Cry Baby

by David Jackson

  ‘Erin? Did you hear me?’

  ‘I heard you, all right? Have I got a choice not to hear you? I can’t just walk away from you, in case you haven’t realized. Maybe your wife did, and your mother, and all your other friends and family. Maybe that’s why you’re doing this, because it’s the only way you can get someone to listen to your stupid boring voice. And maybe it’s why you don’t show yourself either, because you’re ugly and weak and afraid and everybody hates you. Is that it, asswipe? Because you’re a nobody, a nothing, and this is the only way you can give yourself some feeling of control? I bet it is. I bet if you walked through my door now, even I could kick your ass. That’s how pathetic you are.’

  ‘My, my, Erin. Are you annoyed at me?’

  ‘Me? Nooo. Why would I be angry at you? You only drugged me, stole my baby and made me kill people. What’s there not to like?’

  ‘I told you. It’s for a reason. It’s all for your benefit.’

  ‘That’s right. I forgot. You’re showing me the light. Hallelujah, brother. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition so I can blow another fucker off this planet. Thanks for that. I feel so righteous now.’

  ‘You shouldn’t feel guilty about killing that last guy. He had it coming.’

  ‘FYI, I’ve just had this discussion in my head. Your contribution isn’t needed, thank you very much.’

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  ‘Oh, don’t even go there, all right? Like you’re concerned for my welfare. Like you’re somehow looking after me. Don’t stick that label on yourself along with all the other ones that add to your delusions, okay?’

  ‘But I am looking after you, Erin. You’ll see. After this day is done, you’ll understand.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  She decides this conversation is over, and gets up from the chair.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To get cleaned up. You want to come with me? Feel free to say no to that.’

  She goes into the bathroom and puts the light on, then looks at herself in the mirror over the basin.

  Christ. It’s worse than she thought. Those tissues barely made a difference. She’s covered in it. It’s on her face, in her hair, soaked into her coat. She looks like Carrie in the movie of the same name.

  She starts to unbutton her coat.

  ‘Whoa, Erin. What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  She ignores him. Continues unbuttoning. Starts to shuck off the coat.

  ‘Hold it right there. Don’t be stupid. You know what will happen.’

  She pauses, the coat off her shoulders but her arms still in the sleeves.

  ‘I need to get clean.’

  ‘Uh-uh. Forget it. I told you. You need to wear the surveillance equipment at all times. You don’t take it off, not even for a minute.’

  She pulls the coat back on, but doesn’t fasten it. ‘Are you crazy? Look at me. You think I can go out again looking like this? I am covered in that man’s blood. If the cops stop me again I’m done for. Even if I didn’t have any blood on me I’d have to change, because those cops from before will be looking for me as soon as that body in the car is found. Send me out like this and you might as well call the cops yourself. I won’t get five yards without being arrested.’

  There’s a long pause while he contemplates her argument. Ha! Didn’t think this one through, did you, mastermind? You’re not so infallible.

  ‘All right, Erin. What do you suggest?’

  ‘I suggest I take a shower, is what I suggest.’

  ‘How do I know that’s all you’ll do?’

  ‘You don’t. Obviously I can’t get in the shower with all this equipment, so you’ll just have to trust me.’

  ‘No dice, Erin. I don’t do trust. That’s not how it works.’

  Big surprise, she thinks. He doesn’t trust me.

  ‘All right, then you come up with an idea. I have to get cleaned up. You tell me how I’m supposed to do that while sticking to your rules.’

  Another long pause. Then: ‘Go get a hanger from the closet in your bedroom. Hang the coat on the bathroom door, the brooch facing out. You can take the earpiece out when you’re about to get into the shower.’

  She falters then, her fighting spirit suddenly dissipating again. ‘I… You’ll see me. If I do it like that, you’ll see me getting undressed.’

  ‘Take it or leave it, Erin. I’m giving a little here. You need to do the same.’

  Giving a little. Yeah, right. Giving yourself a little erection while you watch a strip show, is more the truth of it.

