by Thom Reese
Julia, in particular.
He’d screwed up. The woman was amazing, vibrant, exciting. She was in love with him. Or had been. Still, for some inexplicable reason, he’d strayed from her. He couldn’t say why he’d done it, couldn’t even reconcile it to himself. He’d simply acted without thinking, maybe naively believing there’d be no consequences, or that everything would work out the way things always had. He’d never been unfaithful—not once. Never entertained the thought. It amazed him how quickly he’d allowed himself to slide toward the thing.
He really hadn’t thought that the girl, Rachel—the other woman—would ever come into his life. Rachel was an administrative assistant for another attorney who rented space in the same office complex as Charles. He and she had crossed paths enough times to have established a comfortable, though seemingly harmless, casual relationship. Though, Charles now wondered if he’d simply been unwilling to acknowledge it for its true nature, for its underlying danger.
On the occasion in question, they had come upon each other in the parking lot. As usual, Julia was working beyond her scheduled shift and so Charles had decided to dine out. He hated dirtying all of those pots and pans to feed one person. As such, he’d found himself eating out more and more frequently. Rachel’s car was parked next to Charles’ motorcycle. She’d commented on his bike, said she’d never been on one, and hinted that she’d like to take a ride. Charles had Julia’s helmet attached to his bike, and so nervously offered to take her for a quick spin.
He’d enjoyed the feel of her body as she’d hugged up against his back, as she’d wrapped her arms around his mid section, and leaned her helmeted head against his shoulder blades. He enjoyed the attention, the excitement. His body tingled with stimulation, with anticipation, and even with an electrified fear. How long had it been since Julia had really noticed him, much less desired him?
They ate at a steakhouse that night, a little hole-in-the-wall place off Maryland Parkway that Charles had frequented back when his office had been the next block over. Dinner was over quickly. They’d both ordered only salads. Perhaps both were nervous, and therefore not hungry. Perhaps they were anxious for something else, something looming on the eve’s horizon. Afterward, once he’d returned her to her car, Rachel had suggested he follow her to her apartment, only a few blocks distant. They could have a couple of drinks, she said. Charles gazed down into her pale green eyes, feeling an unmistakable surge race through his body. She was beautiful, this one. Young, vivacious, witty. She and he had definitely clicked. Their conversation over dinner had flowed naturally. They shared many of the same interests, enjoyed the same music, had even, apparently, attended two of the same concerts.
Unlike Julia, this woman clearly desired Charles. There was no career between them, no other “love” competing for his space.
He’d stepped closer, extended his arm, gently brushed the side of her face with his fingers, and then slipped his hand to the back of her head, running his fingers through her golden hair, before drawing her to him. Wrapping his arms around her, he cradled her. He could feel his heart thumping against her, could feel her drawing closer, even closer. He leaned toward her upturned face, watched as her lips parted in anticipation of a kiss. God, this woman was beautiful. Sliding his hands to her arms, just below each shoulder, he pulled back to arm’s distance. “Thank you for a wonderful time,” he’d said. “I’ll see you in the office.”
Charles felt terrible after his infidelity, nauseous even. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. He spent most of the next day pacing back and forth, slamming his palm against whatever wall happened to avail itself. He’d nearly done it, nearly slept with that woman. And why? Because he was tired of going to bed alone? Tired of sharing Julia’s affections with her all-important work? Tired of waiting for Julia to decide she was ready to start a family? He couldn’t remember the last time they’d taken a weekend getaway together—or even gone to a movie. He realized that there was no relationship left to damage, and he’d told Julia as much when she’d arrived home late that evening. Told her everything. Charles wasn’t one to sneak around. He respected Julia too much for that. If he was that tempted, if he’d come that close, well, it would be better to make a clean break before his resolve weakened further and he did something unforgivable.
But now, just days later, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. True, Julia was too involved with her work. If the marriage were to survive, something would have to give. But, even in these short few days he’d realized just how special Julia truly was. If he had to share her with her patients, then he would need to learn to be less selfish. She was his true life-mate, none other. How could he have ever thought otherwise? He only prayed the relationship wasn’t damaged beyond repair.
