by Brad Kelln
"So let's watch some of Kalifornia. Not all of it-just some of the rela- tionship parts that'll get your research juices flowing." Wenton got up and stepped over to his wall unit, quickly pulling the DVD out of its alphabetical spot.
Norma hesitated as though she might say something, but decided not to. I'll watch a couple of minutes and then tell him I have to go.
Once the DVD was playing Wenton turned back to Norma. "Want a drink? Pop or something?"
"Urn, no I'm okay."
"It's no problem. I'm going to grab something."
"Sure a pop would be great."
"Be right back."
When he returned he stepped in beside her and sat on the sofa. "Here you go," He handed her a tall glass with pop and ice. He set his half and half rye and Coke down on the coffee table. Because Norma sat in the middle, Wenton was forced to one side but made sure that almost the full length of his leg touched hers.
She glanced at him but looked away taking a sip from her glass.
"Thanks."
Qumran.
"What's that?" Wenton asked.
"I didn't say anything," Norma replied, confused.
He looked over the back of the sofa and then back to Norma. "I just thought I heard something."
This one won't last.
Wenton was looking right at Norma when he heard the voice again.
She will kill herself. I will make sure of it.
Her lips hadn't moved. What the fuck's the matter with me? he thought.
"Are you okay?" Norma asked.
"I…," he started then stopped. Norma's face was rapidly shifting back and forth between her normal features and those of face of a strange creature, with sunken eyes, yellowed teeth and large, gaping wound slashed ver- tically down it's face. The faces flickered so quickly that her face became a blur.
"What the hell?"
Fuck her, Michael.
"No," Wenton shouted and reached out to grab Norma by the shoulders.
He shook her, trying to stop the shifting.
She's dead anyway so fuck her while you have the chance.
"Stop it," he screamed.
Michael, fuck this dead bitch.
"No." He kept shaking her.
Michael
"Michael!" The voice had shifted to a scream.
Wenton blinked and saw Norma staring back at him in terror. He looked down and saw his hands firmly gripping her breasts.
"Let go of me," she yelled, tears falling freely.
He did and she fell back away from him.
"I'm leaving," she blurted through tears.
Wenton was dazed. He vaguely noticed her moving towards the door. The idea of stopping her floated through him but disappeared quickly when she slammed the door behind her.
He lifted his drink to his lips. What the fuck was that?
***
Norma stood on Wenton's stoop for a few more minutes, to gather her composure. She didn't know where to turn. She took out her cell phone.
"Pastor Wrightland? This is Norma, Norma MacDonald, you know from Bible study… Can we talk? It's about my supervisor, Michael Wenton…"
TWENTY-SEVEN
Wenton had overslept again.
There was no time to bring his laptop from the office so he headed directly to the classroom. The lecture was for a graduate course in Forensic Psychology and he knew he could fill the time without his Power Point presentation.
He was only five minutes late when he stepped into an empty classroom.
Empty. What the fuck?
"Late as well as unethical, eh, Dr. Wenton?" Earl Drier said from the doorway, barely able to contain his excitement.
"Where's my class?"
"I dismissed them. We need to talk."
Wenton closed his fist and took a deep breath. He felt his jaw twitch.
"There's a serious matter that you need to attend to and you're suspended from active teaching duties until it's resolved."
"Drier, you better get to the fuckin' point before-"
"Before what?" shouted Dr. Drier. "Before you hit me? Is that what? Are you threatening me? What about Dr. Tillston?" He turned and another pro- fessor stepped into the room. "Are you going to attack her as well?"
"That's enough, Earl," she said, stepping into the room and closing the door. "Dr. Wenton, there's been a complaint from one of your students."
He hadn't noticed her as she had been standing immediately behind Drier. Wendy Tillston was the head of the professional review office at the university and fielded complaints lodged against professors.
"Who lodged a complaint?" he asked flatly, although he knew.
"Norma MacDonald. She claims you invited her to your apartment and made sexual overtures to her."
"You're kidding me! Something sexual? That poor girl. What she must be going through."
The reaction appeared to take both Dr. Drier and Dr. Tillston by surprise. "So you're denying the allegations?"
"Of course," Wenton said again with great concern. "Norma's been going through such a rough spell. Recently, I've had to be a little hard on her. She just can't seern to get any direction for her graduate research. I've let her know her performance is lacking but I never thought she'd-"
"What?" Earl snapped. "What are you talking about? You know you want to fuck her."
