The Mind’s Eye

by Perry Prete

  Katy stood defiantly before Sam, "You don't need to protect me, old Sam's voice quivered and shook, "My whole life I've tried to protect my son. But what he's done in the past year goes above what I can cover up. He needs to be stopped. I was scared for him the last time I went to the house and saw what he had done. I sent police pictures and tips, but they were too fucking stupid to put the clues together. If the police couldn't stop him, I thought I better try. I tried reasoning with him, explaining to him what he's done has no excuse."

  Katy came to Will's defense, "Why would you stop your son? He's caring, compassionate, thoughtful and intelligent."

  Sam was dumbfounded, unable to respond, "He can't go on like this. And you shouldn't try to be like him."

  As she was about to defend her position, Will let out a whimper. They both turned to see him roll over.

  "He needs a doctor," argued Sam. "Then we need to call the police. This has to stop here and now. The two of you need to be stopped."

  Katy went to Will's side, touched his forehead, then looked around, "I'll get him a glass of water. He's burning up."

  She walked past Sam to the kitchen, poured a glass of water and returned to the living room. She stood behind Sam, swung her arm and plunged the knife through the chair into his back. Sam stiffened, eyes widened, he felt the blade twist inside him. Katy retracted the knife, swung her arm and plunged the knife into Sam over and over again. The material began to stain red as blood flowed from the wounds as life left the old man's body.

  Katy walked around to face Sam as he drew his last breaths. With blood dripping from the blade, she held onto the knife, gripping it tightly. She watched as Sam stared at her, he tried to take in a breath but couldn't. He coughed, blood bubbled in the corner of his mouth then slowly flowed from his chin. His chest stopped heaving, his eyes closed as his head slumped forward.

  She gripped the knife handle firmly, feeling the blood between her fingers. Her pulse quickened, her chest heaved with deep breaths. Katy thought she would be more heartbroken about taking a life. She wasn't. Will moaned, she turned to see him roll over on the couch.

  *****

  Outside of Sam's house, Paul and Dan sat in the car, waiting, watching the house where Katy's car was parked. As Dan kept an eye on the house, man."

  Paul kept texting Nicole without any success. His anxiety mounted with each text that went unanswered.

  "What?" Dan asked.

  Paul remained silent for a moment, "Trying to get in touch with Nic.

  I'm getting worried."

  "Send a uniform over to check on her. Once our backups arrive, we're gonna be busy for quite some time."

  Paul exhaled, thought about Dan's suggestion and without saying, picked up the mic and requested dispatch to send a car to Nicole's house to check on her well-being. He seemed to relax slightly and sloughed in the driver's seat. He began to fidget with the switches on the dash as he waited for a response from dispatch and the backup crews to arrive.

  As he played with the radio, a car drove past them, into the driveway and parked behind Katy's car. The door swung open, and Carl rushed to the front door.

  *****

  Nicole woke up on the floor beside her bed, weak, barely able to push herself up. She reached up, pulled on the bedspread for leverage and sat on the edge. Feeling like she had just run a marathon, she had nothing left. She felt the moisture on her brow and used the bedsheet to wipe her face. Looking down, she noticed a small amount of blood on the sheet. Rubbing her nose left a trace of blood on the back of her hand. She rested for a few moments, never letting Will's presence leave her mind. She wanted that man stopped at all costs. Resting, she wanted her strength back in case Paul needed her again. Needing sleep, wanting sleep but couldn't let herself drift off. She decided the best way to ensure she didn't fall asleep was to get up. She was tired and hungry but more tired than anything else. Sitting on the bed, she pulled herself up, went to the bathroom, splashed some water on her face, then made a quick cup of coffee to feel a bit more energized. At the table, she cradled the cup in both hands; the headache pounded with each pulse through her temples. She considered taking something for her the pain but decided against it. After all, it was the body's way of saying when it's had enough.

