by Lotta Smith
“In short, you have no idea what caused the alarm started?” I clarified.
“Exactly.” She nodded. I groaned.
Then came a sound of big thud!
Chapter 39
I had the timing, the element of surprise, and the narrow stairway had no place to get away from me falling on top of him.
I jumped off the top of the stairs. He looked back. Our eyes met for a brief moment. Quickly he looked around for a space to escape but time ran out.
First, his hand reached for the inside of the windbreaker, then he jumped to dodge me. But I caught one of his legs. The ceiling was too low to successfully dodge me. He tried to kick me aside but lost his balance. Gravity had kicked in, and the rest of the things happened in a heartbeat.
Entangled, we started a freefall down the stairs. The world stopped revolving and everything moved in slow motion.
The two of us fell at least ten steps onto the hard, concrete platform; I landed on top of him. I heard a snap and wished I didn’t break anything. Then followed a deafening silence.
Stunned by the impact of the fall, for a second, my heart stopped beating. Taking a deep breath and checking that nothing’s broken, I jumped up. The PI tried to get up as well, but couldn’t stand up. I ambled to the door.
“Don’t move,” he called to me. Then I heard a metallic click.
Facing the door, I looked back. He was holding a gun—with .45 caliber.
“You can’t shoot me,” I told him. “This wall is thin, you will shoot your assistant as soon as you shoot me.” I used my elbow to entwine the doorjamb of the room. Behind the door awaited my mother and the woman soon to host my mother’s soul.
“I can try.” He said, but he didn’t fire a round.
I didn’t look back. All I needed was cutting the damned plastic restraint so that I could get rid of the P.I. before he recovered. Then I could relax and get what I deserved.
I opened the door. Without looking back, I said. “You can’t shoot. Unless you want to kill Kelly yourself.”
Then I hurried inside.
Chapter 40
“OHMIGOD!”
We gasped in unison when we caught the thud!
“Ohmigoditshim!” Karen shriek-mumbled. “Or someone else. The probability of whoever opens the door being Alan is 50% and being someone else such as a police officer is 50%. Talk about a paradox. I wish it’s not him but— Ohmigod, what should we do if it’s him?”
I looked around the room in search of something…anything, with a potential to become a weapon.
The knife seemed to make a perfect weapon except that this particular knife might have been previously used to murder defenseless women. Just because the police had found a bloody knife at Yves’s place didn’t mean that the knife in front of me was brand new. I didn’t want to touch anything that might have been used to slash human flesh. Not to mention that this particular knife might not be all that useful, especially when Alan returned with a bigger knife…or a gun.
The wrought iron chair I was being tied to had a potential to be a good weapon. Just swinging it around and whacking the killer in the head seemed to do the job, but I wasn’t all that sure of my aim. I had zero trust in myself when it comes to properly hitting the target. The last time I swung a golf stick with an intention of hitting the fixed ball, the five-iron I swung with all my might flew high in the sky, and dived straight into the lake. As the iron stick sank into the lake, a gator involved in the accident floated upside-down on the surface. All the while, the ball had stayed on the tee. I had no idea how I could aim and actually hit a moving target when I couldn’t even hit a sitting target very well.
I grabbed my purse, and dumped the contents on the table. There was a towel hanky, a packet of facial tissues, a lip gloss, a mascara, a bottled water, a bottle of Purell, a mirror, tweezers, an overstuffed wallet, keys on a key fob, and the cell phone from stone-age. I pushed the power button and got pretty much surprised when the phone woke up. It was a nice surprise my phone had survived only with a scar instead of getting demolished to bits and pieces. I had no idea why Alan had bothered spare my phone.
Obviously, calling 911 wasn’t the best option.
My right hand hovered over the knickknacks and grasped the little bottle of Purell.
I took a look at the candles. The fire was burning. My mind was set. I had to do whatever I could do.
“Hide somewhere far from me and stay hiding and stay behind me,” I told Karen. “Don’t even think of coming in front of me. You don’t want to get burnt, and I mean it literally.”
