by Ian Worrall
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“How long has it been since your last confession?” the priest asks.
“Not sure. It was back home in Florida.”
“So why here?”
“I’ve been busy,” Melissa says.
“Too busy for the Lord?”
“My work, well, let’s just say the Lord, if he exists, would not approve.”
“Do you have doubts about your faith?”
“You could say that.”
“What is the source of your doubts?” the priest asks.
“You’ve seen the news about the serial killer who’s resurfaced in Darrenport, Florida?”
“The Drowner?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve known any of his victims?”
“I was the survivor from ten years ago,” Melissa says.
“So that was true?”
“It was.”
“And why would you need to confess to this?”
“I got mixed up with some other bad men, became the hammer, or lightning, if you know what I mean,” Melissa says.
“Yes, I think I do.”
“But they were all bad men.”
“You know only God has the right to judge?” the priest says.
“Where was God when I was raped? Or when the others were killed? Why didn’t He send his lightning down to kill the priests that molested children? And who’s to say He didn’t put me here to strike back against men who hurt women? Maybe I’m His lightning.”
“If that’s what you believe you’d better hope you’re right.”
“When Jesus was crucified, the Romans let a murderer go free and then Jesus said the murderer nailed to the cross next to him would be forgiven. So maybe there is hope for me.”
“You better hope so.”
“How many Hail Mary’s will I need to do?” she asks.
“Five thousand for each killing.”
“Guess I better get started then.”
She gets up from the confessional and leaves the church.
Walking across the street, she decides she wants some snacks and enters the gas station convenience store. Perusing through the aisles, she selects three bags of potato chips—regular, sour cream and bacon, and barbecue flavors—she then takes three cans of soda out of the cooler. As she makes her way to the checkout counter, she finds the condoms. One box has three glow-in-the-dark condoms. She takes that off the rack—a gift for Danil.
Further up the aisle, she finds a mini statue of the crucifixion. She stops and stares at it for a minute. Is Someone sending a sign? She removes the item and at the counter pays for everything in cash.
In her motel room, she turns on the news channel. Still no news on Mike Blauer.
She opens the regular-flavored chips and one of the cans of soda.
Flipping back to the news channel, the talking heads are going on about the situation in the Middle East. Had the US not invaded Iraq in 2003, would the situation be as unstable as it is today? Or would Saddam Hussein have gone on to re-arm his military, building a functional nuclear weapon before invading a neighbor?
And this debate will go on forever, America did this, America did that. That’s why September 11th happened. And the Afghan warlords could have negotiated their own peaceful solution, but they didn’t. The British should have made all the countries in the breakup of the Ottoman Empire into democracies, but they didn’t. If Japan didn’t bomb Pearl Harbor they wouldn’t have gotten nuked. No matter. We will go on killing each other until there’s none of us left to kill. Einstein was right. There are only two things that are infinite—the universe and human stupidity. And I’m not sure about the universe.
Ten minutes of that story and another one comes up about Jonathan Watson being posthumously pardoned after DNA evidence exonerated him for the murder of four women, a crime he was ultimately executed for. Another panel of experts comes up to debate the merits of capital punishment. One saying that the Watson case is a perfect example of why it should be abolished, another saying the case was an anomaly. Much like a criminal on parole committing another murder, both are a case of someone messing up and an innocent person lost their life.
Melissa wraps up the bag of chips, closing her eyes. I hope I never killed an innocent man.
Removing the statue of Jesus out of the package and putting it on the desk, she kneels to pray. “I asked you, Lord, if you are happy with the world You’ve created. Is this what I am here for? To strike back against violence against women? Take down the enemies of my keeper?” she pauses to think of her next words. “I am what I was made to be. That should be clear. I was a nineteen-year-old girl who’d just been raped and stabbed and left for dead. My keeper had a gun to my head. I had no other choice. Surely You can see and forgive that? That’s how I got into this mess.” She pauses again. “All of those men I killed were bad men. It’s not like they didn’t have it coming. I didn’t kill any children. No innocent bystanders were hurt in my crossfire. I was very careful about that. You saw how I made sure I didn’t take out any of the cops, didn’t You? Am I your lightning strike that has been sent down? It would be great to see a sign. And please tell me all those I killed were guilty.”
Finishing with that prayer, she closes her eyes and starts another. “Hail Mary, full of grace . . .” She pauses trying to remember the words. “Our Lord is with thee. And where were you before I got in this mess, Lord? Blessed art thou among women.”
She pauses again to wipe tears from her eyes. “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of death. Amen.”
Two more times she recites the prayer before sitting back down on the bed. She continues eating as she turns on her tablet computer. She opens a new file and marks down three, the number of Hail Mary’s she has performed. Might as well hedge my bets and try and reach redemption.
Finishing the bag of regular chips and the first can of soda, she opens the bag of sour cream and bacon and a second can of soda. She starts eating as she turns the TV to the baseball game between the Miami Marlins and the New York Mets.
Chapter 44
T he next morning, Melissa is standing in the shower letting the shampoo wash from her hair. Nothing like a hot shower to get the day going.