  Picking up her cell phone, she noticed the battery had gone dead. It took what little energy she had left to go to the living room and plug the power cord into the phone, waited until the screen lit up then walked back to the kitchen. Her eyes felt heavy as she tried to drink, but all she wanted was sleep. She sipped her coffee, then heard the phone chime that she had unseen texts. She ran to the living room, picked up her phone, entered her password, scrolled down then tapped the icon. She snapped her fingers hoping this would make the message come up quicker. When they opened, she read them and quickly typed back a response. She stood at the phone waiting to hear back from Paul.

  *****

  "What the fuck is that asshole doing?" Paul exited the car, slammed the driver's door and ran towards Carl. As he did, Carl turned to see Paul then Dan gave chase. Carl picked up the pace and made it to the side door, yanked it open and entered the house. Paul didn't let up even though his size prevented him from closing the gap between them. He burst into the house and stopped; Dan almost bumped into him just beyond the kitchen.

  Katy was behind Carl, holding him tightly, a knife at his throat. Paul saw this small framed woman, holding an already bloody knife close to Carl's neck. He remained silent, a look of fear in his eyes, his arms hanging loosely at his side. He offered no resistance to Katy's hold.

  To Paul's right, Sam was slumped forward in a chair; blood dripped from his open mouth creating a small stain on his shirt. Behind Katy and Carl, Will lay motionless and silent on the couch. Paul thought that he was dead until he noticed the chest rise and fall.

  "You must be Katherine Tilley." Paul's voice was calm and direct.

  Katy held her composure, the knife continued to press deeply into Carl's skin. Her hand was steady, her voice never wavered, "Katy, please," she politely said as she smiled.

  "Pleased to meet you, Katy. I'm Paul; this is Dan." He blindly motioned to Dan standing behind, and as he did, he rested his hand on his handgun. "Did you want to put the knife down? No reason to involve this little shit," Paul smiled back. "Why don't you let him go, and we can discuss what you want." He could see Carl silently mouth the word "Little shit?"

  Katy smiled again, "No that's fine. I'm good."

  Carl finally spoke, "Well, if anyone's interested, I'm not all that comfortable. I could use a seat."

  Katy laughed. Her hand held the knife tightly against Carl's neck. "I didn't know how things were going to go when I woke up today. It's not exactly how I had envisioned it, but I'll tell you, it's been a hell of a ride so far."

  Paul looked to Sam in the chair, then back to Katy. "I'll say. I'm sure no one thought the day was going to be like this." Paul slowly moved behind Sam's chair. "I'd really like to go home tonight Katy. I'm sure everyone else would too. Since we already know he..."

  "Will," Katy broke in.

  "Will over there is the guy responsible for all the girls' disappearances and from what I can tell, no one saw what happened to this guy," he pointed to Sam, "maybe it was you, maybe it was Will. However, we can all assume a good lawyer would say Will did it and gets you off. It's not like he can defend himself after what he's done. And the dead guy isn't telling any tales. Am I right?"

  Katy nodded in agreement.

  Paul continued, "Then this little shit," again Carl raised his eyebrows, "burst in, and you grabbed the knife not knowing what was happening and defended yourself. Then we came charging in. One major fuck up if you ask me. You're just a victim here, like the guy you're holding. See, easy as pie."

  Katy's hold on the knife relaxed, and she lowered it slightly from Carl's neck.

  Behind her, Will let out a soft moan, rolled and almost fell to the floor. Katy turned, relaxing her hold on Carl. He bolted from her gr
ip and ran to the other side of the living room. Without warning, Sam leapt from the chair and went head first into Katy's stomach, knocking her off balance, sending her sprawling on top of Will.

  Sam fell, screaming in pain as his injured back smashed to the floor. He arched his back then went limp.

  Katy stumbled momentarily, regained her balance as Paul reached for her and the knife. She blindly swung the knife, the edge of the blade ripping across Paul's stomach. He doubled over as the pain tore through him. He went down, holding his stomach and instinctively curled up in the fetal position.

  Dan pulled his gun, aimed, pulled the trigger twice, paused then twice more. The sound in the tiny living room was deafening as bullets tore through Katy. The first bullet went through her right bicep into the wall behind them causing her to drop the knife, as the second round hit her in the chest, the third went into her neck from one side and out the opposite end, blood sprayed outward, the fourth missed her entirely, hitting the large picture window sending the entire pane crashing to the living room floor.

