by Hadena James
“Lost?” A grizzled voice, I instantly recognized said.
“Nope,” I answered.
“Need more help?” He asked, stepping towards me.
“Nope, I’m here to let you know that we did capture two serial killers, both preying on the homeless,” I answered.
“Well color me surprised,” the man laughed heartily.
“Why? I said I’d do it. I did. If I had more time and information, I’d grab a few more,” I answered.
“Most of the law enforcement around here doesn’t care that we are being picked off. It’s nice to meet one that does, Marshal Cain,” the man held out his hand.
“All life is sacred,” I answered, shaking the dirty hand that felt scaly.
“My name is Moses E. Trumble,” the man said.
“Mr. Trumble, we have lit a small fire under the asses of the locals, hopefully they’ll be able to make some head way while we’re gone.”
“You’re coming back?”
“At some point, we always come back. There is always another serial killer and in a town like this, I imagine we will be back repeatedly. You stay safe and eventually, you’ll see me again,” I said.
“I hope so, Marshal, I hope so,” Moses laughed again. “You’re alright for a cop.”
“I’m only a cop because it pays good,” I gave him a wide smile. I handed him my cell number. “If you get a good lead and the locals don’t listen, call me, I’ll make sure someone investigates your serial killer.”
“You’ll be hearing from me,” Moses said. “Gotta get moving now, but I’ll be seeing you again.”
“Bye Moses,” I got back into the SUV and watched the homeless man walk away.
Epilogue
Saturday morning started with a torture session. Trevor stood in my bathroom, doing something to my hair and face that hurt like hell and involved lots of brushes and curlers and make-up. Lucas stood at the entrance of my bathroom holding up two different dresses that I hated with every fiber of my being. Sadly, they loved both of them and I was going to be stuck in one of them. As Trevor tortured my face and hair into unnatural fashions, the two of them debated how much skin I was allowed to show at a wedding and still have it be tasteful. Lucas was thinking it was far less than Trevor was thinking.
For good measure, Nyleena stood beside Lucas giving her opinion. She agreed with Lucas. She also kept telling me to hold still and shut up. I was about to come to the conclusion that I hated her, when Trevor announced he was done.
At that point, Lucas and Nyleena out-voted Trevor and I was shoved, stuffed and packaged inside a blue dress that had sleeves made of a sheer material, but effectively hid most of the scars on my arms and a hem that touched my ankles. The skirt swirled and swished as I walked. Then there was another torture session as they made me try on the four pairs of shoes they had picked to go with the dress. All of them had heels and I was sure my ankles were going to break and I was going to end up flat on my face with broken ankles and blood running out of all my facial orifices.
Stating that though got me a chorus of “shut-ups” from the people dressing me.
The wedding ceremony was quick. The reception was not. I met the bride and decided I liked her as much as I ever would in the fifteen minutes during which we talked. Malachi and I sat at a table that had been vacated over an hour ago, when we began talking about our jobs. It seemed death was not an appropriate wedding conversation and neither were serial killers.
“I think I’m going to get married,” Malachi said after we had been sitting for a while. He was sipping on a whiskey. I was drinking a glass of water and hoping I didn’t die of heavy metal poisoning from it.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked.
“No, but I still think I should get married.”
“You need to find someone to marry you first,” I reminded him.
“Minor detail,” Malachi brushed it away.
“Why do you want to get married?”
“Tax breaks. Do you know the tax advantages of being married? And if I can get a wife that wants to stay at home and not work, I get an even bigger break because she becomes a dependent with no income.”
“How very romantic.”
“Romance is overrated.”
“You realize that most married people expect monogamy.”
“I’ll find someone that doesn’t.”
“So you are now wife shopping for a woman that doesn’t want or expect monogamy and doesn’t want to work.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any other requirements? How about attraction? Shouldn’t you at least be attracted to your wife?”
“I don’t see why that would be important if monogamy is not expected.”
“At some point, you will have to consummate the marriage, Malachi.”
“I can have sex with women I am not attracted to,” Malachi answered. “An unattractive wife isn’t a hindrance.”
“Aside from tax advantages, is there another reason you want to get married?” I pressed, wondering if he had actually thought about marriage for more than five minutes.
“I’d have a date for family functions that wasn’t you.”
“Ok.”
“Married men are considered more respectable than single men.”
“You’re an FBI agent. I didn’t think marriage really worked in your department.”
“It doesn’t, but since I’m not getting married for the usual reasons, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work.”
“You need a dog, not a wife.”
“I don’t want a dog.”
“You don’t want a wife either.”
“How do you know?”
“I know you Malachi, a wife would be an inconvenience for you.”
“A dog would be an inconvenience. A wife would be able to take care of herself when I was out of town.”
“For weeks at a time,” I added.
“See, if I had a dog, someone would have to take care of it when I was out of town for weeks at a time.”
“You don’t get lonely. You can’t love. You don’t understand romance. What makes you think you are husband material?”
