by Terri Reid
“What are you talking about?” He looks at me like I’m nuts.
“First, I visited Doreen’s old house to get a better feel for the case. While I was there, the radio played Dusty Springfield’s ‘I Only Want To Be With You.’ I wondered about the killer’s mindset. You know, that it wasn’t a stranger, because there was so much violence. Passion, you called it.”
“Okay.”
“Next, I read Doreen’s journal, the part where her brother gave her a little silver boots charm for her bracelet because she loved that Nancy Sinatra song. FYI, that charm is missing from the bracelet in evidence. Maybe that part’s not important—”
“Go on.”
“Then I got a tip from Doreen’s old boyfriend to drop by Cavanaugh’s to learn more about the people who were in her life. The owner knows everybody.” I watch Will for some kind of reaction.
“I’m listening.”
“And weird Ted got up to sing ‘Delilah.’ And then it clicked for me.”
Will doesn’t say anything, he just stares at his coffee.
“It’s hard to prove he’s the one, but I just know it for some reason,” I say. “He’ll be at Cavanaugh’s tonight, and we should go.”
“Slow down, Ronnie,” Will says. “You’ve got my attention. Let’s figure out a plan for tonight. And you’re going to stick with the script. Understood?”
“Yes.” Chastened but grateful that Will wants me to finish the case with him, I drink the last of my coffee.
His next comment throws me for a loop. “But we’re gonna have to shock the guy into confessing.”
*
Will and I arrive at Cavanaugh’s and slip in quietly to sit at a table near the bar. A young flame-haired woman cradles the mic in her hands and sings Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” while some of the customers dance. Ted hovers around the equipment with another unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Richie waves and comes over, and I introduce Will. We order beer and burgers. As I take off my coat, both Richie and Will notice my outfit.
“Hey, are you planning to take your turn up there?” Richie smiles and gestures toward the stage.
“No. Why?” I ask. I notice them both checking out my dress. “Oh, you mean my outfit? No, I just love vintage!”
Will shakes his head and mumbles, “Oh, my god.” He runs his fingers through his light brown hair.
I smooth my dress, which is very similar to the one Doreen wore when she was murdered. “I just saved a few of my favorite outfits, that’s all. Everyone had a dress like this back then.”
“Ronnie, I know you.” Will isn’t buying my explanation. “Remember the plan? Now it looks like you’re changing it. If you rush him, spook him, you could blow our only chance.”
“Hey, you said to shock him—”
He cuts me off. “I meant ‘we,’ not ‘you.’ What else have you got up that flapping sleeve of yours?”
“You’ll see.” I bat my heavily mascaraed false eyelashes. “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m blond and Doreen was blond, and if I happen to remind him of her—”
“Am I going to regret this?”
“Maybe.” I smile. “But I hope not.”
A waitress serves our beer and then later the burgers. Will digs into his fries with a scowl, and we settle back to watch the singing.
Half an hour later as a forty-something guy wraps up a Bruce Springsteen number, Ted steps out of the back. Just like the night before, he’s changed from his old sweatshirt to his Tom Jones outfit. I nudge Will. “Check out all the chains. How many do you count?”
Will looks for a moment. “A half dozen?”
“At least.” The opening bars of “Delilah” come through the speakers. “That’s my cue.”
“Your cue for what?” Will looks concerned. “Ronnie—”
“It’s all cool,” I say. “Besides, I know you’ve got my back.”
I make it up to the dance floor by the time Ted sings “…flickering shadows of love on her blind…” I don’t look up but I know he sees me because he’s a half-beat late on the next stanza.
There are only two other couples on the dance floor—the place has cleared out somewhat by this hour on a week night. I do some moves I remember from my past, tamer versions of the Jerk and the Swim.
I close my eyes, sway to the music, and listen as Ted sings the story of Delilah’s betrayed lover going out of his mind after watching her in the arms of another man.
