by Hadena James
“You have a garage sale,” Malachi said, looking with me. “We can find out who bought the tape originally. He gave you multiple gifts. Think he might have erased the end of the tape, so that it didn’t show you killing Callow?”
“No,” I told Malachi. I frowned. I could remember the sound of the video recorder clicking off. However, I had said I didn’t remember. It was easier that way. Malachi knew that I remembered more than I admitted. What did one do when haunted by ghosts? “Let’s go have a drink.”
“You don’t drink.” Malachi told me.
“I am aware, let’s go have one anyway.” I walked out of the crime scene into fresher air. It was cold as hell, January in Missouri was like that, sometimes. Sometimes, you could play baseball in the front yard while wearing a T-shirt. This was definitely not one of those winters.
Cleansing the palate and olfactory system was the only good thing about cold weather. Summer made the smells and tastes worst. Depending on what part of spring and autumn, the same thing happened. Winter though, winter had its own, unique smell. There was a musty quality that helped cover up other smells. The fragrant evergreens released more of their unique scents, tainting the air with their musk. If snow was on the way, it was that much better, because snow also has a smell, like sunshine, it couldn’t be described, but you knew it when you smelled it.
Malachi and I ignored the fact that Rollins was still inside the house. Malachi pulled out the keys to the SUV and we headed to the nearest bar. I wasn’t a drinker. There were too many potential threats for me to drink. The fiasco with the meth head a few days earlier were proof of that.
We parked on one of the main streets in downtown and entered a sport’s bar called Spectators. Because we had just come from a crime scene, we headed to the basement instead of sitting with the regular patrons. A Kansas City Chiefs game played on all the screens. Clusters of people sat around the TVs, cheering their team on to victory.
There was another sight too. Nine men and one woman were clustered at tables next to three dart boards. I watched with interest. I had never thrown a dart, but the concept and principles were not unknown to me. They looked happy. While most emotions were outside my scope, envy wasn’t among them. The green-eyed monster reared its ugly head and shoved itself down my throat. I wanted to be happy like they were. I wanted to smile easily and have a good time out with friends and not worry about serial killers or rapists or muggers. For the first time, I realized I missed my team.
Aside from the man currently trying to figure out what sort of cocktail to order me and my cousin who was lying in a coma in a hospital room with a gunshot to the face, they were my only friends. My mother sort of counted. She was my mother, but she was also my friend, if I would let her. My life could be summed up by a bunch of scars and a handful of people that mattered. The envy devil roared inside me again.
Malachi returned with a bartender. The bartender carried a tray with several cups and glasses on it. The bartender sat them on the table and Malachi began arranging them. I grabbed the first glass. It was partially filled with an amber liquid that smelled spicy. It burned as it entered my mouth, despite being ice cold. The burn didn’t abate at my mouth though, it continued as I swallowed, travelling down my throat and warming my stomach.
The next cup was more of the spicy amber liquid. I tossed it back as quick as the first, determined to chase away the ghosts that were currently haunting me. Malachi gaped at me. I pointed to another cup.
“I ordered us food and I think you should slow down,” Malachi said.
“It’s good, tastes like cinnamon.”
“It’s Fireball whiskey and you’re doing shots of it like there’s no tomorrow.”
“Shots?” I frowned at the word. I’d never done a “shot” before. I’d heard other people talk about them though. “Are there more?”
Malachi frowned at me. Not his usual frown, but a concerned frown. He pulled all the cups to his side of the table. His arm wrapping around them, protecting them from my grasp.
“What’s going on?” He asked.
“I intend to get blind drunk. You might have to carry me out of here.” I looked at him. “Did you say you ordered food? What did you order me? Am I going to like it?”
“Oh my,” Malachi sighed and pushed another cup towards me. “That one tastes like black licorice.”
Watching
After two days of no one finding his newest body, he’d phoned in an anonymous tip. He now sat in a bar, watching his granddaughter. She was acting odd, even for her. He watched her gag down a cup of Jägermeister then go back to drinking shots of Fireball. She’d had six in less than twenty minutes. Patterson wondered what she was drowning.
