The Messenger (2011 reformat)

by Edward Lee

  "That guy we saw on TV tonight? Yeah, I know who he is. His name's Alexander Dhevic. He claims to be some sort of demonology scholar. Every now and then I'll see him interviewed on those hokey documentaries about the occult. He used to go around the country on these talk shows, spieling about the upsurge of cult activity in recent years. Satanism, these teen groups that practice Black Mass and animal sacrifice, hype like that. But when all this went down twenty years ago, Dhevic was snooping around in Danelleton. So he's another link."

  "Dhevic," Jane whispered the strange name.

  "I don't know his story, but there's something really fishy about the guy. There he was then, and here he still is now. We tried to question him twenty years ago, but he slipped

  out of town, like fast."

  "Why would he do that?"

  "Wish I knew. But that's why I figure the symbol is demonic-Dhevic's a so-called demonologist, and that's why I was asking if you thought Carlton and Marlene could've been involved in some kind of cult."

  "And maybe Dhevic."

  "Right. Maybe this crackpot Dhevic is more than just a demonologist. Maybe he practices all this crap too."

  Jane shivered. Like everything else this week, this was too much information to deal with all at the same time. Murders, past and present. Identical crimes twenty years apart. Symbols and suicides. Links to satanism. Links to Jane's post office. And now this man named Dhevic. It's just...too much, she thought. She hugged Steve tighter. "It makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It's hard to believe this sort of thing could ever happen here."

  "Let's not talk about it anymore," Steve whispered. All that stress in his voice-when he'd been telling what had happened-was gone. He was himself again, which was what Jane wanted, what she needed. He was hugging her back now. "Just forget about it ..." And then he was kissing her again.

  Jane fell back into the oblivion she yearned for. Her desires were surging again, and that's all she cared about. In a moment they were consuming each other with their kisses, their bodies cringing for the touch of the other. Jane's bliss returned and swept her away. This time their lovemaking was even more frenetic than before-they knew each other well now, they knew each other's bodies. Jane simply let herself go, let herself be taken by this man.

  She had no idea how much time had passed when they were done. What am I going to do? she asked herself, exhausted yet again, happily worn out. I can't be falling in love with this guy, can I? It can't happen that fast.

  A little while later, Steve got up. "I better go now," he said regretfully. "I'd like to stay but-"

  Jane didn't want him to go but she knew he had to. It was very difficult for her to say, "I know. It's too soon. Let's not rush this." She was determined to not get emotional or make a fuss. Don't be a pain in the ass, Jane, she ordered herself. That's the last thing he needs. She watched him get dressed, her eyes straying over his lean body. Oh, God, came the drifting thought. No, I cannot let myself screw this up...

  She stood up, unabashed by her nakedness. She embraced him and kissed him one last time for the night. She didn't want to let go of him, and she clearly sensed that he felt the same way.

  "When can I see you again?" he asked.

  "Oh, I don't know, let me think. How about...anytime you want."

  "Okay, I'll see you then."

  He smiled at her in the dark, kissed her hand, and was gone.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap. She could still feel him in her, and she liked the feeling. She could still smell him on her. Outside, she heard his car start and drive away. He wasn't even gone five minutes and she couldn't wait to see him again. Was that infatuation, or something more? Jane knew. Yeah, I guess I'm in love. How do you like that?

  How much time passed while she was sitting on the bed she couldn't be sure. She lay back down, didn't bother getting under the sheets. The window was open, a cool breeze flowing in. It felt so nice the way it ran over her skin. She thought more about Steve, couldn't get the image of his body out of her mind. No, she wished he hadn't left, wished he'd stayed and made love to her one more time, but that was crazy. They'd both worn each other out. She was getting aroused again, though. She couldn't help it. Her nipples began to tingle as though he were still here, kissing them, stroking them between his fingers. She brought her hands to her belly, was tempted to slide them down lower and begin to touch herself, but her fatigue was getting the best of her now. Oh, God, I hope I see him tomorrow. Her hands fell away, and she turned over, to let sleep take her down.

