The Mind’s Eye

by Perry Prete

  *****

  Back at her house, Nicole stood under the shower head looking straight up, the water streaming down over her face. Brushing her wet hair back, she wondered about the dream she had seen Paul being attacked by two dogs. In the past, her dreams had always been vague, blurry images of scattered scenes. This time, it was as if she was watching a television program, clear, in focus and she remembered all of it. Why this time she wondered. When she closed her eyes and thought about it, the images came flooding back in full vivid detail. She saw Paul sitting, scared, with two growling dogs bearing down on him.

  The note said not to worry. He would be okay and would call shortly. She looked out onto the kitchen sink to make sure her phone hadn't gone off when her face was under the water. Nothing. She looked down and watched as the water swirled around her toes and flowed down the drain. Closing her eyes, Nicole felt as if she could fall asleep, her body void of energy.

  As her mind drifted in and out of consciousness, images of the things she had seen in the photographs swirled around melding into one another, nausea overcame her; she was suddenly propelled out of the shower and was now sitting in the back seat of a car. She stumbled, put her arms out to stop from falling but instead of touching wet tile; she was feeling cloth. Looking up, she recognized the car. It was the same car she saw in the images of the girl found in the suitcase. It appeared as if the same skinny man was driving. Nicole shrunk down, fearing the skinny man might see or hear her.

  Curling up, she realized she was naked and wet in the back seat of the car. A woman's voice caught her attention. She looked over the back of the front passenger seat to see a beautiful young woman chat with the man driving the car. The conversation went back and forth, casual, funny, not about anything dire or evil; they were talking about breakfast, where to go, what they wanted.

  Hiding on the floor behind the driver's seat, she needed to move to make herself comfortable, her foot got caught under the seat, and she let out a soft squeal. Covering her mouth, she feared the driver would hear her. Instead, they continued to talk. Nicole made another soft noise. They didn't hear. A little louder, again, nothing.

  Nicole sat upright and was now only inches from the skinny man. He didn't see her, and neither did the female passenger. She tried to look at herself in the rear-view mirror only to discover that she didn't have a reflection. Water continued to stream down her face as if she was still in the shower. Maybe she was. Reaching forward, she waved her hand between the two occupants of the car. No reaction. She thought for a moment she was a ghost, but she was most likely still in the shower. Feeling more relaxed, Nicole realized it wasn't a dream, she was safe, or she hoped she was. The skinny man continued to talk, Nicole listened to their conversation. As they spoke, Nicole noticed the bow tie symbol on the steering wheel horn and dark blue paint on the hood.

  The conversation went on about the view out the window, the house, his parents, "...nice you love my house. What about your parents?" Will asked Katy.

  "My parents are both still alive, still married. Typical catholic couple. They would rather be miserable than divorce," she laughed. "I love them both. They just don't love each other anymore."

  Looking between them, Nicole watched as the female passenger reached across the centre console and took hold of Will's hand. He continued to drive with one hand, squeezing her hand, relaxing then squeezing it again.

  "Where did you want to go for breakfast?" she asked. "I'm famished. You?"

  Nicole continued to listen as they talked. Looking outside the car, she recognized the shops and restaurants on Rose Street. Traffic was light, few pedestrians on the sidewalk. The sun was still casting long morning shadows. She made a mental note of the surroundings.

  As the skinny man and the girl spoke, she wondered how this new power came to be, being able to view live conversations outside of a photograph. Concerned about possibly being stuck between where she thought she was in the shower and in the car, she closed her eyes tightly, letting her mind go blank, she shut out all external stimuli, then opened her eyes, and she was back in the shower. The water continued to run down her body to the bathtub drain. Feeling a bit easier with her ability, she concentrated on being with the skinny man in the car. Placing her head under the shower, she felt relaxed, comfortable, no longer threatened. Her mind swirled with images, none of them making any sense, she was unable to reconnect with the skinny man. She made the attempt again. Nothing.

  Turning off the taps, she didn't bother to dry off, she went straight to her cell, saw the text from Paul and instead of replying, she dialed his number. The phone rang, once, twice, three times before it went to voicemail.