Suddenly, he’s close, singing directly to me. My eyes flutter open to stare at the look of pure lust on his face, not for me, but for the ghost of a girl he knew. I dip my head and let my blond hair swing over the side of my face—just as Doreen’s probably did decades ago—as I turn and continue dancing. Behind me, Will moves in the shadows to get closer to the stage.
Ted tries to dance with me as he sings. He sticks to me like glue, which gives me the creeps, but I lift up my face and smile flirtatiously while fondling the gold chains.
I lift one with a gigantic cross. “These are so cool,” I say when the instrumental bridge starts.
“You want to wear it, baby?”
Yuck. I lift one with a peace symbol pendant.
And there it is, underneath the peace symbol—a thin gold chain with a small pair of silver boots.
“This is the one.” I lift the thin chain as if to remove it from over his head.
He spots the charm, and freezes. The bridge is finished, and this is the part where he should be singing about watching the other man leave Delilah’s house before knocking on her door.
The mic is near his mouth, but he doesn’t sing. I look at his face, and his eyes have gone psychotic. He yells at the top of his lungs while pulling the chain away from me. “DON’T TOUCH THIS ONE!”
People stop everything to watch us. The music continues, the part in the song where Delilah laughs and her killer stabs her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Will turn down the volume gradually so he can hear what Ted says. I keep my hand low, out of Ted’s line of sight, and gesture for Will to stay back.
I reach for the necklace again. “Oh, Ted.” My voice is soft. “But it was my favorite.”
Ted blocks my grab for the chain. He looks confused and something shifts in his eyes as he stares at me in a daze. “I’ve loved you ever since high school, Doreen. I just wanted to protect you.”
I can do this. I can play my part.
“But why the knife, Ted? Over and over with the knife…so much blood.”
“Don’t you remember?” Ted’s voice cracks. “He came out of your house, and he kissed you so long. I tried to warn you about him. I told you he wasn’t right for you, not like I was. But you laughed. Why did you laugh?” The volume of his voice rises, and anger creeps in. “You turned your back on me.”
“I didn’t laugh, Ted.” I smile and turn my back on him. He grabs my arm and swings me around.
“How dare you turn away from me, like I was nothing?” He spits out the words. “I loved you! I had to keep you from him.” I try to step back, but he doesn’t let go. Ted has a strong grip, and I see Will moving in slowly from the side, out of Ted’s line of vision. With a small wave, I warn Will away again.
“He was gonna hurt you, but you wouldn’t listen, Doreen! And when you laughed at me, I couldn’t stand it. I had to stop you.”
“How could you stop me?” I ask, taunting him.
“With my knife!” Ted screams at me like a wounded animal and then comes at me, using the microphone like a knife to stab at me over and over. I use my arms to shield myself from his repeated forceful blows.
Will is on him in a flash, pulling him off me, but Ted is completely out of it and screaming at me. “I had to kill you, Doreen!”
Ted crashes to the floor, mumbling incoherently with Will on top of him. Will reaches into his pocket and pulls out zip ties to secure Ted’s wrists behind him. Sounds rise from somewhere deep inside this tortured man, growing into shrieks of suffering like nothing I’ve ever hear
d before.
“Doreeeeen,” Ted wails at me. “I had to kill you. I thought I’d lost you.” He breaks down sobbing. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me.”
I hear sirens in the distance.
Will and I look at each other and then at Ted, who’s still wailing Doreen’s name.
*
Later that night, I soak in the tub to erase the feeling of creepy Ted’s body pressed against mine. I take solace in knowing that Will and I have helped the Lyla family find peace. I also think of my own two daughters who are close to Doreen’s age when she died.
I look up at the huge photo of James Bond and offer a toast. “Here’s to the memory of a lovely young woman with so much promise, one who had her whole life ahead of her.”
Beside me, my phone rings and Will’s number shows on the caller ID. I answer, and can’t hold back a grin when his quiet voice says, “Good job.”
“I didn’t offer much besides a little intuition and a whole lot of luck,” I answer truthfully.