He nursed his own drink, a whiskey mix of Jack Daniels’ and Coca-Cola. Thinking ahead, he’d left the cane in the car. No doubt they were starting to put together the pieces and were watching for it. He’d also donned a Chiefs cap to cover his dark hair and darker colored contacts to hide his eyes. It always amazed him how different a person looked when you changed the color of their eyes.
Food arrived at Aislinn and Malachi’s table. Aislinn ate slowly, savoring the food. The sandwich was something meaty with a few vegetables and a heaping plate of homemade potato chips. As he watched, he realized that it was his fault she was drinking heavily. They hadn’t just seen the video tape lying on the table and sent it to be analyzed, they had watched it. She had watched her eight year-old self-preparing to murder her captive.
While the killing was justified, Patterson knew all too well what death did to a child that age, even a sociopathic or psychopathic child. He hadn’t intended for her to watch it. Since the night in the woods, outside August’s makeshift animal house of horrors, Patterson had been making a lot of mistakes. It had started when he didn’t walk in and kill August. Then there’d been Nyleena, followed by his failure to kill Joe and now, he’d unnecessarily caused Aislinn to relive the moment of her first kill.
Patterson understood that lots of killers loved that first kill. He hadn’t. He believed Aislinn hadn’t either. For the first time, he realized that he and Aislinn were a lot alike. They might have been born with the ability to kill, but if their hands hadn’t been forced that first time, they probably wouldn’t have grown up to be killers. Well, he might have, war had done more damage than his father. But not Aislinn, she would have grown up an emotionless shell of a human being, getting by with whatever life she chose to excel at.
He hadn’t thought about his own first kill in decades. He had no desire to relive it now either. He drained his glass, shoving the memory down and walked to the bar. He couldn’t atone for the hurt that Aislinn was currently feeling, all of it his fault, but he could continue his mission and free her from her own demons. Of course, she’d find more demons without much trouble, they would flock to her like eagles looking for prey.
“See the table with the attractive young woman and the very tall gentleman?” He asked the bartender.
“They’re hard to miss,” the bartender answered.
“I know. I’m going to pay their tab,” Patterson pulled out a card and handed it to the bartender. The name was written as Virgil Clachan. “When they’ve finished their night of binge drinking, run this card and give it to the young lady.”
The bartender frowned at him.
“She’s my great-niece,” Patterson said. “We had a falling out when her father died. We’ve had another death in the family and at the funeral a few days ago, we had another fight. I want her to realize that I take full responsibility for the fight. If she has my card, she has to come see me to return it. However, I’m not going to interrupt her evening and make a scene here.”
“Sure thing,” the bartender obviously relaxed. One thing about Patterson, he made people feel at ease. Malachi could do it too, it was part of their charm, a piece of the personality that was entirely fictional, but effective camouflage. It was not a skill Aislinn had learned.
Patterson left through the bottom
entrance, into the back parking lot. He got into his car and sat for a moment. He’d gone to Spectator’s because of the homemade potato chips. He didn’t know what had brought Aislinn and Malachi there too. Perhaps just an instinctual pull that neither would have been able to explain. Or maybe it was the homemade potato chips, few places did them as well and almost no place did them better.
The thirty minute drive back to Columbia was uneventful. Patterson drove it on autopilot, thinking of his next challenge. He’d failed to kill Joseph, he wanted to blame it on his poor skills with an unfamiliar rifle, but the truth was, he’d just never been good at long distance kills. Of course, a close up and personal kill was out of the question. He’d be arrested or killed on site and that just wouldn’t do.
As much as he hated to, he had to let Joseph go. He stopped at his hotel, picked up the possessions he had left there and began his move west. There was another stop along the way, in Boonville, but the detour would only take a few hours. Afterwards, he could stop at the A&W, he liked their burgers and root beer. It would be like a reward for a job well done.
