“There are four policemen within yelling distance,” Teresa said, pointing to the two squad cars that had shown up. “Get away from me, Psycho, before I have you hauled in for threatening a police officer, assault and, frankly, for your offensive breath. Get a Tic Tac or something will ya. I think there’s some gum in my purse.”
Smiling, Scott Bryan backed away a few inches. He placed his crutches back on the ground. Suddenly, Teresa felt the earth beneath her start to vibrate. She thought she was imagining things. The wind picked up noticeably. Raindrops – fat plump rain – lopped her in the face. Looking at Scott Bryan, she noticed his eyes rolling back in his head. A low-pitched growling whisper seemed to echo in his throat. For a second, Teresa thought Scott was about to vomit on her. In an instant, his growling turned to a deep, dark laughter. First it seemed like a chuckle, soon building to indescribably evil laughter.
Teresa grew scared.
“You’re next,” Scott Bryan said, his voice almost crackling from the malevolent glee enveloping his laughter.
“That’s it!” she said, reaching into her back pocket where she’d put her hand cuffs – at least she thought she had.
“Looking for these?” he hissed, twirling the cuffs around his index finger.
She snatched at them, but his reflexes were too quick and he pulled them away before she could get hold of them. “Give me those back!” she demanded.
She heard them click and, milliseconds later, realized he’d seized her by the wrist and clamped one side of the handcuffs on her. No gun, no club – nothing she could use to fight him off. Teresa was now shaking. She’d already been scared, though she’d managed to hide it. Now she was no longer able to hide her trepidation. Thunder clapped loudly, startling her. Her gut seized and her eyes filled with tears. Sobbing, she began pleading for her life. Her pleas made his laughter grow more intense. She tried to scream but her voice had left her. She could only shake nervously, cry and pray.
Her car turned on, though she was still standing beside the open door. The radio let go with a squeal that seemed to mirror the horror she felt inside. The rain picked up. Thunder clapped loudly, masking the violence to which Teresa Roelig found herself subject. Her chest began to ache. Her lungs burned with every breath. Her leg muscles were weakening. Her head swam as pain surged through her neck like a shot of lightning directly to the brain.
“God, please! No!” she finally managed, coughing, choking on the words. Barely able to manage above a whisper. Fighting back tears, she looked at his face and into the vacant eye sockets, devoid of anything human. There was no pupil; there was no iris, no veins or capillaries filling the fleshy eyeballs with life – indeed there were no eyeballs. There was fire. Orange glowing fire. Orange and yellow embers staring directly at her. Orange, Yellow and blue-green serpents entwined in a sadistic mating ritual, each seemingly too involved to notice her, though she felt as if a thousand eyes were trained upon her very soul. She felt her body losing control of itself. Her entire face and neck tingled with dangerous fright and she felt sure she was blacking out. A warm sensation tickled her leg and she knew instantly she’d peed herself. Stumbling back into the seat of her car, a raspy whisper managed to cut through the heavy mental fog. She could not see his smile, but she could feel it, much the same way she could still feel his eyes burning a hole to her very being.
“Not yet,” he hissed. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Her head felt like a porcupine was rolling back and forth across her brain as it sat encased under tiny shards of broken glass. Her ears could not capture his voice any longer.
Unable to think, unable to move, unable to fight any longer, Teresa Roelig bid welcome to Death.
Chapter 17 ~
Police work is slow work. Tedious work. Seven months of boring paperwork, Internet research, phone calls, interviews and staff meetings culminating in a ten second shootout or a ten-minute arrest where, ideally, nobody screws up in reading the guy his rights. It can take years to break a case and Lisa had only been given days. So when Lisa awoke on the third day of her investigation into the Rock Springs Cemetery deaths, she was shocked how quickly time had flown. They’d had Scott Bryan tailed, had his friends interviewed – unofficially of course – searched public records, his home, even searched the Internet hoping to find some thread of evidence to support Danny’s conclusion. Dutifully, Lisa had spent her off hours poring over the evidence, hoping to find something Danny had missed. Some way to clear the kid or, if it came to it, convict him. Despite what Danny had said in the Captain’s office, Lisa believed it was very much her problem to provide the DA with the necessary tools to gain the conviction. She’d promised that her obligations to Alex would not interfere with her duty. So, when she had to take him to the doctor on this, the last day she had to find the answers Chief Bouknight needed, Lisa felt as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen on her shoulders and the force would have her doing the unthinkable. Letting her partner down. Had Alex been in this position, and her in his, Lisa knew he would’ve handled it perfectly, with the quiet strength for which he was so well known.