Turning off the water, she steps out of the shower and dries herself off. With the hair dryer running, she brushes her hair before tying it back into a ponytail. Walking naked back into the main part of the room, she has her gun pointed out in front of her. Danil trained her good on this. At least he has that going for him. With the room cleared she gets dressed.
Five minutes later, she is drinking coffee in the restaurant and scanning through the menu. Eggs Benedict. Just what I was hoping for. Her waitress, a girl named Sylvia, takes her order and refills her coffee cup. Within ten minutes, her food arrives. She takes a bite of the egg and closes her eyes. How great to relax and enjoy a meal for a change. The hollandaise sauce feels almost like silk in her mouth. Two booths over from her, a family with three children are enjoying a meal. She opens her wallet and looks at the pictures of her brother with his kids. Then she sees the two empty spaces in the picture holder, each has a card with writing on it. One says Olga if it’s a girl, Alexei if a boy. The second one says Anastasia if a girl and Nicholas if a boy. Tears well up in her eyes. Maybe it was for the best. How could I bring a child into this world that I’m in?
She slams her wallet closed after leaving a twenty-dollar bill on the table and gets up, her food half eaten. The waitress stops her. “I’ve got your bill, miss.”
“I left a twenty on the table,” she wipes tears from her eyes.
“But it’s only seven dollars.”
“It’s your lucky day,” Melissa turns away from her, crying. The waitress stands there with her arms open wondering what got her customer upset. Twenty minutes later, she’s on her bike riding to her next stop: Revoun.
* * *
Lying on the fl
oor, Quincey wakes up to the sound of the sports highlights blaring on the TV. His headache is made worse by the sun beating down on him. The vodka bottle is empty and there are sixteen empty beer bottles lying around. He tries to sit up and reach for the TV remote to turn off the TV, but the headache is so bad he falls back onto the floor. He sees a bowl of chips on the floor although he doesn’t remember getting any food. He dumps the chips out onto the floor and pukes into the bowl filling it with vomit.
“How can I still be alive?” he cries out as tears flow down his face. This was the only way I could break free of the bastards. Once they get their claws into you there’s no escaping them. Is there any other way to make a suicide look like an accident? I should know. I’m a cop. Run into the rocks on the way home. Fall asleep at the wheel while driving the car. But I would like to see my kids grow up, so there must be another way out of this. Doctor some pics showing Danil committing murder? Probably wouldn’t be believed. He’s so far been smart enough to insulate himself from everything.
Quincey sits up and tries to get to his feet, but the headache keeps him on the floor. Pulling himself to his knees, he grabs his head and almost falls back to the floor before forcing himself to his feet. He fills the coffee maker with water and coffee grinds, and hits the start button. Waiting for the coffee to brew, he takes four sausages out of the freezer and starts frying them on the stove.
After this weekend, his bank account will grow larger, and who’s going to die because of this?
* * *
Melissa passes by the road sign that says “Welcome To Revoun. Population 568.” Almost lunch time and I’m starving. I’ll continue this vacation just for one more day.
Pulling in to the village, she finds a gas station and fills up the tank. She goes in to the store to pay. “Is there any motel in this town?”
“Yeah, we’re not that backwards, miss.”
“OK. It’s my first time ever in this place. Where can I find it?”
The clerk points to the right. “Head right up the road five minutes, across the street from the tavern.”
Five minutes later, she’s booking a room for two days. Fifteen minutes after that she is setting up motion sensors in her room. She rubs her stomach. Thirty minutes to lunch.
Danil had always told her that the fish and chips here were the best he’d ever had. Time to test that theory. How many people are at the bottom of the waters here?
* * *
Standing in the shower letting the water wash over him, Quincey holds his head and breathes out heavily. Think, man, think. What can you tie Danil to and get out of this mess?
* * *
In Jackie’s living room, she and Ron Smithson are watching the movie The Equalizer. The irony of watching a movie about a vigilante when one of her cases involves one is not lost on her. How we’d all like to do what the Denzel character in the movie does. What would I do if faced with similar circumstances? Perhaps I have been lucky that all the men I have been with have not been creeps.
Jackie takes a few bites of popcorn and a sip of soda. Ron puts his arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist, bends over, and kisses her. He pulls her tight to him, spilling some popcorn on the floor. “It’s good to hold you again after so many years,” he says.
She looks up and smiles, then rests her head on his shoulder.
If the vigilante is ever caught, what are the chances of getting a conviction? An abused woman would garner more sympathy from a jury than a rapist. Any woman on the jury would wish she could teach the rapists a lesson herself and so would any real man on the jury.
* * *
Mitchell and his wife are sitting on their sundeck watching their kids playing in the back yard. He is drinking a beer and she is drinking tea.
“How’s the search for The Drowner going?”
Mitchell shrugs. “About as well as can be expected. We don’t yet have a suspect. But I’d really like to not talk about that today. I need the day off to recharge. It won’t help anyone to burn out.”