  Katy hit the edge of the couch, then rolled to the floor beside Sam. She gasped for air, her mouth open, trying to suck in as much air as possible. She looked like a fish out of water trying to breathe. The bullet left a large wound on her neck when it exited. Blood squirted from the torn carotid artery in the neck; it would be only a matter of moments before she died. Smoke billowed from the end of the gun barrel as Dan lowered it. The smell of burnt gunpowder hung in the air. He paused, waiting to see if Katy attempted to stand then walked cautiously over to her, raising his gun and pointing it directly at her chest. He reached back, pressed and held the red button on the portable radio attached to his belt. The tone sent out a distress call to police dispatch notifying them that officers were in need of assistance.

  His steps were slow and calculated as he approached her. Looking down, he noticed Sam's breathing was shallow but still breathing. Holding the gun with two hands, he stiffened his grip, finger on the trigger, he pointed the gun at Katy's head and called out to his partner, "Hey buddy. You still with me?"

  Paul's voice cracked, "I think if I let go, my stomach is going to spill out all over this nice carpet," and let out a soft chuckle.

  "Hey. You. Reporter guy. A little help here." Dan's stare never left the sight at the end of the barrel.

  Carl had already run to the bathroom and pulled a large towel from the closet and was now holding it to Paul's stomach. "I'm on it." He applied pressure to the wound as his stomach decided to turn on him. He felt tiny rubbles and tasted something sour at the back of his throat as he held the towel to the wound.

  Dan kicked Katy hard in the side. She didn't move. He kicked her again, harder this time. Again, she didn't move. The gun was still pointed at her head as he reached for a carotid pulse. None was found. Her eyes were wide open; she didn't blink. "Pretty sure she's dead."

  He looked at Will on the couch, he was breathing, but didn't move. Dan reached out and poked him; he remained motionless on his side. Reaching for the cuffs that usually hung over the back of his belt, he couldn't find them. "Shit." He turned to his injured partner, "Do you have your cuffs?"

  In a barely audible voice, Paul answered, "Car."

  Dan turned his attention to Carl, "You got this? I've gotta go to the car for the cuffs."

  "Go." Dan ran past him before he got the word out.

  Carl held pressure with both hands against the massive open wound.

  The blood-soaked towel was already saturated and couldn't hold anymore. He looked up to Paul whose color was ashen, his eyes looked tired, "You hanging in there?"

  "Yeah, just feel like I got hit by a train. A really big fucking ugly train with attitude." Paul reached into his pocket with a bloody hand and took hold of the photo he always kept with him. He squeezed it tightly, knowing full well he was probably destroying it.

  Carl laughed, "You OK if I go get another towel?"

  He just nodded. Carl looked back at Will who remained immobile on the couch. He ran to the bathroom closet, found another clean towel, then raced back. He wasn't sure if the extra towel would fit over the blood-soaked one, so he quickly removed it, saw the open wound, gagged, a wave of light-headedness overtook him, but he fought through it. He stuffed the towel into the wound and applied as much pressure as he could.

  "That was totally gross by the way," he said as he heard Dan run into the living room.

  "Where the fuck is Will?" Dan screamed.

  Carl spun his head around, the man that was on the couch only moments ago was now gone.

  *****

  Will ran between houses, keeping low and in the shadows to avoid being seen. The headache and vertigo he was suffering had subsided, but his head still pounded. He stumbled a bit, regained his footing as he kept the pace to get as far away from his father's house as possible.

  Running along a backyard fence, his foot caught some overgrowth sending him sprawling to the ground. Landing on the grass, he slid for several feet before coming to a stop. He lay there, panting, trying to catch his breath. Eyes closed, he could feel his mind spinning like he was in a small boat on rough seas. He raised himself on all fours, paused, let the spinning settle before standing and racing away once again.

