1 Twisted Perception

by Bob Avey

  Elliot began to gain on his adversaries, putting a couple of miles between himself and the patrol cars. In a near-reflexive action, he pulled the gear selector down into a lower gear, aiding the brakes in slowing the vehicle as he took the next exit. Even with that the car’s momentum outweighed the action and the vehicle skidded hard into the curb as Elliot fought to maintain control. With the tires protesting against the pavement, he turned onto the access road, taking the first stop sign to the right. He passed the busy convenience store that had grabbed his attention and caused him to pull off the expressway.

  Elliot drove deep into the neighborhood he’d entered until he found a suitable spot. When he found a stopping place, he pulled to the curb and parked, leaving Sykes’s car behind as he got out and walked back to the convenience store. He went inside and purchased a ball cap and sunglasses.

  Elliot walked outside after putting on the cap and glasses and waited beside the corner of the building until someone came along and left their car running. The prize was a little unexpected, a low-slung Honda with tinted windows and loud music pouring from the interior. He’d hoped for something less conspicuous, but it was pretty much a take-what-you-could-get situation.

  As soon as the driver ducked into the store, Elliot jumped into the vehicle and backed out, straightening the car quickly as he left the parking lot. He drove back to the expressway and pulled onto the entrance ramp, the urgent sensation that he needed to get to Carmen growing stronger by the minute. It was as if a channel between them had been opened, instigated by his feelings for her that he had secreted away, only to be released and awakened by their recent reconnection. He suspected the path he’d taken would surely end in disaster, but Carmen was all that mattered now, she and Wayne.

  As Elliot drew near the outskirts of Porter, he knew the radical car he was driving would draw attention. It couldn’t be helped. He held the wheel tightly and drove to Carmen’s house. When he arrived, he pulled off the road and parked on the grassy shoulder, thoughts of what he might encounter swirling through his head.

  The dull sound of metal clanking together behind Elliot told him he’d gotten out of the car, and the increasing size of the front door said he was moving in that direction, though his feet didn’t feel the ground. Then something that made his blood run cold caught his attention, gripping his heart with fear. No one answered his banging on the door or his stabbing of the bell. No one answered because no one was there, and no one was there because it was there: the same cursed message that’d been on the window of Johnnie’s car. It wasn’t a Johnnie Boy was here, or even a Johnnie Boy, but an interrupted, scribbled-in-paint Johnnie B. But it was there and it was enough.

  Elliot tried the door but it was locked. He took a step back and delivered a hard kick, but it held fast. It’d been dead-bolted. He reached for the Glock and he saw his hand take aim as the blast busted the lock, taking part of the door with it.

  Walls flew past Elliot’s field of vision, walls of pictures and family things, but no real family came with them. They were gone. He’d taken them. Elliot continued through the house, calling for anyone, but he received no answer. Defeated, he slowly retraced his steps. As he was about to leave, he heard a muffled cry coming from the closet by the front door. He readied his weapon and flung the door open, but what he saw there was not an intruder. It was Wayne, huddling in the corner, frightened to tears.

  “Please don’t hurt me, mister.”

  Elliot holstered the weapon and brought Wayne to his feet, pulling him close, the boy’s head falling against his stomach. “It’s okay,” Elliot said softly. “I won’t hurt you.” Seconds later, he asked, “Do you know where your mother is?”

  Wayne shook his head. “Someone was at the house. I was riding my bike, and as I came down the street I saw a car. It looked like they were fighting and she was trying to make my mom get in the car. I rode real fast, but by the time I got there, the car was pulling away. I tried to follow them but I couldn’t keep up. I went back to the house but no one was there. Mom was gone. When I heard you at the front door, I thought they’d come back for me so I hid in the closet.” Wayne began sobbing again.

  “It’s all right. You did the best you could.” Elliot said, pausing to stoke the soft hair of Wayne’s head. “Did you see who it was?”

  The boy shook his head. “Just some lady.”

  “What kind of car was it?”

  “I don’t know. A brown one, I think.”

  Elliot let go of his son, thinking about what the boy had said, and as Elliot reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper Rachael Kincaid had given him with her phone number on it, bringing the note to his face and taking in the sweet smell of perfume that lingered there, it all fell into place. A suspicion that’d been forming for some time solidified into an understanding. “All right,” he said. “You did good. Is there a friend or someone you could stay with? I have to go find your mother.”

  Wayne shook his head. “No, I want to go with you.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Please, Mr. Elliot? I don’t want to go to anybody’s house. I’m scared. I want to go with you.”

  Against his better judgment, Elliot agreed. To be honest, he wasn’t crazy about the idea of letting the boy out of his sight, anyway.

  Elliot drove into town, pulling into the parking lot of Nick’s garage. Leaving Wayne in the car, he started toward the office door. It was padlocked. Pressing his face against the glass, he peered inside but saw only darkness. As he turned away, walking toward the garage bay doors, he heard the sound of another car pulling into the lot, and when he turned back he saw Chief Johnson walking toward him with his weapon drawn and ready. Johnson paused directly in front of him, and Elliot saw something familiar in the chief’s eyes. They showed fear and anger, but they also reflected concern. “What are you doing here, Kenny?”

