by Mark Lukens
Tara stopped in her tracks, focused on the frying pan. She walked towards it slowly, like she was drawn to it.
There’s something in the frying pan.
She moved closer until she was right next to the frying pan. She looked down and saw a severed human finger lying inside in a puddle of burnt oil. She stifled a scream and stepped back away from the stove.
Agent Woods rushed over to her with his gun still in his hand. “What is it?”
Tara shook her head no. “I thought I saw something in the frying pan.”
“What?”
Tara looked back at the frying pan but it was empty now.
“Nothing,” she said and shook her head no. “It’s not there now.”
“Maybe you saw something that was there before,” Agent Woods said. “Or maybe it’s something that’s going to be there. Anything could help.”
“It looked like a finger,” Tara finally told him. “A human finger that had been cut off.”
Tara turned away and looked down at the eggs splashed across the floor among the broken bits of the ceramic bowl. The eggs were congealed and dried now. Her eyes roamed across the floor and then she saw something underneath the toe kick of one of the cabinets, right next to the refrigerator – it was something she’d seen before and she had to stare at it for a few seconds to make sure it was really there.
“Agent Woods.”
He turned and looked down at the floor where she was looking.
“You see it, right?” she asked him.
He hurried over to the cabinets, crouched down in front of them and picked up the homemade wooden crucifix from the floor.
“I’ve seen that cross before,” Tara told him. “I’ve seen the man who wears that.”
“Where?”
“I think he’s a homeless person. A few days ago, my friend Lorie and I were walking down a street in Tampa and this guy jumped out of an alleyway and grabbed me. He had these wild eyes and he warned me about the killer. He told me that the killer was coming for me and that he was like nothing I could imagine. He told me that the killer was the devil.”
Agent Woods held the cross in one hand by the broken string that used to be its necklace, watching her.
“And yesterday, when Steve and I were walking back from the café, I saw him in the trees beside a house.”
“Tara, why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Is there anything else you’re not telling me?” he asked with a sharpness to his voice.
“No. I’ve told you everything.”
Agent Woods sighed like he was letting his sudden anger go. “This guy you saw yesterday, this homeless man, what was he doing beside the house?”
“He was just … just watching us. And he stared at me and made a throat slashing gesture.” Tara drew her finger slowly across her own throat.
“Maybe this street person took Steve.”
Tara shook her head. She didn’t know. She was sure Jeremy was the killer. Could the homeless man really be Jeremy? Could Jeremy have dressed up like a homeless man?
“We should go look for this guy,” Agent Woods said. “It’s our only lead so far.”
Tara didn’t answer.
“Where would a street person hang out here in Tampa?” he asked.
Tara told him about a place where they could start looking.
They went back out through the sliding glass door and slid it shut. Then they hurried around the building to the parking lot. Tara checked to make sure her apartment and Jeep were locked. She shoved her keys into her pants pockets and she felt the small canister of pepper spray that Agent Woods had given her in her other front pocket – she kept it on her at all times now.
She watched as Agent Woods talked on the phone next to his car. He seemed to be barking orders into the phone, but she couldn’t hear him. She didn’t want to go over there while he was talking on the phone, so she waited by her Jeep until he was finished.
4.
Tara rode in Agent Woods’ car and she directed him to the seedier side of town. She moved her feet among the trash on the passenger floorboard.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I haven’t had time to clean out the car. I just throw all my trash down there.”
“It looks like you live in your car.”
He didn’t respond as he turned his car down a side road and parked. The tall buildings of downtown Tampa could be seen a few blocks away. They got out and walked over to a heavy-set woman layered in clothing, she pushed a shopping cart full of odds and ends most likely procured from garbage dumpsters.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Agent Woods said as he walked up to her, flashing his ID at her and then tucking it away in one quick movement. “We’re trying to find someone.”
The woman just stared at Agent Woods and Tara like she didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.
Agent Woods pulled out the wooden cross from his suit coat pocket and showed it to her. “He was wearing this around his neck.”
The woman shook her head no. “I don’t know. You should talk to Edgar.” She pointed towards an alleyway half a block down the narrow street.
Tara walked beside Agent Woods down the street to the mouth of the alleyway. They walked around a green dumpster overflowing with garbage and entered the alleyway.
Thirty feet down the alley they saw an older man seated on a piece of cardboard, his back against the brick wall. He looked up at them without a word. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles and his beard and hair were streaked with gray. He wore a faded Miami Dolphins baseball cap.
“Are you Edgar?” Agent Woods asked.
Edgar didn’t respond. He just stared up at them.
“We need your help finding someone,” Woods told him.
Edgar still didn’t say a word.
Agent Woods showed him the wooden cross. “We believe the man we’re looking for may be homeless. He wears this around his neck.”
Edgar couldn’t hide the split second of surprise on his face at seeing the homemade wooden cross, but then his poker face was back.
Agent Woods looked up and down the alley, making sure there was no one else around, and then he whipped out a twenty dollar bill from his pants pocket and held it between two fingers at Edgar.