“I’m attractive and I make a ton of money. That should be enough.”
“For most women, that is not really enough. For shallow, fake women, it would be fine, but you would not stay married to a shallow, fake woman for very long. You wouldn’t be married, you’d be divorced.”
“Divorced men are more respectable than single men. At least they can say they tried to be married and it just didn’t work. If I marry a shallow, fake woman and it failed, then I could legitimately claim that it didn’t work because of her. I’d garner even more respect.”
“People do not get married for respectability and tax advantages.”
“I don’t see why not. It is more logical than marrying for love. Look at my parents. They married for love and it failed. Now they are remarried, again for love, and I don’t see either marriage lasting until death. I foresee my father being married three or four more times. That is not respectable. They put stigmas on men that can’t stay married multiple times.”
“Malachi, you cannot get married. It’s as crazy an idea as me climbing the outside of the Eiffel Tower.”
“As my friend, I would think you would be supportive.”
“As your friend, I think it is one of your more insane ideas. As your friend, I’m telling you that you cannot marry some poor unsuspecting woman and then expect her to just deal with you afterwards.”
“Fine. You can marry me.”
“I don’t want to marry you.”
“Why?”
“Why would I want to marry you?”
“I’m a good catch.”
“You’re a psychopath, there is a difference.”
“And you’re a sociopath who does not have sexual impulses. It would be good for both of us. Think of the tax breaks since we both work in dangerous jobs for the government and we would rarely see each other bec
ause we work for different government agencies. And we would always have dates for family events.”
“We already have dates for family events. I go to yours, you go to mine, jobs allowing. I don’t see why we would get married to solidify that anymore than it already is,” I frowned at him.
“You would be more respectable because you’d be married.”
“Malachi, it isn’t the 1600’s, neither of us have to be married to be respectable.”
“I don’t know why you are so opposed to the ideal of marriage.”
“With you?”
“Yes. Would you be this opposed to Nyleena being married?”
“No, but Nyleena isn’t a psychopath.”
“Oh, so I shouldn’t marry because I have a mental illness.”
“No, you shouldn’t marry because you’re a psychopath. I shouldn’t marry because I’m a sociopath. Neither of us are capable of romantic love and therefore, should not enter into any contract based upon the concept. It is illogical for us to marry each other or anyone else and it would be morally wrong.”
“And you would know all about morality,” Malachi gave me a look.
“Ok, I’ll give you that, morality may not be my strongest point, but I know that us getting married to anyone, including each other, would be wrong.”
“Would you deny marriage to all mentally ill people?”
“No, just you and me and those like us. Most people who are mentally ill are not us. We are not the norm, we are the exception. If your wife drove you nuts, you’d bury her in the backyard and not think twice about it. Then you’d find a way to defend your decision to murder her and make it sound sane because you are that smart.”
“I see your point. I’m not sure I agree with it, but I see it.”
“So, we can drop all this marriage nonsense?”
“For the time being. Would you like to dance?”
“Not in these shoes. I don’t even want to stand in them. I’m waiting to kill myself in them.”
“Why would you commit suicide because you don’t like your shoes?”
“No, I mean that I’m waiting to catch or break a heel and plunge to my death. It would be accidental.”
“For a moment I was worried about your mental state. We should do something to blend in with the rest of the group. Since we are sitting at a table by ourselves, we are definitely not blending.”
“I don’t blend well, Malachi,” I reminded him.
“But I do, Aislinn. Take off the damn shoes and dance with me.”
“Damn, you’re demanding, another reason you should not get married.”
“What are you guys doing over here by yourself?” Bob suddenly appeared next to us.
“Discussing whether I should get married or not,” Malachi told his father.
“Do you have someone in mind?” Bob gave me a grin.
“I considered Aislinn, but she turned me down.”
“How did you propose?” Bob asked.
“He explained the tax advantages,” I chimed in.
“Not very romantic, Mal, not at all,” Bob was the only one who called Malachi “Mal.” He allowed his brothers to call him Kai, but that was the extent of nicknames with Malachi.
“I didn’t intend it to be romantic. I intended it to be logical. Aislinn doesn’t respond to romance.”
“Oh, well,” Bob seemed confused for a moment. “Why don’t you guys have another drink and dance or something.” He moved away from us.
“You just made your father uncomfortable.”
“Hell,” Malachi stood up. “I forget that talking to you rips away the mask I wear that makes me appear normal. I guess I need to go fix that. We should dance.”
“Fine, if it will help you appear normal,” I kicked my shoes off under the table. “However, let it be known, that if you ever ask me to marry you again, I’ll shoot you.”
“Understood.”
“And if you ever decide to get married and actually find a girl willing, I will do everything in my sociopathic powers to stop it.”
“Noted, but I still don’t understand why.”
“Because people who are just one stressor away from being serial killers instead of serial killer hunters, should not marry. People like you and me, Malachi. I’ll always be there for you, but I want you to understand that I will not let you harm the innocent populace, even when it is an attempt to appear more normal than you are.”
