by Perry Prete
A few hundred feet from his destination, Paul pulled the car over on the gravel shoulder, put it in park and waited for the uniformed officers to arrive. He had no warrant; he just wanted to speak with the owner of the house and see if he matched the sketch. But there was no way, he told himself, he was going to the house alone.
Paul found the phone on the seat and was about the call Nicole when a raccoon crossed the road directly in front of him. He lowered the phone and watched as the animal lumbered across the road, taking its time, not caring that a car was only a few feet away. It stopped in front of the car, cast Paul a look of indifference then casually walked into the woods. He realized that he hadn't seen a raccoon in years let alone watch one walk passed.
He picked up the phone, decided to text Nicole instead of calling. He left a short text, telling her exactly where he was, just in case. That feeling that he always got when things were about to go bad had been brewing inside since he received that cryptic call. As he continued to type the message, he heard a car approach, glanced up then went back to his phone. He did a double take, looked over his shoulder, got out of the car and watched as the car continued down the road. An uneasy feeling came over him that he couldn't shake.
Closing the car door, he settled in behind the wheel, finished the text and waited for the other cruisers to arrive. As he waited, that feeling wouldn't let go of him, it started in the back of his neck and moved through him like ants crawling under his clothing. He squirmed in his seat, shifting back and forth, trying to scratch that itch, even the top of his head felt itchy.
Paul got out of the car, walked to the driveway, did some recon to see the layout of the path leading up the house. No cars in the driveway, double bay garage. "One way in, one way out," he said to himself. He planned his introduction as he made his way back to the car, leaning on the hood, waiting for backup to arrive.
It wasn't long after that the two cruisers arrived with one officer in each. The two uniformed officers parked behind the detective's unmarked car, exited their vehicles, walked over the detective and introduced themselves. Handshakes exchanged, Paul, detailed how he wanted to approach the house.
He pointed to the smaller of the two officers, "You," "Officer Taylor sir."
"Officer Taylor, you go around back. When I scoped the house earlier, I swear I heard dogs barking, but I can't be sure. You," he pointed to the other officer, looked at his embroidered name tag, "Officer Belanger, use your cruiser and block the end of the driveway. Stand 'bout halfway down the drive. If he tries to get out, stop him. I want to bring this guy in."
The two officers looked at each other, "Don't you have a warrant?" they asked Paul.
"I didn't have time to ask, and frankly, I have no evidence other than an anonymous call. So, this is nothing other than a friendly chat at this point. I'm kinda hoping he does something stupid so we can arrest him. Remember, we can't enter the residence without his permission; he doesn't have to answer any questions, he doesn't have to do a fucking thing. Let me do the talking; you guys are the muscle and intimidation. Got it?"
They both nodded.
The sun was well over the trees; the shadows were long across the driveway as Paul began to walk towards the house accompanied by Officer Taylor. The officer walked around to the back of the house, paused when he saw the fence and stopped at the corner. Officer Belanger pulled his car to the end of the driveway as instructed and stationed himself halfway up the driveway. Once everyone was in place, Paul knocked at the front door as that odd feeling came over him once again. His stomach did tiny somersaults sending waves of nausea through him. Between the itchy skin he had and the nausea, he thought about taking a Benadryl. Instead, he swallowed hard, refocused and knocked again. No answer. Knocked again. No answer. Turning towards the officer standing in the driveway, he shrugged his shoulders. The officer responded in kind.
As Paul walked around the right side of the house, he heard the dogs growl as they ran towards the fence. Startled, he fell backwards landing against the house. The two dogs stopped at the small fence and snarled at the stranger before them. Paul froze, his movements deliberate and methodical. Slowly, he pulled himself up, attempting to be as non-threatening as possible. Halfway up, the dogs jumped up, their front paws resting on the top edge of the fence. He fell backwards again, in the same position he was only moments earlier. Every time he moved, the two dogs followed his every move and countered with their own along the fence line and forced their dominance over their territory. Looking across the length of the fence, he realized the dogs could easily jump over and attack him at any moment. He raised his arm, slowly, slid back his jacket and placed his hand on the butt of his handgun.
