by Jason Parent
Am I a ghost? His hands certainly seem intangible. He slowly pokes the towel with his finger. When it appears to be touching the towel, he continues his finger’s motion toward the window. Even though he half expects it, Michael has to stifle a scream when he sees half his finger disappear behind the towel. His mind searches for an explanation, some way to make sense of his situation. His panic is quickly getting the better of him. How did this happen? How did I die? Was the soda poisoned? Did I even drink it?
Hysterical, Michael watches Sam climb into her car. She’s going to leave him trapped in this basement forever, his only company a stranger who doesn’t know he exists when he’s standing right in front of her.
Then, Michael sees someone else opening the passenger-side door of Sam’s Camry. Though it makes no sense and chills him to his core, he cannot deny what he’s seeing. It’s him! He’s getting into the car.
As Sam and the doppelganger who has somehow stolen his life drive away, Michael hears a creak from the basement door. A light overhead flickers on. Work boots, then pant legs, then the rest of a man descend the stairs. When John Crotty reaches the bottom step, Michael wonders again if the man poisoned or drugged his soda. The last thing he remembers before the basement is Crotty handing him a drink.
Crotty approaches the woman. His chest is puffed out like a gorilla warning a trespasser to back off. He struts by Michael without a glance.
The woman struggles to break free when she hears Crotty behind her. Crotty combs his hand through the woman’s long, straight hair. She flinches, closing her eyes. Tears leak from their corners.
“You’ve gotten me into a world of trouble, darling,” Crotty says. He lifts the chair from the floor while the woman squirms, displaying his strength for no other reason than to terrorize her. Then, he puts the chair down, walks in front of her, and squats so that he and the woman are at eye level.
“You’re nothing but a cheating whore. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this. I’ve always been faithful. Wasn’t my love good enough for you?” Crotty lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I guess not, since you’ve been tainting our bed with some other man’s scent.” With each word, Crotty’s face grows a darker shade of red. The veins in his arms pulsate, coursing with hot blood. Michael can see Crotty physically restraining his rage. It threatens to explode. Michael has felt the same way before. Rage like that needs an outlet. Michael shudders at the thought. The woman would serve as Crotty’s outlet.
Michael runs at Crotty with all his might, thinking to tackle him and not worrying about what would come afterward. But he hurtles through Crotty without even feeling any contact at all.
Why can’t I help her? Michael begins to realize what’s happening, even if he can’t understand his part in it. He can see what Crotty has planned. Am I really going to be forced to watch this, unable to do anything about it? Why is this happening to me? The last question makes Michael feel selfish, then ashamed. He looks at the woman in the chair, restrained and inconsolable and about to feel so much pain. She has it far worse than he does.
Crotty walks over to a workbench propped against the far wall. His every step is slow and methodic. He spends several minutes going through his tools, searching for one in particular. The right tool for the job, Michael assumes. The thought makes him want to retch. Helpless as he is, Michael can only watch and pray. Maybe Crotty won’t be able to go through with it. He doesn’t look like a killer. Then again, neither did Jimmy.
“Fuck it.” Crotty picks up a cordless drill. Then he grabs a bit that looks to be a foot long, one of those swiveling kinds shaped like ribbon candy.
Carrying the drill over to the woman, Crotty fixes the bit into the chuck. He gives it a few test spins, seemingly content with his choice. A wry grin worms its way across his face.
“Oh, my sweet, faithful wife…” Crotty makes a tsking sound. “What’s a scorned lover to do?” He begins to pace in front of her, spewing curses. He says things Michael would never dare say to anyone, much less a woman. But Michael figures that the longer the guy paces and swears, the longer he keeps his hands off the woman. Time enough to let out his anger, rethink his plans, Michael hopes. But his hope is faint because of the nagging thought that he wouldn’t be seeing this if Crotty was going to let the woman go.
This has to be a vision. The first time it had happened, though, he had been able to interact with those in it. Now he is collateral damage, forced to watch, unable to stop it. But it has to be a vision. The alternative is far more frightening. He saw himself leave the house. The woman’s death isn’t an event he’s supposed to be attending.