“I didn’t expect that,” Malachi took my hand as a slow song began to play.
“Expect what?”
“Expect you to see the reasoning behind why I wanted to get married.”
“I’ve known you for most of my life Malachi. I might know you better than I know me. Your motives are always going to be transparent to me.”
“One day, I will decide if you are actually my friend or my nemesis.”
“I’m both, Malachi.”
“That could be,” he leaned in and kissed my forehead. “And I know you, Aislinn Cain and know that one day, some emotion will trump your hyper logical mind and you will do something silly. When that day comes, I will help you clean up the mess.”
“I am not a killer, Malachi,” I whispered to him.
“No, but you are a predator,” he whispered back to me, his voice tickling my face. “And predators eventually give into their instincts.”
Explosive Dreams
Releases May 2014
The carnival ride operator noticed the blue cooler first. It was small with soft sides, a zippered top and a pocket. The strap had broken, but it was still a perfectly good cooler. The ride he operated continued its up and down motion while spinning the screaming riders in a circle. It was fast, noisy and loud, like all good carnival rides and provided a quick thrill to the riders.
However, he had been operating it for a couple of years now and the fascination with the ride or the riders had waned. The cooler interested him more. What if someone had left beer in it? It might be getting hot as the riders screamed above him.
But he couldn’t step away until the ride ended and it had only started a few seconds before he noticed the cooler. It had another seventy-eight seconds, give or take, to go. The cooler that might contain heaven would have to wait until it ended. Then he could step away. If anyone asked, he could say it was a safety hazard where it sat, so near to the platform of the large ride. Someone could trip over it, hurt themself, sue the carnival, and make all of them unemployed. He’d be doing the carnival owners a favor by picking up the dangerous cooler.
The Hurricane stood nearly three stories tall. Six arms held a single car at the end of each of them and swung the cars straight up to full height of the ride and extended almost twenty-five feet out. As the arms moved up and down, it also swung the cars in a circle.
The ride had reached its apex. The arms of the massive moving mechanical monster were reaching the top of their arc. The centrifugal force was at its greatest as the cars attached to the arms spun around at full speed.
There was a loud noise and heat bathed the back of the ride operator for a few seconds before he died from the percussion wave. The mechanical monster was damaged. The central pillar shook and rumbled loudly as it started to fall to one side. The arms, contorted in a way they were not meant to be twisted, broke. The cars and arms flung from them at a high rate of speed as they were sent spinning into the air.
The screams of the passengers were lost by the loud noises coming from the collapsing ride. They were flung in different directions and ejected from the cars. Their bodies fell to the earth with loud thuds that were also swallowed by the other noises.
Those on the ground, not directly impacted by the blast, watched as the Hurricane collapsed. A father, standing with his young son, cotton candy held in their hands, suddenly realized they were standing in the path of the falling tower. He dropped the fluffy candy and swept his son into his arms. He ran, with his son screaming and clutching the cotton candy so hard the stick broke in his tiny hands.
One car from the hurricane crashed into another ride, the Star Flyer. The sound of wrenching metal now became intolerable. Those on the ground, too stunned to run, covered their ears as another ride began a slow collapse. Chains began to break and tear loose of their fastenings as this swing-set style ride began to whine and groan. Adults and children were flung into the onlookers, crashing into them. The riders’ bodies were battered and broken. Those they crashed into were less fortunate, most dying upon impact.
One of the swings went over the fence that separated the arena from the fair. It crashed into the back of a grandstand. The commotion on the grandstand was a horrid spectacle. Once packed with fans of the demolition derby going on, they were know stampeding for the exits, trampling each other to get away.
A group of teenagers were standing on the ground, near the Sizzler. They backed up, pinning themselves against the fence as one of the swings, rider still in it and chains flying rushed at them. A few of them ran, the others dove over the fence as the swing crashed into the barrier. The chains ripped through the fiberglass of a few seats on the Sizzler, shredding them like newspaper.
The Rocko-Plane suffered structural damage as a piece of debris fell into the motor. It ground to a halt, stranding riders in cages, some turned upside down. They screamed for help, but help didn’t make it in time. A piece of the Hurricane, still tearing itself apart as it slammed into the ground, flew up and hit one of the cages. The force from the metal slamming into the cage, dented the cage. The riders screamed louder. The bolts that held the cage on were old and the impact caused them to shimmy. The riders’ frantic movements worked them loose even more. The cage, located at the side of the ride, near the top, broke from framework and began to fall down. It slammed into another cage, sending it into a wild spinning frenzy. The passengers threw up a second before their own cage broke loose. The first cage hit the ground and split apart, sending the passengers across the ground. The second cage fell on top of the first and any survivors from the first were lost. Pieces of metal erupted into dagger-sharp spikes in the second cage, piercing a rider and pinning him into the seat.