by Cross, Amy
“Calm,” he whispered again. “Peace.”
She laughed.
“You're not real,” he added under his breath. “You're not really here.”
“Seriously? Can't you even look at me?”
He squeezed his eyes tighter shut. So tight, they hurt.
“Are you a man?” she asked. “Come on. Look.”
He waited for her to go away.
“Look,” she said again, sounding a little closer this time.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw Caitlin standing on the other side of the yard, her scarred and damaged body just about visible in the shadows.
“That's better,” she added. “You don't get to stop looking at my injuries until you catch the man responsible.”
Not too far off, on the other side of the wall at the yard's far end, a car rolled past slowly.
“You can strut about all you like,” Caitlin continued, fixing him with an unblinking gaze, “and you can talk about justice until you're blue in the face, but nothing's going to happen unless you find him. If you'd caught him nine years ago, he wouldn't have killed that woman at the bar the other night, would he? He'd be locked away in a cell somewhere, unable to cause any more pain to this town. He'd have been cut out of the fabric of Bowley's life like a tumor. That's what you are, isn't it? A surgeon who takes bad things out of the town's body, and a priest who makes things better later. The people of this town rely on you to keep them safe, so if you think about it, Mel Armitage's blood is on your hands.”
He shook his head.
“It isn't?” she asked, with a faint smile. “Really?”
“I'm going to find the killer,” he whispered.
“Before or after he kills again?”
He paused.
“What people need,” Caitlin continued, “is someone who'll keep them safe. Do you keep them safe? Or do you let murderers get away with their crimes? Mel probably thought this was a nice little town, the kind of place where a woman wouldn't have to look over her shoulder every five minutes. She probably came here to escape the horror and violence of the rest of the world, and now she's dead on a slab with a hole in her chest. It's too late for her, she's gone, but the next victim is walking around in town somewhere and she still can be saved, if only you get your finger out of your ass.”
“I'm trying,” he whispered.
“What was that?”
“I'm trying.”
She laughed. “Say it again.”
“I'm trying.” His voice was trembling this time.
“Then you're doing a really pathetic job,” she told him. “The man who killed me is still out there. Can you imagine what a sick person he must be? What kind of man would stab a poor innocent young woman and then cut out her heart?” She reached up and touched the bloodied hole on her chest. “What did he do with it? You never even found it. Whatever he wanted, he got away with it. He decided to kill me, and he did, and you never troubled him, you probably never even got close. How the hell do you sleep at night?”
“I don't.”
“Good. You shouldn't. You should be working every moment that God sends until you find this man, because he's going to do it again.”
“I know.”
“Who do you think'll be his next victim? It'll be someone from the town, someone you know. Any ideas?” She paused. “Maybe it'll be a child this time. An innocent, angelic little child.”
He shook his head.
“No?” She smiled. “Why not? How do you know?”
“I'm going to stop him,” he replied, taking a step forward as the rain continued to fall. “You have to believe me, justice -”
“So what's different?” she asked, interrupting him. “What are you going to do now, that you couldn't do back then? Come on -” She snapper her fingers a couple of times. “Quick, tell me. Don't be vague. I want details.”
“We have new techniques,” he stammered. “He must have made a mistake, maybe he left some DNA behind.”
“You had those techniques nine years ago. Details, man.”
“We have new ideas.”
“Jane has new ideas,” she spat back at him. “You don't understand them, though, do you? What's wrong, are you too stupid?”
“I take an old-fashioned approach, I admit -”
“Oh God,” she said with a faint smile, “are you really that desperate? Are you hoping for some DNA to magically show up and lead you right to him? Don't you think he might just be a little smarter than that? In fact, don't you think that's the real problem here? For all that you strut about, promising to look after people, you're no match for this guy. You're no match for anyone. The killer is smarter than you, he's running rings around all your efforts to catch him and he's going to keep doing that for as long as you climb to your job. Even your partner's smarter than you.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I'm going to get him.”
“Maybe you should turn the case over to Jane,” she suggested. “Maybe she's got a better chance of solving this thing without you. You just get in the way.”
“No.” Edging closer, he saw the knife-wounds all over her flesh and, although he wanted to look away, he found himself drawn toward her as she waited for him in the shadows. “I'm going to find him,” he stammered. “Me, I'm going to be the one. I promised you all those years ago -”
“And you let me down.”
“I'll do it!” he hissed. “I swear to God!”
“God can't help you. God doesn't care.”
“I'll show you,” he continued. “I won't rest until I've caught him.”
“You didn't even pay attention when you were told his name!” she replied, with anger building in her voice.
“His name?” He stopped just a few feet from her. “I don't know his name.”
“You were told it once. It was delivered to you and you just carried on without paying any attention.”
He shook his head. “No, absolutely not, of course I don't know his name, I can't -”
“The.”
He stared at her. “What did you say?”