  "Hey, peeping tom!" a voice shot out.

  Jane bolted up. Her eyes were used to the dark now; she looked over at the open window. Did a shadow jerk away? Jesus! Someone's been out there the whole time, watching us! Probably just a kid, some teenager peeping in windows, but still... It was too creepy. She jumped up, switched on the light and pulled on her robe. She quickly called the police emergency number, then wondered what to do. Yes, it was probably just some kid but-

  What if it wasn't?

  She grabbed the heavy flashlight she kept by the bed, a makeshift weapon, then ran to the window and looked out.

  "I'm calling the cops, you pervert!" the neighbor's voice called again.

  She saw somebody running away, could hear the rapid footfalls pounding across the grass. Thank God he's gone. All the lights flicked on in the next house, and the owner, an amiable retired man, came out in his robe. "How do you like that, huh, Jane? A peeping tom."

  "Yeah, just what we need at this hour," she answered through the screen.

  "Well, I wouldn't worry. He took off like a bat out of hell, and I called the cops."

  "Me, too. Thanks."

  Later, a patrolman came by to take down some information. The night had been ruined now. Jane just said to hell with it and made some coffee, breaking her off-and-on caffeine pledge. The cop, too, told her there was nothing to worry about. Things like this happened every now and then, and they were harmless. They'd keep a cruiser in the area. He even said that another neighbor may have gotten a tag number.

  Jane sluffed it off. The cop was treating it like no big deal so she figured she should too. But there was one thing she didn't tell him.

  For a sliver of a moment, when she'd seen the shadow move at the window, she thought she'd Seen the face too. She didn't tell the cop that it looked a lot like Martin Parkins.

  That had been last night. The memory still hovered over her head as she sat at her office desk. Her time with Steve had calmed her; just thinking of it seemed to make the day's headaches go away. When Sarah Willoughby stuck her head in the opened door, Jane had almost entirely forgotten about the bad business with Martin.

  "You wanted to see me, Jane?"

  Did I? Oh, yes. Come in."

  Sarah was a nice girl and a reliable worker. Never late, never called in sick, never a problem. She was still young, and still lower on the pay-level ladder, but Jane had every confidence in her.

  Sarah entered and took the opposite seat, smiling perkily. "That's too bad about Martin. I was just helping him move those boxes of spare parts down in the basement. I had no idea he was drinking."

  "Oh, I know. It was bound to happen. I feel bad about suspending him but at this point, there was nothing left to do. And with that done, I have an opening. You're next in line, Sarah. Martin didn't want to be DPS foreman anyway, which I offered him before I caught him drinking. You don't have as much seniority but your work record is flawless, and I have nothing but confidence in you. I hope you take it. It's also a one-level pay raise, and after ninety days, you go up one more level."

  Sarah's pretty eyes bloomed with surprise. "Wow, this is unexpected. Thank you, Jane. I know I can do that job better than anyone, and I know the whole routine. I won't let you down."

  "I'm sure you won't, Sarah."

  "That's odd, though, isn't it? I mean, Martin had all...all those years of time-in-grade. He could've turned himself around. Why didn't he take the job?"

  "We
ll, I suppose it's because-"

  "Because he'd only have it for one day before he got suspended," a familiar voice entered the room. Steve was standing there in the doorway. "Sorry to eavesdrop. I saw the door open."

  Jane and Sarah looked up in surprise.

  "Sarah, why don't you get your things moved into your new cove," Jane suggested, a polite way to get her out of the office. She was thrilled to see Steve, but she could tell by his tone and expression that he had something serious to talk about. "I'll stop by and talk to you a little later, and give you your new job description files."

  "Sure, Jane. And thanks again." Sarah scurried out, a big smile beaming on her attractive face.

  But when Steve sat down, he wasn't smiling.

  "Hi," Jane said. "I can tell something's wrong. And how did you know I suspended Martin today? Did someone out front tell you?"

  "No. I didn't know you suspended him."

  "But you just said-"

  "Martin Parkins," Steve droned. "His car's right out in the employee lot, the red Escort."