The phone rang, jarring Charles out of his contemplations. Massaging his forehead with his left hand, he reached for the receiver with his right. His office assistant, Chloe, informed him that he had a call from UMC, the hospital where Julia worked. His heart leaped. Finally! He’d begun to think that she’d never return his calls. “Hello,” he nearly shouted as Chloe put him through. “Julia, I’ve been trying to reach you. Listen, I’ve…”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chambers,” came a male voice. “I’m not your wife.”
“Who is this? Where’s Julia?”
The voice on the line was hesitant, perhaps nervous. “This is Dr. Raul Martinez. I work with Dr. Chambers.”
“Yes?” prompted Charles, wondering where this was going. Was Julia now sending messages through an intermediary like some middle school girl?
“I’m trying to locate Dr. Chambers,” said Martinez.
“Locate her? Hasn’t she been at work?”
“Not for nearly four days. I received a text message stating she was tending to family out of town, but that was the last—”
“I received the same text.” Charles cut the young doctor off mid-sentence. He’d thought the text strange. Julia hated text messaging, and often complained about how no one communicated like human beings anymore. To the best of his knowledge, she’d never once sent a text. When he received this one, he’d assumed she used it as a device to avoid having an actual conversation with him. “So, she hasn’t been to work, and hasn’t called?” he asked.
“No,” said Martinez. “I was concerned. I went to her house the past two nights after my shift. She wasn’t there.”
Charles nodded, though Martinez couldn’t see this. Julia had kept the house. Charles had been exiled to one of those pay-by-the-week “suites” the night he’d told her of his intentions. “You think something might have happened to her?” There was a noticeable pause before Martinez continued. “There was…” Martinez hesitated, and then dove into it. “There was a patient, earlier this week. Dr. Chambers had been working on him. He attacked an EMT, almost killed him, and then fled.”
“They caught him, didn’t they? Hospital security?”
“No. Somehow he slipped away. The thing is, the attack was unusual. I came across some files of other victims that seemed to match the attack on the EMT. I showed these to Dr. Chambers. She was very curious and took the files. She said there’d been some people in the EMT’s room that day. One man in particular, she said, seemed to know more about these attacks than he’d let on. I think she went to see him.”
“Raul, you’d better tell me everything you know.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The cleansing process was long. Julia couldn’t say if it took hours or days. She slipped in and out of a hazy half-consciousness, downing as much water as she could, somehow willing her stomach to accept the liquid. Eventually she was forced to make trips to the attached bathroom. The first of these was a misery that left her stumbling to the floor, weeping as she fought unsuccessfully to keep from dribbling upon herself.
As clarity inched back into her life, she realized that, in addition to her bra and panties, she wore only a man’s button-down shirt. The realization made her feel newly violated. She fought the temp
tation to rip the shirt from her form, and only restrained herself because this would leave her more exposed. Still, the feel of the fabric against her skin, the knowledge that whoever had done this to her had worn this same shirt, had perspired in it, made her want to retch.
The young man, Ric, returned only twice that she was aware of, though the water pitcher seemed continually full. He remained silent, not answering her questions about why she’d been detained, what type of drug had been used, or what was going to be done with her. He smiled a nearly familiar grin and went about his task of refilling the pitcher. After which, he placed the newly-filled container on the nightstand and left the room, always locking the door, never uttering a word.
Once, as the door opened, she’d rushed him, hoping to surprise him. But her legs had been unsteady, and she stumbled three paces from the bed. Ric entered to find her sprawled on the floor, sobbing in frustration. He extended a hand, which she grudgingly accepted; then he’d helped her to her feet, and led her back to the bed.