*****
Nicole bolted upright in bed. She was confused; her surroundings were not her own. It took a few moments before she recognized where she was. She looked around the room for Paul. Getting out of bed, she walked around the bedroom picked up her bathrobe off the floor then went out into the kitchen. A small piece of paper on the counter caught her attention. She read Paul's note, went back to the bedroom, got dressed and left his house.
*****
Even in the stark blackness of the room, Carl hoped his eyes would've adjusted, and he would finally see what he was certain was on the table. He was still leaning against what he thought was a table or counter attached to the wall motionless, not wanting to move in case he bumped into something else that might be in the room. The shock of what he thought might be on the table had worn off, but the chill of the room was quickly overtaking him. His toes and fingers were numb, each breath burnt as the cold air filled his lungs, his skin was beginning to feel hard, and his mind was getting foggy.
Carl knew he had only minutes before he passed out and would most likely die from exposure unless he escaped from the freezer. He pulled his hands from his pants pocket, stretched out, turned to his right and began to map out the room.
His fingers found instruments or tools hanging from hooks on the wall. They too make that familiar sound. He was careful not to touch or bump into the tools for fear a sharp edge might slice his finger or hand.
Continuing, he found a corner, five paces from where he started. The back-wall surface was metallic and bitterly cold to the touch. His fingers barely touched the surface because the extreme cold was too much. He pursed his lips and blew warm air into his cupped hands, but his breath wasn't much better than the air inside the room.
He stomped his feet hoping the motion would speed up the circulation. It did little good. A feeling of fatigue rushed over him; his eyes grew heavy, he wanted to sleep. If he let himself, he could've fallen asleep standing up.
One step to the right and a blast of cold air whipped across his face. He quickly moved to the right several paces to get out of the frigid cold. Carl stopped, he wanted it to end. The sudden blast of cold air that he inhaled filled his lungs and made his core that much colder. He was done. He was ready to give up and sit down and let the cold take over.
Carl stood motionless, but it felt as if the room was moving inside his head. He knew he would lose consciousness any moment. Stumbling backwards, he bumped the table in the centre of the room causing it to move back slightly. He braced himself against the cold edge of the table, got an idea and decided one last attempt at living was worth the effort. He made his way down, found the rubber wheel and casters, no locks, his hand found the wheel to the left, no lock. He then ran his hand along the bottom rails to the front wheel and casters, found a lock, released it, went to the other side and did the same. All four wheels were now free. He stood, pulled his suit jacket sleeves down to cover his hands before he took hold of the top metal platform, summoned all the strength he had left and ran the stretcher into the wall ahead of him. He hoped whoever set up the room, placed the cot in the centre of the room. The back wall had cold air blowing from the compressors, it made sense to Carl, that the door would be on the opposite side.
The stretcher hit the wall or door, stopped suddenly
, jostling Carl, sending him to the floor. He found new energy, stood, grabbed the stretcher, rolled it a few paces back until he hit the back wall and took another run at the opposite wall. With a thundering crash, the stretcher crashed against something and Carl could swear for a moment, he saw a sliver of light break through the darkness. With newfound hope, he pulled the stretcher back a third time, closed his eyes and pushed with every reserved once of strength, sending the wheeled stretcher into the far wall. The door he was certain was there, gave way. Carl lost his footing and fell to the floor and was hit with something frozen then rolled to the floor. The door had given way, allowing light and heat in, and cold to escape.
He let his eyes adjust to the new light, looked to his left and saw the frozen body of a naked woman on the floor next to him. He let out a scream, loud and long. Kicking at the body, he could not get away from it soon enough.
