1 Twisted Perception

by Bob Avey

  “I do,” Elliot said. And then he heard himself say something that he knew he should not have. He said, “I love you.” But as he was hanging up the phone he responded to a feeling that someone was watching him, and as he turned toward the office, he saw the manager back away from the door.

  31

  As he neared his destination, his fears began to grow and even before he fumbled the key into the lock he knew things were not as they should be. Something was very wrong. He slowly pushed the door open and entered the house where he’d spent his life, but its familiarity had disappeared, melted away and seeped through the cracks in the hardwood to lie in the dank earth below the floor. The furniture was in place, the smell of her cooking lingered, the curtains still shrouded the windows, but it was not his house.

  As to why this might have happened, he could only guess. Perhaps he’d stepped through some kind of hidden portal into another dimension where things were just enough out of sync to not be right. Or maybe his world was the one not right, and this the one that should be. The idea made sense.

  He walked on through the doppelganger house, making his way into each room, searching for common ground and not finding any, though what he did find was even more disconcerting. Mother was gone. He had yet to check the bathroom, and when he did, what he saw there made his skin crawl. Where disinfected cleanliness once lived, the most intolerable filth now resided. Bobby pins with laminated particles of hair running through their eyelets, and broken pieces of emery board dotted portions of the countertop, becoming permanent parts of the lavatory surface, a demented mosaic creation embedded in the residual stickiness of hair spray.

  Now the truth was reflected back at him like a nasty black and white documentary, revolting in its honesty yet captivating in some sick and hypnotic way. Mother, too, had gone wrong, as they all had. It wasn’t to have gotten this far. Coming through the portal had changed him, honed his senses beyond their former boundaries. It was then that he understood. Everything—his thinking, his memories, his ability to see—existed for the single purpose of setting things right. Indeed she was a monster, and she had come into this house and she had taken Mother.

  The success of his mission had acquired new meaning, but it would not be easy. Through her Trojan-horse strategy, she had enlisted the aid of the enemy, gained the protection of Kenny Elliot. Kenny was a hard person to deal with. Who, after all, knew Kenny better than he? No one, he suspected. Not even Carmen. And it wasn’t so much that Kenny put a lot of stock into winning. He did not. There was just something about his nature that refused to let him lose.

  But he would do it. He had a few tricks left up his sleeve. He left his house and slipped into the darkness of the outside world.

  32

  Elliot hung up the phone and walked to the south end of the counter where he could see into the manager’s office. He didn’t think enough time had passed for the news media to be flashing his face all over the city, but the manager had already switched off the set and was walking toward him.

  “Is there a problem?” the manager asked.

  “I don’t know. Do you always watch your customers so intently?”

  The manager shook his head. “I wasn’t watching you. Must have been your imagination.”

  Elliot turned away. In the corner of the lobby, he saw a vending machine and after shoving some cash into it, he received a toothbrush and a razor. He wasn’t sure about the man behind the counter; his face was hard to read. He was used to dealing with trouble. Elliot decided not to take any chances. He went back to the room and gathered up his things, and after leaving the key on the dresser he found Sykes’s car at the bar where he’d left it and drove away.

  The car responded to Elliot’s commands as he guided it to a stop in front of a joint called Casey’s.

  Casey watched Elliot walk in, not making any visible expression except for changing the ever-present toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “I wondered if you were ever coming back.”

  Casey rented a couple of rooms upstairs. Elliot had stayed there, years ago, when he’d first gotten into town. “Didn’t give my room away, did you?”

  Casey repositioned the toothpick. “Funny you should ask. Fellow was in here looking for you yesterday.”

  “Cop?” Elliot asked, pulling out a twenty.

  “Looked that way to me.”

  “Did he give a name?”

  Casey operated the cash register. “Nope. Fancy dresser, though.”

  Beaumont, Elliot thought, as Casey handed him the keys. He left the change on the counter and started toward the back of the room. “It won’t be permanent,” he said, “just a few days.”