* * *
In the boardroom at the police station, Zach is skimming through one of the files of the notes that he’s taken over the past ten years. The boxes are stacked on one of the tables. What could I have missed? Was he in prison or is this a copycat? Or am I just the failure and loser that everybody thinks I am? He throws the file across the room and the papers scatter all over the floor. That must be it.
* * *
In the tavern, Melissa sees one customer at the bar drinking and two staff members washing glasses and organizing their stations. She looks around and sees three emergency exits and plenty of windows, lots of escape routes. She takes a booth in the back next to an emergency exit, sitting so her back is to the wall.
One of the bar staff, a young guy named Darren, walks over to her. “Anything to drink?”
“Budweiser.”
“Would you like a menu?”
“No. I’ve heard about your fish and chips. So, I’ll order that.”
“Coming up,” the waiter says.
He writes down her order in his notebook and walks back to the bar. He enters the food order then brings her beer over.
* * *
Walking down the stairs to the walkway, Quincey takes in a deep breath to get the smell of the salt water. Maybe it was good I survived. How great it would have been to be born and raised in a little village like this. No problems like in the big city. But there’s little or no future for the kids in a town like this. Unless they want to stay in the fishing industry. But there are worse things than that.
Reaching the tavern, he enters. He sees one customer at the bar and two staff members, one serving a draft beer to the customer at the bar and the other serving an order to a customer at the back of the establishment. Taking a stool at the bar, he snaps his fingers to get the bartender’s attention.
“Hey, get me a Bud Light and the fish and chips.”
The bartender nods. “Always the asshole, Quinn,” he says under his breath. While he’s a big tipper, no bartender likes that treatment. The bartender gives him a bottle of the beer he ordered. If it was a draft beer he would have spat in it.
Quincey turns to see the customer at the back enjoying her food. She looks cute. Would be great to take her back to the cottage. She’s probably a local though, got some fisher in her pants. He turns back to take a sip of beer as the woman looks up from her food and sees him.
Where have I seen him before? Definitely a cop, you can tell by the way they carry themselves. Which one though? Wrong hair color for Burnlee. How would anyone know she was here? Danil and Arlene were the only ones she told. Neither of them would tell the cops. Do an Internet call with Danil after lunch.
Melissa continues eating and watching the TV as she watches the cop out of the corner of her eye. Funny how there’s no news on Mike Blauer. Melissa takes a bite of fish and slowly chews on the food. She swallows with her eyes closed. Danil was right. Best fish and chips ever. She sees the cop sneak another look at her. The cop’s looking to get laid, I bet.
Melissa finishes her food and gets up from her table. She walks over to the bar and pays fifteen dollars on a ten-dollar bill.
Walking by the cop, the two lock eyes as she passes by him. She flashes back to the night of the bombing at Danil’s house and recognizes Jared Torres, the head of the Organized Crime Task Force. Is he the mole or did Danil rat me out to save himself? No way he would do that.
Five minutes later, she’s in her motel room with her laptop computer turned on. No wireless Internet here. Not so backwards a town? She gets on the phone and dials the front desk. “Hi, do you have wireless Internet here? No? I’ve got my cable. Thanks.”
Digging through her bag, she takes out her high-speed cable, and plugs it into the jack and then her laptop. Opening the contact software, she sees that her message from several days ago has not been answered yet. What’s taking him so long to answer? She sends another message to him. “Urgent message. I need you to ge
t back to me now.”
She waits for five minutes and no response. Turning on the TV, she keeps her laptop computer on to wait for Danil’s reply. The news channel is showing highlights of the week but still has nothing on Mike Blauer.
Her computer sounds and she sees that Danil has responded. “What’s the problem?” the message says.
She types back. “The head of OC, Jared Torres, is in Revoun.”
The message software shows that Danil is typing then stops, then typing again, then stops, then types a message he sends.
“OK. Our mole is there. If it’s him, he’s in the waterfront cottage. The number is five.”
“How do you want me to find out? He saw me in the tavern.”
“You know how to get a man alone.”
“That I do.”
“Let me know. Put a tracker on his vehicle.”
“I’ve got a spy app to put a tracker on his mobile phone.”
“His number I have is 352-899-7437. Get it done any way you can.”
He signs off the messaging and Melissa turns off her computer. While she prefers wireless, her virtual desktop is a godsend so she can mask her IP address, making it difficult to track.
So, he has no problem letting her do another man. Does he do a different girl every night when she’s not with him? Would explain the delay in getting back to her. He had his phone and other stuff turned off whenever they were together.
She changes into a black mini skirt and silk blouse. Leaving the motel, she finds the boardwalk and walks down the path taking in the sights. Using her phone, she takes a picture of the fishing trawlers tied up at the docks. Then, of course, the lighthouse. A tourist must always take a picture of a lighthouse. Her final picture is of the islands several miles off shore.
She finds the cottage numbered five. Walking past the steps, she continues down the walkway noticing the boat named “Marguerite” at the wharf. If he’s there she doesn’t want to make it obvious that she’s tracking him. She’s got roofies so she can drug him. Did Danil really tell me to have sex with another man? He must think so low of me. At the end of the row of cottages, she turns around and heads back in the direction of the tavern.