Lunatic's Game

by Margaret Lashley

  “Hey, Beth-Ann?”

  She looked up. I bit my lip, then blurted out what I wanted to ask before I lost my nerve.

  “Do you believe in Sasquatch?”

  Beth-Ann grinned and shook her head at me. “Did Earl put you up to this?”

  When I didn’t grin back, she stopped pushing her broom. “Wait. Are you serious?”

  I shrugged and chewed my bottom lip. Then decided to laugh it off.

  “Naw. I was just kidding around.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  ON THE WAY BACK TO the garage, I wondered whether Beth-Ann was the most reliable source to confer with about the existence of hairy, ape-like creatures. Sure, she was non-judgmental. And a great hairstylist. People came from all over to get their hair done by her. But thinking about it now, maybe she was a little too open-minded.

  A few weeks ago, after attending some kind of New-Age meetup, she’d advised me not to pray using negative words. She’d said that God couldn’t hear “no” or “don’t.” So if someone prayed, “I don’t want to be poor,” all God heard was “I want to be poor,” and so he granted their wish.

  I was actually beginning to think there was something to that. Ever since Carl Blanders had dumped me, I’d been praying, “I don’t want another no-good man in my life.” Perhaps that double negative had been too confusing for the Creator of the Known Universe to figure out. Why else would another oddball loser wash up on my doorstep after I’d distinctly prayed for the exact opposite?

  But then again, God had made up for it by delivering Terry Paulson to Point Paradise. The thought of his boyish grin made me want to call him up and flirt with him over the phone. I could use the pretense of giving him a case update. But what did I have to report? That the brain-scrambling hairdryer in question turned out to be Atomic Purple? I nixed the idea and turned the radio up instead.

  I was a couple miles away from Point Paradise when I saw the buzzards again. I realized they were circling the same area where Knickerbocker had his accident. Curious, I pulled over. As soon as I opened the door, I could smell the unmistakable odor of rotting meat.

  Too late for venison barbeque. But no doubt about it. Knickerbocker had certainly hit something ....

  With no obvious trail in the sawgrass, I followed my nose into the woods. About fifty feet into the pines, I saw a whitish-yellow lump in the leaves, up next to a pile of brush. As I got closer, I could see it was the corpse of a short-haired, mixed-breed dog. Its body was intact, and its jaws appeared to be covered in coagulated blood. Flies buzzed around it in noisy clouds.

  Gross. Well, that solves that mystery.

  I turned around to head back to the car, but my knees went wobbly. The air around me began to hum, and I nearly fell down.

  Leaning up against a pine tree was another dead body. Only this one was human. Dressed in a pair of orange prison overalls, I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. The person’s throat and face had been pretty much ripped to shreds.

  Paranoia swept over me like an arctic blast. My body shook uncontrollably. I had to get out of there, but I couldn’t move!

  The stench! The flies!

  One buzzed around my face and lit on my cheek. I swatted it away, horrified at the idea of where it had last landed. Nausea and dizziness flooded my senses, as if I’d suddenly become aware of the Earth spinning in its orbit.

  Must ... get ... away ....

  It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to make my stiff, paralytic legs take a step toward the road. The second step wasn’t much easier. As I attempted a third, the sharp sound of a branch cracking behind me startled me out of my stupor.

  A surge of hot adrenaline raced through my veins, unclogging my nervous system. My legs unlocked and finally joined the rescue team.

  I needed to get the hell out of there on the double!

  I took off, pounding my way through the underbrush on coltish, half-numb legs. As I came to the road clearing, the Mustang shone like a beacon in a raging sea. I jumped in, rolled up the windows, and locked every door.

  Then I locked them again.

  Rational thought eluded me. I knew a corpse couldn’t chase after me. Still, every molecule inside me wanted to get the hell out of there and never look back.

  But then what? Where did I have to go? No. Running wasn’t an option.

  I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. If I was going to do this P.I. thing, I had to suck it up and grow a pair. Besides, I couldn’t control my shaking hands well enough to get the key in the ignition anyway.

