by Perry Prete
"So, tell me, you asked me here, and now you're playing shy. What's going on?" He laughed, "You're acting like a fourteen-year-old." He looked past her to the young girl.
Katy reached across, gently touched Will's hand that held his coffee cup, "It's just that, well, I was wondering if things were going to go anywhere from here?"
Will let out a loud belly laugh, "From here," he pointed to the table, "like from right here?"
Katy slapped his hand, "Not from here, here," she pointed to the spot on the table Will touched. She pushed back in her chair, "I mean for us, you know, from this point forward."
"I'm just shitting with ya. I see what you mean. I've been thinking a lot about you too, us too." Will liked Katy, considering what he was thinking of doing to her the first day they met, he realized he must truly like this girl. "You're kind of special, and pretty. What do you have in mind?"
Katy felt slightly embarrassed to broach the subject, "I don't know, it's our third date. We get along well. I like you; I think you're cute and funny. I like you."
"Me too."
"So, what do you want to do?" Katy asked coyly.
"Let's finish our coffee and see how things go from there. Deal?" "Deal." Under the table, Katy tapped Will's foot with her boot and gave him a look. Will replied with the same look.
Will stood, "Let me get us some fresh drinks. Large black?" Katy nodded and smiled at him. "Anything else?"
"I would love a scone. Nothing with raisins or cheese. Plain or something sweet."
"Got it."
"Oh, don't go to that one," Katy pointed to the large barista behind the counter.
Will looked at the pleasant girl serving customers with a broad smile, "What's wrong with her?"
Katy shivered, "Fat people creep me out. She probably tastes half the food before it's brought out."
Instead, he pointed to the one girl he had been watching all night, "That one meet with your approval?"
She nodded softly, "Thank you."
Will timed his approach to the counter to make sure the girl he was eyeing would be the one taking his order. As she walked by the register, Will jumped in to place his order. The girl smiled at Will; he smiled back.
"May I take your order?" she asked.
"You certainly may," Will looked at her name badge, "Kerry." He placed his order for two more coffees and two scones.
"Take-out or are you having them here?" Kerry asked. "Make that take-out; it's getting late. Thanks."
*****
Carl finished watching "Young Frankenstein" and Googling limb transplants. He shook several empty cans of Red Bull scattered on his desk that he had consumed to help keep himself awake. Carl understood why he was researching transplants and why Maura had asked him to watch the movie beforehand. He printed several articles relating to the limb transplants, many were decades old some newer, and he even found a few that mentioned the German concentration camps of the Second World War.
Carl now had a goal for the article he was working on and what he had to do first thing in the morning. He was too tired to go home, looked across the newsroom to Nora's office and decided to stay put. He did his zombie walk into the office, fell hard into the sofa, stretched out, balled up his second-hand suit jacket as a pillow and fell asleep.
*****
As Kerry left for the night, Will had readied himself for a sudden onset of nausea and kept the take-out bag the scones were placed in at the ready when Kerry served him Katy's coffee.
Kerry opened the door to leave, as Will grabbed his stomach and expelled a mouthful of coffee into the bag to make his fake illness seem legitimate. Katy reached over the table, touched Will softly on the shoulder as he hunched over and heaved again. Will looked up, gave Katy his best tired, sudden illness look, "I don't feel well," he said softly.
"I'll take you home." Katy was quickly donning her jacket and standing to take care of Will.
He held out his hand, "The last thing I want is you in a confined space with me, breathing in my germs and getting sick. I'm sorry. You were looking forward to this evening, but I don't think you want to get anywhere near me right now." He grabbed his stomach for effect and moaned. "I promise, if I'm not better tomorrow, you can come over and take care of me. If I'm better, dinner tomorrow night. K?"
Katy smiled, disappointed that her plans had fallen through, "All right. You gonna be OK driving home?"