Edgar struggled up to his feet, a smile on his face now. He took the twenty out of Woods’ fingers like a bird plucking an insect out of the ground, and then he stuffed the money down somewhere in the layers of his clothing.
“I don’t know him,” Edgar finally said. He had a surprisingly deep voice for such a thin man. “Don’t know his name. Some call him The Reverend. He’s sort of new around here. Crazy as a sprayed roach, if you ask me. He’s always preaching about the end of the world and shit like that. The Rapture. Armageddon.”
“When did you see him last?”
“Yesterday, I think. He seemed really scared. Said he’d seen the devil. Said he’d made a deal with him and now it was time to pay up.”
“Did he describe this devil?” Agent Woods asked.
Edgar looked at Woods like he was crazy. “Describe the devil? No, he didn’t.”
Agent Woods seemed to be growing a little impatient. “Do you know where we could find this Reverend?”
“I don’t know. Sorry. I don’t know much about him.”
Tara took a twenty dollar bill out of her purse and handed it to Edgar. “Thanks. You’ve been a lot of help.”
Agent Woods gave her an odd look and they walked away.
They walked back to Agent Woods’ car.
“What now?” Tara asked.
“I don’t know. But it seems like this Reverend guy may have known the killer – if that’s the devil this guy is talking about.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
1.
Lorie and Mike snuggled together on the porch swing that was built into the wraparound deck of the cabin. The wraparound porch was the thing that had really sold Mike on this hom
e, Lorie thought. That and the gigantic, free-standing garage near the house. Big enough to park an RV inside, Lorie had told him.
Mike said he didn’t have an RV.
Lorie told him that he could get one now.
They had been kissing and fondling each other on the porch swing for a few minutes now, but then Lorie pulled away from Mike. They’d just made love an hour ago, but they still couldn’t keep their hands off each other for very long.
Mike came in for another kiss, but she still pulled away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head and looked out at the woods all around them. It really was beautiful up here. Only an hour’s drive north of Tampa and you were up here in the woods.
“I don’t know,” Lorie finally answered him. “I’m worried about Tara. I wish she would just come up here with us.”
“If she doesn’t want to come here, you can’t force her.”
Lorie had already discussed the idea with Mike of Tara coming up here to stay for a few days. She had explained what had happened with Tara, about someone breaking into her apartment and how frightened Tara was, and Mike didn’t even hesitate, didn’t even bat an eyelash. He offered Tara a room up here for as long as she wanted. Even when he and Lorie went back to Tampa she could have a room here, he’d told her.
Lorie loved Mike even more at that moment.
Love? Now there was a scary word. But she couldn’t help feeling this way around Mike. She felt like a giggly teenager again. She was scared of getting hurt, but then again, if she was going to go all in, then this was the guy she was going to risk it on.
“What’s wrong?” Mike asked her again.
She looked at him and gave him a smile.
“Something seems strange about the FBI guy who’s been helping Tara,” Lorie said.
She looked at Mike. “Don’t FBI agents usually work in teams?”
Mike shrugged. “I guess. Probably a good idea so they have each other’s back.”
“I know someone I can ask, someone who would know for sure.”
Lorie got up and headed for the sliding glass door that led back into the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Mike asked, sitting up on the edge of the porch swing, pretending to be hurt and offended that she was leaving him alone.
“Something I should’ve done a while ago,” she told him. But she stopped at the sliding glass door and gave him a seductive smile and a wink. “But I won’t be very long.”
Mike snuggled back down into the porch swing.
Lorie closed the sliding glass door and marched to the kitchen counter. She dug her cell phone out of her purse and dialed her uncle’s number. The reception wasn’t the best out here in the woods and there was a little bit of static on the line as the phone rang.
2.
Detective Perry sat at his cluttered desk which faced Jackson’s neat and tidy desk. His phone rang. He snatched it up on the second ring.
“Detective Perry speaking.”
“Hey, Uncle Ronald,” Lorie said on the phone.
Detective Perry couldn’t help smiling as he leaned back in his chair which squealed in protest. “How’s my favorite niece?”
“I’m your only niece.”
“And my favorite. What’s up?”
“Has Tara called you by any chance?”
Just the mention of Tara’s name set Perry on edge a little. Lorie’s little psychic friend had come into the station a few times in the last few years claiming to have knowledge of murders through visions or dreams or whatever she was doing to channel the spirits.
“No, Lorie, I haven’t heard from Tara. Why?”
“She’s been having dreams again; dreams about these recent murders.”
Detective Perry ran a hand through his short gray hair. “Lorie, honey, you know what I think about that psychic stuff …”
“I know. But I called to ask you a big favor.”
Oh no, here it comes, Perry thought. She’s going to want me to bring her friend in here to reveal her visions. He liked Tara as a person, and you’d never know she was a psychic. She was a beautiful girl and looked normal. She didn’t come in with candles and a crystal ball or anything like that. She didn’t dress up like a gypsy. But still, he couldn’t spare the time with dreams and visions that weren’t going to get him or his guys any closer to catching real criminals.