  It wasn't a question; Jane was being told. "I guess he's still in the building, clearing out his desk. I had to suspend him because I caught him drinking down in the basement. I'm pretty sure he'll save himself the embarrassment of an appeal hearing and just quit. Anyway, that's why his car's still out there."

  Steve nodded. He opened an envelope. "Could you call him in here? I have to show him this."

  "What is it?"

  "An arrest warrant."

  Then Jane knew. She'd forgotten for a moment. "Last night after you left, my neighbor called in a peeping tom complaint, and the policeman who responded said-"

  "That somebody got a tag number," Steve finished. "Another resident at the end of your street saw him burning rubber out of there. Christ, I wished I'd been there when it happened-I could've taken him in right then and there. There's no doubt. He's the guy. Motor Vehicles gave us his street address so I went by there and he wasn't in. I hope he's ready for a big surprise."

  "So you're actually going to arrest him?"

  Steve looked puzzled. "Why not? Don't you want him arrested?"

  It seemed harsh, especially right after losing the job he'd had for ten years. But...I guess it'll teach him a lesson, and that's definitely what he needs right now. Maybe a hard knock and a little probation'll show him the light, give him the motivation to get his act together.

  "You're right," she agreed. She picked up the phone and asked the front service manager to have Martin come to her office. Then she turned to Steve: "To tell you the truth, it's not very surprising. He's always been sort of a bad apple. Bad attitude, doesn't get along with his coworkers, not to mention several suspensions for drinking on duty"

  "You never know with guys like that. What they do when no one sees them, I mean. He probably peeps in women's windows all the time, just never been caught."

  When the phone buzzed, Jane picked it up, listened, then frowned. She hung up. "They just told me Martin's not on the site."

  Steve frowned himself, nodding. "He probably saw me walking in or pulling up in the parking lot and put two and two together." He flipped back the blinds and looked out the office window, into the sunny parking lot. "And look at that, his car's still there. I'll have someone from the station come out here and put a lock block on his tire. He must've

  left on foot. I gotta get some people out there to look for him." All of a sudden, Steve looked harried. Jane could only imagine the frustration: Last night they'd made love and it had been wonderful; now they were stuck together by this problem with one of her employees. They couldn't be themselves in this scenario. He glanced at his watch and pocketed the arrest warrant. "I have to go and get this guy picked up. But I'll call

  you later, okay?"

  Jane stood up and walked around the desk. She closed the door. She didn't say anything at first, she just kissed him. "I understand," she whispered, hugging him after the kiss. "You have your job to do, so go do it."

  "I'm just...a little worried about you. I don't want that weirdo coming back here. He could be close to going over the edge-"

  "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

  She kissed him again and showed him out. The last thing he needs is to be stressed out over me. She walked him out to the parking lot-he waved sheepishly as he drove off.

  Jane just smiled.

  She stood there in the sun for a few moments. It was going to be a hot one. When she looked around, she felt gratified. Her little west branch post office was bustling, customers coming and going, trucks pulling up in the back lot. Everything normal. Everything like clockwork, the way it was supposed to be.

  And me and Steve, she thought. Together. Still more gratification. The feeling darkened, though, a few moments later, when she realized what she was looking at. The dusty red Escort, Martin's car. It reinforced the uneasy truth. He's out there somewhere. Where would he go? What was his state of mind? Was he really close to going over the edge? In this day and age, the situation was almost proverbial: disgruntled postal employee goes psycho, and comes back with a gun. It happened all the time, and it had happened here. The only difference was Marlene was disgruntled. She was part of a cult, and so was Carlton...and no one ever knew until it was too late. And twenty years ago? Now she was staring at the building. Another mass murder took place. Right in there. And the act had been perpetrated by a man, a postal employee, who...

  Was in a cult.

  The worst questions marauded her now. Is Martin part of that cult, too? She shivered in spite of the rising heat, and even in the blazing sunlight, she didn't feel safe.

  The clerks up front had said that Martin was no longer on the site, but how could they know for sure?

  Maybe he's hiding, Jane thought, her stomach tightening. Maybe he's still in the building...