Before the accident, she’d seen him get angry a handful of times, frustrated mostly and almost always related, in some way, to a case he was working on. Since the accident, it had become more of a struggle for him. Like everything else, the old Alex was buried under his own weight and it was crushing him. The one weakness Alex had, if you could even call it a weakness, was also his greatest strength. His need to be a man. Alex could handle shopping, house cleaning, babysitting, cooking, and running errands with the best of them. When Christina was a baby, he’d changed more diapers than Lisa and given at least as many bottles. If there’d been a way for him to breast feed, it would not have surprised Lisa for Alex to agree to share in that burden as well.
It was never “woman’s work” to him. If anything, it seemed as if he felt it made him more of a man to participate. He could fix the cars, change bulbs and keep the bills paid all the while arresting perps on four simultaneous investigations if need be. If Lisa were the one in the wheelchair, Alex would be a king. He’d do it all. He’d feed her, bathe her, take her here and there and still have time to be super cop and super dad. Lisa was strong. She knew she was not a mousy person and certainly not a girly girl or debutante, though she was about as far from tomboy as it got. She was from good stock. But on days like today, when Super Cop battled Super Wife and Super Mom for superiority, Lisa felt as though maybe she’d been secretly left on the Warner’s doorstep by a family that was far weaker, much less devoted and entirely inept at handling the basic problems in life. Stress always got to Lisa – always had, she believed. She knew she’d come through this just as she’d come through problems in the past.
But her confidence was shaky.
Until Alex was whole again, it would remain thus. Even if she wasn’t allowed to show it. Never before had Lisa needed to be so strong. As a child, she’d had her father. He’d tried to teach her strength but Lisa realized strength is not something you can teach. You can teach duty, honor and loyalty, all of which Lisa knew quite well. Duty to Super Cop, honor to Super Mom and loyalty to Super Wife. Duty, honor and loyalty – in all their forms – were no substitute for strength. More now than ever, Lisa caught herself muttering prayers for strength. If God existed, Lisa told herself, she just hoped he was listening. After the doctor, it was time for yet another round of passive exercise. Alex seemed to be taking to it easier than she expected. Maybe desperation had taken over. Maybe it really was helping, although Lisa often questioned the realities of such so-called exercise being of benefit to anyone. Or maybe Alex was trying to keep a brave face.
As well as Lisa liked to think she knew Alex, the truth was she couldn’t be sure anymore. He’d gotten good at hiding his feelings. More than once, he’d waited until he thought Lisa was asleep before breaking down, muttering teary-eyed prayers to a God neither of them truly understood. All too often, she lay quiet muttering an agreement in her
mind. He seemed to liven up whenever he went to the small passive exercise place. Being around such a spry group seemed to lift Alex’s spirits. Even if it was only pretend, it had to be good for Alex on some level. Lisa didn’t ask what it was about the place or its people that moved Alex so. She didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable about going or, worse, lose the positive vibe he gained during the hour or so workout sessions. Though most of his actual “workout” involved simple stretches and movements designed to keep joints healthy and limber rather than to offer any strength training, Lisa encouraged Alex’s appearance if only to give Alex better ammunition to fight the horrible mood swings he endured.
It was still quite early and Alex was breathing softly, eyes shut. Resting comfortably, Lisa hoped. Journeying toward the kitchen, Lisa smelled coffee brewing. It was barely 6:00 a.m. and Mike was already up, had the coffee made and, from the sound effects filing out of the living room, had Christina situated with a rousing marathon of animated fun. The cold linoleum felt good on Lisa’s feet. It sent chills through her body that served, if nothing else, to rouse the last remnants of the Sandman’s magic potion from her system. Pouring herself a cup of Mike’s finest, she sat at the kitchen table for a moment and stared at the still dark sky. Though she liked the coolness Autumn and Winter provided, a part of Lisa relished in the Spring because morning’s light always showed itself much earlier.