  I sat in the car trembling like a wet Chihuahua for a full ten minutes. Finally, my hands calmed down to a jitter, and I reached into a pocket for my cellphone.

  “Paulson? It’s Drex.”

  “How’s my favorite P.I. in training?” he joked.

  “I found a dead body.”

  “What! Where?”

  “On Obsidian Road. About two and a half miles south of the intersection.”

  I waited for a response. None came.

  “What should I do?” I asked.

  “Hold on. I’m thinking. Don’t tell anyone. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Paulson arrived nearly an hour later. I was kind of grateful it took him that long. I was still a bit shaky when he pulled up.

  “Sorry. I was out on a case on the other side of Waldo,” he said as he climbed out of his car. “You okay?”

  “No. It was horrible. Whoever it is ... they’re all mangled up. Probably by the dog.”

  “There’s a dog, too?”

  “Yes. It’s dead.”

  “Show me.”

  I hesitated. “Do I have to?”

  “No. But do you want to be a detective or not?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Wait here, then. Where is it?”

  “Straight ahead. You can’t miss it. Follow the trail I made in the sawgrass.”

  As I ran like a chicken-shit through the woods.

  “Got it.” Paulson disappeared into the pines. He returned about fifteen minutes later.

  “Sorry, Drex. But I can’t find anything. I’m going to need your help after all.”

  I nodded and climbed out of the car. “Follow me.”

  Reluctantly, I led Paulson through the underbrush to the scene. “There’s the dog over there.”

  “Yes. I see it,” he said. “But where’s the body?”

  “Behind us.”

  I turned slowly, not wanting to see it again.

  “Where?” Paulson asked.

  I cracked open a flinching eye. The corpse in the orange overalls was nowhere to be seen. My mouth fell open.

  “It was right over there.” I pointed to a stand of pines.

  “Are you sure whoever it is was dead? Maybe they got up and—”

  “No. They were dead all right.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, Bobbie, I hate to say it, but you did just experience a head trauma. And I heard a rumor you saw a ghost at the hospital. Maybe you should go talk to your doctor or something. You might be having hallucinations.”

  My gut flopped. “I could have sworn it was real.”

  Paulson put an arm around my shoulder. In other circumstances, I might have liked it. But at the moment, all I could see and smell around me was death. Not a big turn-on.

  “You want me to drive you back to your shop?” he asked.

  “No. I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll follow you to make sure you get back all right. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have put you through this so soon after your accident. You should get some rest.”

  I sighed. “You’re right. Do me a favor, Paulson?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t tell anybody about this. The last thing I need is Earl finding out. He’ll be on the phone turning me over to some UFO network or something.”

  “Okay. It’s just a dead dog. Mum’s the word. As long as you promise you’ll take it easy. And go see a doctor.”

  I crossed my fingers behind my back. “I prom
ise.”

  Right. Like I’m gonna spill my guts to a shrink and end up in the looney bin like Aunt Clara. No thanks.

  THE SUN WAS DIPPING below the tree line when I pulled the Mustang onto the crumbling asphalt parking lot in front of the mechanic shop. In the runoff ditch between the road and weedy yard, Earl was squatting in the grass, hopping around on his heels like a giant frog in a black wig and overalls.

  Any other time, I would’ve found it sadistic, comic relief. Tonight, it was just relief, pure and simple.

  I blew out a big breath, hoping some of the lingering horror would exit with it. I slapped on a trembling smirk and climbed out of the Mustang.

  “Someone finally turn you into a toad?” I yelled at Earl half-heartedly.

  He stood up. His face bore an odd mixture of trepidation and indignation.

  “Near ’bouts.” He nodded toward the garage and glanced up toward the second story apartment. “That weirdo up there. He passed out in his soup and started babbling something about a rubber octopus.”

  My trembling smirk collapsed. “What? He must be in worse shape than I thought.”

  Earl shot me a look. “Sasquatch bite. I’m telling you.”

  “Can it, Earl.”