“Stag.”
He froze, not even breathing.
“Headed.”
He waited.
“Man.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but for a moment all he could do was look into her cold, dead eyes.
“Did you hear it this time?” she asked finally.
“I -”
“Did you? If you did, say it.”
“But -”
“Say it!”
“The...” He paused. “No, you're wrong. The kid was insane, he's still crazy. He lost his mind, we can't rely on anything he says, he just -”
“Say it!”
“Listen, I -”
“Say it!” she shouted, stepping forward until she was close enough to touch, and finally letting the gray morning light fall on her rotten, dappled face. “Say it! How many goddamn times do you need to have this stuff spoon-fed to you? Are you a goddamned intellectual cripple? Say the name I just gave to you!”
“The...” He paused again, with tears in his eyes. “I heard it, but... The stag-headed man, but that's... No, Caitlin. Just... no. It's too far-fetched.”
“Why won't you believe me?” she asked.
“Because you're not really here.”
“Joe told you what he saw nine years ago,” she continued, “and you ignored it.”
“The kid is an idiot!” he replied, trying not to lose his patience. “Everyone knows it! He's a simple-minded fool, and he's a drunk! Have you seen him around lately? He's like a goddamn zombie, all he cares about is drinking himself into oblivion every night.”
“He still told you the name.”
“There's no stag-headed man,” he said firmly.
“Why not? Just because you don't believe it's possible?”
“Whoever killed you -”
“Is still around,” she continued, stepping even closer, until her face was almost touching
his. “Maybe he's the guy who serves you in the store. Maybe he's the guy you held the door open for in the bank. Maybe he's the guy who called last week and asked you to keep a look out for his cat. The point is, he's around, and you don't know who he is. So really, after nine years, maybe it's time to admit that you're a complete failure. Retire, move on, let someone else look after these people you've so spectacularly failed to protect. Go home, old man, and wait to die.”
He shook his head.
“Vanity?” she whispered.
“You're not real,” he replied. “You're all in my head.”
“You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like to be able to tell yourself that I'm not watching over you, that I'm not aware of your miserable failure to catch my killer. There's just one thing.”
“What's that?” he asked.
She smiled, before putting her lips together and blowing on his face.
“Stop!” he replied, turning away for a moment before looking back at her and finding that she was gone. He turned again, looking around the entire yard, but it was just him and the rain.
II
She looked down at her right breast and watched as he squeezed the nipple. He was being a little rough, but she didn't mind. If that was what he liked, then so be it. It was all the same to her.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asked finally.
“Have I ever what?”
“Been in love.”
Turning to her, Bob frowned. “You're talking to a forty-one-year-old man who's been married for the past decade and a half. You realize that, right?”
She nodded.
“So don't you think it's a dumb question?”
“No.” She waited for him to reply. “I figured you'd be the best person to ask.”
“Of course I've been in love,” he said finally, moving his attention to her other breast. “I love my wife.”
“You do?”
“Why would you even doubt that?”
“Well...” She paused, feeling his hot breath on her skin. Over on the other side of the motel room, the light above the dresser was flickering slightly. Outside, light rain was falling against the window. “So if you love her,” she said slowly, “then...”
“Then what?”
“Well...”
“Why am I fucking you every night?”
“I was just wondering.”
“Do you know the last time Beth and I made love?” he asked with a sigh.
She shook her head.
“Four years ago.”
She raised both eyebrows.
“Seriously,” he continued. “Since our daughter was born, that side of things has been pretty much dead. And when I finally confronted her about it, do you know what she told me? Do you want to hazard a guess as to her excuse?”
“Well...” She thought about it for a moment. “Maybe it's because she had the baby, and that did stuff to her. Psychologically, and maybe physically too. I heard people can get pretty mangled during childbirth. Maybe she's self-conscious.”
“She told me she's asexual.”
“She's what?”
“Asexual. She sat there, on our bed, and told me that she'd never really liked sex, that she'd never felt sexually attracted to anyone, man or woman, and that she was sorry she hadn't told me earlier. She was sorry.” He paused, staring at her breasts for a moment longer. “I mean, anything else we could fucking work around, you know? But that? She said she could try, she said she could still go through with it and stuff, but...” Rolling onto his back, he sighed. “What's a guy supposed to do when his wife tells him something like that? That she's asexual.”
“So she doesn't get turned on by anything?” Candy asked, staring up at the ceiling fan. “Not by anything in the whole world?”
Bob watched as a fly crawled across the ceiling. “Nope.”
“So it's nothing to do with you?”
“Hell, no.” He laughed nervously. “Are you fucking kidding?”
“It's all her?”
“It's all her. She admitted it.”