  "Shit."

  *****

  Paul walked around the house, his hands protected by black nitrile gloves. He opened drawers, used the end of his pen to rummage through the contents. He was looking for envelopes, medications, papers, bills, anything that would bear the name of the man who lived at the house. Where ever he went in the house, he was greeted with the same organizational marvel that astounded him. He would constantly repeat to himself that no one could live this way. There wasn't so much as a rubber band out of place; there wasn't any dust on the shelves, all the food in the fridge was within the best before dates. Even the clothes closets were organized with military precision.

  Alone, he walked upstairs checked the bedrooms and closets. Only the master bedroom was disturbed, the bed unmade, bed sheet crumpled, and the pillows piled one on top of the other on one side of the bed. Everything else in the room was immaculate. Pulling open dresser drawers, the contents displayed the same organizational marvel as the rest of the house: socks, underwear and T-shirts folded and stacked neatly. He was unable to find any reference to the homeowner, the walls barren of any photos, landscape, family, wife or girlfriends. Leaving the master bedroom, he turned right down the hall and discovered the room with the vista expanse over the trees. Paul stood in the centre of the room, admiring the view, feeling rather insignificant with such a wondrous view over the mountain. He turned to see the wall of books behind him, walked over to admire the collection. Looking up to leather bound books, paperbacks, Paul was astounded at the small library collection. In the centre of the bookshelf was a carefully stacked pile of newspapers, the fold yellowed by the sunshine. He thumbed the edges of the stack then picked up the top copy from 1998. He smirked when he saw a picture of President Bill Clinton with the caption "Clinton Impeached". He placed the paper back on the stack and heard someone from behind but ignored it. The person spoke out again.

  "We've got the SPCA coming to take the dogs."

  "What? Oh sure. Yeah, that's good." Paul paused, "Some view huh?" Dan walked in and stood beside him, looking out over the treetops.

  "Man, imagine waking up to this every morning? I wouldn't have to take my fucking blood pressure meds."

  They both stood in silence, looking at the rising sun. The room was awash in yellow light. Paul could feel the heat against his skin. "Well, the guy who lives here certainly needed a bit more than the view to keep his blood pressure down. Did you see that girl downstairs found in the freezer? She looks like a jigsaw puzzle."

  Dan shook his head, "Did you find anything yet with the homeowner's name?"

  "No, but I texted the station to look up the registration for the house with the country. We should hear back shortly."

  "Okay. You say you got a tip leading you here?"

  "Outta the blue. A guy phoned and gave me the address. I don't have luck like that very often."

  "Well today's your lucky day," Dan snickered.

  Paul didn't say a word and left the room with Dan in tow. They walked through the kitchen, Carl still sat at the kitchen table and watched as they walked passed him. Carl was about to say something; instead, he stood and followed the two detectives to the basement. Paul heard him join them as they descended the stairs.

  Paul turned to Dan, "Did you see the stack of old newspapers in that room? They go back almost twenty y
ears. Looks like they just came off the press."

  "Sounds like my in-law's house. They never throw anything away," Dan chuckled.

  At the foot of the stairs, Officer Taylor stood in front of Carl, stopping him. Paul eyed the officer, silently granting Carl permission to pass. At the back of the finished basement, crime scene technicians muddled about, as they went through to the freezer. The temperature was noticeably cooler the closer they got to the broken door.

  "Say anything," Paul pointed his finger only inches away from Carl's face, "I'll have you arrested. Touch anything; I'll shoot you on the spot. Got it?"

  He just nodded in agreement knowing full well; Paul meant every word. The three donned Tyvek shoe covers, and gloves then squeezed through the broken door which was not covered by a heavy sheet of clear plastic. The room was now lit, illuminating every gory detail Carl had lived through. They stood side by side, each one taking in every macabre detail of the room. Nothing was said, no one moved.

  It was several minutes before Dan spoke, "The guys were already in, went through as much as they could."

  "Geez it's cold in here," Paul exclaimed. "I hate the cold. Christ, after this I'm moving to the Florida Keys."