  In the rear of the room behind the pool table, a hallway covered with graffiti led to a rickety set of stairs. The stairway had its good points, one of which was the distinctive sound it gave forth when supporting the weight of anyone heavier than a Cub Scout. The only way to gain access to the room without sounding an alarm was to come up the fire escape. Elliot climbed the stairs, pausing momentarily on the small landing.

  33

  At the door, Elliot dug the keys out of his pocket but paused briefly before keying the lock. He sensed someone was watching him. He spun around, scanning the small hall-like area, and when his gaze fell upon a figure skulking in the shadows of a darkened corner, he pulled his weapon. In response the figure straightened and stepped forward, speaking in a strained but familiar voice. “Hey, old buddy.”

  Elliot couldn’t believe what he was hearing, much less seeing. He stepped back to get a better look, to make sure. It was Nick all right, looking dirty and ragged, like he’d given up his home and taken to living on the streets. Nick studied Elliot’s face, his eyes darting back and forth. “We need to talk, Kenny.”

  “Talk? Where the hell have you been, anyway? Carmen’s worried sick.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “How did you find me?” Elliot asked.

  “I’ve been following you, trying to get my nerve up. There’s something you need to know. It’s the reason I’m here.”

  Elliot unlocked the door and led Nick into the room, closing the door behind them. Nick was shivering and his clothes were damp. Directing him to the chair beside the window, Elliot stripped a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around him. “Talk to me, Nick, What’s going on?”

  “It’s about Carmen.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing’s like it used to be… Changed… Everything’s changed.”

  Nick didn’t smell of liquor, but something was obviously wrong with him. “It’s all right,” Elliot said. “Just take it easy.”

  Nick pulled the blanket tighter, tucking it beneath his chin. Elliot suspected Nick’s living in the past was giving him trouble coming to terms with the present.

  “Why did you lie to me about Carmen, tell me she didn’t want to see me?”

  “It was Chief Johnson’s idea. He told me that if you called I should try and discourage you. He was right, you know. Everybody was mad at you. It was better if you stayed away. And you’re not the only one who has feelings for Carmen. I’ve always loved her. She just doesn’t see it. Look, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve lost a hell of a lot of sleep over it.” With that Nick buried his face in his hands and began to sob raggedly, his shoulders moving to accentuate his grief. “I’m sorry, old buddy. I’m so damned sorry.”

  “Take it easy,” Elliot said, “it’s all in the past. Too late to worry about it now.”

  “Can I stay here tonight?” Nick asked. “I’m too tired to go home.” He wiped at his tear-stained face, but only succeeded in rubbing the dirt around.

  Elliot sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  Elliot thought for a moment. Was he getting ready to turn the best friend he’d ever had back out onto the streets, or was he about to let the killer loose? “I’m in trouble, Nick. I’m on the run. Being with me will only make
things worse for you.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  Nick looked scared and defeated, not the happy, carefree friend Elliot had first met in school at Porter. He’d been reduced to the lowest common denominator of his makeup, and Elliot felt responsible. He got up from the bed. “You must be hungry. Have you eaten?”

  Nick shook his head.

  Elliot gestured toward the bathroom, such as it was. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? We’ll go get something. I’m pretty hungry myself.”

  “No. I don’t want to go back out there.”

  “Then I’ll go get us something. What would you like?”

  “I don’t care,” Nick said, “As long as it’s hot.”

  “No problem. I’ll lock the door. Don’t let anybody in except me.”

  Elliot closed the door and trotted down the stairs. As he left the bar, he wondered if Casey had seen Nick come in. He didn’t have to go far for food. A diner was just down the street. It wasn’t the best in the world, but he couldn’t afford to be choosy. He ordered cheeseburgers and fries.

  When Elliot arrived back at Casey’s, he was still wrestling with the idea of letting Nick stay the night, but the problem was resolved for him. He unlocked the door and walked into the room to find it empty. Nick was gone.