Carl scrambled to his feet, slipping on the floor, pushing the stretcher out of the way and attempted to squeeze his way through the crack in the door. He pulled and ripped at wood and insulation, taking off chunks with his bare hands in his bid to escape. Finally, the hole was large enough, and he forced his way out of the room and fell to the floor. The heat was a welcomed relief. Cold air was still blowing through the broken door, but no longer was the deadly menace it once was when he was trapped. With his heels, his pushed himself a few feet away from the cold air, put his head on the concrete floor and lost consciousness.
*****
As Paul thumbed the release on his holster, he heard a scream coming from inside the house. The scream caught the attention of the dogs, who for a moment, lost all interest in the stranger on the ground before them. As fast as the dogs turned away from Paul, they turned their focus back on him. By this time, he had pulled his gun from the holster and methodically brought it up and fired two shots into the air. The dogs whimpered, spun around and ran off to the far end of the yard.
Paul heard squawking on his portable radio as the two uniformed officers called to confirm he wasn't in danger. He ignored the radio calls as he stood, holstered his gun then answered their calls.
"Everything is 10-4," he calmly said as if he had angry dogs confront him daily.
Officer Taylor came running from the left, the other from the right. Paul brushed the dirt from his pants, embarrassed he had been frightened by the dogs. He repeatedly told the officers he was fine, that the only thing hurt was his pride.
"I'd have pissed my pants if those two dogs came at me," Officer Belanger said as he pointed to the dogs. "Those are big fucking dogs." "Yeah. Listen, did you hear a scream from inside the house?"
"I thought it was you."
Paul turned to face the house, "I was standing right here, well sitting," he pointed to the spot where he had just been. "But you heard it?"
"I did."
Officer Belanger shrugged his shoulders, "I was too far down the driveway."
"Doesn't matter. We have two to confirm we heard a scream. Probable cause to enter the house. No warrant needed now." Paul walked to the back door with the two officers in tow. He jiggled the locked handset. Looking around, he had trouble finding anything loose lying about the pristine yard. Instead, he put his hand out, "Can I borrow your flashlight?"
It was a metal door with a half-moon shape glass insert near the top of the door. Reaching up, he used the head of the flashlight to smash the glass then ran the metal flashlight around the edge of the frame to clear any broken pieces of glass that remained. Paul stood high, reached through the open pane and was unable to reach the lock on the inside of the door.
"Sir." Officer Belanger casually brushed Paul aside, "Let me." With a forceful kick, the door buckled, the lock released its grip and swung wide open, crashing against the inside wall, then slowly creaking back. The officer caught the door before it closed again.
"Thanks. You're handy to have around." Paul stepped in front of the two officers, drew his gun and announced himself. No answer. He indicated one officer go right, the other left as he walked straight into the kitchen. The room lit with the early morning sun, casting shadows in corners and further down the halls. The counters were clean, spotless, "Showroom clean," he thought, "Can anyone actually live without a little clutter?" Pausing at the fridge, he looked down the barrel of the gun, further down the hall then behind before opening the fridge door. He had to take a double look, everything inside was arranged by category then height, the orange juice beside the apple juice, then beside the milk. All the fruit were neatly arranged in their respective bins, the fresh vegetables arranged similarly in the next bin. "This is just sick," he said aloud.
Paul closed the door and softly stepped towards the hall. He stopped in his tracks; a barely audible noise caught his attention. He paused, heard nothing but that feeling he got was back. Spinning around, he pointed his gun in the face of Carl Kadner.
Too weak to move, Carl stood there, exhausted, skin pale, ready to collapse. "'Bout time you guys get here. I've been waiting most of the night." He attempted a fake smile, but all he could manage was to curl the corners of his mouth. "I'm just gonna sit for a bit." He steadied himself on the kitchen counter, then slowly slid down to the floor. "I feel like shit."
Paul knelt beside Carl and asked if he needed an ambulance. By this time, the two other officers had returned and stood in the kitchen.