Crotty suddenly stops pacing and raises the drill. He clicks the trigger, letting the bit spin in the air in front of his wife’s eyes. A low moan works its way out of her mouth. Tears bubble on her eyelashes as she presses her eyes closed and cringes away from the bit.
“Well, playtime’s over, I guess. It is for you anyway.” Crotty straddles her lap, leans forward, and plants a kiss on her clown lips. “I loved you.”
The whir of the drill ceases. The woman stops sobbing and stares at her husband. The silence is so heavy that Michael thinks it impenetrable. Maybe if no one stirs, they could all stay frozen that way forever.
Crotty raises his head. A single tear trickles down his cheek. He wipes it away. The whirring of the drill begins again.
He roars as he wraps his left arm around the woman’s head. With his right hand, he brings the drill in hard and fast, straight at the top of her head. He bores a dime-sized hole into her skull. The ball gag mutes her screams but not enough. They echo off the basement walls.
Bits of flesh and hair fly like mud off a merry-go-round. Crotty’s wife’s eyes roll back in her head. Crotty stands and jams one foot into her stomach, while the other is firmly planted beside the chair. He has more leverage and uses his own weight to push the drill through her skull, all the while clenching his teeth, his eyes full of hate.
Blood and bone spatter, and Michael screams soundlessly. He moves out of the way, even though none of it touches him. Hair twists around the drill and rips from her scalp. When the large drill bit is most of the way in, Crotty swirls it around inside as though whipping cream.
He finally pulls the drill out and steps back.
Then he starts a second hole. More and more hair and pieces of scalp tangle into the drill bit.
“Shit!” Crotty says when the drill stops working.
He tucks the drill into his armpit and starts picking the pieces off the bit. His wife’s eyes are blank sheets as she convulses in the chair. The spiky triangles of the clamp tear her neck to shreds with every involuntary movement. White foam bubbles from her mouth. Her head droops, blood oozing in globs from the holes.
Michael averts his eyes. He hears Crotty drop the drill on the floor and turns to look at the man, the killer. Crotty gazes at his wife as though critiquing a sculpture. Michael doesn’t see remorse, fear, or even happiness in the guy’s face. The killer’s eyes are just blank. But Michael has seen enough. He runs to the stairs and starts up them. When he opens the door…
Michael was lying on a couch. Back in Crotty’s living room? The copper odor of blood lingered in his nostrils. He assumed he must have had another vision, but he had no way of knowing if he’d seen the past or the future.
Crotty’s face appeared above him. “Hey, kid, are you okay?”
“You!” Michael drew his knees up to his chest then kicked at Crotty. “Get back!”
Frowning, Crotty stepped out of the path of Michael’s feet. He threw up his hands. “What’s wrong with this kid?”
Sam moved between them and placed a hand on Michael’s knee. The expression on her face resembled what he imagined a mother’s worry might look like. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Did you have another… incident?”
“Keep that sicko away from me, Sam.” He scurried to the far end of the
couch, as far as he could get from Crotty.
Sam moved down with him. Keeping his eyes on Crotty, Michael reached for her service pistol, holstered at her side.
She slapped his hand away. “What is it, Michael? What did you see?”
Michael glanced at her then quickly turned his gaze back on Crotty. “I saw us! My God! We were there—I mean here. That means…” His head started to spin. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Crotty sat in the chair across from the couch. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?” Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he couldn’t sit still, crossing and uncrossing his legs, switching his gaze between Sam and the door.
Michael swallowed and took in a breath. “It was horrible. It’s like I was brought here just in time to…” An idea suddenly came to him. “Wait a minute!” He took his eyes off the murderer long enough to glare at Sam. “Did you bring me here on purpose?”
“Michael, I—”
“’Cause I know that you—the one person I trust, the one person I can always count on— would never, ever bring me here and try to make that happen on purpose.”