She looked at me in the eyes briefly and muttered. “Do I want to know what you’re up to?” But she went to the farthest corner of the room and skulked anyway. “I’m ready.” She covered her face with her hands.
I removed the cap of Purell. Holding the burning candles in one hand and the open Purell bottle in another, I waited. Sitting on the metal chair I was previously tied up to, I waited in silence.
My mind was calm with Zen-like tranquility.
The door squeaked and opened a slit. A brush of cold air caressed my cheeks. The door opened wider and I saw Alan coming in. When I saw his face, I felt what little of hesitation I had had disappear. He had a facial expression of a madman.
I sipped Purell, and slid it over my tongue.
Taking a couple of steps into the room, he looked at the table, and then at me. “What are you doing?”
The door closed behind his back. He took one more step toward me. “What the hell has—?”
Before he had finished the phrase, I squirted out Purell from my mouth at the candles I held. Purell caught fire. Flying like a fire dragon with a vengeance, burning Purell mercilessly assaulted him and caught the front of his fleece shirt.
It was true that they say cooking while wearing fleece can be pretty dangerous. Once ignited, the fire on the fleece shirt spread out so fast and before I said meenie-eenie-minie-moo, he was covered in flame and burning like kerosene-soaked toilet paper.
For a moment, he was gawking at me as if he couldn’t believe what had happened to him. As his gaze moved from me to his own burning self, his face froze in a shock. It took a moment for him to open his mouth and start screaming like wet and dying Wicked Witch of the West. Shrieking, he dove onto the concrete floor, and started rolling like a squirming earthworm.
Running away from burning Alan, I hurried to Karen. Eyes shut, we held on to each other, without uttering a sound, as if that was the only way to survive. We kept on holding to each other until the door reopened and the sound of irregular footsteps echoed.
I turned around and saw Michael Archangel limping toward us. Actually, it took me a couple of seconds to realize it was him, since he was dressed like a guy from SWAT team and carrying a gun in hand.
“Hello ladies. Mind if I crash your party?” He said, putting the gun back to the shoulder holster inside the windbreaker. Not saying a word, Karen and I nodded like bobble-heads.
Then he took a glance at the murderer now haplessly lying flat on the hard floor. The only thing that indicated he was still alive was occasional heaping of his chest.
“What’s happened?” Archangel said. “A spontaneous combustion?”
“Mr. Archangel, you should have seen Kelly breathing fire. It was in self-defense, you know. She saved me by burning the heck out of the murderer.” Karen spoke up. “She was totally awesome!”
She also showed him the glass of eyeballs on the table with the palm of her hand, “Will you look at those eyeballs?” She said, and then pointed at Alan on the floor. “Meet Eyeball Snatcher. He killed my BFF, along with many people.”
“I know.” Archangel crossed his arms. With a hard-to-read facial expression, he glimpsed at the eyeballs and the barely-breathing killer. Then his gaze moved and fixed on me. “Kelly, I’m impressed,” he said.
I opened my mouth in a vain attempt to say something clever, smart, or sassy.
“Kelly, are you all right?” Archangel took a st
ep toward me with something that looked like a concern in his eyes. “Oh!” He backed off.
Words failed to come out of me. Before I could say “Barf bag!” half-digested lunch started coming out of my mouth. Abby Sciuto, I was not. Sassiness wasn’t my strongest suit.
“Ohmigod, Kelly, what did you eat for lunch?” Frowning and pinching her nose, Karen asked.
“Aaaarrrgh!” I doubled up, shed tears, and retched like drunken Charlie Sheen. “Bwaaaaaayp!” Puking uncontrollably, I comprehended the true meaning of projectile vomiting for the first time.
Hell, I should have resisted the cannoli temptation.
Chapter 41
The night was young and the crescent moon was silver. The street was relatively quiet on an account we went out of the back door, which was free of media satellite vans and law enforcement vehicles.
