve got to help us find her.”

  “I thought Gil turned into Frankie.”

  “They’re all Frankie! We’ve explained this to you before and I don’t have time to do it again now. The important thing is to stop Frankie.”

  “Gil is top priority,” he replied. Silence followed, and Roy began to wonder if she had hung up.

  “Roy, you should know that Frankie is really Nancy Watson.”

  The name was familiar, but he couldn’t quite recall it.

  “She’s the girl from our basement—actually it’s her spirit. Dr. Birnbaum believes the mind we create with Wes’s synthesis program provides a host for Nancy’s spirit.”

  Roy had accused them of using psychic powers to control their retarded kids but there was an aura of science about psychic research. He was unprepared for a supernatural explanation.

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “Harder to believe than Gil’s power?”

  Like a slap in the face, Elizabeth’s comment cleared Roy’s thinking. Why was a ghost story any harder to believe than a psychic killer decimating his police force?

 
“I’ll put the word out on her, but we’ve got to stop Gil.”

  “Nancy—Frankie is a killer too.”

  “Yeah, but she knifes them one at a time. Gil can kill them by the carload.”

  Roy wished he could do more, and promised himself he would end both reigns of terror, but Gil was still first priority.

  Frankie swayed around the room, feigning a drunken dance. Four of them watched. Billy was killer-good-looking, but his eyes were cold, as if he had never known love—she wanted him dead most of all. Grant and Sammy were nothing by themselves, but she knew their kind were nothing more than extensions of Billy. They would do it to her if he wanted them to. They were probably thinking about it right now. The biggest one was Emil—dumb and brutal, she thought. Another stupid college jock who thought every girl wanted him. Well this one does want you—wants you dead! she thought.

  She danced past Billy, wiggling in front of him and grabbing the beer out of his hand. He grabbed at her sweater but she danced out of reach, circling the room, teasing each of the boys. The music ended and she paused, swigging at the beer, remembering how much she had loved it. “Boy it’s hot in here,” she complained, then pulled her sweater off over her head.

  “Take it all off,” Emil shouted. She winked at him, then said, “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  Emil leaned over and whispered something to Sammy, who chuckled and nodded his head. She knew the kind of things boys like this said. Her father told her she shouldn’t go with boys like these. He had been right, but she didn’t know it until it was too late. Fraternity boys were exciting, daring. They made her feel grown-up, like the woman she was, not the little girl her father saw. But she had paid the price for associating with boys like these, who had no mercy, and now she would repay them.

  “Play something from Elvis,” she asked.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. The King is dead,” Billy said, picking out another CD.

  The music came on loud, pounding out its rhythm deep in her bones. She waited, picking out the beat, then started her dance again, planning to get them alone, and one by one make sure they would never hurt anyone the way she had been.

  “Elizabeth, are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes. We need to find Daphne. Frankie could get her killed.”

  “OK. Shamita, double-check the parameters I set for Elizabeth. Karon, watch her physiological signs. You can expect elevated pulse, pressure, and lowered GSR, but I’ll pull the plug on this if you think it’s too high.”

  “What can I do, Wes?” Dr. Birnbaum asked.

  “Me too, Wes,” Ralph added.

  Wes wanted to send him for Slurpees to get him out of the way, but knew he wasn’t safe on the streets.

  “Dr. Birnbaum, you will need to talk to Elizabeth and ask her where she is. Ralph, you stay with Dr. Birnbaum. He might need your help.”

  “Well okeydokey then. I’m a good helper.”

  “But Ralph, if you are going to stay you have to sit quietly. No talking unless I say so. Do you understand?” Wes said it firmly. Ralph babbling in Elizabeth’s ear would trigger her cognitive functions and possibly alert Frankie to their presence. It could also make it harder for Elizabeth to subsume her own mind and allow Frankie to use parts of her brain functions.

  “I’ll sit right here and not say a word. Unless you say it’s okeydokey. My lips are sealed.” Then, with exaggerated motion, Ralph pursed his lips and locked them with an imaginary key, pretending to drop the key in his shirt pocket.

  Shamita fed Elizabeth’s, Archie’s, and Yu’s patterns to Wes, and he initiated the program. Frankie was already integrated, and he hoped they could at least eavesdrop.

  “What you’re getting is the active sections from Yu and Luis,” Shamita explained. “Frankie has the rest pretty well shut down.”

  “It looks like our integration,” Wes said.

  “Nearly identical, except the parameters are broader. She’s taken more from each of the others because of Luis being . . . well, not available. We’ll have to guess what she’s getting from Gil and Daphne, but I can do a pretty good estimate. I’ll use the parameters from our last integration. I needed to modify your parameters for Elizabeth a bit.”

  “Yeah, I see. OK.” Shamita was even more cautious than Wes and had set the parameters so that Elizabeth would be sensing at a subliminal level. Wes doubted it would work, but knew it was safest to start there. “Let’s go with these. Elizabeth, are you ready?”