  When Elliot spoke, his voice was ragged. “Carmen’s gone. Wayne saw someone take her. You have to help me find her.”

  Johnson stepped closer, his eyes watering as he reached inside Elliot’s jacket and took the Glock. “You need to come with me.”

  Charlie was old and slow, and Elliot could easily have broken away, but he suspected the old police officer knew where Carmen was and the only way he was going to find out for sure was to cooperate. “Sure,” he said, “just give me a minute.”

  Elliot walked over to the car where Wayne was. Speaking softly, he said, “Will you do me a favor?”

  Wayne nodded.

  “Something’s not right here.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Yeah,” Elliot said. “Here’s what I want you to do. I’m going to get in the car with Chief Johnson. After we’ve gone, go to the police station and wait for me there. If I’m not back in one hour, tell Deputy Stanton everything that’s happened. But not until then, okay?”

  “This is about my mom, isn’t it? Something bad has happened to her. Why do things like this have to happen?”

  “I don’t know,” Elliot said. “There are a lot of bad people out there. But there are a lot of good ones, too. And as long as we have people like your mom around, it’s still worth fighting for.”

  “Is my mom going to be okay?”

  “I’ll find her,” Elliot said.

  Johnson stood beside his car, waiting, and when Elliot got there the chief put him in the backseat behind the security cage. “The word’s out,” Johnson said. “You’re a wanted man. I have to take you in.”

  “All right,” Elliot said, “but first tell me where Carmen is.”

  “What makes you think I know?”

  “Your boy left his calling card on her door.”

  “Don’t worry, she’s safe. She called and told me about seeing the prowler again. I told her she could stay at my place for awhile until things blew over.”

  “She’s at your house?”

  Johnson didn’t answer.

  “I need to see her, Charlie. I need to kno
w she’s safe. Then you can take me in.”

  Charlie Johnson put the car in gear and backed out of the parking lot. “I wish I could help you, Kenny, but it’s kind of out of my hands now.” Then he whispered, almost to himself, “It’s gone too far.”

  Elliot didn’t like the sound of Charlie’s voice, and a heavy sinking sensation came over him. “Why don’t you let me go, tell them I got away?”

  Johnson seemed to think it over then shook his head. “It’s too late for that. Where would you go? Where would you hide?”

  “Maybe I won’t have to. Come on, Charlie. We both know you can prove I’m innocent.”

  Charlie didn’t stop at the municipal building, but kept on driving, pulling off the main road to circle around the back way, and when Charlie turned onto Dixieland Avenue, Elliot’s suspicion of bad things to come increased tenfold. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  “You said you wanted to see Carmen.”

  “This isn’t the way to your place.”

  “I know. Just be patient.”

  Elliot saw where they were going, and when Charlie Johnson pulled to the side of the road, stopping the car in front of the old house where Elliot had lived as a child, a knot formed in his stomach. “Why are we stopping here?”

  “It’s a good place to hide, don’t you think?”

  Elliot began to wonder if Charlie had reconsidered his plea and was still willing to help him. Somehow he didn’t think so.

  Charlie got out of the car, opened the back door, and stepped back. Porter’s chief of police might have been slow, but he wasn’t stupid, and Elliot knew for a fact that he was deadly accurate with the .38 he was aiming at Elliot’s head. He gestured for Elliot to walk toward the house, and as they tramped through the weeds, finally reaching the front door, Elliot suspected he’d better start buying some time. Trouble was ahead, even more than the usual trouble that blew like dust through the streets of Porter.

  “Open the door,” Charlie said, “and step inside.”

  Elliot did as he was told. Charlie came in behind him and closed the door.

  “I know more about this than you think, Charlie.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Your sister, Cynthia,” Elliot said. “She married someone you didn’t like very much, a man named Terrance Kincaid. Looks like you were right about him all along. Together he and your sister turned out some pretty disturbed children. By the way, I had a little chat with your friend, Bob Crawley, the newspaper editor. He said you were quite the hero, saved a few people from becoming prisoners of war. One of them was Lyndon Shriver. I had a little chat with him, too. He feels indebted to you, even after he falsified the autopsy reports.”

  Johnson’s eyes darted back and forth. “So maybe it all ends here.”

  “Maybe,” Elliot said, “but you can’t be sure. Perhaps I told someone else what I know. Maybe I even wrote it down somewhere, just in case something like this happened.”

  The look on Charlie’s face was that of a caged animal. “You’re lying, trying to save your skin.”

  “Why don’t you tell me where Carmen is?”

  “Turn around and face the wall,” Charlie said.

  Again Elliot did as he was told. “There’s been a lot of killing, Charlie. It’s time to put a stop to it.”

  “The time for talk is over, son.”

  “ I know about your nephew. I always wondered about that little back room on your house. I had a look around in there while you were getting dressed after I came to visit. I saw the autographed football. It was your nephew’s. He stayed there, didn’t he? You can’t protect him forever.”

  Charlie didn’t answer.