It was a good residential area just five blocks from Alan’s shop. Also, it happened to be less than two miles where Dr. Julia Stewart had lived. I was truly grateful Michael Archangel didn’t head for West Virginia border, a falsely provided location by the killer. By all means West Virginia is far from where I was being trapped.
When I was done puking, Archangel made a call to Henderson, asking if the FBI wanted to see the missing eyeballs taken out of victims. He also mentioned that he was with the true culprit of Eyeball Snatcher cases, and unscathed Karen. He also requested Henderson to arrange two ambulances; one for Karen and the other for the killer.
Henderson and a bunch of law enforcement officers arrived, and many things had happened. And everything happened fast. They didn’t seem to be very happy that I had burned Alan Hamilton a.k.a. Eyeball Snatcher to near-death, or that I had spewed regurgitated Italian food all over the crime scene. Still, they didn’t complain. Perhaps because I had made it clear that if it was not for their premature closure of Eyeball Snatcher cases, I would never have been abducted, or puked all over the crime scene in the first place.
Also, they didn’t want to mess with a woman who breathed fire and torched a serial murderer on fire.
Karen was immediately hauled into the ambulance and rushed straight to the hospital. She was scheduled to receive an emergent checkup, and reunite with her mom.
Before Henderson and the FBI had arrived the crime scene, Karen confided in with Archangel about how she had stumbled upon the killer. She also came clean with her special ability to see visions. While listening to her tale, Archangel didn’t deny her story or get skeptical about it. He just asked if she wished to share her story with the law enforcement. When Karen said that she was not sure about it, Archangel told her that it would be best to keep this particular part of her tale from the feds or the police. At least for the time being. Without arguing, she accepted his suggestion.
Alan the serial murderer was carried out of the house on a gurney, but I was positive his ambulance ride wouldn’t have been fun. Partly because he had sustained serious burns. Not to mention his ambulance came with guards who also happened to be skilled martial artists. And the guards had big guns ready to kill.
Archangel and I spoke to Henderson about what had happened. And I had to answer lots of questions like how I had ended up coming face-to-face with the poked-out human eyeballs.
Two hours later, we were free and walking to the corner of the block where Archangel had parked his Camaro.
I followed my employer towards the car. Neither of us spoke a word and just walked in silence. As for Michael Archangel, limping seemed like a more appropriate term than walking.
By the time we left the crime scene, he had developed a killer limp. I asked him if he was all right, and what he did to his leg, but his answer was a curt “I’m good” to both questions. He gave exactly the same answer to Henderson when asked if he needed another ambulance. Obviously, he wasn’t in a peachy mood.
“Mr. Archangel,” I called out. “We need to talk.” We were just several feet to the car.
He stopped. “Yeah. That’s what I was thinking about. What a coincidence. So, talk.”
I sensed a sarcasm. Plenty of it.
“First of all, thank you very much for coming at the right moment.”
“My pleasure. And?” One of his eyebrows raised slightly. Reflecting the street light, his eyes were hard icy blue.
“And I finally realized that you’ve been right about Warren all the time. He’s a pathological liar and the only person he’s ever cared for is himself. That he will only care for his own self for the rest of his life. And there’s nothing I could have done or can do to change that.” I confided in. “I was a pathetic loser clinging to the memory of good times, totally turning blind eye to the reality.”
“How did you realize the obvious?” He cocked his head. This time, his voice didn’t contain sarcasm. At least, not much.
“When Alan the serial killer came up on me with a knife, telling me that plucking the eyeballs out of me was the only way to make me immortal, I realized that his gaze was identical to that of my ex-husband’s. Every time he was at work with persuading potential new clients that entrusting their money to his business was their best interest, he had that gaze.”
“Good thing you finally came to accept the reality. Slow learner. Still, better late than never.” Archangel crossed his arms and let out a dry chuckle, but his face was unreadable.
“Mr. Archangel, are you angry?” I asked, feeling like an idiot asking the obvious. I could think of many reasons that should have ticked him off. For starter, I withheld Karen info to myself, and then I regurgitated my lunch all over the crime scene. Then again, it was difficult to figure out what had angered him the most.