  Fuck.

  But she knows she has to do what he asks. She can’t bear to stay covered in this sticky dark blood from another human being any longer.

  She fetches the hanger, drapes the coat over it, then hangs it in position on the bathroom door. Stepping back, she stares at the brooch. It feels strange not to have it attached to her and looking out. Now it’s at a distance, with its beady little eye on her. Like having a stranger right there in her bathroom – a peeping tom about to watch her get naked.

  She turns her back to her watcher as she starts to undress. While she disrobes she listens intently for any sounds over the earpiece – any sign that he’s getting a little too interested in this spectacle. That dirty bastard. He’s probably—

  And then a thought hits her.

  Maybe she can use this. She didn’t think she possessed anything she could use in a fight against this man, but maybe she does. Her body. Her sexuality. Maybe the sight of someone being murdered isn’t the only thing that turns him on. If he’s at all interested in women…

  Yes. Could that be it? Could I do it?

  A tremor runs through her.

  I can’t be obvious about it. Nothing too quick, too artificial. I have to take my time. Build up to it. Start with a little teasing. Get him interested. Get him thinking about me in a different way. Not as a pawn for executing his death warrants, but as an object of desire. Someone he might fantasize over. Someone he thinks about so much he will be unable to control himself. He will need to see properly, up close and personal. Not through a crappy little lens. He will need to smell and hold and caress. And to do that, he will need to get closer. So much closer. Close enough to kill.

  Yes!

  Her original intention had been to protect her modesty as much as possible. Keep his pervy little eyes off of her. She planned to get behind the shower curtain before removing the last of her clothes, keeping a robe within arm’s reach for when she got out. That way he would see nothing.

  But now she has a different plan.

  She is down to her underwear. Blue bra, white panties, thick winter pantyhose. Not the sexiest attire, but hey, seducing the abductor of her child wasn’t originally in her diary for today.

  She peels off the pantyhose. Then she takes a deep breath. Pulls in her stomach and sticks out her chest. Childbirth took its toll, but in the months following she put a lot of work into getting her shape back. The one thing she appreciated about motherhood, however, was a much bigger rack: she went up two whole cup sizes while pregnant, and her boobs don’t show any sign of shrinking just yet, despite the fact she abandoned breastfeeding as a lost cause.

  She sneaks a sidelong look into the mirror. Not bad. Well, except for that blood on your face. That kinda ruins the effect you’re aiming at, Erin. Not exactly subtle in the makeup department.

  Still, beggars can’t be choosers. If this works, maybe he won’t be lifting his gaze that high.

  She turns.

  Tries to make it seem casual. An ‘I need to go over here now’ kind of move, rather than a ‘feast your eyes on these bad boys’ one.

  She doesn’t know what she’s hoping for – maybe not a cry of ‘hubba hubba’, but at least a lewd comment or even a mild gasp of arousal – but she gets nothing.

  Press on, she thinks. He might even have turned his own microphone off so as to cut off his groans while he jerks off.

  Maybe you’d like to come ove
r here and do the five finger shuffle, you pervert. I can promise you that your groans won’t be the only things that get cut off.

  She reaches in behind the shower curtain, then bends forward while she turns on the water, affording him an even better view of her cleavage. As she twists the control, one of the bra straps falls off her shoulder. She leaves it there.

  Come on, fella. Say something. Anything. Show me you’re interested. Show me that watching people being sliced open isn’t the only way you can get your rocks off.

  She straightens up, then moves closer to the coat on the door. Looks straight into the brooch. He’s got a perfect view of me now, she thinks. Close up and semi-nude. A bra that’s possibly on the verge of revealing more than it should. A few smears of blood that might even add to the attraction as far as this crazy fuck is concerned. You don’t want to say anything? All right, how about I make you talk?

  ‘Is it okay if I take out my earpiece now?’

  He pauses before answering: ‘Yes, Erin. Put it on the shelf above the basin, where I can see it.’

