For Everything a Reason

by Paul Cave

  “Hang on.” Carter returned his attention to Joseph’s note. “Says here, he did make a couple of references to his ‘inheritance’.”

  “Exactly,” Tyler agreed. “We’ve both seen the Jerry Springer Show, right? And how many times have some family of hicks been duped out of their inheritance – only to find out that their recently deceased loved one willed all of it to their favourite charity?”

  “Fair point,” Carter said. “Perhaps that’s what he meant by ‘his secret’?”

  “I’ll also check for recently changed insurance policies, see if one of those relatives had been in line for a sudden jackpot, or discovered they were about to miss out on a small fortune.”

  “Good idea.” Carter turned away from the corpse on the bed. He slipped his hands into his pockets and drew a set of latex gloves out. Simply holding one glove, he began to draw open the curtain that separated the beds. The curtain slid easily, held on the rail above by large hoops similar to a shower-curtain’s. “Look here,” he said, drawing Tyler’s attention away from the body.

  “What’ve you got?” she asked.

  “Look,” Carter said, indicating a white pattern halfway along the length of material. The white powder from forensics formed a cauliflower shape, clearly that of a hand – a large hand. The detective frowned.

  “What is it?” Tyler asked.

  “Wait a minute.” Carter moved closer to the second unoccupied bed, the one Joseph Ruebins had occupied. He slipped onto the cot and then laid himself flat, allowing his head to rest against the soft pillow. Then, reaching out, he tried to touch the curtain. His outstretched fingers missed it by a good six inches. He shuffled his body closer, jabbing straight fingers as far as he could.

  “What are you doing?” Tyler wanted to know.

  He responded with a question of his own. “I’m about the average size for a guy, right?”

  “If you say so.”

  “And look, I’m still a good half-dozen inches away from even brushing against this with my fingertips.”

  “So?”

  “So, how long would a person’s arm have to be, to reach close enough to actually grasp a handful of material?”

  Tyler did a quick mental calculation. “Not even someone the size of Joseph Ruebins could have reached it.”

  Carter’s eyebrows rose. “You think our would-be champ is a liar, and he did get out of bed?”

  “But even if he could, for what purpose?”

  “I’m not sure – yet,” Carter said, climbing off the bed.

  He returned to the corpse. He bent to take a closer look. In an attempt to offer a measure of dignity, the old man’s eyes had been forcibly shut, but the lids had begun to creep back, showing the detective a hint of sickly yellow-whites. Two indents cut along the man’s cheeks, deep lines coming together at the corner of his grey lips. Elastic, Carter realised, to keep the oxygen mask in place. The bed sheet had been folded neatly just below his collarbone, and both his arms were laid outside of it, palms in an upward fashion. His skin was a combination of yellow pallor on top, and a mottled scarlet on the lower half. A couple of pinpricks were visible against the paleness of his skin – the calling card of a hypodermic needle. The body underneath the sheet was insubstantial, its feet the most prominent part, pushing the spotless white sheet up into twin mountains.

  “Wait a minute,” Carter said.

  “What is it?”

  Carter pointed to the sheet. “That.”

  “What about it?”

  “Look how clean it is.”

  “So?”

  “So, how come there isn’t any blood?”

  “Why would there be any blood?”

  Carter looked back blankly for a second, before reaching into his back pocket. “You didn’t get chance to read the original crime report?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I think you’d better take a look.” He handed it over.

  Tyler quickly scanned the document. Her expression tightened. “Good God.”

  “I know,” Carter said. “Sick or what?”

  She handed the report back. Carter tucked it into his pocket, and then bent over the old man’s face. Using the latex glove for a second time, he gripped the man’s pointed chin and carefully opened his mouth. And even though he’d read what to expect, he still took a startled step back.

  “Christ…” he cursed.

  Tyler pushed her own nausea to one side, allowing her professional curiosity take over, and bent to examine what lay inside.

  An open cavity revealed itself to her. The gums had no teeth present. They were coated in dry blood, angry and red, and full of disease – or so Tyler thought. However, on closer inspection, she found that it was a coating of thick congealed blood that gave them their gory appearance. The source of bleeding was more than obvious. For the most part, the old man’s tongue was missing, just a bloody stump remaining, severed veins exposed like worms boring through something rotten.

  “What the hell have we got here?” Tyler asked.

  “Not sure,” Carter said. “But I can tell you what we don’t have.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A complete no-brainer,” he announced, with a shudder.

  Chapter Twelve

  Joseph lay still – very still. However, he found the more that he tried to remain motionless, the more difficult it became. About an hour earlier his right arm had begun to tingle, just a slight sensation at first, and not too unpleasant. Now, though, that arm felt as if it were being held within the flames of baptism, his flesh, muscles and sinews screaming out for contemplation.

  Although it wasn’t completely dark inside, he still felt like he’d been sealed within a casket, all his senses devoid of their required input. The machinery’s hum reminded Joseph that he was indeed still in the land of the living and hadn’t as yet entered into the Great Beyond.