Will shook his head side to side, "No, but I don't want to puke in your car, and I think our relationship is too new to have to hold my hair back while I throw up." He laughed then let out a soft moan. He excused himself, apologized again, bent low to give to kiss Katy on the cheek then pulled back, "Sorry, I don't want to get you sick in case it's contagious."
He made his way to the door, moaned then exited the restaurant. He continued his sickly walk, holding his stomach, giving an Oscar-winning performance, looked back to make sure Katy wasn't watching from the door, dropped the bag of coffee vomit to the ground and scanned the parking lot for Kerry. Will found her as she slammed her car door, and pulled out of a spot at the back of the lot. He ran for his vehicle, keyed the engine to life and followed her at a distance. He knew what he was going to do and powered off his cell phone.
*****
It was the time between night and day. The people who worked during the day were long asleep, soon to be woken by their alarm clocks or cell phones. Only the few who worked the night shifts wouldn't have any reason be out in this section of town at this time of the morning.
Kerry drove her car down the street to her apartment building. It certainly wasn't her first choice to live, she wanted something newer, modern, but her budget overruled and this place won by default.
Kerry pulled into the parking lot. If there was a security system in place, it had long fallen into disrepair, and the owner never bothered to have it fixed. She found an open spot, kept the vehicle idling and the headlights on to provide some light until she was ready for the short walk to the back door. She grabbed her purse, killed the engine then made her way to the entrance. If Kerry had turned the car off earlier, she might have heard the car follow her into the parking lot and park not far from hers. The driver made his way along the unkempt bushes and hid among them knowing she would have to pass close by to make her way to the back door. Will crouched in the woods, waiting for her to walk past his location and he would make his move. As she neared, he got down on all fours, and crawled between the parked cars and stopped close to the back bumper.
Kerry's pace was steady and grew slightly louder in the stillness. Will pressed himself against the vehicle and felt the cool metal through his jacket. Evenings were still cold for May, and he realized that he could see the wisp of steam when he exhaled. He held his breath as Kerry approached.
Will kept his head down, staring at the parking lot when her first shoe appeared, he reached up, grabbed Kerry from behind, threw her to the ground between the two cars and straddled her. Both knees held her arms down, his hands placed around her neck, Kerry looked up and saw the man wearing the ball cap. She recognized him as fear took over. She was powerless to fight against her attacker. She began to randomly kick her legs out attempting to get some leverage to force the man off her.
Kerry tried to take in a breath, but nothing happened. It was only then she knew what was happening; it wasn't rape, the man wanted her dead. She bent her knees, brought her feet to her bum, planted them, then quickly bucked her pelvis up high. Will, caught off guard, released his grip and was sent flying over Kerry. She knew she had seconds to react, took in a deep breath, felt the fresh air enter her lungs, had renewed energy, noticed the SUV beside her and rolled beneath it. Kerry looked out from under the SUV and saw that her purse with her cell phone was still between the two vehicles. Her attacker was still on his side facing away from her, Kerry took the risk. She reached out and took hold of the purse handle and pulled it in. She yanked hard then felt a jerk pulling the bag back. Kerry looked out to see her attacker had a
hold of the bottom of the purse. With her free hand, she reached inside the purse, fumbled for her cell phone as the two of them fought for control. Kerry felt the plastic shell of the phone with the tips of her fingers as she clawed at it in an attempt to gain possession of the device. Kerry's fingers caught the edge of the phone case and pulled in close. She palmed the phone then let go of the purse handle. The attacker rolled backwards as Kerry relinquished her hold. With her hands quivering, she unlocked the phone and dialed 911.
The attacker rolled towards the SUV and blindly swept his arm, grabbing at Kerry, trying to take hold of anything he could to take control of his victim.