  His response couldn’t be more disappointing. He seems more interested in the damn earpiece than he does in her. His voice is dull, flat. Like he finds this tedious. Distasteful, even.

  Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual, mister. You think I’m stripping off in front of you because I like you? Think again.

  Actually, no. Don’t think again. Don’t think at all. Let your hormones do what they’re supposed to do. Let them pump up your organs and get you racing over here, stud. Come and prove to me what a hot-blooded caveman you are. And when you do, I’ll show you just how hot your blood really is. I’ll let you see it and touch it for yourself.

  This isn’t going to work.

  He’s not into me. Hasn’t got the faintest interest.

  Don’t give up, Erin. Don’t abandon the only plan you’ve got so easily.

  She walks back to the basin, pulling out the earpiece as she goes. With her back to the camera again, she reaches behind and unhooks her bra, then lets it fall to the floor. She tries telling herself that he’s mere inches away from his monitor now, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of her tits. She forces herself to imagine that his breathing is heavy, panting almost. Maybe it’s not true. Maybe the sight of a naked woman is abhorrent to him. But if there’s a chance, just a slim hope…

  She slips off the panties, careful not to bend forward too much. This isn’t one of those ludicrous sex-romp movies. She’s not auditioning to be a porn star here. Just a little titillation. Get his cogs rotating. Get him hungry for more.

  If you want more, mister, then you’ll have to ask for it. For now, this is all you get.

  She side-steps into the shower. A slight turn to reveal the curve of a breast, and then she’s out of his sight.

  The water is warm on her back, and yet she notices that her hands are trembling, her breath fluttering. What are you doing, Erin? Are you insane? You really think it’s a good idea to entice this lunatic into your home? Do you really want him lusting after your body?

  She turns and pushes her head into the stream of water, anxious to drown the doubts. I’ve got nothing else, she thinks. No other source of hope. I need to be at least trying to do something.

  And then she’s crying again. Sobbing silently, her shoulders heaving. At first she can’t understand what’s prompted this, but then she realizes it’s the freedom. It’s the sudden comprehension that, for these few brief minutes, she is out of his grasp. She does not have to listen to him, doesn’t have to put up with his satanic commands and his spiteful remarks. She has been untethered from that mystical third eye she has been forced to wear. No longer is he able to look where she looks, see what she sees. He has been cast out from her body. Exorcized.

  And Christ does it feel good.

  She wants to stay here forever. While she washes herself again and again with shower gel and shampoo, until her eyes sting and her ears are plugged with soapy foam, she wishes she never had to go back to her nightmare. She wants to scrub and scrub until there is nothing of herself left. She will be rinsed down the drainage hole and away from this place of disembodied voices and eyes. She does not want to hand over her body to the demons again, to give them the power they demand from her. Without her they are nothing. They need her physical form to give them life, the ability to move and be heard. She would like nothing better than to withhold all that from them for eternity.

  But she knows she cannot.

  Georgia is in there. The demons are holding her hostage. And the only one who can save her is her mother. Good has to vanquish evil – all the stories say so. Erin knows she has to find the courage to cross back into the underworld.

  Where are you now, God? I could do with a little help here.

  She turns the shower off. She can delay no longer. She needs to connect again, because that’s the only way to her baby. That’s her umbilical cord.

  She reaches for a towel from the radiator. Dries herself off as best as she can while she remains standing in the tub. Then she grabs her bathrobe and puts it on. No more sex play. No more acting the temptress. It was okay while she was filthy and disgusting and caked in drying blood. The soiled appearance paired well with whoredom. But now she is clean. Bright as a new pin. She doesn’t want to contemplate sordid, unholy things.

  She steps out of the tub. Grabs another towel and wraps her hair up in it. She inhales deeply, and likes how the air smells. The perfume of summer and flowers and freshness. Nice things. Pure things.

  Then her eye catches sight of her coat on its hanger over the door, and her mental pictures begin to decay and become infused with gore and violence. She sees the unfocused image of a man bent over a screen, staring at her. Waiting for her to return to his domain, as she knows she must.

