(2008) Compulsion

by Jennifer Chase

  “It’s simply amazing that Rick is such a tight ass. Talk about a power trip.” Matt slurs his words slightly after four tall glasses of beer.

  Ken picks at his Coors label and listens to his partner.

  “Doesn’t it just make you nuts?”

  Ken looks up from his bottle, “It is what it is.”

  “Ah man, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He gulps some ale. “Working hard on a homicide where no one gives a shit. She wasn’t a victim. It’s like taking out the trash.”

  “It could be viewed that way.”

  “It’s such bullshit in this town. You could easily get away with a homicide.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, most people who commit homicides are careless and stupid.” He looks around at the patrons. “You just have to plan carefully.”

  Taking a sip of beer, “Why are you so adamant about this?”

  Leaning forward, Matt continues, “You really think that we’re going to find out who killed that bitch at the beach? Huh?”

  “Well, I’d like to think that we would at least try.”

  Matt leans back in his chair looking like he has already said too much. He shakes his head in disgust and waves the waitress over to the table. “Can we have another round?”

  Ken watches his partner. He’s not always cared for his crudity, but he knows that he’s always got his back.

  Leaning forward and speaking softly, Matt says, “Doesn’t Rick’s higher than thou attitude get to you?”

  “I just ignore him. But he’s a good cop.”

  “Maybe.”

  Ken laughs.

  Matt rants on, “All I’m saying is there are people who just aren’t worth the time and energy in a homicide investigation.”

  “And who is supposed to pick and choose? The rich, the politicians, the government, or just plain hard working Joe Blow?” Ken chuckles.

  The waitress brings another round to the detectives.

  To waitress, “Thanks.” To Ken, “Aren’t you sick and tired of busting your ass for the dregs of society?”

  “It’s what we do.”

  Matt leans back, “Yeah well things are going to change. In fact, things are already beginning to change.” Obviously too intoxicated to drive, he watches a couple of young women fumble at the bar and order another drink.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Ten

  Sunday 1200 Hours

  Trees and perfectly manicured flowerbeds bursting with a rainbow of pastel colors surround a small two-story tan home with dark driftwood trim and a large deck above the garage. Pine and Eucalyptus trees cast shade and privacy from the neighborhood homes and closely surround the property.

  Emily pulls her rental white Jeep Liberty into the driveway and turns off the engine. She sits in her car for a moment and takes a deep breath. Still feeling the motion of the road and the stinging aches of her body, she slowly opens the car door. She’s anxious to get safely inside her home away from the callous reality of serial killers. But first decides to go to her neighbor’s house across the street.

  The lovely manicured yard strikes an almost melancholy chord with Emily. It reminds her of when she was a young girl growing up in Indiana. Her parents always had a beautiful garden and wonderfully colored plants hanging around a patio with white wicker furniture. She can almost smell the fragrance of the flowers and air of springtime. Her memories are interrupted by an incessant barking, then followed by a large jet-black Labrador retriever bounding towards her.

  “Sergeant, hey boy!” Emily drops to her knees and pets the big brute. “I missed you so much.” Uncontrollable licks to the face are her punishment for being gone.

  Theresa Brandon, an attractive middle-aged woman with short grey hair, appears from the back yard wearing pale yellow cropped pants and t-shirt. She quickly takes off her gardening gloves to greet Emily. “I thought that was you.”

  Emily looks up, “Hi Terry.”

  Theresa sees the cuts on Emily’s beautiful face, “Oh your face. You said that you were in an accident, but I had no idea.”

  “It looks much worse than it really is.”

  “Come inside and sit for a bit. I made some iced tea.”

  Smiling, Emily agrees, “That sounds great.”

  Sergeant follows Emily and Theresa into the house. Through the threshold, it opens into a spacious living and kitchen area with glass windows from top to bottom and a front row seat to the sixteenth fairway. The vibrant natural greens are pleasing to the eye and immediately relax your body and psyche. Emily loves to sit and stare out at the vast green fairway watching the golfers hunt for their stray balls.

  Theresa pours two glasses of iced tea and gives Sergeant fresh water. “Are you going to be able to salvage your car?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I’ve got a rental until I can get a new car.”

  Giving Emily a tall glass of ice tea, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She smiles reassuringly and tastes her iced tea, “It was a hit and run. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “You know you didn’t have to rush right back. We love taking care of Sergeant. He’s such a little angel.”

  Sergeant perks his ears and tilts his head to one side.

  “Thank you, but it’s really nice to be home.”

  Taking a sip, “Did you get your research done?”

  “Pretty much.” Emily hates lying to her friends, but it’s the way it has to be in order to ensure her anonymity and safety. The Brandons think she’s a writer and does work for various companies online.

  “Mmm, this is great iced tea and the lemons are from your garden.” Emily asks.

  “You know me too well.”

  Emily leans back on the comfortable sofa, “What’s been going on here, anything exciting?”

  Theresa becomes a little quiet, “Well I didn’t want to burden you with this right now.”