"I just need a little time to warm up for a week on some tropical beach. I bet that frozen popsicle of a corpse in the freezer at the back of the basement is gonna take a lot longer to thaw out."
Paul nodded at the two officers who made their way to the basement. "Corpse?"
"Stiff. Hard. Frozen. Immobile. Solid. I'm trying to run through the synonyms in my mind. Mine's still a little fuzzy too. She was dead, naked, suture marks all over the body and gunk everywhere, frozen on her body." Carl rubbed his head, "I collapsed for a few seconds after I escaped. When I woke, I looked back in the room to see what I was trapped with then heard you guys come in. I thought the owner was back. I was trying to get out of the house and saw your fat ass from the top of the stairs."
Paul cast him a look.
"Lose weight if you're offended."
Paul sighed deeply, "Did you see who did this?"
Carl laughed, tried to work the kinks out in his neck, "Yup. The guy we sewed up in the emerg the other day. I saw his face before he cold-cocked me with something. Put me out cold." He ran his fingers along the bridge of his nose, "Not broken, but I have a fuck of a headache. You have any Advil?"
Paul stood, "Yeah. Don't move. I'm going to check downstairs. If the homeowner comes back, arrest him."
"And how do I do that?"
"Talk to him. You put me to sleep every time I have to listen to you." "Funny. Hey, what about my Advil? You said you had some."
Paul disappeared around the corner, "I do."
Carl tried to stand, found it too difficult, sat back down, "Fuck I hate cops."
*****
Paul joined the two officers who stood outside the broken freezer door. Officer Belanger pointed his flashlight inside the room through the fractured door. Tiny wisps of frozen stream rolled out onto the floor around their feet. Cold air, still being pushed into the room by the compressors, spilt into the open area outside the room.
"Did you get a look inside," he asked.
"Yeah. There's a body in the room. Female from the looks of it, naked and dead."
Paul waved his arm around the area, "You, Taylor, keep this place secure. Got it? Belanger, come with me."
The two of them walked upstairs to find Carl rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. He didn't stop as they approached.
"Would you mind telling me what you're doing?" Paul yelled.
"I have a fucking bad headache. I'm looking for an Advil OK. Is that OK with you?" He slammed one cabinet door and opened another.
"This is a crime scene. You can't be looking through shit for an aspirin." Carl turned to Paul and screamed, "I told you, I'm looking f
or an Advil, not a fucking aspirin."
Paul reached into his jacket, pulled a bottle from the inside pocket and tossed it at Carl. He caught the bottle mid-flight, "Thanks. Was that so hard?"
Walking over to the kitchen table, Paul pulled out a chair, motioning for Carl to take a seat. Carl opened the bottle, let a few pills roll out into his palm, popped them into his mouth and drank straight from the kitchen faucet. He then joined Paul at the table. He fell into the chair and defiantly crossed his arms.
Paul took a seat across from him, pulled his cell phone and notepad, laying them on the table, "Tell me everything. Don't leave anything out, nothing." He clicked his pen, opened his notebook and waited for Carl to start telling his story.
*****
Will drove as Katy sat in the passenger seat, still content from the night before and finally bedding her new boyfriend. He looked across, saw her smiling at him, smiled back. Inside, he was concerned about the man he had left in the freezer. Rushed, he should have killed him before leaving. While dragging him back to the house, he recognized the stranger as the man who helped the doctor. Inside, his stomach was sour as he tried to remain calm. How did this man somehow track him down? He was careful not to provide any information that would give him away. Were things beginning to unravel?
As they sat in the car, Will wondered if Katy was getting too close. Was this relationship a mistake?
*****
Paul continued to interview Carl, who for the most part was still annoyed with the police, but was too weak to argue. His headache had subsided slightly but was still pounding in his temples. Closing his eyes, he would rub the sides of his head every few minutes, if only to prolong the interview and antagonize the detective. Carl provided a few new details and asked when he could leave. He desperately wanted to get back to the paper, so he could write his story.