  An hour earlier, his doctor had announced that his MRI scan was ready to begin. Two orderlies had arrived and they’d quickly wheeled him out of his room and towards the elevator. He’d taken a short trip downwards and had then found himself in something that reminded him of the Starship Enterprise’s transporter room.

  The huge machine dominated the centre of the room, tubular in shape, and as thick as the hull of a nuclear submarine. In fact, Joseph had first thought that the object was most similar to a small diving vessel, like the one he’d seen recently on a Discovery Channel programme. On the other side of the room, separated by thick glass, was another smaller room with multiple computer screens and keyboards inside. Joseph wondered if that was where Scotty punched in complicated coordinates to teleport patients to distant worlds. Something even more spectacular was about to happen, though. The hospital was about to map the secrets of Joseph’s brain, which was far more worrying to him than being separated into a zillion atoms and reassembled halfway across the cosmos.

  He tried not to think too much about what he’d been told, something about magnetic waves, that were 30,000 times more powerful than the earth’s magnetic field, distorting and shifting every single nucleus in his body, enough for each cell to generate its own magnetic wave, thus allowing the complicated machinery to catalogue his innards. The thought of this internal shift worried him and, as he lay there, his mind began to wander. Seth Brundle from The Fly took shape in the forefront of his thoughts, a hideous contortion of a human being, stretched and warped, and offered back to the world as a nightmare creature forced to roam the streets and alleyways under the cover of darkness.

  Joseph took the deepest breath he could without inflating his lungs too much and tried to guide his mind toward more pleasant subjects.

  Marianna’s face came to him, tired looking but beautiful nevertheless. How long had they been together, he wondered, counting the years – not as simple numbers, but as events, happy events, that had gone by? He remembered the first time they’d met. It had been complete luck; he, away at training camp; she, attending an interview for a job that didn’t exist; a
nd both a hell of a long way away from home.

  Joseph should have been 1500 miles away, on the west coast, readying himself for his first real test as a pro. Instead, his opponent – a bruiser named Freddy Tonk – had had his jaw broken in a bar fight, and Joseph had been forced to take another fight in Las Vegas, on short notice.

  Marianna was visiting Vegas for a job interview. Having recently graduated from college with a diploma in Retail and Leisure Management, she arrived at her destination, only to be told that the vacancy had been already filled, and that the date on her letter must be a simple typo, as the interviews had been held on the 11th of the month and not the 17th. She’d tried to argue about the injustice of the situation, but to no avail. Down on the cost of travel and out of patience, Marianna finally accepted defeat – bitterly – realising that the journey had been a complete waste of time. After her disastrous day she’d found a cheap motel, as far away from the bright lights and noise as she could, and checked in for the night.

  Just two doors down, Joseph was already enduring his second night there. Enduring, because the motel wasn’t exactly one that could be found in the Zagat Guide. With only paper-thin walls to separate them, he’d already spent two days playing third-party to a young, recently married couple, who were hourly in danger of thrusting themselves headfirst into his room during the ongoing consummation of their new marriage.

  Sometime late into the night, Joseph was awakened by something other than cries of passion. Jumping out of his bed, clad only in his underwear, he threw open the door to his motel room and found a semi-naked Marianna clutching a pillow against her bare breast.

  “Inside,” she stuttered, her free hand aimed towards the darkness of her room.

  “What is it?” Joseph asked, wide-awake and alert to trouble.

  Marianna just stared back, terrified.

  Joseph quickly returned to his room and reappeared armed with a scuffed boot. He inched over to her, keeping his eyes fixed on the wedge of darkness that filled her open doorway.

  “What is it?” he whispered, joining her.

  “On the bed,” was all Marianna could say.

  Joseph turned to find her face full of blind terror. What lay inside to have spooked her so? He contemplated returning to his room and dialling 911, but then a rush of bravado hit him, and he decided that he’d investigate things himself, in the hope that he wouldn’t look either cowardly or heartless. He took a breath, whispered, “Wait here,” and then stepped across the dark threshold.

  Marianna waited outside, her teeth chattering, even though the night verged on being uncomfortably warm. A few seconds later, Joseph returned, stepping out of the room backwards, the boot slipping from limp fingers. He doubled over, hands clasped to his thighs, mouth wide-open as if he was about to retch. Yet, rather than emptying his stomach, he instead threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  Marianna stood motionless for a second before tugging at the hem of his shorts. Joseph turned to her, his eyes full of tears and laughter.

  “What the hell’s so funny?” she demanded.

  “On… the… bed…” Joseph managed to say, between howls of amusement.

  “And?” she asked, colour turning to her face an angry shade of red.

  “On the bed,” Joseph repeated, now finally getting control of himself.

  “Well?”

  “I thought I’d find a body or something worse.”

  “And?”

  “And, all I found was… a mouse. A tiny little mouse!”

  “Tiny? Little? Are you serious?” Marianna asked. “The thing’s as big as a cat!”

  Finally, Joseph gathered his senses. “I’m sorry,” he apologised. “It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  Marianna stood gaping, but then their bizarre situation became apparent: she, almost naked, fearful of a creature a fiftieth of her size; and he, there to rescue her, armed with only an old boot for protection, wearing little more than she was. Her apprehension wavered, and she began to laugh at herself. This set Joseph off again, unable to control the tears that slipped down his cheeks. Eventually their laughter died, which left them both suddenly conscious of their exposed state.