Eventually Julia felt well enough to move about the room. Her stomach had settled, and she even experienced hunger pangs. She investigated each closet and drawer and found no clothing. Her own garments had not been left at her disposal. She did, though, find a phone cord, disconnected, with no phone left in the room. She wondered what had happened to her cell phone. She’d obviously been here for some time. She must have missed work. Someone had surely tried to call, to find out where she was, if she was okay. She was furious. Her life had been interrupted. She’d been kidnapped. No one knew where to find her. With a scream built of pent-up anger and frustration, she launched herself at the door, pounding and hollering, demanding to be set free. Only moments elapsed before a voice came from beyond the wooden barrier.
“Julia, I must ask that you refrain from screaming.”
The voice was accented, familiar, it was Donald Baker.
“Let me out of here! You have no right!”
Baker’s voice remained calm, unflustered. “Perhaps you are correct. Yet the door will remain closed until we can speak civilly.”
Julia pounded the door one more time in frustration. Pain shot up her forearm. She’d probably sprained her wrist, or at least bruised herself. Stepping away from the door with a muttered curse, she paced the room. The man wanted to talk civilly. He’d drugged her, kidnapped her—and who knew what else! But now he wanted to talk civilly. Julia refrained from screaming at the door, telling him where he could shove “civilly,” and tried to think. What were her options? She moved to the window, pulled the draperies back, and looked down some twenty stories or more onto the Las Vegas strip. There was The Mirage with its white frothing waterfalls and lush tropical foliage, and Treasure Island—now simply called TI—and its two pirate ships facing each other from across a large, arcing, manmade pool. She was in The Venetian, she remembered with sudden clarity. Far too many stories up to attempt any ridiculous escape.
Donald Baker’s voice came once again from beyond the door. “Julia, are you prepared to have a reasonable conversation?”
“I’m not sure how reasonably we can converse if I’m half-naked,” she hollered from her spot by the window.
“Your garments are laundered, and folded, waiting for you just outside the door—which I’ve now unlocked. We’ll be waiting for you in the living area.”
* * * *
They were all there when she emerged: Donald Baker with his disturbing plastic smile; Shane, who avoided direct eye contact and shuffled uncomfortably in his seat; and the three young men she’d seen at one time or another throughout her stay, Bradley, Ric, and another now introduced to her as Phillip. These three, remarkably similar in stature, facial contours, and hair texture, stood silently in the kitchenette as servants might. Donald and Shane were both seated on the sectional sofa, Donald leaning forward as if in eager anticipation.
She remembered everything now, or near enough. A handful of cumulous floated about the contours of her brain; she wasn’t as quick as she liked to be, but she was herself again. And she was not at all pleased with what she recalled. Hoping to throw the creep off balance with a bit of twisted humor, she reached into her purse and withdrew a Monopoly “Get out of Jail Free” card—which she always carried as a kind of joke—and tossed it on the coffee table.
Shane offered a wry smile; Donald acted as if he hadn’t seen the thing.
“Julia, you look much better. Please, sit. Phillip has prepared some lattes. The caffeine will do you good.” The man acted as if he was hosting a tea party.
Julia had counseled herself to remain calm, that outbursts would do no good. But this smug, arrogant man pushed every button. “You scheming little s.o.b., you drugged me.”
Donald smiled.
“A woman died here. Where is her body?”
Shane looked down and away as he fidgeted with his fingers, but Donald maintained his cordial, this-is-all-run-of-the-mill tone. “Certainly you wouldn’t expect us to keep a body in this suite for four days,” he said, his mannequin face unchanging, his manner relaxed.
Four days? She’d been drugged and incapacitated for four days. What was this man thinking? And then she remembered anew. This was no man. At least not if all he claimed had been true. This was some creature masquerading as a man. His motives were not the motives of a man. His drives were unnatural and to be suspect. His very appearance was stolen from those he exploited—apparently, in Donald’s case, the three young men standing stone-faced not fifteen feet from where she stood. If all that she’d been told—or even some of it—was true, this was someone as inhuman as any space alien or monster from the worlds of science fiction and horror. The worst of it was—she did believe. Her rational mind wanted to deny it. Her clinical bias sought alternate explanations for all that she’d seen and heard. But somehow she couldn’t give any of these much credence. It was Donald Baker himself that ultimately convinced her—his very being, his aura, his presence. It was the false expressions, the rehearsed mannerisms, the rubber-like skin hidden behind a neatly trimmed beard, and the eyes disguised behind tinted glasses and colored contact lenses. It was the essence of the man that spoke of something other, something not right.