“Good Morning, Sun”, she would always say. Her father’s influence. An early riser all his life, one of Lisa’s greatest memories was sitting at the breakfast table with her daddy before he headed off to work – having snuck out of bed, so as not to wake her mother – watching the sun come up until finally, he announced to the world “Good Morning, Sunshine.”
In her teenage years – a time when childhood rituals fall victim to insecure cobwebs that form upon them as they go unused – her father nonetheless announced the arrival of the light of his life. Every time a teenage Lisa stumbled into the kitchen, he would sing his song. She had become the sunshine in her daddy’s sky. Staring at the shadowy firmament, Lisa thought of her father and how much Alex had reminded her of him. In the wee morning hours, alone with only her thoughts, she wondered if maybe someday Alex would share the same ritual with Christina who was, no doubt, the center of his universe. Lisa had barely taken three sips of her coffee when she decided she’d had enough. Time, not coffee, was what she’d really needed and just like the coffee, she’d only needed a little bit. Refreshed, Lisa retreated back into the bedroom where she found Alex awake, seated on the edge of the bed gripping his wheelchair as if he was about to attempt to leave the bed.
“You’re awake,” she whispered softly, smiling. “Want some coffee or something?”
“No thanks,” he said. “How ‘bout a morning kiss?”
“That I can do,” she whispered, giving him a playful wink. Walking toward him, she began to stare at his exposed torso. Sitting on the bed, no shirt, wearing gray sweatpants, Lisa couldn’t help the desire growing within. She thought about his broad shoulders and the fit six-pack, which was still evident behind a slightly softening layer of skin. You couldn’t call it fat. Alex was not fat.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him to her, kissing his lips gently. Out of habit, she gave him her typical unspoken “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet” closed-mouth morning breath avoiding kiss.
Several minutes later, still seated beside Alex – gentle kisses, soft touches serving less a sexual purpose than a reassurance of mutual determination of support and encouragement, Lisa felt ready to face the world.
Duty. Honor. Loyalty.
Love.
In love, there is strength. Staring into Alex’s eyes, neither feeling the need to speak, Lisa knew two things. First, she loved Alex. Second, in that love, she’d found strength. The first she had always known, even before she’d been consciously aware of it. As for the second thought, it was a new feeling – one manifesting itself in greater portions with each passing day. With each day that Alex could not hold the weight of the world, Lisa delved deeper into herself and discovered how easy it seemed to bear the weight that had previously threatened to crush her. With every new discovery Alex made, every moment of willpower that spurred him forward, Lisa somehow found strength she did not know she possessed.
Chapter 18 ~
Alex had never heard of passive exercise before going to Gilmer Passive Exercises, but the term itself seemed to him to be a bit of an oxymoron. How could exercise be passive? Exercise, by its very nature suggested an active body movement meant to increase one’s strength, cardio health, joint flexibility, stamina, endurance and range of motion. People ran, lifted weights, rode bikes or something. What sort of benefit would you get from simply lying on a table that bent you, stretched you from pillar to post and flexed your body in ungodly strained forms?
Whatever they were doing, it seemed to be working. Still, Alex held out many reservations, though the hopes of his many supporters seemed to be desperately clinging to this as the miracle cure Alex had been looking for. Nothing about the small facility satisfied Alex that he wasn’t wasting his time.
“I guess now I have all the time in the world to waste,” he whispered under his breath.
Besides, the people were quite the personality circus.
The curb was low, but you couldn’t really call it accessible, at least not to the new Alex. The Gimp.