  “What?” Emily’s interest is now piqued.

  “Someone has moved into the house next door to you.”

  Smiling, she says, “What is it a family with six kids and twelve dogs?”

  “No, I wish it was that simple.”

  Concerned, Emily asks, “What’s the matter?”

  Theresa explains, “It’s just one man. He’s been causing a problem in the neighborhood.”

  “How much trouble can he have caused? I’ve only been gone two weeks.” Emily is concerned because her friend isn’t the type to exaggerate, so it must be serious.

  “He does some kind of tree work and has been trying to get neighbors to use his services.” Theresa pauses before continuing, “Emily he’s been threatening some of the older residents and they’re scared. They don’t want to call the police because they are afraid of retaliation.”

  “Who is this guy?”

  “I know this sounds kind of crazy, but that’s exactly what this guy is crazy. He behavior is very erratic and bizarre.”

  Emily is upset that anyone would try to scare her neighbors, “Sounds like he needs an attitude adjustment.”

  “Oh Emily, stay clear from this guy. I have a bad feeling about him.”

  Reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  The door to the garage opens and an energetic middle-aged man wearing glasses appears. “Hey, she’s home.”

  “Hi Robert.”

  “Thought maybe Sergeant might not remember you.” He teases.

  Theresa laughs, “Fat chance of that.”

  Sergeant is curled up at Emily’s feet, content and softly snoring, happy that she’s home.

  Pouring himself a glass of iced tea, “Did you tell Emily about her new neighbor?”

  “I was just filling her in.”

  “He sounds like he doesn’t take his meds very often.” Emily tries to make light of the situation.

  “I have to agree with Terry, you be careful.” He continues.

  Emily takes a couple of sips of her iced tea a
nd looks outside, watching a father instruct his son on his golf swing. “He’s just a bully, and we’ll just have to see how long he’ll last around here.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  Tuesday 0800 Hours

  The early morning fog casts a dreamy mist over the neighborhood. The backyard is filled with blooming annuals that frame the pine trees and wild ferns. There is an acacia tree bursting with yellow blossoms between the two houses and a pale yellow dust covers the fence.

  Emily opens the sliding door and steps out onto the deck with Sergeant at her side. He hasn’t wanted to leave Emily’s side since she has been home. She sips a steaming cup of coffee as she gazes out in the yard. Something catches her attention along the fence line. Quickly, Emily slips on a pair of shoes and treads down the back stairs to investigate.

  As Emily nears the fence, she realizes that one of the branches from her new neighbor’s side has damaged the fence, particularly her side. It appears that the branch was deliberately cut and left on her side of the fence. It was unbelievable that her new neighbor was trying to force his tree cutting services on her by deliberately cutting a branch down. He’s going to be sorely mistaken if he thinks that Emily is going to fall for his scam. She wasn’t going to let this man extort money from her.

  Before Emily turns to go back into her house, she hears a noise from the other side of the fence. She stops and listens. The noise seems to stop as she strains to listen. What was this guy doing? Emily decides to exit her gate leaving Sergeant behind and goes over to her neighbor’s house to find out what’s going on.

  Before she steps onto the property next door, a man appears out of the trees and stops directly in her path. The stocky man with dark hair and a well-trimmed beard looks more like a timber man from the mountains. His hair, neatly trimmed in a bowl style hides his eyes brows and draws your attention to his dark beady eyes. His pale face and dark features bore into Emily like a predatory animal.

  Caught slightly off guard, Emily maintains her stance and authority, “Hi, I’m Emily. I was just coming over to talk to you about that branch on the fence.”

  “What branch?” He quickly retaliates in an accusatory tone.

  Calmly, Emily states, “The branch that is sitting on the fence.”

  “What are you talking about? You come over here to accuse me of a branch on the fence.” He stands up straighter to give the appearance of power, but his slouchy sweat pants and flannel shirt say otherwise.

  Emily begins to see what her neighbors were telling her about this man. She smiles is disbelief, “Look, it’s not a big deal, but I’d appreciate if you could get that branch off the fence before there is any more damage.”

  “What’s wrong with your face?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Emily decides to play along with this man’s paranoid game, “Like what?”

  “You know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m a reasonable person, but I’d appreciate, at your convenience, if you would remove that branch from the fence.”

  “That branch has damaged a wheelbarrow and golf cart.”

  Emily is amazed how this man can spin a story, “So you do know something about that branch you left on the fence?”

  The man begins to makes fists and releases them several times; it is obvious that he’s beginning to fume over this situation that’s not going the usual way he planned. Emily isn’t impressed or intimidated by his words or actions and he painfully knows it.

  “I can sue you for the damage.” His voice raises an octave in pitch.

  “Go ahead, but in the meantime please remove the branch.” She smiles, “Nice to meet you.”