  “Yes. It’s just like last time, right?”

  “Right. But for you it will be like having a vivid dream. You might just get feelings at first, but eventually you should share what Frankie is seeing and hearing. It will seem disconnected, but just think of it as a dream. You’ll also share thoughts, and that’s what we’re concerned about. Your thoughts will mingle. You could confuse her thoughts with your thoughts, but more likely you’ll feel very confused, or even disoriented. Don’t try to fight it, just let your mind go. Let her do the thinking.”

  “I’ll be able to talk?”

  “Yes. You’ll be able to hear us but we don’t want to talk to you unless we have to. We don’t want Frankie to know we’re breaking in. It would be best if you give us a running narrative of what you’re seeing and doing. Tell us what Frankie is thinking as much as you can. As soon as we get a key to your location we’ll pull you out.”

  Elizabeth nodded, shaking the wires from the helmet. “Let’s go and get back.”

  “Put her under, Shamita.”

  As Wes watched, Shamita lowered the electrical activity of Elizabeth’s brain and she settled down, her breathing becoming slow and rhythmic. Then Wes integrated Elizabeth into the mind pictured on his screen. Soon the bits and pieces of mind functioned as one on his screen.

  “Pulse rate and BP are climbing, Wes,” Karon said. “Steady increases.”

  “Elizabeth’s respiration has quickened too,” Dr. Birnbaum reported. “They’re all breathing hard.”

  Wes checked the integration—it seemed normal. “Shamita, what’s going on?”

  “Look at the activity in the motor cortex,” Shamita said. “Frankie is very active. Is she running or something?”

  “Dr. Birnbaum, try to get Elizabeth to start talking to us. But do it gently.”

  “Elizabeth? Can you hear me?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you breathing so hard?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you sense anything?”

  “No. I only hear your voice.”

  Wes and Shamita exchanged glances and shrugs. The integration seemed normal but he’d never seen this kind of physical reaction before. “Karon, how are the physical signs?”

  “They’ve leveled off. Nothing dangerous.”

  “Watch them close. Shamita, we’ve got to integrate more of her.”

  Shamita frowned, but sent over new parameters, closer to those Wes had originally set. Wes typed in the adjustments, then integrated slowly.

  “I can hear music. Rock music. It’s loud. Something’s not right. I feel funny—dizzy. I can taste something too. Tastes like . . . alcohol . . . beer. I’m drinking beer. I can see faces swirling by, but they’re blurry. Everything is bouncing. I’m moving—I’m dancing. I’m dancing at a party. I’m drunk.”

  She’d drunk too much beer, and she was losing control. She stumbled as she twirled around, and kept shaking her head to think clearly. Her eyelids felt thick and heavy, and she had trouble seeing. Her thoughts cleared momentarily, and she knew it was urgent she get them alone and kill them soon. Dancing closer to Billy, she ran her hands up and down her body. He took a sharp breath as she touched herself. Then, leaning close, she said, “I have to go to the bathroom. Can you show me the way?”

  “Yeah. Sure. This way.”

  The others shouted at him to bring her back but he told them to shut up and put his arm around her waist, pulling her close. Being close to him nauseated her, but she let him hold her
. He took her past the bathroom on the main floor and upstairs, then through a cluttered bedroom to another bathroom. The bathroom connected two bedrooms, and had two sinks, a toilet, and a combination shower and tub. Towels littered the floor, and the vanity was cluttered with razors, soap, and cans of shaving cream. Stepping in she tried to close the door but he held it open.

  “Hey, a girl needs a little privacy,” she protested.

  “Security rules. No visitors are allowed in bathrooms by themselves.” Leering at her, he added, “If you don’t want me watching, I could go get Emil.”

  She leaned against the door, putting her face close to his, hiding her arm behind the door. “I’m kind of shy. Can you at least turn your back?” As she spoke she shook her arm, working the knife out of her sleeve into her hand.

  “Gotta watch everything.”

  Forcing a big smile, she said, “OK, then. Come on in.” Then she leaned back.

  She hated his kind more than he would ever know, and her smile faded as he walked past her. Her whole body shook as she remembered what boys like him had done to her, and the muscles in her arm tightened. Memories of the boys on top of her flashed through her mind, clearing the alcohol fog from her brain, and when she saw his back she lifted her arm, stroking down with all her might. But just as she swung she saw their reflection in the mirror over the vanity—he was watching.

  He lunged forward away from the blow, and in her drunkenness she couldn’t adjust quickly enough, the blade just creasing his back. Still, he screamed as if she’d buried it six inches deep. She recovered her balance and lunged again, but he was turning, deflecting the thrust from his stomach. He screamed again, this time calling for help. Suddenly the music downstairs died. She swung the blade wildly, slicing through his shirt as he jumped back, falling into the tub. His screaming was continuous now. Staggering forward she lifted the knife, concentrating on one good downward thrust that would cut through his hand to find his soft belly. Then she could neuter him as she had the others.