  He realized that if the police tracked him to his father's house, they must surely know where he was living. Shocked that Katy knew his secret, he was sorry she had been killed but better her than him. As he ran, he wondered where he could hide, where he could go without being discovered. He paused where the fence ended, looked down the path between the two houses. He noticed a garden shed in the backyard directly across from him. He jumped the small fence into the backyard, stayed quiet, waiting for any sign that the homeowners or a dog would have discovered him. He carefully made his way to the shed, found it unlocked, slowly opened the door, entered then closed the door tightly.

  Will found a section of open space on the floor, carefully lowered himself, curled up on the floor and quickly fell asleep.

  *****

  Dan stood outside with a dozen or more uniformed officers, coordinating the search for Will Fleischmann. He assigned duties to several of the officers, expecting they would search the entire dozen or so blocks surrounding the whole house. Several officers were already going over every single piece of paper in the house looking for a possible clue as to where Will might be headed. They combed their way through neatly packed boxes, organized in military fashion, easily referenced and catalogued.

  Parked in the driveway and along the street were several marked police vehicles, unmarked cars and two ambulances. When the paramedics arrived, Dan couldn't remain with his friend. He had become too emotional, and the only way to deal with his anger was to work. The other paramedic crew was working feverishly to save Sam's life.

  Carl sat on the curb between two of the cruisers and spoke into his cell phone. He was recounting the events that had just transpired in the living room and his heroic deeds that helped save the life of the injured detective. At least that's how the story would read. As he held the phone inches away from his face, in the excitement, it was only then that he noticed his hands were blood soaked. Placing the phone in his pocket, he realized he had nothing to clean his hands. He walked to the back of the first ambulance, on one of the open back doors was a hand sanitizer dispenser. Pressing the lever, a tiny drop of sanitizer squirted into his palm. He looked at the amount in his hand and pressed the lever a second time, then a third. Something snapped, and he continued to push the lever over and over again until the fluid spilt out over his palm.

  Looking at his hand, the hand sanitizer fluid penetrated the dried blood on his palm and fingers and slowly changed color from clear to a soft pink then dripped onto the asphalt by his shoes. He stared at his hands for several minutes, the voices behind him going unnoticed. Eventually, a soft tap on the shoulder broke his trance.

  "You okay bud?"

  Carl turned to see one of the paramedics standing behind him at the foot e
nd of a stretcher with Paul secured to it. He was sitting up, his knees bend up, held in place by two large pillows. An IV of normal saline was inserted into his right arm, a nasal cannula provided some much-needed oxygen, the vital signs monitor displayed his readings, each one in a different color. Carl looked at the screen, not understanding any of the numbers but the steady beeping made him feel confident the detective would survive.

  "Yeah. I'm okay. Just a little freaked out." Carl shook the remaining fluid from his hands.

  In a weak voice, Paul thanked him, "You did good in there. Thanks for saving my life. I owe you big time. Was that my blood on your hands?"

  Carl just nodded.

  "Does that make us blood brothers or something?" he smiled.

  Carl offered a fake laugh, "If it does make us brothers, I'll be hitting you up for inside information one day as payback."

  Paul smiled back. "Deal."

  He watched as the paramedics loaded Paul in the ambulance and drove off with lights flashing as they made their way beyond the parameter. After the rig disappeared at the end of the street, he turned to see the other crew wheeling Sam out of the house. Each of the paramedics had a look of concern on their face as they made their way to the second rig. The same equipment was connected to Sam that he saw on Paul. Carl made his way over to the back doors. If Sam wasn't dead, he certainly looked it. Carl assumed Sam was still alive because if he wasn't, the paramedics would be performing CPR.

  "How's he holding up? He saved us in there," Carl barked at the medics. The paramedic at the foot end of the cot gave Carl the death stare, "I don't tell you how to do your job, don't tell me how to do mine."

  The stretcher was loaded, the other medic hoped into the back and quietly offered, "I'm doing all I can." The gruff medic closed the dual doors and walked to the driver's door. He drove off, lights flashing, but as soon as the rig cleared the barrier tape, he heard the ambulance engine accelerate hard, and the siren blared to clear the bystanders who had gathered on the street.

  *****