She paused for a moment. “Golly,” she said finally. “I can't imagine living like that. Not getting excited by anything, ever. Not feeling that little twinge when you sit on the washing machine, or when you see a hot guy giving you the right look. I mean, that's something I look forward to each day.” She tried to imagine it, but the whole thing was just too bizarre and too strange for her to contemplate. “Are you sure she's telling the truth?” she asked finally. “Are you sure it's not just an excuse?”
“Oh, I believe her,” he muttered bitterly. “She's fucked up. I knew that from the moment I first met her, but it used to be fun. I just didn't realize how fucked up.” He paused, watching the fan, before turning to her. “I love her, though. I love our daughter, too. I know that might seem strange to you, given the fact that... Well, the truth is, I just need sex too. Like, really really need it, and with someone who needs it right back. I can't get by without it, so one day I figured I just needed to get a little one the side. Believe it or not, doing this with you is probably saving my marriage.”
“It is?”
“It is.” He looked down at her naked body, before rolling over and putting a hand between her legs. “Now why don't we have a little more fun before checkout time?” He reached around and cupped her ass, before starting to slip a finger between the cheeks. “Have you thought any more about what we talked about earlier?”
***
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered an hour later, as he pulled the morning's paper out of the coin-operated rack near the motel's front door. “Someone was murdered right here in Bowley.”
“Someone was what, where?” Candy asked. The rain had picked up a little, and a strong breeze was blowing her hair across her face.
“Listen to this,” he continued, reading from the front page. “Police say they have no suspects yet following the discovering of a dead body in a dumpster behind the Monument bar. The body has been identified as Melanie Armitage, a barmaid at the -”
He paused.
“Holy shit,” he continued, sounding a little excited, “I know who that is. She works at the bar, real nice girl. Lets me put U2 on the jukebox. Fuck.”
“She was murdered?” Candy replied, as she struggled to fix her hair against the wind. After a moment, she stepped back behind a wall, to get a little shelter. “Wow. That's heavy.”
“Police have not revealed the nature of the dead woman's injuries,” Bob read out loud, as he made his way toward his car with Candy hurrying to keep up, “but sources close to the investigation have told this newspaper that similarities to the -” He read on in silence for a moment. “Holy shit, get this! Sources close to the investigation have told this newspaper that similarities to the unsolved murder of Caitlin Somers, nine years ago, cannot be ruled out.” Reaching the driver's door, he turned to see that Candy was on the other side of the vehicle. “Cannot be ruled out! Do you realize what that means?”
“Um...” She paused. “It means they can't be discounted.”
“You remember Caitlin Somers, right? Local girl, got knifed to death about nine or ten years ago?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“And now they're saying this second murder might be connected!”
“Connected how?”
“Well, I guess the same killer!”
“Oh.” She paused. “Can you drop me off at the town square?”
“Aren't you scared?” he asked.
“Of what?”
“There's a killer loose!”
“Well...” She paused. “Yeah, but if there is, he's not gonna kill me!”
He turned to her. “How do you know?”
“Well, he's just not.” She seemed a little uncomfortable now, as the wind tried to pull her hair loose from the clips. “That's just not the kind of thing that ever happens to me.”
Instead of answering, he turned attention back to the newspaper.
“So,” Candy continued. “Town square, ye
ah?”
“What? Oh... No, not right on the square, that'd be too dangerous. I can drop you a few streets away. We can't risk anyone seeing us together.”
“I guess not.”
“Listen to this,” he continued. “The discovery of Ms. Armitage's body came nine years to the day after the discovery of Caitlin Somers' body. Jesus, that's right, it must have done! Holy shit, do you think that's it, then? Do you think there's some kind of serial killer in Bowley?”
She frowned. “He must be really patient.”
“Huh?”
“If he waited nine years. I've never waited nine years for anything.”
“You're twenty-two years old.”
She paused. “Yeah!”
“Well...” He paused. “I mean, you've got a point. Why would he quit for nine years, then start up again? If you're the kinda guy who gets his jollies from serial killing, what do you do for nine years between murders?”
“Beats me.”
“You know,” he continued, “my sister-in-law is Jane Freeman. She's a cop. They leak info for a reason, to hurry things up, but I bet she knows way more than they're letting on in this rag. My brother-in-law Jack is the paper's editor, too. I've gotta find an excuse to drop by and see them later, maybe get some dirt on what's happening.” He paused. “Christmas. Christmas is coming up. Perfect!”
“Can we go?” Candy asked. “I'm tired.”
“What? Oh yeah, sure.” Unlocking the door, he climbed into the car while still reading the front-page. “Listen to this. Police remain tight-lipped about the precise circumstances of the body's discovery, and about the nature of the dead woman's injuries.” He turned to Candy as she got into the seat next to him. “Tight-lipped? No way, Jane will have told Jack everything she knows. They must be deliberately withholding information from the public. That's what they do, sometimes, so that there's stuff only the killer knows. In case he, like, calls in or writes and needs to prove who he is.”
“I need one of those pills,” she replied.