by Susan Gnucci
But surely he didn’t need to snatch this Leah when sooner or later she would simply lead him to his witness, now wouldn’t she? Such a course of action, although less complicated, had its drawbacks as well. Either one of the women could potentially ID him. And he had no idea, if his witness would be able to sense him. Oh, yes, he had to be extremely careful. He had to think this through very carefully. To rush now would be foolhardy. After all, he’d already waited so long – another few weeks or even another few months hardly mattered now.
The lure of a hunt in which he would stalk one woman in order to find another, all the while eluding the police, excited him beyond measure. He knew he was more than capable. He just had to be thorough in his planning. But he was no fool. He also knew that sooner or later the police would catch up with him…but he planned to be long gone before they did.
“I’m going to take this coffee out to the surveillance team, Leah,” Tess shouted up the stairs as she put on her shoes. It was late, almost midnight, and Tess was about ready to turn in. Grabbing her coat from the closet by the door, she slipped it on and pulled out an umbrella from the stand in the hallway. Once out onto the porch, she frowned at the virtual downpour that had settled over the city earlier in the evening. Setting her tray of coffee and cookies down on one of the porch lounge chairs, she sighed in exasperation as she fought to open the stiff umbrella. A damp chill quickly settled through her and she shivered.
‘What a lousy job,’ she thought to herself as she headed down the walkway, concentrating on balancing both the tray and her large umbrella, ‘having to pull a surveillance shift, sitting all night in a car in the pitch dark.’ As she approached the vehicle parked across the street, she slowed her step when it dawned on her it was different from the SUV she had grown accustomed to seeing. This was peculiar in itself, but even more alarming was the fact there was a lone occupant…
Her eyes widened in terror. Almost as if in slow motion, she released her hold on the tray, and before it even hit the ground, she had spun around and made a break for the house, ditching the umbrella as she ran.
The lone occupant struggled to get out of his car and leaned across its roof shouting, “Tess! Tess! It’s me, McLean.”
Instantly recognizing his voice, she stopped dead in her tracks and slowly turned to face him, her laboured breathing creating soft clouds of steam that encircled her head. Cautiously retracing her steps as if still unsure, she squinted to see him through the downpour.
“What the bloody hell…” she cursed as she approached the car.
“Get in, Tess.” McLean gestured. “You’re getting soaked.” He ducked back into the shelter of his vehicle.
Tess did as he bade her, pulling open the passenger door and settling in beside him. Now that she was over her shock and fright, she was thrilled to see him, but cautious and confused as to his presence at this late hour. “Is anything wrong? Where are your regular guys?” she asked.
McLean sat with his hands braced against the steering wheel almost as if he needed something with which to steady himself. “No, nothing’s wrong,” he replied in a strangled voice, clearly mortified to be caught parked outside her house. “I…um…I took over for the regular team tonight. Sometimes when I have a free night…”
An awkward silence followed before Tess blurted out, “You’re taking a shift?”
Sinking back in his seat now that all pretence was basically gone, the young detective confessed in a quiet, halting voice, “I was…I mean, I’ve been…thinking about you, Tess.” He winced as he turned away from her, almost as if unburdening himself was painful. “A lot.”
Tess sucked in her breath. Could this really be happening? Was this man whom she had been fantasizing about for months now confessing his interest in her? Oh, God. Where was Leah when she needed her? As the seconds passed, Tess chastised herself – ‘Say something, you idiot!!’
“Um…I…” She simply couldn’t collect her thoughts or force her mouth to form any intelligible words.
McLean, whose face was flushed crimson by now, spoke in a slow, tortured voice, “You’ve avoided me all winter, Tess.” He shifted in his seat to face her. “Is it anything I’ve said or anything I’ve done?”
The look on his face almost undid her, prompting her to finally speak. “No! No! Not at all!” she blurted out, reaching instinctively to lay a hand on his arm.
The relief on his face was palpable, and he let out a long sigh as he moved his hand to cover hers. “But I’m not imagining it – you have been avoiding me, haven’t you?” he asked gently.
She hung her head. “Yes. But it’s not what you think,” she was quick to add, her gaze glued to the floorboard because she was too shy to look up. “Do you remember why I was anxious about meeting with the Bishops? That I can’t channel when I’m emotionally involved?”
He nodded, remembering their conversation.
“Well, I can’t channel when you’re around either; that’s probably why I had no luck with the ring.” When she finally found the courage to look up at him, she discovered a huge grin had replaced the worried strain on his handsome face.
He slowly brought her hand up to his lips and held it there. His warm breath against her skin turned her insides to jelly, prompting her head to fall back against the head rest as she closed her eyes.
Lowering their hands, McLean sighed heavily and admitted, “It’s totally inappropriate for me to see you, Tess. Ed would kill me.”
Opening her eyes slowly, she nodded her understanding. “I know.”
“I can live with that…for now,” he grinned at her, “now I know how you feel.”
She smiled warmly at him.
“Even if we just talk on the phone or you come down to the station.” His voice took on a vulnerable quality.