It was another half hour drive to Boonville. His body ached with fatigue. The A&W was closed for the night. He’d get a room, stay in Boonville, and maybe spend a few hours gambling. He parked in the casino parking lot and wandered inside the building. Noise washed over him, trying to sweep him into a sea of gamblers with poor lighting and watery drinks. Sure, he’d considered gambling, but he really had no intention of spending time in the casino. It would be busy, despite being a Monday night.
Patterson skirted this area, found the lobby’s front desk and checked in for the night, not under Virgil or Patterson, but another identity. He was sure they, meaning Aislinn and Malachi, were onto to Virgil. Rollins probably couldn’t figure out how to turn on a flashlight with a manual and picture book.
So far, he was still one step ahead of them. Make that three or four, but that was only because no one knew his agenda. He was pretty sure they’d figured out the end game and dismissed it as impossible, but nothing was impossible if you were willing to go the distance. Patterson was willing to go that distance, it changed a lot of factors.
His room was tasteful, not tacky like the rest of the casino. Casino hotels were usually nice places to stay and they loved old people. Separating the elderly from their social security checks was a specialty for casinos and con men.
He’d never gambled, but he’d built several of the gambling establishments in Vegas. None of the big ones, he’d always tried to avoid the Mob and back when Vegas was still the original boom town, most of the big ones were mob connected. No, he’d built smaller ones, with fewer tourists and smaller adjoining hotels. It still boggled his mind that he’d been doing it for a decade before the second identity had been necessary. His work as a salesman had necessitated trips out of town or so he had told Lila. She had believed him, why wouldn’t she?
Then his evil sister had stepped in. Lila had accused him of cheating on her, swearing that he wasn’t going on business trips and she knew, because Gertrude had told her. And why had the vindictive bitch told his loving wife? Because Patterson refused to raise her damaged, deranged son.
They were right, hell had nothing on a scorned woman and Patterson had a whole lot against them. They had ruined his life. First Gertrude, then she had turned Lila against him, making her a scorned woman as well.
He still regretted killing her. It was one of the few things in life he did regret. Lila had been his world, their children had expanded it. He missed not seeing them grow up. He’d missed the opportunity to watch his grandchildren grow up, until Donnelly had allowed him to see Aislinn one day.
The memory was as fresh as if it were repeating itself in time. It had been November. Snow had already fallen. It had been cold. Winter has its own smell, something unique that made him giddy. Or maybe it was just the opportunity to see Aislinn that made him giddy. He didn’t know anymore. The two events, winter and Aislinn, were entwined in his memory, the smell of winter always made him think of her.
She had been wearing a bright red jacket, blue jeans, black sneakers, and a little silver necklace. Donnelly had agreed to let Chub take her to a fast food joint with an indoor playground. She’d gotten chicken nuggets. She’d snuck in a small carton of milk and a bunch of orange wedges. He could even remember the way her oranges had smelled.
Chub had introduced Patterson as a “poker buddy.” They’d stayed for an hour. During that time, Patterson had memorized every detail he could about the little girl. She had been shy, but once her tongue loosened, it moved at the speed of light. Even then, she’d been brilliant, explaining to him about how the Civil War had not had a single thing to do about abolition until the Union began losing the war.
Under the smell of oranges, she had smelled of rosemary and baking soda. He didn’t know why she smelled of either, just that she did. At the end of the visit, Patterson had taken off his own silver necklace and removed the silver cross that hung from it. He had given it to the little girl. She had been hesitant to take it, but Chub took it and slid it on her own barren chain.
She’d worn it for years, her memory failing to grasp that it had been given to her by a stranger. In her mind, Chub had given her the cross and she wore it to help her remember him.
Patterson sometimes wondered if she didn’t also have a vague memory of that meeting. Donnelly had said she didn’t, but Donnelly had said she didn’t remember killing Callow either and that was a lie.