  Dan knelt beside the body. He gently touched the body, the skin was still frozen solid, "They said even with the door broken, the temp is still below freezing in here."

  Without turning to face Carl, Paul posed one more question, "You wanna go over in detail what you did in here?"

  Once again, Carl was scared. He was now glad that when he was trapped inside, the lights were off so that he didn't have to see what was in the room with him. He looked at the walls, some of the instruments were still suspended by their hooks, others were carefully arranged in some order he didn't understand, other pieces had fallen to the floor. He resisted looking at the girl on the floor, but after going over the entire room, he had no choice but to look at her. Once he did, emotions overwhelmed him, and tears welled up inside. He felt them roll down his cold cheek, wiping them away before anyone could see he was crying. Everything inside him told him to run but wanted to help catch the man responsible was more powerful than his fear. Carl either refused to answer the question or couldn't.

  Paul and Dan knelt beside the body. The body was now supine, looking up at the ceiling. Her face expressionless, showing neither sadness or joy or fear. The girl's eyes were open, staring into nothing with a blank gaze. The eyes appeared to have some crystallization on them. Her mouth was closed, the jaw frozen in place. With a gloved hand, Paul touched the frozen skin, ran his finger to the shoulder area where the sutures were still in place. He titled his head to get a better view of how the suture line ran around the axillary area up along the scapula and met in the front.

  Even frozen, Paul could see that the body was assembled from more half a dozen different parts: the torso, the head, the arms, legs and feet, both hands were still missing. Even frozen, the skin tones were noticeably different from one another. He placed his hands on the floor of the freezer and squatted down to see inside the wrist. It was a clean-cut, surgical.

  "We found a picture of a girl in that cabinet over there," Dan pointed to a small metallic cabinet on the same wall as the door, "She's a dead ringer for..." His words trailed off. "Sorry, poor choice of words. The girl in the picture looks identical to the body on the floor."

  Paul stood, walked to the cabinet and used his pen to open the door. Inside, a color photo of a young girl, black hair, delicate features, smooth skin. It was a sunny day when the picture was taken; her head was slightly tilted to one side, a soft smile on the face, wearing a light teal dress. She was beautiful, but it was her eyes that caught his attention. With a gloved hand, he carefully removed the photo from the cabinet and held it beside the body on the floor, comparing the two girls. There wasn't much of a difference, but he did notice some small variations. Paul placed the photo on the counter and used his department phone to take a picture of the mysterious woman.

  "What do you figure?" he asked. "Unrequited love? Bad breakup?" "Who knows." Dan pointed to some frozen residue on the body, "See here, this hardened substance. I'm betting its raw egg. Look over there." He pointed to the far wall, "There's more of the same, and we found eggshell pieces in the corner."

  "Not like him to leave the body dirty or this room a mess," Paul observed.

  "My best guess, this was a fit of rage. Either at her or at someone else that set him off and time didn't allow for a cleanup. Things got in the way and prevented him from following a routine. Based on what I've seen and by no means am I a shrink, this guy is either ex-military or had a military or strict upbringing. Or, he's a complete whack job. I'm betting on the whack job."

  Carl hadn't said anything or moved the entire time. He continued to cry but was dry; tears stopped flowing quite a while ago. There wasn't anything left inside. There were times he wanted to say something but couldn't. He couldn't find the right words. He was lost.

  Dan stepped over the body on the floor, walked to a small chest freezer and opened it. "The funny thing is, well, the total opposite of funny, the SPCA team took the two dogs away. They said the dogs were as docile as puppies. Very well trained, well cared for, healthy, overall good dogs. We escorted the SPCA guys through the compound, the house and we couldn't find any dog food, none, no dry, no moist." He paused for a moment, "This is what we think he was feeding the dogs." He held the lid to the freezer open and stepped aside so Paul could look inside. "These were the unused parts he discarded. Not sure why some parts were given to the dogs, and some were thrown away. We found a meat grinder; we're testing it for blood and DNA. He may have fed the parts whole or ground them up. Not sure yet."