Alex, the old Alex that is, had never given much thought to curbs, wheelchair ramps, elevators or automatic doors. Alex could even remember a few lazy moments when he would use his police credentials to park in a handicapped parking space just long enough to enter the grocery store for some milk. Never before had he considered them with much regard for public service. It wasn’t that he ignored them per se. He’d simply never rationalized their importance to those in need. Walk a mile in another man’s shoes, or in this case, roll a mile in another man’s wheelchair and you’ll have a better understanding of his struggles. Now, “walking along” in his own wheelchair, Alex had an all too perfect understanding. An understanding he’d gladly give up for the chance to be whole again – to never have to look for the ramp any time he wanted to rent a video or something. Even now, he considered them only with anger and frustration, not at their lack of availability bur rather at his sudden reliance on their presence. His arms were weak–a little shaky–and he was still an unsure captain of the Gimpmobile, but somehow he managed to hop the small curb even without Lisa or Mike’s assistance. The door proved to be more of a challenge and Alex begrudgingly let Lisa hold it open while Mike piloted the Gimpmobile over the less than manageable metal doorjamb. Every little thing Lisa, or anyone, had to do for him–especially things he used to do for her–was like a personal shot to his manhood. He’d never been a prideful man, really. He’d always been confident, relatively speaking. But then, he’d never had a reason to be anything but confident. In the last couple of months, he felt as though he had every reason in the world to fear the loss of any semblance of confidence. It didn’t do much for Alex on his first visit a few days before, that the youngest person he saw on the machines looked to be in her mid-seventies, if not older. After a couple of times, Alex began to notice people of all ages, and varying levels of physical ability, attending the small facility. The room was packed to excess with exercise tables of curious designs. While each served a unique function, all were covered in shiny, freshly waxed, pink vinyl. If anything gave Alex cause to think less than positive thoughts, it was the notion of wallowing atop a virtual assortment of mechanical bulls clad in shiny pink vinyl. One machine bent your body side to side at the waist. This one seemed to give Alex the most workout and, Alex realized, kept his midsection quite limber. Other tables shook his legs; one moved them in scissor movements while still another reminded him of being in a space ship ready for blast off – either that or in a gynecologist’s office, as his feet were held in stirrup-like cups that rotated your bent legs sending the blood rushing through the lower ex
tremities. Near the back wall sat a treadmill and two rider exercise machines, the only semblance of an active exercise alternative. The kind that you sat on and used your feet to push yourself one way while using your hands to pull the handle bar back toward you.
He’d agreed to try the place to placate Mike and the other doctors. He continued the “therapy” mostly to humor Lisa. He wanted to do something, anything, to get back to the real Alex. If it meant wasting an hour or two a couple of times a week, so be it.
The right side of the room was home to three tanning booths of varying “cooking temperatures”, mild, medium and “fry daddy.” A fourth door, set back in the corner, led to a bathroom that was quite large in proportion to the rest of the facility.
The manager of the place was yet another friend of Mike’s. Though he’d only known Mike a little while, Alex agreed with Lisa’s assessment that the man sure had an overabundance of “helpful friends.” Whatever you needed in life, it was pretty likely that Mike was going to know someone that could help you out. The day Mike didn’t have a friend of any usefulness, Alex thought he would shrivel up and die of shock.
Paula Mason was a woman in her mid-fifties. She was tall for a woman, maybe 5’8 Alex guessed. It was hard to tell from the confines of the Gimpmobile. Even with his policeman’s eye intact, his perspective had become somewhat skewed, making actual assessment difficult. Still, she was no doubt above average height for a woman. She wasn’t built like a supermodel, but it wasn’t difficult to tell that she worked out with some regularity. Her light brown hair, cut shoulder length, crowned a face that was deceptively sweet, filled with youthful vigor. Though she was seldom seen without a smile, her voice was as commanding as any Marine Corps Drill Instructor, possessing a slight but definite Texas drawl. The first words Alex had heard when he entered the place were hers, lamenting on the importance of proper breathing techniques. Keep making these old people deep breathe like that, Alex thought, and I’m going to be back on the job whether I’m ready or not. He made a mental note to place 911 on his cell phone’s speed dial for just such an emergency. Paula’s first rule of business was comfort. Exercise in comfort, which meant, according to the rules posted on the bathroom door, no denim clothes, no buttons, no jewelry of any kind and, above all, no shoes on the machines. Luckily for Alex, he’d dressed up to code. With several of the machines running simultaneously, the place had come to remind Alex of a small industrial complex, churning and welding together any of a number of machine parts. As with previous visits, Alex found himself slipping into police mode, checking each person out, as if assessing his or her true nature.
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