Over the years, he’d watched her from afar. Ensuring her safety, even when she didn’t need it. He’d done the same for Nyleena, but Nyleena wasn’t exactly Aislinn. She didn’t attract the same sort of boogeymen. Although, there had been an incident while she was in college. Some creep trying to sneak into her apartment when her roommates were gone for a weekend. Patterson had dealt with him, never waking the sleeping Nyleena.
Nyleena consumed his thoughts now. She was sleeping again, but this time it was his fault. He could blame her or anything else he wanted, but it didn’t change the internal knowledge that he had done that to her.
The room was starting to spin. He closed his eyes and drained the bottle of whiskey. Like Aislinn, he’d wake up feeling terrible, but hangovers didn’t last long with Patterson and he wanted one more good night’s sleep. One that didn’t include dreams about his beautiful granddaughters writhing in pain and his hands covered in their blood.
Twenty-Four
For several moments, I wondered if I was awake or in Hell. Either was an option. I didn’t remember much from the night before. I was still in my clothes and they smelled; body odor, decay, blood, vomit, grease, and alcohol all mingled. It was official, I had found something that smelled worse than a morgue and it was me.
Malachi lay on the bed next to me. He also looked and smelled terrible. His clothes were rumpled, his hair disheveled. If I hadn’t looked at him for several seconds before deciding to stare at the ceiling to avoid his morning breath, I would have thought it was Xavier.
He moved. The movement caused both of us to groan. His hands rubbed at his face, as if that would cure what ailed him. It didn’t, I had already tried.
“Next time you decide to get drunk, take some other sap with you. I’m never doing it again. You have no limit. I kept waiting for you to start table dancing and taking off your clothes.” Malachi swung his legs out of the bed.
“I’ve never been drunk before.” I thought for a moment. “I’ve also never had a hangover before. This is awful, why do people do this to themselves? It’s like having a migraine, vertigo, cottonmouth, and being resurrected by a witch doctor all rolled into one.”
“We got drunk, because you wanted to feel normal?” Malachi asked.
“No, I got drunk because I did not want to remember those days with Callow. My nurse was Kari’s sister. I have no idea why you got drunk.”
“You’re my only friend, I couldn’t let you get drunk alone.”
There was something sad in
that statement. It was something I knew, but never vocalized. Malachi didn’t have friends, he had acquaintances. Sometimes, those acquaintances were very close, but he always managed to keep part of himself closed off. Instead of searching for an appropriate response, I went to the bathroom to grab a shower. Showers were cure-alls, a miracle recuperative force that could turn even the worst days into passable.
Malachi’s depressing admission wasn’t the only thing bothering me. This was the first time I’d ever been drunk. I was twenty-eight years old and felt like my days were limited. There were a lot of things I had never done. For the first time, I wondered if I could feel regret and if that was what I was feeling now.
It was a strange emotion to say the least, sadness tinged with a little bit of anger. Kelsey the Bubbly had thanked me for killing Callow. I wasn’t thankful though. The act had created a hole in me. He should have suffered. He should have gone to jail and found out what hardened criminals did to pedophiles. And if he had lived in prison long enough for the creation of The Fortress, he should have gone there and suffered the hellish tortures that only serial killers could create.
That was the reason the tape had bothered me. I had killed him and it had been quick and rather merciful. It didn’t even compare to what he had done to his victims. I’d felt the desire for revenge before, I had wanted to kill James Okafor for taking away Michael. This wasn’t revenge though, revenge implied a rebalancing of the scales, at least in the mind of the avenger. This was something darker, something more primal. There wasn’t a name for it. It wouldn’t have healed the hole. It wouldn’t have made me feel better. The dead little girls wouldn’t have risen from their graves and reunited with loved ones. In the eyes of Karma, the wheel had been spun and balance had been restored. But in my soul, I felt like he’d avoided justice. Even if I believed in the concept of Hell and believed that he was serving eternity as one of Satan’s favorite play things, it wasn’t enough to satisfy me. I wanted more.