  Earl shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  It was times like these I wished he’d fight back instead of making me feel like crap. I scowled. “I don’t get it, Earl. If Knickerbocker’s so bad off, how in the world did he manage to walk here this morning?”

  “Shock, maybe? Or maybe he got one of them adrenaline surges. You know. Like those stories you hear about where some tiny little gal lifts up a Mack Truck to get her baby out from underneath it.”

  I shook my head. “Earl, I’m not in the mood to hear any more of your stupid crap tonight.”

  His face puckered. “It ain’t stupid crap. Look it up yourself on the Internet.”

  “I would, if I could afford to get the cable hooked up again. But instead, all the money we earn goes to pay your salary.” I shot him another scowl. “Just gimme the crickets and go on home.”

  “Happy to oblige. Sure you don’t need any help with that guy upstairs?”

  “No. I can manage. If he’s not better in the morning, I’ll call 9-1-1.”

  “Alrighty then. Call me if you need me.” Earl opened his huge, meaty palm and offered up a couple of half-squashed crickets.

  “Thanks,” I said, as they tumbled into my hand. I closed my palm around them and felt them wriggle. The sapphire ring on my hand glinted in the late-afternoon sun. A gift from Grandma Selma, it was the only thing of value I hadn’t yet pawned to make ends meet. The crickets weren’t the only things on their last legs.

  “Watch yourself, you hear?” Earl said as he walked away. He turned back and shot me a look he stole from my father. Something between worry and disgust. My fear evaporated into anger.

  “Don’t tell me you’re actually worried about me,” I sneered.

  “Naw. It’s him I’m afeared for.” Earl laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t want to be left alone with you for all the money in China.”

  Earl brushed his hand off on the seat of his coveralls, turned his back on me again, and headed toward Bessie.

  “Yeah?” I called after him. “Well ... I hope Bigfoot gets you next.”

  Earl spun around. “Ha! So you do believe that fella got bit by the Sasquatch!”

  “I do not!”

  “Well, don’t you worry about me, little Cuz. No dumb ol’ skunk ape’s gonna get me. Not in Bessie, he won’t. I’ll flatten him under my tires. Make him into a primate pancake.”

  I scowled. “Sounds delicious.” I waved Earl off and climbed the stairs to check on Knickerbocker.

  AFTER LETTING MYSELF into Grandma Selma’s apartment, I crept down the hall and tapped lightly on the bedroom door. There was no answer. I peeked inside to find Knickerbocker asleep in bed. I tiptoed in and dropped the two mangled crickets into the terrarium. The lizard eyed them, then stared at me blankly.

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  Knickerbocker moaned, starling me.

  I snuck over for a closer look. He was sweaty with fever, writhing in his sleep, and mumbling unintelligibly. I leaned in closer. He kept repeating something that sounded like “rubber octopi.”

  Geez. Earl hadn’t been kidding after all.

  I was no doctor, but I was pretty sure a bump on the head shouldn’t cause a fever. I checked the mark on Knickerbocker’s shoulder. It was swollen and red. Had he really suffered some kind of animal bite? Had he locked something up in his RV and it got loose and bit him? If so, maybe the jerk deserved it!

  My mind flashed back to the dead dog in the woods.

  That dog bit him! It had rabies! Oh my lord! The dog died of rabies, and now Knickerbocker’s turning into a human Cujo!

  AFTER CALMING MYSELF with a couple of shots of gin, I rethought my earlier theory and decided to check on Knickerbocker one more time before I called animal control. Whether he was a nut or a saint, I couldn’t tell. But one thing I knew for sure. Right now, he needed my help.

  I fetched a clean washcloth from the bathroom, ran some cool water over it, and wiped Knickerbocker’s brow, careful to avoid pressing the knot on his forehead. The bump looked smaller. And I was surprised to see tiny stubs of hair growing back all over his head. He wasn’t bald after all. Just shaved. Like me.

  Then I saw something else that made my spine shiver. No wonder he wore that hat. Faint, circular marks dotted his entire scalp. About the size of quarters, they reminded me of tentacle marks.

  Rubber octopi.