“I was wondering if you could look up some information on an FBI agent who’s been helping Tara.”
This got Perry’s attention and he sat up straight in his chair. “FBI? What are you talking about? I haven’t heard anything about the FBI being involved with these murders yet.”
Jackson, who had been absorbed in paperwork on his desk, looked up with sudden interest at the mention of the FBI.
Perry locked eyes with Jackson for a split second, and then he glanced around the room, making sure none of the other detectives were within earshot.
“Some FBI agent has been hanging around Tara,” Lorie told Perry. “He came by and said that he knew about her psychic abilities and that he would take them seriously. She blew him off at first, but then after her apartment was broken into, she called him for help.”
“Her apartment got broken into?” Perry said, and his voice was much lower now. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because it wasn’t a normal break-in. Nothing was taken and there was no forced entry. It was like somebody just wanted to send her a message, wanted her to know that he could get to her anytime he wanted to.”
“Lorie, honey, this is serious business. Where is Tara right now?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to call her right after I get off the phone with you, but first I wanted you to look up this agent if you could. I don’t know, I just have a weird feeling about him. About this whole situation.”
“Okay. Do you know this guy’s name?” Perry rummaged through his papers, looking for something to write on.
Jackson was up in a flash with paper and pen. Perry took the pen and paper, ready to jot down the FBI agent’s name.
“Agent David Woods,” Lorie told him. “That’s what she told me. She said he had an FBI I.D. and everything.”
“Okay. I’ll check it out.”
“Will you let me know as soon as you find something?”
“Yes, Lorie. I promise.”
Perry hung up the phone and he looked at Jackson who still towered beside his desk.
“The FBI is involved?” Jackson whispered.
Again, Perry glanced around the room, and then he stood up and looked at Jackson. “I don’t think so. How could they be on this case without us knowing about it?”
Jackson picked up the piece of paper from Perry’s desk before it got swallowed up in the sea of other papers. “I’m going to look this up right now.”
3.
Agent Woods parked his car at a fast food joint. He’d gone through the drive-through a little earlier and bought a combo meal. Tara didn’t want anything.
He parked his car at the far end of the parking area and wolfed down a sandwich while Tara called her aunt.
There was some bad reception on the phone, like a buzzing static, as she listened to the ringing. Aunt Katie answered the phone.
“Tara, is everything okay?”
“Yeah. How about you?”
“Fine. I’ve been staying in the hotel room, but I think I’m getting a little bit of cabin fever.”
“I know. I’m just worried about you. I wish you’d go back to Boston. When this is all over, I’ll come up to see you, or you can come back down here.”
4.
Aunt Katie sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in the motel room, her feet propped up on the end of the bed, her cell phone up to her ear. The drapes were wide open, letting in the dull afternoon light of a cloudy day.
“I’m going to stay at least one more day,” Aunt Katie told Tara. “But I wish you would reconsider going back to Boston with me. I don’t like the idea of Jeremy
out there looking for you.” She paused for a moment. “Or the idea of you looking for him.”
“Everything will be okay. Just promise me you’ll stay in the hotel room. Order room service. Just don’t go outside.”
“I’ll be fine. I love you.”
“Love you, too,” Tara told her.
Aunt Katie hung up her phone and set it on the small writing table beside her. She leaned her head back and let out a long sigh. She’d finished off the wine this afternoon and she sure could use some more right now. Maybe she would go down to the hotel bar in a few hours for a bite to eat and a few drinks. Tara didn’t have to know.
Just then there was a noise outside her hotel room door. It sounded like a slight scratching at the bottom of the door.
Katie sat up straight and stared at the door. It automatically locked when it was shut, but she didn’t have the security lock engaged on the inside. If someone had a key card, they could swipe it and open the door.
She imagined Jeremy killing one of the hotel staff and taking the card up to the third floor and standing in front of her door with the blood-splattered key card. She didn’t know what Jeremy looked like now. She remembered him as a small child. He’d had dark hair, and dark brown eyes. But she imagined him now as a tall man with wiry muscles and a lean body. She imagined his dark hair was long, hanging down in front of his face. She imagined grimy skin covered with tattoos. She imagined baggy clothes and heavy biker boots. She imagined an assortment of cutting instruments hidden away on his body underneath his clothing, maybe even wrapped up in a cloth and tucked down into the waistband of his pants.
There was a loud pounding at the door.
Katie jumped to her feet, her heart in her throat. She grabbed her cell phone from the table, ready to dial 911. But even if she did, the police would never get up here in time.
“Housekeeping,” a female voice said from behind the door.
Katie felt like she could breathe again. She jumped up and ran to the door and peeked through the little peephole. She saw the distorted view of a maid standing beside a cart full of cleaning supplies, extra clean towels, and bagged-up garbage.