Kerry began yelling loudly at her phone, asking for help, even before she knew if the line had connected. The attacker found her jacket and took hold of her collar. As he began to draw her out, she reached up beneath the SUV and took hold of anything to keep from being pulled out. Kerry reached up and began to scratch and dig her nails into the attackers' hand then turned her head sunk her teeth into the skin between the thumb and index finger. The man screamed in pain, released his grip on the collar, but Kerry's teeth had a firm hold of the skin. Kerry felt his hold release on her jacket and knew she had the upper hand. She tasted blood, and it only drove her desire to inflict more pain. With everything she had, she bit harder and growled like a rabid dog killing its prey. The attacker pulled against her teeth, tearing the skin, eventually ripping free of her grip. Kerry spit out the chunk of skin and blood to the pavement. He pulled his hand back, screamed in pain and held it close. He rolled away, stood up and ran from the parking lot.
*****
Will fell into the driver's seat holding his hand. Blood flowed between his fingers as he held his injured left hand. The pain was so intense; he felt tears welling up. He wanted to look at the wound to see the damage, but he knew he had to leave. He turned the key, the engine caught, and he slowly drove away to avoid attention.
He stuffed his injured hand in his pocket to prevent getting blood on the car's interior. Will could feel his mind getting cloudy with pain but fought against the sensation to pass out. He steered his car home, travelling only slightly faster than the posted speed limit and obeying all the traffic laws to avoid being stopped. As he drove, he passed a strip plaza, pulled in, removed his ball cap and jacket that could identify him from the witness statements and tossed the clothing into the dumpster. He found a rag in the trunk and wrapped his injured hand until he got home.
Will pulled the car into the driveway, killed the engine and almost passed out in the front seat. The dogs barking in the backyard kept him from losing consciousness. He sat up, exited the car, stumbling his way into his house, knowing he would need a good excuse for his injury and knew exactly what he would do. Will bandaged his hand before crawling into bed, turned his cell phone back on, texted Katy and told her he was feeling much better and asked if they could meet for lunch. He put his phone on the nightstand and fell into a deep sleep.
*****
The morning sun was above the tree line as Paul Hammond exited Nicole's apartment. He double checked the door as he left. His SUV was still on the street where he'd left it the night before.
Nicole was already gone when he woke to find himself alone. She had left a short note telling him to make himself at home. He decided to accept her offer and threw his clothes in the dryer for a quick spin while he had a shower. After the shower, he cleaned the tub, sink and toilet, failing to find a hook to hang the wet towel, decided the shower curtain bar was the next best thing. Paul let his clothes cool before getting dressed, left a short "Thank you" on the same sheet of paper Nicole left for him and thought it would be best to pick up take-out on the way to the station.
Paul walked down to his SUV, feeling a little ashamed, although he had nothing to be anxious about. He scanned the neighborhood; no one was out on the sidewalk or in their yards, quickly unlocked the door and drove away. He tapped the phone button on the steering wheel, flicked the down button until he found the number and hit dial. When the automated voice answered, Paul, asked for Ken Simmons, his extension rang, "Hello."
"Ken. Paul."
"What the Hell happened yesterday? We were in the middle of the bull session, and you just flew outta here. You OK?"
"Got some bad family news. Sorry about leaving and not telling anyone. I'm on my way in. I haven't eaten yet, so I'm stopping at Starbucks. Coffee's on me. Text me the order."
Paul knew Ken spent most of his after-tax food budget at Starbucks and wouldn't say no to a free drink. It was Paul's way of ensuring that Ken couldn't be upset with him leaving so abruptly. He disconnected the call and drove to the closest location a few blocks from the station.
He felt his phone buzz in the parking lot, checked the order before entering the restaurant and was happy to see the lineup relatively short. Almost all the tables were occupied with guests abusing the free Wi-Fi offered at every location. As he made his way through the line, he approached the counter as he was about to place his order, Paul overheard a young couple talking about the recent unexplained deaths in town. He suddenly felt ashamed and embarrassed by the fact he had been working the case since November and in seven months, he was no closer than he was the very first day.