  Elliot managed to eat part of a hamburger, but his appetite had disappeared. He walked to the window and peered out, wondering if Nick was out there somewhere. He thought about trying to get some sleep, but he worried that as soon as he closed his eyes, cops would bust down the door and come storming into the room. It wasn’t likely. Beaumont had come looking for him, but Elliot had not been there at the time and Casey would have been convincing in his telling of the truth that he hadn’t seen Elliot. And Nick had only found him there because he’d followed him. Like the zoo animals he’d pitied as a child, Elliot paced his cage and, like they had, he gave up occasionally and sat down, sinking into the prison’s discomfort. Again he wondered about Beaumont. He knew far too much. Something wasn’t right about it. He remembered Clarence Beaumont, the Coweta man he’d read about in the old papers. He’d had a son who’d dated Marcia.

  Elliot strapped on his holster, threw on his jacket, and left the solitude of Casey’s little corner behind. He had a lot of ground to cover. He was beginning to get some ideas about who he was looking for, but first he had to pay someone a visit.

  Once he arrived at his destination, Elliot pulled into the parking lot of the building. He went inside, keeping his head down as he brushed past the people in the lobby. He took the elevator up to his floor and then roamed the burgundy colored carpet until he found the right apartment. After ringing the bell several times, he knocked but still got no answer. Beaumont was either not at home, or not answering the door.

  Elliot started toward the elevator, but when he got there, the door hummed open and a man stepped out, studying Elliot a little too closely as he walked past. Elliot pretended not to notice, but the man and the shoulder holster beneath his coat had his attention. He didn’t look like a cop and that worried Elliot, so he stepped onto the elevator but kept it on the floor by holding the open button.

  As soon as the stranger rounded the corner, Elliot got out and ducked into the stairwell, leaving the door cracked open. Sure enough, the man came back to see if he’d gotten on the elevator. Whatever he was up to, he didn’t want anybody around to witness it. Satisfied that Elliot was gone, the man went back down the hallway. Elliot waited then followed, stopping at the corner to watch.

  The man stopped at Beaumont’s place and pounded on the door. When he got no answer, he shook his head and leaned against the wall, waiting. His business with Beaumont was obviously important to him.

  Elliot didn’t like the looks of it. He decided to check it out. He walked casually down the hall toward Beaumont’s apartment. By the time he got there, the man had turned away to once again bang on the door, and when Elliot spoke, the man spun around to face him with a surprised look on his face. Then, like a cornered fighter, he lunged forward, swinging wildly.

  Elliot feinted left but stepped to the right, and before the man could find him again he reached over the stranger’s shoulder, tore back his lapel and stripped his weapon from its holster. He pressed the barrel against the man’s temple. “Something I can do for you?”

  “You Beaumont?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  The man didn’t answer. Elliot searched inside his jacket but found nothing. “Talk, even if it’s a lie.”

  He shrugged. “The boss wants his money.”

  Elliot nodded and backed away. “All right, consider the message delivered.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Do I look like I care?”

  “You made a deal, man. I’m telling you, it ain’t worth it.”

  The hum of the elevator caught Elliot’s attention. He tightened his grip on the nine-millimeter, keeping it pointed at the man’s midsection while he listened to the carpet-muffled footsteps coming down the hall. Seconds later Beaumont appeared, stopping in his tracks as he saw what was happening.

  Elliot winked. “My man here says you owe him some cash.”

  Beaumont cautiously approached. “This isn’t my doing,” he said. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out a stack of bills. “Here, that’s the last of it.”

  Elliot backed away, giving the stranger some room.

  He took the cash, stuffing it away while holding the other hand out, signifying he wanted his weapon back.

  Elliot ejected the clip, cleared the chamber and tossed the nine-millimeter at the man’s feet.

  Without another word, he scooped it up and left.

  Beaumont waited for the elevator to make its noise then he unlocked the door and went inside. Elliot followed him.