  She retrieves the earpiece from the shelf and looks at it for a while. She is painfully aware that putting it back into place will transport her into his hands once again, but she also knows that it is a path she cannot refuse to tread.

  She puts the tiny speaker back into her ear. Her world lurches.

  ‘Hello again, Erin. Feel better for that? Have to say, you look pretty refreshed.’

  She doesn’t say anything. Just glares coldly at the brooch.

  ‘Come and get the equipment, Erin. Pin the brooch to your robe, and put the battery pack into your pocket.’

  Remaining silent, she follows his instructions. She grimaces at the blood on her coat as she removes the brooch, anxious for it not to get on her fingers again. Finally she pins it into place on her lapel and drops the black plastic box into her pocket.

  ‘Okay, Erin. I think you should get ready again, don’t you? Dry your hair, put some more makeup on, do whatever it is you girlies do.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What do you mean, not yet? You’ve done a lot already, sure, but there’s still plenty of work to do. Four more, remember?’

  ‘Yes,’ she snaps. ‘I know. I know exactly. You don’t have to keep telling me.’

  ‘Hey, Erin. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to—’

  ‘How’s Georgia?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Georgia. How is she? I want to know how my baby is.’

  ‘She’s asleep. Like a log. Is she always this good at night?’

  ‘Sometimes. Not always. Is she… does she look happy?’

  ‘Happy? Yeah, I’d say so. Sweet dreams, I’d say.’

  Erin nods, even though he cannot see her. ‘Good. I need her to be happy. I need to know that… that…’

  ‘Erin, she’s fine. And she’ll stay fine. Just a few more hours, okay. A few more… people.’

  ‘Right. Right. But later, okay. I need to rest. I’m so tired.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s such a good—’

  ‘Please. Just a couple hours.’

  Silence for a while. Then: ‘It’s your call, Erin. You know what needs to be done, and you know how long you’ve got to do it. You make the call.’


  She makes it. She leaves the bathroom and goes through to her bedroom. She turns the bedside lamp on, and the main light off. Then she lies down on the bed.

  ‘Just leave me in peace for a while, okay? Let me sleep.’

  ‘All right, Erin. But leave the lamp on, okay?’

  She stops responding again, and waits for the buzz of thoughts in her head to die down so that sleep can steal in and claim her.

  5.16 AM

  Everything has changed.

  Two murders carried out within hours of each other by the same killer is serious enough. But the possibility of a third victim? One they haven’t even located, let alone identified? Well, that’s just set all the alarm bells ringing. Ringing even louder because there is every chance that this is just the beginning. Where there’s a one, two and three, there may be a four, five and six on the way. They can’t let that happen.

  And so it’s with a certain sense of urgency that Doyle returns to the squadroom with LeBlanc in tow. There is much work to be done.

  The last thing he needs right now is to deal with Albert.

  He’s trailing behind a female uniformed officer called Sheridan. She looks pissed.

  ‘Wait there,’ she commands Albert, finger in the air. When her charge obeys, Doyle half expects her to pat his head and give him a biscuit. His amusement fades when she turns back to Doyle and he sees that her expression has darkened to a thunderous level.

  To her credit, she keeps her voice low: ‘Where the hell have you been, Cal? I’ve been stuck with this fruitcake for hours.’

  Doyle tries to look pained. He approached her to look after Albert while he was out on the first call. Turned on his boyish Irish charm and told her how he’d be eternally grateful for her assistance.

  ‘Sorry, Frankie. I caught a second homicide straight after the first. This could turn into something big.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard about that, and that don’t exactly make it better, Cal. I should be out there too, trying to catch the perp, ’stead of running a crèche here for your adopted orphan. I am so gonna get my ass kicked at the end of my tour if I’ve got nothing to show for it.’

  Doyle puts his hands out to placate her. ‘All right. Lemme talk to your sarge. I’ll square it with him, okay?’