Sam averted her gaze. “Now’s not the time to discuss it.” She shook her head. “Just tell me what you saw.”
Michael jabbed a finger at her. “You did, didn’t you?” He scooted away but only a little, mindful of the drill-wielding psychopath nearby. “You fucking set me up! You knew I would see something. That’s why you brought me here.”
“Michael—”
Crotty leaned closer. “I don’t know what you’re going on about, but maybe it’s time you two—”
“You are such a bitch!”
Sam straightened. “Michael!”
Michael slumped back into the couch, exhausted and defeated, betrayed by his only real friend. “I can’t believe you would do that to me.” He growled, pounded his fists into the couch, and glowered at her with animalistic rage. His stomach felt hollow. His heart ached in his chest. As the fight left him, he bit his lip, holding back tears.
She knew. I can’t believe her. He pounded his fists into the couch. Oh, how he wanted someone to slap her, since he would never do it himself. She wanted me to have another vision, even though she knew how much the first one bothered me. How, though? How did she know it would work? Michael sneered at her. I don’t know. But she knew it would happen. She wouldn’t have brought me here if she didn’t.
“Are you two quite finished?” Crotty asked. “As I was saying, I think you should—”
“Michael,” Sam said softly, “we’ll discuss why I brought you here later. From the way you reacted when you… um… woke up, I’m guessing we have more urgent matters to attend to.” Her hand rested on the snap of her holster. “Please, for now, just tell me what you saw.”
Michael wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. Remembering the poor woman in the basement made him ashamed that he’d put his own problems first. “He’s got a lady tied up in the basement.”
“What?” Crotty slapped the armrests of his chair, rocking forward in his seat. “You have some nerve coming into my house—”
“Do you?” Sam asked. She stared at him with her piercing green eyes, sharp like jade daggers.
Crotty rose, his hand extended out before him. “Now hold on a second.” His words came out fast, excited. “You’re not making any sense. I’ve invited you into my home, treated you like guests, and—”
“It’s a simple question, really.” Sam unbuttoned her holster. “Do you or do you not have Amy Crotty tied up in your basement?”
Crotty’s nose twitched. His body shook. “Do I have…? Get out! You hear me? I know my rights. You get out of my goddamn house right now, and take your little freak bastard with you.”
“Michael,” Sam said, still cool as ice, “do as the man says. Wait in the car.”
Michael got up and tiptoed backward to the door, too terrified to take his eyes off Crotty. He fumbled behind his back, searching for the doorknob.
“That means you too, Officer.” Crotty’s fingers curled into hooks at his sides.
“We know you have her, Crotty. We found her car where you dumped it.”
“You got no right being here, lady. I’m gonna ask one more time, nicely, for you to leave.”
Michael found the doorknob. He turned it with a shaking hand.
“All I have to do is say I heard screaming.” Sam chuckled. “Who’s the jury going to believe, me or some no-good wife beater?”
Crotty raised his fist. “I’ll show you wife beater, you… I mean, I got nothing else to say to you. Now get out of my house before I call your superiors.”
“Call them. Meanwhile, I’m having a look in that basement.”
Michael froze as the door creaked open behind him. Cold air blew in, raising the hairs on his neck. He wanted to leave, but he didn’t want to leave Sam alone with that awful man.
Crotty dropped his fist and slapped his thighs. He quieted, his eyes studying Sam. “I don’t… she’s not…”
Sam took a step toward him. “Let’s go have a look-see in that basement, shall we?”
Crotty huffed and turned around slowly, as if the weight of the world was his alone to bear. Michael, still frozen by the door, relaxed a little. He wondered if the man hadn’t abducted his wife yet or, worse, had already disposed of her body.
Sam followed Crotty, keeping a few feet between them as he walked around the coffee table. As he reached the opposite end of the table, Crotty grabbed a vase of flowers and hurled it at Sam’s head. She turned at the last second, and the vase hit her left shoulder, bounced off, and smashed against the floor. Crotty sprinted out of the room.