“I would have missed this one, Ronnie. It would have taken me much longer to finish this case, if I ever caught it at all, and Steve’s father doesn’t have much time. Your work made all the difference.”
“Thanks, Will. That really means a lot to me, especially coming from a pro like you.”
“You know, you might turn out to be a private eye after all,” Will says, emphasizing the word “private” in a way that could easily be taken wrong by the right woman.
“Will Benson, I just said you were a professional! You never struck me as the kind to make a dick joke!”
He doesn’t say a word, and I can envision the open-mouthed look of shock on his face. I laugh and tell him goodnight before hanging up the phone.
Angie Baby
by
Terri Reid
Chapter One
The windows of the small house glowed bravely in the darkness of the autumn night. Large, bare branches of ancient oak trees that waded in the season’s gathering of leaves, waved provocatively in the wind, coaxing any who saw them to come closer with their gnarled and bent fingered twigs. However, the woodland creatures that inhabited the woods just beyond the white picket fence were not tempted; instead they huddled in dens, burrows and hollows, hiding from the terror they sensed on the wind. A wind that whispered and warned all who knew to listen.
The front door of the little house was locked and bolted for the night. Beth Wisnewski knew her husband’s truck route would keep him out of town until mid-morning the following day and they had no friends or family, so she wasn’t expecting visitors.
Watching the evening news in her faded, flannel nightgown and worn-out slippers, Beth sipped the cup of tea her midwife had promised would help protect the tiny embryo she had growing in her womb. This time her husband, Paul, had decided they were going to use a midwife because the doctors in town hadn’t been able to do anything to stop her last four miscarriages. And, perhaps even worse, they hadn’t been able to tell them why they were happening. She knew, deep inside, that Paul blamed her. All the solicitous comments and thoughtful gestures didn’t disguise the suspicion in his eyes when he looked at her.
Draining the last dregs of the disgusting brew, she rose from the sofa to rinse the empty cup out in the sink. Immediately a sharp pain in her abdomen had her crying out and doubling over in agony. “No!” she screamed, all too familiar with the initial symptoms of losing a child.
He won’t believe me, she thought frantically. He’ll think I killed the baby on purpose. None of them believe me; they all think I’m a murderer.
The pain subsided and she was able to release her hold from the arm of the sofa. She straightened and took a deep breath. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was an early contraction, that’s all. Perhaps it was just indigestion.
Walking tentatively, she crossed the room and entered the bathroom. Telltale splotches of blood stained her undergarments and she knew it was going to happen again. Ripping the offending garment from her body, she threw it across the room into a small, white, plastic, trash container and watched in horror as it slipped down the side, leaving a dark, red streak in its wake. A primeval sob rose from her gut and exploded from her mouth in a guttural groan. “Not again,” she wailed, burying her head in her hands as she felt the now subtle contractions move through her body. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her abdomen, trying to frustrate the machinations of her own body that were destroying the tiny life inside.
“I need to save my baby,” she sobbed, pushing herself up from the toilet. “I need to save her.”
She stumbled from the bathroom, her eyes wide with manic resolve, and then down the hall to the kitchen, frantically searching for something, anything that would stem the blood. She opened cabinets and drawers, throwing useless items to the side, searching for a way to save her baby. Tossing a pan lid over her shoulder, she froze when she heard it bounce against the wall, followed by a resounding, shattering, crash on the old linoleum floor.
“No,” she cried, turning to see her porcelain crucifix lying on the floor in pieces. Kneeling down, oblivious to the small shards of glass on the floor, she tried to piece the cross back together, but her trembling hands scattered the pieces even farther apart. “Oh, Lord,” she prayed frantically. “Please forgive me. Please forgive me and send me a sign. Show me how to save my baby.”
A fierce wind blew against the house and rattled the back door and windows, drawing her attention. An oak leaf slapped against a window pane and was stuck for a moment, holding tightly, until the wind shifted and blew it on its way.