Unable to calm her racing thoughts, Tess simply nodded.
Looking past her out the passenger window, McLean nodded at the abandoned tray and the spilt coffee cups and cookies littering the street. “What’s that all about?”
“Oh…um, Mrs. Petersen’s away so I promised her I’d take coffee out to your officers,” she admitted rather sheepishly. “She sometimes takes them out a morning coffee, but I’m not exactly a morning kind of person.”
“Mrs. Petersen?” he asked, cocking his head.
“My neighbour. She…uh…she’s visiting her daughter in Calgary this week.”
McLean burst out laughing. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s a first.” He arched an eyebrow and smiled broadly.
Just then, the front door to Tess’ house opened, spilling light into the street, and Leah stepped out onto the porch. Dressed only in her pyjamas and bathrobe and hugging herself against the chill, she moved toward the railing and scanned the street. “Tess?” she called out, a worried edge to her voice.
Tess rolled down her window in order to answer. “It’s alright, Leah,” she called out. “I’ll be right in.” Turning to face McLean, she giggled, “I’d better get in. I’m gonna get a grilling.”
MAY
Spring arrived in typical fashion in Victoria, bursting forth in a profusion of colour and fragrance as the cherry trees lining many of the city’s streets threw out their blossoms at the slightest hint of warm weather. Sidewalks and roadways were showered with their white and pink flower heads, forming a thick, downy carpet of petals. Famous for its annual ‘flower count’, Victorians were encouraged to report all manner of bulbs – daffodils, crocuses, hyacinths, and snowdrops, much to the chagrin of other cities in Canada that were still suffering under freezing temperatures. By the time May rolled around, trees and shrubs were in full bloom – rhododendrons with flower bundles the size of dinner plates, richly coloured camellias in shades of pink and red, and stately magnolias with their exotic, showy flower heads – all combined to create a striking display. Victoria was a beautiful city, but never more so than in the spring when nature came to life with a vengeance.
One night in early May, he made his weekly call from a pay phone
in town. He was always careful to vary the phones he used, sometimes driving far afield to find one. It disgusted him to use a public phone, but he really had no choice, so he always held it gingerly even after sanitizing it with a cleaning wipe.
She couldn’t speak with him, of course, but he always received an update on her status from the care home. The staff was puzzled at first why he would not provide a contact phone number, but he told them he travelled a great deal, so it was best if he was the one to contact them. He scoffed at the idea of a cell phone and said he couldn’t afford one anyway. He called the care home faithfully once a week, always on Sunday nights. She had been in the nursing home for more than a year after being struck down in the prime of life by the early onset of a form of dementia akin to Alzheimer’s.
Why he called her at all was something even he was at a loss to understand. For years, he had had no contact with her, but now at the end of her life, did he feel some responsibility for her? In some ways, it was easier that she did not know him. There was a freedom in that, but still, he could not help himself – maybe, just maybe, this would be the week she would remember her son. Could he ever wrestle a blessing from her? Would she ever give him one?
When his mother’s care attendant came to the phone, he immediately sensed something was wrong. He was informed his mother had suffered a stroke and was not expected to pull through. He felt nothing with this news, of course; it was more the cold, hard reality he had never been worthy of her acceptance, her approval, or her love. Their relationship had soured long ago, but now he would truly be alone.
He wrestled with conflicting emotions. He should attend her funeral, if only for appearances sake. After all, it wouldn’t do to be seen as heartless, now would it? And then there was the matter of her estate. He already had a little money put by, but why should he not lay claim to what was rightfully his? It suddenly occurred to him she may not have willed him anything. He grew indignant at that thought. He didn’t know if he could handle more rejection from her. Besides, who else would she leave it to? There was no one else. For this reason alone, he had to go. But her impending death was most inconvenient. It would mean a halt to the search for his witness.
As he made his plans, he decided to drive down east because it was less of a risk than flying. A road trip, however, would require several days, and he would still need to be careful for he had no idea how far his police sketch had been circulated. He hated the thought of days on the road, but there was one benefit – he would have the freedom to hunt.
She hummed quietly to herself, giggling occasionally as she staggered along the side of the dirt road. The soft puffs made by her breath in the chilly night air were illuminated in the pale moonlight, dissipating like thin wisps of smoke.
He had not planned to stop in this small prairie community on his way east; however, he was finding the road trip more grueling than expected, so he had pulled in for some much needed rest. As on previous nights, he’d found a suitably isolated location in which he could bed down for the night in his car rather than take a chance with a motel. Just as he was settling down, bundled up against the chill, she had passed by on the other side of the road. He’d been more than startled to see someone wandering along a deserted back road at this time of night, let alone a woman. It was clear she was inebriated, however, from her unsteady gait and from the fact she hadn’t even noticed his car. Nor did she seem to be aware of the weather, for she wasn’t even wearing a coat. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her but fought to harness the urge that shot through him. He needed a clear head to weigh his options.