“If it’s been four days,” she said finally. “People will be looking for me. I should have been at work. I haven’t been home.”
Donald grinned that despicable grin. “Three people have attempted to contact you via your cell phone. A Dr. Wise, a Dr. Martinez, and a man named Charles, who, I’m guessing by his frequent calls and pathetic pleas, is an estranged spouse. I’ve returned each call with a text message from your cell phone indicating that you were called out of town on a family emergency and will be unavailable for several days.”
Julia took a quick step forward. “You arrogant, controlling, son of—”
“Now, now, now,” he cut her off, indicating the three young men already moving to intercept her before she could touch Donald. “We are civil people, you and I. We must act as such.”
“There’s nothing civil about you,” she said as she stopped her advance, signaling to the three Kool-Aid drinkers that she was no threat to their beloved master. “It’s all a façade. Somehow these sheep of yours don’t see you for what you really are.”
Donald inclined his head slightly to the left. “Actually, it is you, dear Julia, who have yet to understand the complexities of our race. Please do not think me evil. What I do is done with the best possible motives.”
Giving up on Donald, she angled her gaze toward the young white-haired man seated beside him. “Shane, you cared for that girl. Where’s her body? What’s really happening?”
Donald didn’t give Shane the chance to respond. “The body has been tended to, Julia. And if you’d be so kind as to have a seat, the rest will be explained.”
“You kidnapped me. I could have you arrested.”
Donald Baker extended a hand, indicating where Julia should sit. Apparently, he was not about to proceed until everyone was in the proper pla
ce. Sighing, she dropped into the offered seat, just around the bend in the couch from Donald and Shane. “Very good,” he said. “Now, the latte, please drink.” He indicated the mug before her on the low rectangular coffee table.
What a control freak. “I’m not thirsty.” Her tone was harsh, final.
“You suspect the drink contains drugs or poisons. Neither of which is the case. I’m simply being a good host.”
A good host! This man—this thing—had to be delusional. “Oh, stick it, Donald. A girl died here. Other people have died. You’ve kept me against my will for four days. I deserve an honest explanation.”
Donald Baker remained still for several long moments before speaking, his face an unreadable mask. “Four days ago you threatened to go to the police, telling them that I have some connection to the strange deaths here in Las Vegas. Rather than risk that particular complication, I concluded it best to tell you of the reyaqc. I had hoped you would receive this admittedly difficult explanation as the truth that it is, and perhaps even become an advocate as the reyaqc one day soon go public. You were not fully convinced, most likely thinking me crazy. But that, you see, was an acceptable state as well. If you had left me then and contacted the authorities, your story would have seemed fantastic. Depending your approach, they would have thought one of us mad, and dismissed the entire episode as not worth their time. Then Shane arrived with that poor girl, the victim of the rogue reyaqc, which I have come to stop. Now you were more intimately involved. You had witnessed something that could connect me and mine to these deaths. Yet you did not trust me. In fact, your sense of duty demanded that you report what you’d seen. I had no choice but to detain you.”
“And now?”
Donald leaned forward, tweed elbows resting on corduroy knees. “Now there have been additional developments. The rogue continues to attack the innocent. Where before he hunted in a rather tight geographic locale, thus allowing Shane to locate him, he now moves randomly throughout the city. In fact, last evening he attacked and killed a police officer right here on Las Vegas Boulevard in clear sight of dozens of witnesses.” Donald paused, took a sip of his latte, and then continued. “There are other issues as well. Suspicions best left unspoken. Consequently, I find that I must confer with another of my kind.”