  *****

  At the bottom of the freezer were small frozen sections of human legs, arms, feet and hands and sections of the torso and organs, all wrapped in clear plastic. Paul took a few steps, peered inside, then ran out of the room. Carl didn't move from his spot; he didn't want to see what was inside the freezer. He has surmised as much, but if he didn't look, he would never know for sure, and that suited him just fine.

  Carl finally spoke up offering his opinion to Dan, "The body parts he threw away had cancer cells or tumors in them. That was the common thread between all the parts that were found," his voice soft, sullen. "He wouldn't even feed them to the dogs. Instead, they ended up in the trash." He was shivering again. The cold bit through his clothes but he felt nothing. He wanted to leave in the worst way possible, but his legs had gone numb.

  *****

  Paul hung his head in the toilet and vomited several times. He thought he had seen the worst that life had to offer but to see body parts wrapped up like food put him over the edge. Eyes closed, mouth open, the rubble in his stomach was persistent, and he felt as if another wave would come over him any moment. Blindly reaching up, he flushed the toilet, sending the contents of his stomach down the drain. Pulling himself up, he sat on the toilet and hung his head. He desperately wanted to vomit again, but his stomach overrode his head.

  He went to the sink, ran the water for a few moments, rinsed his mouth several times then splashed water on his face. He repeated this several times before he felt better. He patted himself down to ensure that nothing found its way to his suit jacket. He suddenly went into panic mode. His cell phone was missing. He looked in the toilet, around the base, the wastepaper basket then realized he left it on the kitchen table. Rushing upstairs, Paul paused momentarily in the doorway when he saw his cell phone. Breathing a sigh of relief, he reached for his phone as it began to vibrate. Answering the phone, he spoke in hushed tones; his eyes widened until he hung up and rushed from the table.

  Paul didn't know Ken had arrived and saw him in the driveway as he was looking at electronic images on the crime scene techs camera. Paul came running over, already out of breath, "We got," breath, "a 20 on," breath, "the guy."

  "What?" Ken was stunned. "Where?" He replaced the camera. Winded, Paul was only able to speak in two-word sentence
s, "Rose Street. Dan's still inside. I'll drive, you call him and tell him where we're going."

  Paul slammed the driver's door, keyed the ignition and floored the accelerator. Ken barely had time to close his door as the tires kicked back small stones from the gravel driveway. Paul turned right hard on the street, activating the lights and siren.

  "Can you call dispatch, tell them we want the patrol cars to be on the lookout for a dark blue Chevy, four-door sedan, possibly with two people inside, one male, one female. The male is Caucasian, slender built, the female is also Caucasian and young. The car may be parked at a restaurant. Do not engage if the vehicle is located."

  Ken looked surprised, "How did you get all this information?" "Nicole told me."

  Stunned, Ken turned to his partner, "Would you mind explaining how she knew? We haven't shown her any photos, and that info is pretty specific."

  He stared out the windshield, "Didn't ask. She didn't tell. You got a problem with that?"

  Paul took a sharp turn a little wide, the tires hit the dirt shoulder, he corrected, and the car righted itself.

  "Nope." Ken applied his seatbelt, tightened it then picked up the mike and radioed dispatch to relay the newest information.

  Paul kept the speed well above the posted limit but avoided the shoulders. He would hit the siren when cars were a little slow to yield. He was under twenty minutes out driving the limit; he hoped to be there in ten.

  *****

  The restaurant was almost full of early morning customers. Will and Katy sat in the far booth of the dinner, half-finished plates still on the table but pushed to the side. Coffee cups continued to be refilled by the server as she passed by the tables and pulled creamers from her apron laying them on the table without paying attention to the customers.

  Katy rested her chin in cupped hands on tented elbows that rested on the table's edge. She listened to everything Will had to say, her eyes staring at this young man that captivated her. Even though he carried the conversation, Will was concerned about the stranger he left in the house and felt uneasy. His words began to slur and suddenly stopped speaking. The noise in the restaurant added to his anxiety; he kept rubbing his temples as he spoke.