  With his attention focused now on her, Joseph felt an unexpected swell within his groin. Her legs were long, dark and sleek, giving way to rounded hips and, although she held the pillow tight, he still got a hint of the fullness of her breasts. Having to forcibly peel his eyes away from her body, it was her face that eventually stole his breath. Beautiful without doubt, but naturally so. Not a hint of makeup or lipstick marked her face, her skin was brushed by the exotic colours of nature. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight and, as she smiled openly at him, her face became angelic, framed by a mane of jet-black hair.

  Before she noticed his arousal, Joseph returned quickly to his motel room. He reappeared a moment later dressed in loose jeans and carrying a flannel shirt in his hand.

  “Here,” he said, offering her the shirt.

  She took it, one hand still clutching at the pillow, and then turned her back on him to slip the shirt over her head.

  “What now?” she asked, revolving to face him.

  “Uh…” was all Joseph could say, mesmerised by her beauty.

  “About the mouse?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Joseph stooped, took up the old boot and then disappeared back into darkness. He seemed to be gone forever. Worried now about the welfare of the rodent and the handsome black stranger, Marianna almost called out for him not to hurt it – or himself – before he re-emerged with one hand placed carefully over the boot.

  “You caught it?” Marianna asked, impressed by both his skill and compassion.

  “No point in killing it,” Joseph replied. “Wouldn’t make much of a meal. Or a scarf, for that matter.”

  She grinned back, pleased by his kindness, and yet took a step back as he passed her. “Where are you going to let it go?”

  “Out in the bushes,” he replied, heading towards the side of the highway.

  “Be careful,” she called to him.

  He returned a few minutes later with the empty boot strung over his shoulder. The hard contours and muscles of this handsome black man struck Marianna.

  “You sure it’s all clear?” she asked, her throat dry.

  Joseph paused for a moment. “Never can be too sure,” he told her.

  Marianna fidgeted awkwardly, unable to be quite as direct as she wished.

  “Listen,” Joseph began, “I’ve got a couple of cold sodas and some potato chips in my room. I could fetch them and make sure Mickey Mouse isn’t entertaining the rest of the Magic Kingdom tonight.”

  Marianna paused, just long enough so she didn’t look too desperate. “Great,” she replied, simply.

  They spent their first night together camped out at the foot of her bed, eating an improvised picnic, laughing, talking endlessly and, quite simply, falling in love.

  Now, as he lay cocooned in this tight drum, Joseph smiled ruefully to himself. Even after all these years of being happily married, he’d never told Marianna that the mouse had actually disappeared, nowhere to be found, and he’d only pretended to catch it in the hope that she would be impressed by his valour.

  The slight hum that surrounded Joseph stopped, abruptly, and the table that he was strapped to began to retract from the tubular-shaped chamber. He held his breath, fearful that he’d been changed, both internally and externally, and there would be gasps of horror as he emerged in some hideous altered shape from the machine. Nevertheless, when Marianna and his son appeared before him, their faces showed nothing but relief.

  “Hey, handsome,” Marianna said. “Back in one piece.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  An intertwined canopy of trees sheltered Presley Perkins from both the elements and prying eyes. Shoulders hunched, he hid in the cover that the trees offered and watched carefully as the few people braving the weather walked past. Most were accompanied by partners, pets, or
police officers on patrol. Central Park was a beautiful in the daylight, but would become a dangerous landscape after nightfall. The clouds above the city rolled by, fat and lazy and darkly ominous.

  The day plodded towards mid-afternoon. The park began to empty, most of its visitors heading back to work or returning indoors to their homes to take shelter from the harsh February cold. A few joggers rolled by to the buzz and crackle of oversized headphones.

  Presley stood with his feet stomping up and down, quietly in the thick underbrush, and waited for the safest of opportunities to present itself.

  It came, eventually, in the form of a large tuft of candyfloss.

  The bright splash of colour, set against the sombreness of the day’s grey palette, made Perkins stop his foot stomping and forced his attention onto the approaching pedestrian.

  An old woman, hunched over in her heavily insulated fur coat, and wearing gloves thick enough to weather the Antarctic, walked casually towards him with her arm pulled straight by the strain of a dog leash. Although she had covered herself against the weather almost totally, her hair was open to the elements in a bright pink curly perm. Like its owner, the little mutt was wrapped in a thick jacket, leaving its four little legs racing in a blur. The mutt pulled against a long retractable length of cord, forcing the old woman to take a couple of quick steps forward, subsequently jerking her handbag off her shoulder. An expensive looking handbag, Presley noted. This is the one, he thought, stepping out from cover.

  The old woman came to a halt, alerted to his presence. “Oh, dear,” she gasped.

  The little dog barked a yap of caution, too. The mutt turned to him, its face scrunched into a permanent show of disdain, which made it look as if it had just buried its nose in a big pile of dog crap.

  “Cute dog,” Perkins said, as he made his way over to the woman and her Pekinese.