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Angry is an understatement. Cluster-fucking-infuriated is more like the word.”
Under the light of street lamps, he looked pale. Indeed, much paler than usual.
“I’m sorry.” I apologized. “It was the nerve and the disgusting aroma. I didn’t mean to ruin the crime scene, but I took a sniff of his burned flesh and scorched clothes, and then the eyeballs jumped into my view. I couldn’t hold it anymore.”
“No, forget about the puking episode. I’m just annoyed with myself,” he replied.
“For what?” I was confused.
“Misjudgment, overlooking the situation, and withholding critical information from you,” he listed.
“I’m not quite following.”
“A woman’s corpse missing the eyeballs was discovered in London. It was a couple of months before women’s corpses minus the eyeballs started turning up in D.C. neighborhood. I knew about the incidence in London all along since visiting the city. Various forensic evidences such as the shapes of the slashed nerve endings suggested that this isolated incident in London was highly likely to be committed by the same person who killed the women here in the U.S. So I got this theory that whoever poked the eyeballs out of the cadaver in London should have something to do with the cases here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“My associate in Scotland Yard had finally ID’ed the dead woman today. He e-mailed me the photo of her that was taken decades ago. Finally, I realized that eyeball-plucking is just a process in-between and the killer’s true intention was to obtain an eyeless-body to host his mother’s eyeballs. In addition, I had overlooked the fact that you share critical physical features with previously murdered victims, such as hair and eye colors, and the shape of the face. Those clues were enough to lock you up to avoid the risk of getting yourself dragged into the sick ritual, but I completely missed the chances to share those info with you. Until the photo of Kelly Dowson, Alan Hamilton’s biological mother, turned up, I kept on turning the blind eye to the possibility that you were in danger. And look what’s happened.” He gave out a sigh. “I know an apology wouldn’t make it. But I’m sorry, I really am.”
Wow, I was stunned. It’s not like he admitted his fault so often.
“You don’t need to apologize. I guess we’re kind of even about withholding info.” I suggested. “Actually, in
retrospect, I should have called you when Karen gave me a call. She told me not to tell anybody, especially you, but she was pretty much ticked off when I told her I hadn’t called you. Guess what? I didn’t interpret her code very well.”
“What? Karen called and you didn’t tell me that?” Now he seemed positively annoyed. “Now I’m not that sorry.”
“Anyway, let’s look on the bright side. I’m here, alive and unscathed.” I said with the perkiness of a cheerleader.
“OK, so I thought there’s no way you could find the killer, completely ignoring the outside chance that the killer would find you.” He commented. “And you scared me shitless.”
“I’m glad that you care so much about me.”
“I didn’t exactly say that,” he snorted. “With your special skill and everything, I wasn’t worried all that much but—”
“But—?”
“Hey, I need to call my attorney to rewrite your contract,” he said abruptly.
I took a deep breath to calm my nerve. I saw it all coming, and I hoped to keep my cool and maintain what little dignity I still had with me.
I opened my mouth, and I tried to smile. But instead of a calm voice, a Minnie Mouse shriek popped out of me. “Ohmigod, you’re firing me!”
Forget coolness, ditch the dignity, my freak-o-meter was indicating a gazillion out of 10, and I was wailing like a hysterical toddler. “Okay, so I might not be the world’s most perfect assistant, but isn’t it a little bit cruel to get rid of me just like this? In case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m not a big chunk of kidney stone. I’m a human and I have something called the feelings!” My voice reached the pitch of a dog whistle. “On top of all that, can’t you see I’m shaken, traumatized, and mentally scarred after all that fiasco? I can’t believe you’re…”
“Chill.” I felt hands on my waist. He pulled me close. “Kelly, there’s a serious misunderstanding.”
I looked up. Our eyes met for ten seconds. I saw something that looked like a warmth and gentleness in his baby blues. I almost thought he was going to kiss me… but he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t kiss me. Go figure. So I used Listerine, but he saw me puking. No, not just puking, but projectile vomiting.