  Emily turns and walks away. This conversation is like talking to a brick wall with a psychopathic attitude. She closes the gate in her back yard. Before she reaches her sliding door, she hears a terrible crash from inside her neighbor’s house. A voice booms from inside followed by several more crashes. Emily could only make out a few words and she definitely heard her name spoken in the midst of ranting madness.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  Tuesday 1400 Hours

  Paso Robles is a coastal mountain city located just twenty-five miles from the Pacific Ocean on Highways 101 and 46. It is more specifically known at the “pass of the oaks” and home to more than twenty California wineries. Thirty thousand residents call this growing, diverse town their home.

  A car slowly moves along El Camino Real and turns down several side streets watching for pedestrians. The middle school has just let out and children are walking home, while others are boarding yellow buses and jumping into mom’s SUVs. One Sheriff’s deputy patrol car is parked at the entrance to the school. The car continues to merge with other traffic without drawing any attention.

  Children laugh and talk as they walk down the streets. But Susie Williams walks alone staring down at the sidewalk. She’s unsure about her path and walks with trepid steps. Her long blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail fastened with a neon pink barrette. She carries a Disney backpack loaded with schoolbooks and her empty lunch box. She only looks up for an instant and crosses the street away from the crowd of children.

  The car turns down the same road as Susie. It pulls to the side of the road, and stops. The man synchronizes his watch to the exact time of day and makes brief notes in a small pocket sized steno pad pulled from his top pocket. Susie walks on continuing home.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wednesday 0230 Hours

  Emily is sound asleep in her comfortable king size four-poster bed. She rolls over to her side enjoying a pleasant relaxing dream without serial killers. Sergeant is snoozing in his cozy doggie bed in the corner of the bedroom. His ears suddenly perk up and his sleepy eyes open. It’s dark and quiet, but something has awakened him because of his keen senses. He stealthily gets up from his warm bed and exits the bedroom. He stands quiet, statue-like in the hallway, eyes alert and scanning every corner. His eyes have completely adjusted to the darkness, but he still remains motionless.

  Sergeant moves to the spare bedroom and stands at the threshold listening; it’s just a guest bedroom with an open closet door. The closet seems to peak his interest. He moves toward it. As soon as he moves his large head in the direction of the closet opening, it slams shut forcing him inside the closet. The door latches and something heavy is placed in front of it. He begins barking incessantly and uses his large paws to try and shred the frame around the door.

  Emily opens her eyes awakened by Sergeant’s barking and scratching. Before she can roll over and sit up, a dark figure restrains her and a jagged hunting knife presses up against her neck. Emily blinks to focus her eyes on the figure breathing in her face. His knee is against her ribs, it’s extremely painful since her bruises from the accident haven’t healed yet.

  The dark figure wears a ski mask disguising his identity. He leans into Emily and whispers, “Kak kak kak.” He waits a moment and then repeats, “Kak kak kak.”

  Emily thought that she didn’t hear him correctly; he seems to be speaking gibberish. Her mind races to who this person is and how Sergeant is confined. There must be someone else in the house too, but she can’t be sure. Her mind is reeling and her heart is pounding. The adrenaline is pumping at an all time high urging her to make a move. Otherwise, she won’t have a chance to stay alive.

  Again the intruder leans in, but this time he whispers, “You’re going to die. You can’t escape.”

  The intruder shifts his weight slightly, letting some of the pressure off of Emily. She doesn’t waste any time and makes her move, using a sucker punch to the intruder’s upper stomach with her right elbow. As he flops to one side in agony gasping for air, Emily has just enough time to leap out of bed dressed only in a tank top and panties. She knocks over an antique plant stand that is used as a clever hiding place for one of her handguns. She doesn’t have to waste a
ny time loading the weapon, since there’s already a clip of fifteen rounds armed and ready.

  Before Emily can turn around in a shooting stance, a stained glass lamp from her nightstand flies through the air and makes contact with her shoulder. It crashes against the wall and shards of multi-colored glass shower the room. Emily is momentarily stunned as an excruciating pain radiates through her right arm down to her fingertips. She drops the gun. Making a quick alternative choice of weapon, she grabs a small wrought iron chair and swings it wildly, striking her assailant on the side of head. He goes down. She scrambles for her gun as her wrought iron chair hurtles through the sliding door barely missing her head by inches. There is so much glass in her bedroom that you can’t see the color of the carpet anymore.

  Emily can hear Sergeant barking relentlessly from the other room because he can’t get to her aid. Before she can stand up with her gun, she’s struck on the back of the head with a heavy blow. The room spins in one direction and sounds become strangely muffled. Slowly she collapses on the floor. She sees a pair of police issue boots standing next to her. She fights the darkness that’s gradually creeping into her peripheral vision, but her eyelids can’t hold up the horrendous weight anymore. Sound and light disappear as Emily falls into an unconscious rest. The gun drops onto the floor next to her crumpled body.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wednesday 0300 Hours

  A small, grungy bar in Seacliff just a stones throw from the beach has been closed for about an hour. There are still local patrons leaving the establishment staggering out to a taxi, while others opt to walk home a few blocks away. It’s quiet and still with a lingering scent of the foggy bay.