  ...Oh...

  "Jesus. Why can't anything be normal in my life?"

  "What's that, Chief?" Stanton asked.

  Steve had whispered the comment unconsciously to himself, hadn't even realized he'd said it. Stanton, a sergeant, was his day-shift watch commander: hard, smart, by the book. I don't need him to hear me talking to myself, Steve thought. "Nothing," he said. "Just thinking out loud."

  The warrant had a full-search provision. Right now they were standing in the middle of the private residence of one Martin D. Parkins.

  "Why is it these places always look the way you think they're gonna look?" Stanton asked.

  "Well, I hate to be judgmental," Steve said, "but it seems to me that Martin Parkins is a shit head. It makes perfect sense to me that a shit head's gonna live in a shit hole." The place was an efficiency just out of town. A lot of the old fleabag strip motels were converted to apartments, and this was one: a total dump. Garbage piled up everywhere,

  rotten carpet, a dilapidated wall-unit air-conditioner that rattled so loud they turned it off in spite of the heat. Lawn furniture for chairs and a busted futon for a bed. Cockroaches watched them from the sink, antennae fidgeting.

  "Piece of shit car, piece of shit apartment, no possessions worth a dime," Stanton said. "But the guy's been with the post office for years? Those guys make decent scratch. What's he do with his money?"

  "Strippers, it looks like," Steve answered. On a table by the wall were matchbooks from a multitude of local strip clubs. There was also a Polaroid camera and a stack of photos; Steve picked up the photos. "Correction, strippers and crack whores."

  Stanton groaned when he eyed the pictures. "What a high-class guy." The pictures showed a variety of skinny, pallid broken-down women posing naked on the futon. Broken teeth and broken lives. Any cop knew the look.

  "I better book these pictures with evidence, have somebody compare them to any Jane Doe morgue shots," Steve said. "This case feels worse every minute."

  "Guy like that? Loner? Antisocial? He could be killing hookers and who would know?"

  Yeah, Steve thought. He wouldn't be surprised.

  "Hey, Chief? The
chick at the post office say Parkins is a drinker?" Stanton asked, nosing around the bed now. His expression crumbled at another stack of photos on the floor, next to a pickle-can wastebasket full of soiled Kleenex. Some of the photos looked just as soiled.

  The chick at the post office, Steve repeated in his head. He meant Jane. Steve hadn't been able to stop thinking about her.

  He shook off the distraction. "Yeah, she suspended him for boozing on the job. He'd had several write-ups in the past." A big metal garbage can sat in the corner of the filthy kitchen, the kind most people put out at the end of their driveway. Steve lifted the metal lid and whistled.

  "What do you think, Stanton? You think Parkins is a drinker?"

  Stanton looked in the can and rolled his eyes. It was full of empty whiskey bottles. "He could start his own glass factory. You know, I drank that stuff during my first semester of college, and I never had a hangover. Got D's in all my classes, but I never had a hangover."

  "Let that be a lesson to you. Be smart. Stick to tequila."

  They snooped around some more, found more of the same. A footlocker full of porn videos. More Polaroids. More cockroaches. At one point, they heard a loud clack! and both turned with guns drawn. It was a rat that had run across the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

  "Let's get out of this dive, Chief. My wife'll kill me; it's making my uniform stink."

  "I'll get someone from evidence section to come over and pick up the Polaroids. Parkins won't be coming back," Steve estimated. "He's probably on a Greyhound bus heading north."

  "I'm sure you're right," Stanton said. "But just to be safe, put somebody in an unmarked outside to watch the place from the street."

  Steve slapped the sergeant on the back. "Great idea. Perfect way for you to spend the rest of your shift."

  "Thanks."

  They were leaving, but Stanton's voice halted Steve at the door. "Hey, Chief. Check it out."

  Steve turned. Stanton was holding a scribble sheet he'd found on the kitchen counter. Steve looked at it. "What's this? Doodling?"

  The sheet had various phone numbers scribbled on it, plus pen lines, squares and circles, like when someone unconsciously doodles while they're talking on the phone.