"Dr. Drier!" Dr. Tillston shouted. "That's inappropriate."
"But he's lying. He's not concerned about her! He's not concerned about anyone."
"Dr. Drier! Please step outside."
"But-"
"Now!" Dr. Tillston shouted.
Dr. Drier pointed at Wenton. "You're not slipping out of this one. I'm going to get you. I'm finally going to get you." He slammed the door behind him.
"I apologize for that, Dr. Wenton."
"We don't get along," Wenton said to Dr. Tillston and half smiled.
"I see that. As for the complaint, we'd appreciate your cooperation."
"Anything I can do."
"But the suspension will have to remain in effect until we sort this out," she added, almost apologetically.
"That makes sense," he said nodding.
Dr. Tillston turned back to the door. "We'll contact you very soon," she said and left.
Wenton clenched his teeth as he watched her disappear out the doorway. Motherfucker! This isn't what I need. I don't want to deal with that fuckin' bitch right now. What a pain in the ass.
He picked up his briefcase to leave. He remembered the look on Dr. Drier's face when he pretended to be surprised about the allegations. That dumb fuck thought he had me. Well see who gets who.
***
Wenton's phone was ringing when he stepped into his office. If it was Norma he thought he might be able to finish this problem up right then and there. He grabbed the phone off the cradle.
"Yeah."
"Dr. Wenton? Hello, it's Georgia O'Connors."
He didn't respond. It wasn't Norma so he di
dn't give a shit.
"Are you there?" she asked, somewhat confused that he didn't acknowledge her. "You do remember me from MSPC?"
"What can I do for you?" Wenton said coolly.
"I'm sorry to bother you but there's been an issue with Dr. Claric and we wondered if you could stop by and help us sort through a few things."
"Like what?"
"Well, I guess you and he were seeing a patient together, a Barry Boseman. Is that right?"
"More or less."
"Okay. And Barry worked at ECOR pharmaceuticals, which is where Brian was arrested. We didn't know if there might be a connection and so-"
"You're looking for a method of madness," Wenton interrupted. "You're wondering if Boseman has something to do with Brian going nuts."
"Oh," she didn't expect him to be so blunt. "And can-"
"Well, the truth is that Brian is convinced that ECOR is conducting experiments designed to make people insane. Seems plausible. If you think about it, it makes good business sense for a pharmaceutical company that treats psychos to boost the potential client base."
"He actually believes that-"
"Probably more important is the fact that Brian thinks he's the subject of their next experiment. He thinks ECOR is making him crazy. He's wor- ried that people are following him, breaking into his house, monitoring him. I think he believes he's even been zapped by some kind of weapon."
"Oh my," Dr. O'Connors began. The fears of the team were being confirmed. "How do you-"
"Here's the real kicker. Brian might not be too far off. There's a pretty good chance ECOR is actually experimenting on people-creating insanity. I wouldn't be surprised if they did zap Brian already. They might even zap you if you don't watch yourself."
"What? Did I hear you correctly?"
Wenton continued to ignore her. "But then again, maybe Dr. Claric is simply demonstrating the early stages of a late onset psychosis or an early- onset dementia. It's quite possible he's mentally ill and all of the ECOR bullshit is just a delusion." He paused briefly and then added, "For that matter, maybe I'm delusional too. Maybe we're all fuckin' delusional to some degree. How are we supposed to know? It's getting so difficult to differentiate the sane from the insane."
Dr, O'Connors closed her eyes in frustration. She never expected cooperation from Wenton but she wanted to see if she could help Dr. Claric. She decided to ask Wenton to come down to the hospital for a team meeting.
"Could we get you-"
"No you can't. Goodbye." Wenton hung up. He had more important things to deal with than Dr. Claric's curious co-workers. He wanted to find Norma MacDonald.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Wa was parked in front of the Holy Saviour Lutheran Church on Woodlawn Road. The cozy little church sat in a park next to a small lake in Dartmouth, "the city of lakes." He hadn't been there since his youngest child was baptized a few years ago. At that time, a new pastor, Gary Wrightland, had just started with the church. He wasn't even sure he'd find the same pastor working here.
Wa reluctantly got out of his car and walked up the steps to the big wooden double doors. What am I doing here? he thought. This is crazy.
The inside of the church was standard Lutheran fair. The expansive lobby was stale and colourless, serving mainly as a place to gather and hang coats before entering the main sanctuary. From the lobby, one hallway led down to church offices and possibly Sunday school rooms. The entrance to the sanctuary was through a second set of double doors, ornately carved in wood but with a small window obviously placed there for safety reasons so parishioners wouldn't accidentally swing the giant doors open and hit someone on the other side.
