by phuc
Behind the woman's shoulder, in The Window, Kathleen could see The Cross...
The woman fell to the floor, sobbing.
"Embrace your hatred," Kathleen whispered.
She backed out of the room and closed the door.
The cat clock stopped.
(V)
Kathleen dragged Spence out onto the front porch. Crossing the threshold felt like exchanging tranquillity for madness. In one step she'd gone from silence to cacophony. Lights as bright as the sun glared in her face. Helicopters, sirens, and radio traffic deafened her. Kathleen released Spence on the stoop and immediately put her hands into the air.
"PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!" a megaphone voice ordered.
My hands are in the air, you asshole! she thought. Marauding, dark shapes like dream killers fell on her; Kathleen was tackled and dragged across the yard by a bunch of men in gas masks and vests. More men hoisted Spence and carried him off.
The street was filled with police vehicles, red and blue and white lights flashing. Dozens of crouched police aimed rifles at the house. More lights roved the yard as helicopters circled overhead. Kathleen could see more men rappelling from limp ladders. The crash of sounds was so loud she wanted to scream.
"Jesus Christ, you're going to break my arms!" she squealed as two SOD cops chicken winged her into the back of a brightly lit ambulance. Instantly, a very rude man in SWAT utilities and a backwards blue baseball cap was in her face.
"Is the killer in the house?"
"Yes," Kathleen replied. She felt hot, dirty, and tired. "I "
"Does the killer have accomplices?"
"No, I "
"Is the killer armed?"
"Yes, I "
"Does the killer have automatic weapons?"
"Would you let me talk for a second goddamn it!" Kathleen yelled.
The man grabbed her collar. "Does the killer have automatic weapons? Does she have rifles?
Does she have explosives?"
Kathleen wanted to kick him. "She has a pistol, I think is all," she spat back not very grammatically. "Jesus Christ!"
"Does the killer have long hair, short, medium?"
"Short hair, dark "
"What's the killer wearing?"
"Dark blue pants and a light blue shirt "
The grip on her collar tightened. Slowly, softly, the rude man asked, "What room is the killer in?"
"The first room on the right, in the hall "
The grip on her collar released. "Get her out of here," the man said and climbed out of the ambulance. Then he was talking into a portable radio. "Primary and secondary units assume your firing posts and watch for crossfire. Teams One, Two, and Three, enter the house on my mark."
(VI)
"Mother!" she cried. "Where are you?"
I'm here. Don't worry. See? I'm here.
Suddenly she was.
Her mother stood before her now.
The Cross glowed behind her.
Her mother was smiling.
She was naked and beautiful.
She was unblemished.
It's over now, honey.
She looks up at her mother.
Come with me now.
She hears footsteps on the roof.
She hears an awful chugging thunder outside.
Come with me now, honey.
With an Ethicon bivalving scalpel she cuts both sides of her throat to the bone.
She feels no pain.
She dies.
| |
Epilogue
(I)
The next morning, Kohls identified the killer's second to last victim as an electrophoresis technician named Wallace, who worked at the hospital's phlebotomy unit. In the basement he found dozens of body parts. More body parts were detected via gas probes in the back yard. In the killer's room, atop the dresser, was a small wooden cabinet. Tacked to the cabinet's interior door were newsclippings from several years ago, detailing the arraignment, trial, and conviction of Samuel Curtis Shade. Also detailed was the testimony of Kathleen Shade.
At the bottom of the box, congealed by karyolysis into a single mass, Kohls found close to a dozen severed male genitalia.
(II)
Spence didn't die. The .455 slug had broken his ribs and collapsed his right lung but a well trained EMT crew managed to reinflate the lung and cessate the bleeding before the ambulance had even arrived at the hospital. Spence was promoted to the rank of captain, which didn't sit well with him because it would restrict his opportunity to work in the field. Kohls, however, who visited Spence on occasion, made an observation one evening.
"Hey, wouldn't you rather be a captain pushing fucking paperwork than a lieutenant pushing up fuckin' daisies?"
"Well, yeah," Spence reflected.
(III)
"How are you feeling?" Kathleen Shade asked.
Spence sat inclined in the hospital bed, holding the phone to his ear. "How do I feel? Like someone lowered a draw bridge on my chest. And that bullet I took? Ruined over $800 worth of clothes."
"Buy cheaper clothes."
Spence was aghast. "Me? No way."
In the background he thought he heard a television; it sounded like a baseball game. A disgruntled male voice yelled several times, "Goddamn Yankees! You call that a pitch?"
"I read in the papers that you got promoted," Kathleen said.
"Yeah, but I might resign. I don't know if I want to be a cop anymore."
"I can't imagine you being anything else."
Spence thought about that. He wasn't sure what he wanted. He wasn't sure if he'd ever know.
"How is Platt?" he asked.
"Oh, he's fine, but I think his team is losing. We're thinking about getting married."
"Good. I'm happy for you." Spence genuinely was. "Can I come to the wedding?"
"Sure, but you have to promise not to make a spectacle of yourself."
"You have my word. Just make sure no one parks in the church firelane, ‘cos I'll have ‘em towed."
"Somehow, I believe that."
Spence fidgeted. His chest itched. "Are you still going to write the book?"
"A militant feminist opportunist like me? Of course."
"I never meant any of that stuff, you know."
"Don't tell me that, Spence. You'll ruin my conception of you."
Spence laughed briefly, then cringed from the pain. "You're going to mention me, aren't you?"
"You can bet your poker face and existential ass that I will."
"I told you, I'm not an existentialist. I'm a "
"Yeah," Kathleen recalled. "A solipsist." She laughed over the line. "You've got enough crap to sink a ship."
"I know," Spence said.
"Are you really going to come to my wedding?"
"No," Spence said.
Kathleen paused. "What do you mean no?"
"The word denotes a negation, denial, or disagreement. It's an adverb. But I'm only kidding. Of course I'll come to your wedding. Oh, and I'll also say lots of good things about you when you interview me for your book."
"Get well soon, Spence. And keep in touch."
"I will," Spence said. "Good-bye."
(IV)
Simmons visited him regularly. He brought books and magazines and bantered about things of little consequence.
"You don't have to therapize me by making distracting small talk," Spence told the doctor.
"Oh, I know that. Who could ever therapize you, Jeffrey?" Simmons walked around the clean hospital room as if making a discreet inspection. "So when do you get to go home?"
"A couple of weeks."
Simmons looked at him. "And what then?"
Spence knew what he meant. "I don't know. I might quit."
"Fine. Start a business. Teach. Anything. You might even consider being a psychologist."
"Not likely," Spence said. "That would be even more depressing than being a cop."
Simmons turned from the window and cast Spence a reproving scowl. "
It's really not that bad, you know. It really isn't."
"What?" Spence.
"If you let yourself really look, Jeffrey, you'll see some of the most wonderful things. It really can be wonderful."
"What?" Spence repeated.
Simmons' hand opened toward the sunlit window.
"The world, Jeffrey."
THE END
Edward Lee (seen here with his new electronic cigarette) has had more than 40 books published in the horror and suspense field, including CITY INFERNAL, THE GOLEM, and BLACK
TRAIN. His movie, HEADER was released on DVD by Synapse Films, in June, 2009. Recent releases include the stories, "You Are My Everything" and "The Cyesologniac," the Lovecraftian novella "Trolley No. 1852," and the hardcore novel HAUNTER OF THE THRESHOLD.
Currently, Lee is working on HEADER 3. Lee lives on Florida's St. Pete Beach. Visit him online at:
http://www.edwardleeonline.com