Sam drew her service pistol with the speed of a seasoned gunslinger and pointed it at Crotty’s back. “Freeze, asshole.”
Crotty didn’t stop. He ran into the kitchen and yanked open a door Michael hadn’t noticed earlier. He disappeared through the opening, slamming the door behind him. Sam ran over, yanked open the door, and followed him.
Michael heard her running down some stairs then metal clanging against concrete. It sounded as if Crotty had knocked over his entire workbench. He wondered if Crotty had gone for the drill.
“Sam?” Michael called softly. She said to wait in the car. He shivered. Despite his anger, he couldn’t leave her down there with that monster. He crept toward the basement door.
He heard a lot of banging, like silverware thrown against a wall. “Get down on the ground, and put your hands behind your back!” Sam’s voice echoed up the stairwell.
Michael smiled. Sam can handle the guy a lot better than I could. He turned the corner and looked into the basement. He couldn’t see them from the top of the stairs, so he crept down a couple of steps and crouched.
Sam had her gun aimed at the bound woman because Crotty was hiding behind his wife. Michael was glad to see that she was still alive. For the moment, anyway. Crotty was holding an ice pick to the woman’s ear.
“Come any closer, and this bitch bleeds!” Crotty’s hand shook violently.
Amy’s head tilted away from the weapon. Tears made mascara fans under her eyes. She looked just as she had in the beginning of Michael’s vision.
Crotty glanced up at Michael, and a sort of calm washed over the man’s face. He even smiled.
Oh God! He’s gonna do it!
The killer brought his arm back and let out a primal yell as he swung it forward, aiming for his wife’s ear.
A gunshot made Michael’s ears ring. Crotty fell. The ice pick spiraled out of his hand and vanished somewhere beyond Michael’s view with a few final clinks against the floor to mark its passing.
In an instant, Sam was on Crotty, rolling him onto his belly, driving her knee into his back, and ratcheting on the handcuffs. Michael ran the rest of the way down the stairs and began to unscrew the vice around Mr
s. Crotty’s neck. Her eyes pleaded for him to hurry. “I’m trying,” he told her. She stared at him the entire time he undid the straps on her arms, which wasn’t long, he knew, but felt like forever.
Once her arms were free, the woman jumped out of her chair, ripped off the ball gag, and pummeled Crotty’s head with it repeatedly while Sam was trying to stand him up. He fell face-first onto the hard floor. A soft whimper whistled out of a flattened nose. Still, she kept hitting him, holding the straps and swinging the ball into his skull again and again.
“That’s enough,” Sam said.
The woman looked at Sam as if considering starting in on her, then threw the ball gag against the wall, took a deep breath, and ran upstairs.
Crotty coughed as Sam pulled him to his feet. His nose looked more messed up than a veteran boxer’s. He spit blood onto the floor.
Michael didn’t feel the least bit sorry for the guy. He took one last look around the basement, noting all the details he had seen in his vision and knowing how close Mrs. Crotty had been to death. Confused, unsure how he was supposed to feel about it, he headed back upstairs. He waited at the top for Sam, wanting to make sure she stayed all right.
After reading Crotty his rights, Sam marched him up the stairs and thrust him into a chair. Then, she called for backup and an ambulance. Mrs. Crotty stood near the front door and stared out the window.
As the four of them waited for Fall River’s finest to arrive, no one said a word. Michael had difficulty seeing Crotty’s eyes behind the swollen purple cheeks, but he could feel them glaring at him. Michael concentrated on his hands as he waited.
Soon, sirens were blaring outside the house. Sam had placed a ton of faith in his vision. She had placed a ton of faith in him. That meant something he couldn’t ignore no matter how angry he was with her. She would have been in a boatload of trouble if he had been mistaken or had misinterpreted what he had seen. Kinda hard to misinterpret a drill to the head. He would never be able to erase from memory what his vision had shown him. Michael had not been mistaken, and the fate of Crotty’s wife had been altered, a fact he did not take lightly.