  Beaumont slid out of his overcoat and put it away in a closet before tossing his keys onto the granite surface of a table beside the door. After that he sat down in a chair and switched on some music using a remote he’d picked up from the coffee table. It was classical—Bach, Beethoven—that sort of thing.

  Elliot wouldn’t have expected anything else. He sat on a leather sofa and put his feet on the coffee table, which earned him a disgusted glare. “First drug dealers, and now loan sharks,” Elliot said. “I’m starting to think I’ve misjudged you. Maybe you’re not such a bad guy after all.”

  Beaumont leaned forward, switching off the music. “Coming from you, that’s an insult. What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”

  Elliot wondered why Beaumont wasn’t saying anything about his being in trouble. He suspected he’d been warned not to in case something like this happened. The police still didn’t know Elliot knew they were looking for him. They wanted him to come to the department, walk into a trap. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about you,” Elliot said, “why you know so much about me…why it means so much to you.” Beaumont just stared at him, taking in his words as if they didn’t fit the mouth they’d come from.

  “You graduated a year ahead of me,” Elliot said, “you weren’t into sports, and you grew up in Coweta. Your father owned a butcher shop there. So I wouldn’t have known you, would I? But you knew me. You dated Marcia. She had a way of getting to a guy, didn’t she? It’s been you all along, hasn’t it, feeding Dombrowski information. When that didn’t work you wrote a few anonymous letters to the captain.” Beaumont made a move Elliot didn’t like so he drew the Glock and aimed it at Beaumont’s head.

  The look on Beaumont’s face was somewhere between fear and disbelief. He showed both hands, letting Elliot know he might have misinterpreted his actions. “Don’t like to lose, do you? If ever I had any doubt about that, the past few days have erased it. Yeah, maybe I did those things. But all I did was speed up the process. I didn’t kill those girls. And it wasn’t me who got careless and left his knife beside the last victim. You did that all by yourself.”

  “Well I hate to disappoint you, Philip Jeremy Beaumont, but it wasn’t m
e either.”

  “Why the hell did you pull that little stunt at the airport?”

  “I had to buy some time. Our killer has a habit of dropping out of sight when the heat gets too high. If he fades back into the scenery now, we may never catch him. I can’t let that happen.”

  Beaumont’s face reflected Elliot’s intensity. “How do you explain the knife, and your fingerprints?”

  “It’s a long story, Beaumont. I doubt you’d understand.”

  Elliot took a moment to consider the rest of his answer. But how could he express this obsession in words? “I’ve been tangled up in this guy’s web for a long time,” he said. “I have to put a stop to it. I’ve no other choice.”

  “What makes you think I won’t call Dombrowski the minute you walk out of here?”

  “I suspect you will, but you look a little ragged out. Getting tough to peddle your wares, is it?”

  Beaumont frowned. “No thanks to you. Tremain was…” His words trailed off, letting the sentence die.

  Elliot grinned. “I have a knack for knowing the wrong kind of people. It can get a lot worse. I can see to that, if you like.”

  “A few days ago that might have scared me. But not anymore. You’re all washed up, Elliot. You won’t get away with this. Sooner or later they’ll catch up to you.”

  Keeping the Glock aimed at Beaumont, Elliot stood. “I’d hoped you would see things differently,” he said, finding the phone and smashing it and the base station. After that he searched Beaumont, taking his weapon and his cell phone. “Don’t try to follow me. It won’t do you any good. And by the time you get to a phone I’ll be gone.” He cupped his hand around Beaumont’s chin. “Don’t worry, kid. If I was going to hurt you, you’d already be hurt.”

  As Elliot walked across the parking lot toward his car, the thought that Beaumont was being a little too cooperative ran through his head. He dismissed it. He had other things to worry about. He wanted to return to Club Gemini for a little chat with Metcalf. But not just yet. He had a few things to take care of first. He made a few stops and went back to Casey’s.