Wa moved through the lobby and into the church. He scanned row after row of dark wooden pews that pointed toward the smallish alter at the front. A massive cross hung against thin windows behind the pulpit. Christians were required to make Jesus Christ the central theme of everything, including architecture.
The church was empty. Wa turned to exit and found himself face to face with a kindly looking man in dress pants wearing a pastor's square collared white shirt.
"Can I help you?" Pastor Gary Wrightland asked.
"Oh, I'm sorry to wander in like this," Wa began.
"This is a house of God. All are welcome."
Wa nodded. "My children were all baptized here." He felt like he needed to justify his presence. "All three of them."
"That's wonderful," Gary said in genuine appreciation.
"I'm Sergeant Mitchell Wa. I'm really sorry we haven't been more con- sistent about coming to-"
"I know who you are," Gary said holding up his hand. "Please. You obviously need to talk. Let's go to my office. I'd love to catch up with you."
After they'd settled in the pastor's sparsely furnished office, they spent a few minutes in small talk. Pastor Wrightland asked about Wa and the children, and Wa apologized again for not attending church more regularly.
"Sergeant Wa," the pastor began, "I know you didn't come here just to catch nip with me and the church. What can I do for you?"
Wa took a deep breath and considered the question. He wasn't sure. A chill passed through him as he realized corning here was a mistake.
"Nothing. I'm sorry, pastor. I guess I just… Nothing, really."
"Sergeant Wa," he urged, "You made it this far. Why not take one more step and see where it leads?"
Mitchell Wa nodded and took another long, deep breath. "Here's the situation. This will probably sound crazy but maybe I am crazy. I think I've gotten myself wrapped up in something…something evil. I guess I came here to see if you'd know how to get me out of it."
"It?"
"Yes. The situation. The evil."
The pastor was bewildered. "I think I'm going to need more details."
"I don't know. I guess it was more or less a year ago. A lot of things were pretty messed up for me. My partner in homicide, Tim Dallons, had recently tried to kill himself over a bad case and I took a reassignment to sex crimes. I just had to get out of homicide, take a break from it. And then this case comes along, weirdest fuck, sorry." Wa smiled awkwardly and continued. "The weirdest case I've ever been involved with. This guy, his name was Edward Carter, starts raping women and…" Wa's voice trailed off. The pastor had gone pale at the mention of Edward Carter's name. "You okay, Pastor Wrightland?"
He recovered quickly. "Sorry, blood pressure's acting up and I keep having these spells. What were you saying?"
Wa continued, unconvinced. "Have you heard of Edward Carter? He was the guy who raped women and left them crazy. It was a terrible case, virtually impossible to solve because none of the victims could give coherent statements after the fact. They were literally insane after the rapes. We had nothing."
Pastor Wrightland's jaw was clenched t
ightly. "I know the case," he said quietly. "It was awful." His eyes filled with tears. "How many victims were there?"
Wa didn't answer immediately. He watched the pastor carefully, trying to decide if it was really okay to talk about these things.
Gary reached out and put a hand on Wa's shoulder. "It's okay to talk about it. I want to hear what you have to tell me. I've heard and seen many horrible things in my time so don't worry about offending me."
The pastor's warm hand on his shoulder made Wa flinch, but he quickly relaxed. He looked at Gary's sincere face. "Okay, thanks. I guess we knew of eight official cases of rape. There was another girl, a young girl, that he held hostage and killed-"
Wa stopped and closed his eyes. Memories flashed through him, pounded through him. His stomach twisted. He could see the face of the sixteen year old Tammy Farrell as clearly as though she was standing in front of him. But the image he saw was a distorted, horrible image of a pale, terrified girl whose complexion bore the telltale blue tint of strangulation. He saw a vision of a crumpled, dead girl in varying stages of undress. His stomach clenched hard again and he grunted. He tried to pry his eyes open but the image was still strong. He moved around her body, taking it in from every angle. His eyes searched her face, neck, breasts, stomach. He could see himself on top of her. He could feel himself easing down onto her, having sex with her.
"SERGEANT WA!" a voice interrupted.
His eyes bolted open and the pastor was crouching in front of him, star- ing into his face. "Are you okay, Sergeant?"
"What?" Wa said weakly.
"You zoned out on me there. I thought you were having an attack."