“I should go,” she gasped, her face now covered in a sheen of perspiration. “That’s the sign. I should go into the woods. I’ll be safe in the woods.”
Grabbing the knob with both hands, she pulled the door open and then released it, letting it slam against the inside wall with a bang. She pushed away the wooden screen door and staggered forward, a trail of blood splatters behind her.
The white gate lay open, inviting her into the dark woods and she went, one hand on her abdomen, the other grasping saplings for support as she wove her way into the depth of the trees. The wind was quieter, muffled by the density of the forest. She moved forward, drawn to a familiar place, her sanctuary, deep in the hollow of the woods. Somehow she knew it was where she needed to be.
Once she reached the border of the tiny clearing, with its softly babbling creek, she shuddered with relief and wiped some of the moisture from her face. This was where she could save her child. She stepped forward onto the carpet of thick leaves and then screamed as another shooting pain knifed her belly. She dropped onto the ground, the leaves blanketing her body, and curled herself into a fetal position. “No,” she whimpered, as she felt the child move through her body.
The physical pain lasted for only a few more moments. She knew that the embryo lay at the very edge of her body and if she moved, it would fall out. The distant voice of sanity still remaining in her muddled brain reasoned that there was no life left in the tiny baby. But she could not, would not, allow her movement to be the deciding factor between life and death.
Then suddenly, everything changed. The darkness of the woods evaporated with a light so blinding it caused Beth to shield her eyes against it. She tried to look for the source, but it encompassed the entire clearing. She heard a soft whirring sound, almost like the noise an owl makes as it swoops by, nearly silent, in the night sky. There was a movement of air, a gust of warmth and the clearing was dark once again.
“God, if that was you,” Beth prayed. “Come back and take me with you. I don’t want to live in this world anymore. I don’t want to be anywhere without my baby.”
Tears slipped down her face, over her nose and landed on the leaves surrounding her face. “Please God, I want to die.”
She paused when she heard the noise. A scattering sound underneath the blanket of leaves, too small to hear actual footsteps, only the movement and rustle of the leaves all around her. She lift
ed her head; careful she did not disturb the lower part of her body.
The woods were dark, but the half-moon shone onto the clearing and reflected against the thick ground cover. She watched, mesmerized, as the burnished leaves caught and then lost the moon sparkle as they slowly shifted their positions from the creature beneath. Beth felt around under the leaves and finally grabbed hold of a thick stick. She pulled it from beneath the pile and held it in the air. “You stay away from me,” she screamed. “You stay away from my baby.”
The movement paused for a moment and Beth breathed a sigh of relief. She had frightened it, she reasoned. Like most woodland creatures, it was afraid of human beings. She was about to lower the stick when the creature darted forward. Leaves lifted as it came forward, marking its path directly towards her. She slapped the stick on the ground, over and over again, trying to protect herself. “No,” she screamed. “Stay away.”
She froze and gasped in terror when she felt it climb onto her legs. She swiped at the leaves on her legs, trying to knock it away, but it avoided each blow, moving up her legs. “No!” she screamed, still keeping her lower body still. “Please no!”
She felt the invasion, the slippery entrance of the creature through her own blood and up into her womb. She screamed as heat infused her body and her abdomen glowed bright red. Finally she fell unconscious into the layers of leaves.
Chapter Two
sixteen years later…
“Come on Angie,” Dr. Feinstein, the school psychologist, coaxed. “Just take the ear pods out for a moment, so I can check your hearing.”
The teenaged girl clapped her hands over her ears and shook her head. “No,” she yelled, her voice sharp and defiant.
“Doctor,” Beth Wisnewski, Angie’s mother said, placing her hand on the doctor’s arm. “Perhaps it would be better if we just didn’t check her hearing.”
“Damn it, Beth,” Paul Wisnewski, Angie’s father, exclaimed. “The girl’s sixteen years old. It’s about damn time she took those ear pods out of her ear and lived in the real world.”