The couple began to ridicule the police departments efforts in finding the person responsible. Paul didn't turn around but focused on their conversation and ignored the young girl behind the counter who asked him several times if she could take his order. He stood at the counter; his head partial turned to better hear what they were saying, Paul, felt the anger rise inside him. They only knew what they had read in the papers, social media or online and Paul knew, it was only a fraction of the true story.
The anger inside began to swell. Paul turned towards the table, took a few steps, stopped and walked out of the coffee shop without placing his order. He pushed the glass door open, striking the stop, snapping back hitting him on the shoulder.
He raced back to his car, jumped in, slammed the door, sat behind the steering wheel and slammed his fist into the horn. The blaring sound startled a woman as she walked by and turned to see the man in the car yelling to himself. She paused for a moment, though briefly about asking if she could help then decided to walk on.
Paul raged against the feeling of incompetence that he felt for not being able to solve the case. He was taking the circumstances personally and hearing the conversation in the coffee cemented his justification of inadequacy.
He keyed the engine to life, slammed the gear selector "D" and squealed the tires as he drove away. Paul remembered little of the short drive to the station; his mind flooded with self-loathing and realization of his limitations as a detective. He pulled into the parking lot, the front wheels bumped hard against the parking curb, jostling Paul in his seat. He put the car in park then sat there. It seemed to Paul that he remained in the driver's seat few only a few moments, but when he broke from the trance, he looked at the display on the dash and realized almost fifteen minutes had passed.
He leaned to the right, pulled his wallet from his back pocket and retrieved the picture he carried for so many years. Paul looked at it, recalling what was said last night and how he felt after he hung up the phone. He placed the photo against the dash cluster and stared at the image through the spokes in the steering wheeling. Thoughts raced through his mind, scattered scenes from his life, a collection of snapshots of times in his life that had no relevance other than they formed what was the life of Paul Hammond. There weren't many times that Paul could remember when he was truly happy. Then he asked himself what did he want out of life to be happy. He quickly shook that thought from his mind. Happiness is not for people like him; he didn't deserve happiness. At least, not the kind he dreamt about.
He left the photograph where it was on the dash, slammed the door and locked it. Paul sauntered to the back entrance of the station and swiped his card. He went to his locker, found a few old granola bars and an energy drink and went back to his desk.
Ken saw Paul arrive and was about to ask where his order was when he noticed his friend staring down at the can of Red Bull and bars. Ken went to the coffee machine, made a cup for Paul, walked over, stood on the far side of the desk and placed the mug in front of his friend and walked away. He had seen Paul in this state before, and it was always caused by the same thing. He instinctively knew who it was that had called Paul last night and decided to leave well enough alone. Paul either didn't notice Ken placing the coffee cup on his desk or didn't react.
Paul pulled back the tab on the Red Bull and guzzled the drink down without stopping. He ripped open a granola bar package, broke it in halves, ate one-half, sipped the coffee, then ate the second half. As he crumpled up the bar wrapper, he noticed the best before date was almost a year ago. He took another gulp of coffee, checked the date on the second bar which was the same as the first but ate it anyway.
With his mouth still full, he went over to Ken's desk, tried to ask him to find Dan and meet him in the conference room without spitting out too much food as he spoke. Paul went directly to the squad room, pulled out his notes and began to review everything they had. Not long after, Ken and Dan arrived with their coffee and took a seat.
The two detectives stood watching their friend mull over case reports. These were the same reports they had all gone over several times in the previous months. They both took seats facing Paul and waited for him to pause long enough for him to pay attention to them. Paul ignored them while he flipped through the reports and statements.
"Did we double check the surveillance tapes from the stores from back in November after we got the description of the guy?" Paul asked without looking up.
Ken and Dan glared at each other. "We did take a second look and a third at all recordings we got from the stores in the area. We looked for a skinny guy. It was November; people wear jackets. Kinda hard to see how skinny they are," Dan said sarcastically.