  Good grief! Was Knickerbocker a scuba diver? Had he been attacked by a giant squid? What the hell was going on here?

  He moaned again. I felt his forehead. The poor guy was burning up. My questions would have to wait until morning.

  I rinsed the washcloth and placed it, clean and cool, against his forehead, covering his eyes. Then I took a moment to study the strange man.

  Knickerbocker was lean and muscular. Not a workout body—more of a wiry, forgets-to-eat kind of physique. He was around six feet tall and unremarkable in looks, save for the cheesy moustache. He didn’t have any tattoos that I could see. So he probably hadn’t done any jail time.

  I doused a paper towel with alcohol and dabbed at the angry red circle of broken skin between his neck and left shoulder. He was unconscious, all right. If he’d been awake, he’d have protested the sting.

  As I leaned closer, I could smell the muskiness of him—a kind of nervous perspiration mixed with honest sweat. I wondered how long it had been since he’d bathed. His clothes could do with a wash. So could mine, for that matter.

  I left the alcohol-soaked paper towel on his wound and reached down to unbutton his pants. As I touched the metal button on the fly of his black jeans, a surge of electricity tingled throughout my body. Unlike the other jolts I’d experienced of late, this one wasn’t entirely unpleasant. I sat up in surprise.

  I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man in his skivvies, but am I really that pathetic?

  I set my jaw to clinical nurse mode and undid the button of his jeans. I began to unzip his fly, but my fingers froze. In the exact spot previously covered by his pants button was what appeared to be a second navel.

  I sucked in a breath.

  Two belly buttons? Who is this guy?

  I blinked in disbelief.

  No, no, no! That doesn’t make any sense.

  I looked again. It was still there.

  Scar tissue. From an operation. Or a gunshot wound. It had to be.

  I reached out to touch it ... to put my finger in the hole ....

  Knickerbocker groaned. I jumped about three inches. I quickly re-buttoned his jeans and covered him up with the sheet.

  Should I call 9-1-1? Detective Paulson? The FBI? The Mutual UFO Network, for crying out loud?

  I looked over at the terrarium.

  I need to think this through. If he was a criminal, would
he be traveling with a pet lizard? And what kind of psycho would trust me and Earl with all his cash?

  There was only one thing for sure. Knickerbocker was a paying customer. Didn’t I owe it to him to at least give him the opportunity to explain himself?

  I snorted out a jaded laugh.

  That’s rich, Bobbie. You owe it to him. Fact is, you owe a lot of people, but he isn’t one of them.

  The cold, hard truth of it was, the guy had money. And I was in dire straits. Knickerbocker might not be a godsend, but his cash sure was. Besides, there was no need to make any hasty decisions just yet.

  I refilled his water glass, set out a couple of Tylenol tablets, and turned off the lamp by his bedside. Then I tiptoed over to my apartment and got the afghan my Grandma Selma had knitted for me right before she died. I made myself a nest on the living room couch and lay there, wide-eyed for ten minutes or so, thinking about ghosts and corpses and potential psycho killers with twin navels.

  A sudden flash of lightning turned the long, flowy curtains into floating spirits of the undead. Distant thunder rumbled through the darkness, like gravelly voices from the grave.

  Sometimes I really hated my stupid imagination.

  I got up and dragged a dining room chair up to the bedroom door where Knickerbocker was sleeping. I wedged it tight against the doorknob and went back to the couch.

  As Grandma Selma always said, “Better safe than sorghum.”

  She always was one to mix her metaphors.

  Chapter Fourteen: Sunday

  BRANCHES TORE AT MY face as I fled through the woods. Something was after me. Stalking me. Something big. Something evil.

  Its pounding footsteps grew louder. It was gaining on me! I didn’t dare look back. I might trip and fall.

  But I simply had to see ....

  I turned my head.

  In an instant, I felt myself falling. My palms hit the dirt and I tumbled headfirst onto the moist ground. As I skittered across a thick blanket of pine needles, their pointy ends stabbed my flesh like tiny knives. I slammed into a pine tree with a thud. The rough bark gouged my skin like a cheese grater.