  Elliot waited a few seconds then slowly turned around, but Charlie Johnson was gone. Elliot was alone. He started for the door, but a sharp pain across the back of his head brought him to his knees. For a moment he couldn’t see. It was all he could do to hold onto consciousness. Then someone grabbed his hand and began to cuff him, but whoever it was, Elliot could tell they didn’t have experience. He let the stranger find his left wrist, but when he felt the touch of metal on his right one he moved his hand, creating a maligned position. It hurt like hell as the binding clamped shut just below his knuckles, but with effort he thought he could wiggle free.

  Once secured, Elliot was led into the back bedroom where blankets had been put over the windows, and when Elliot’s captor closed the door, darkness enclosed the room. Someone else was in the room as well. Elliot could hear him breathing. He took a guess. “You don’t want to do this, Charlie. You’re in enough trouble already.”

  “You’re the one that’s in trouble. Everybody thinks you’re guilty. It’ll look like just another one of your murders, a lover’s spat gone bad. Since they’ll find you here and know they already have their man, it’ll blow over in a few months and everything will be fine.”

  “No it won’t, Charlie. The killing won’t stop. If you think it will, you’re fooling yourself. How many lives have to be wasted before you wake up?”

  Johnson stabbed a gun barrel into Elliot’s head. “Shut up.”

  Thoughts of rushing the aging police officer and throwing him to the ground went through Elliot’s mind, but a strong hand on his shoulder followed by another gun against his head put his escape attempt on hold. And then a battery powered lamp was turned on, and when the light crept across the room, Elliot saw Carmen, fastened to the wall, her eyes half-closed as if she’d been drugged, with only the binding chains keeping her from falling to the floor. But that wasn’t all the light revealed. It also showed the identity of their true captor, the one who held the other gun to Elliot’s head.

  She laughed, then strode across the room and sat on a tall swivel chair, her long legs crossing. In one hand she held a cigarette, but the other toted a Glock handgun, probably, Elliot suspected, the one Charlie had taken from him. It was Rachael Johnson—or more correctly Rachael Kincaid. “Hello, Kenny,” she said. “I should’ve killed you a long time ago. It certainly would’ve simplified things. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. You see, we have a kinship of sorts, a metaphysical snafu that tangled up our destinies.” She paused and smiled, pain showing in her eyes. “Now it seems we’ve come full circle. You should’ve left well enough alone. But you want to know what bothers me the most about this? I was really starting to like you. We could’ve had something special together.” She stopped and looked at Carmen. “I just love Hispanic women, Kenny. They’re so sexy. You two will have plenty of time to get reacquainted. It’ll take awhile for anyone to find you here, and even when they do, it’ll be like my uncle said: a lover’s spat gone bad. You simply got mad and killed your little girlfriend. Then, out of remorse, you took your own life.”

  “Why don’t you let her go?” Elliot asked. “It’s me you want, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I just can’t do that. Too many loose ends, and all here for the tying.”

  Elliot took several deep breaths, but his throbbing hand refused to relax. He had to hurry. Swelling would soon set in, and if that happened he could kiss freedom good-bye. He began to pull, not a yank like a thorn removal, but a slow pressure that sent shards of pain through his hand. “I know why you do what you do,” he said, “killing those beautiful women. Why don’t we talk about it?”

  She glared at Elliot. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m not your killer.”

  “But you did murder Lagayle Zimmerman.”

  Rachael shook her head. “I had to,” she said, getting off the chair and walking toward Carmen. “She would’ve ruined everything. Just like your little girlfriend here.”

  Elliot had to distract Rachael, keep her occupied. “Let’s not forget my friend, Officer David Conley.”

  “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

  “But you did. You’re just as bad as your brother. In fact, you’re just like him. After all, you are twins, aren’t you, Ralph?”

  In a voice that had already become louder and deeper
, Rachael said, “Don’t call me that. I’m not Ralph. Ralph’s dead.”

  “No,” Elliot said, “you are. I found your grave in your backyard.”

  In an instant, Rachael’s face went from ice to fire, and her jaw twitched as she took off the wig, letting it drop to the floor like a dead rat. Then she paused, as if she hadn’t caught up with herself, the transition being much more than a simple charade. Her presence actually seemed to change as she shook off her well-worn femininity, but when she removed her contact lenses, lowering her head and dropping them one by one into her cupped hand, it was then that Elliot saw the little boy who’d lived like he wasn’t there, locked away and hidden from the world as if he were no more than a thought in someone’s mind. And once again, Elliot found himself looking into those eyes, the ones that had peered through the car window at him and Marcia Barnes that night, and at that moment he came to realize he was standing face to face with Rachael’s brother. He was looking into the disturbed, hazel eyes of Ralph Kincaid. It was the strangest thing Elliot had ever witnessed, and had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would not have believed it.

  Elliot glanced at Charlie Johnson, who looked completely dazed. “I know all about you, Ralph. We used to see you walking through Miller’s field and sitting in the stands at the football games. And let’s not forget, peeking through the windows of parked cars at the Point.”

  Ralph Kincaid lowered the Glock then pulled a knife from the purse he carried, a black-handled knife. “You should’ve quit while you were ahead, cop. Now I’m going to do your girlfriend, fix her up real nice. And you get to watch.”