He rarely ever took a chance on a spur of the moment opportunity such as this, and he did not like to hunt in unfamiliar territory. It was only the late hour and the isolated road that eased his concerns. As he debated, his hunger continued to mount as did his anxiety because his hapless victim was moving further away from him, albeit at a slow pace. Part of his hesitation was due to the woman’s hair. It wasn’t as long as he preferred, and yet, he still fantasized how it would feel – the silky texture of it, the feather lightness of it in his hands.
Finally, he made his decision and slipped silently out of his car, following her on foot for some distance, staying carefully out of sight although she seemed oblivious to her surroundings anyway. Despite his excitement, he vowed that if she did not move off the road, he would abandon the chase, for it was too risky to overtake her out in the open, no matter how isolated the area. It also concerned him to be moving away from his car.
If it was one thing he prided himself on, it was his discipline – in being able to weigh the risks, on indulging himself only when the conditions were exactly right. If the risk was ever too great, he was more than capable of pulling out, of setting aside his hunger, even after the stress of the last several months.
The woman suddenly stopped, and he feared for a moment she had sensed something. He needn’t have worried though, for it was obvious she was simply undecided about continuing along the road or taking a shortcut through an adjacent meadow. She kept looking first one way and then the other.
His breath hitched in his throat as he awaited her decision...
Mercifully, she was oblivious to the evil that stalked her as she entered the field. And, of course, she could never have known her own actions had just sealed her fate. The sound of her soft laughter echoed his own delight as his shadow soundlessly closed the distance between them…
He arrived in Sudbury late at night and pulled into an economy motel off the beaten track, the kind of place where one paid up front in cash by the month, week, day, or even in some cases, by the hour. He figured he would chance a room rather than spend any more nights in his car, for he was stiff and sore, and besides, this was hardly the type of place where anyone minded anyone else’s business. The desk clerk, a large hulk of a man with a shaved head and tattooed forearms, barely batted an eye when checking him in, asking no questions and going through the motions with as few words as possible. He was obviously the kind of man who did not ‘trouble trouble unless it troubled him’.
Entering the room assigned to him, he noted sourly it was just as dingy as the rest of the motel – its only furnishings were a lumpy bed covered with a faded floral spread; a small desk and chair squeezed into one corner of the room; and a cheap older model TV. The first thing he did was take a long shower to wash away the grime of his travel days, and as he did so, he ruminated on the parable of the prodigal son. The only difference with his situation was his mother was in no shape to give him her blessing, and even if she had been, he doubted she would bestow it upon him anyway.
He hated the nursing home the minute he walked into it early the next morning. If he had not come all this way, he would have turned around and walked straight out. The drab institutional green paint; the outdated, shabby furniture in the lobby; and the harsh buzzing of the fluorescent lighting, all contributed to set him ill at ease. The pungent smell of antiseptic did little to mask the stench of the place – a musky, decaying odour that permeated his nostrils and soured his stomach. He looked around with indifference at the scraps of human life seemingly abandoned in their wheelchairs, many of them drooling and incoherent. The odd one scrutinized him with sad, imploring eyes as though desperate for a kind word or gesture.
As he approached the desk, a patient lunged at him from out of nowhere – a disheveled woman with wild, unkempt hair who reeked of urine and glared at him with crazed eyes. Pawing at him with her claw-like hands, she shrieked abuse – “Oh, you’re a devil, you are! A devil! They can’t see that,” she lamented as she gestured wildly at the staff and the other patients, “but I can. I know what you are! You’re the devil’s spawn!”
Disgusted by her contact, he retreated from her clutches, while a staff member from the reception desk attempted to guide her into the arms of an attendant who had been hastily summoned.
She would have none of it, however, and shook off all attempts to calm her. “I know what you are,” she pointed at
him. “You’re a murdering devil! An evil, black devil!” she screeched.
The attendant, who by now had his arm wrapped tightly around the hysterical woman, patted her reassuringly and whispered soothing words in an attempt to distract her. “Now, now, Edna. Let’s get you back to your room for a little rest, shall we?” he suggested as he tried to guide her down the hall. When this didn’t work, he struggled to subdue her and finally had to resort to manhandling in order to get her back to her room.
Although thin and frail looking, she seemed to have strength far beyond her size, fiercely resisting all efforts to interrupt her tirade. As she was hauled away, she wailed a warning, “You’ve let the devil in and now we’ll all pay the price, you fools!” When she realized her warning was falling on deaf ears, she swore up a blue streak, leaving the more cognisant patients shaking their heads at her antics.
He shook off the episode and approached the clerk at the front desk who gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry about that. Edna is having one of her bad days.”
“No harm done. I’m here to see Debra Miller,” he smiled tightly. “I’m her son.”
“Oh, Mr. Miller. We’ve been expecting you. I’m afraid we have bad news. Your mother passed away this morning, but we had no way of reaching you. We knew you were expected though, so we thought we’d wait a little bit before calling the funeral home. I can take you to see her. She’s still in her room.”
“I see. Well, yes, I’ve been on the road. I had hoped to be here in time. I would like to see her, please.”