Blood Angel

by Bernard Schaffer

  The only furniture in the room were couches and worn-out easy chairs with ripped sides and stuffing that showed through the cushions. One corner was filled with bright orange bean bags made of vinyl, in case no one could find a seat. That wasn’t going to be a problem, Tucker thought. He saw only one other inmate in the room and a middle-aged, bored-looking monitor sitting in the corner, reading a newspaper.

  “Go on in there,” the guard said. “Mind yourself and don’t cause any problems, and you’ll be all right. Don’t be nervous.”

  The door closed behind Tucker and he could hear the lock activate, shutting him in. The monitor was a middle-aged man with long, floppy hair that had turned silver on the sides. It was tucked behind his ears and fanned outward, like duck wings. He licked his thumb and flipped a page on his newspaper, snapping it as he raised the page to read the headlines printed there. His wet thumb was black with ink and smeared the newsprint on the pages he held.

  The monitor folded the newspaper forward to look at him and Tucker turned away. He went to the bookshelves and ran his finger across the spines of the books lined up there. The only one he recognized was the Bible.

  Tucker was about to pull it out when he jerked at the feeling of someone’s hot breath in his ear. It was the other boy. He was tall and lanky and he said, “Are you into Jesus?”

  “Mr. Moon,” the monitor called out from behind his newspaper. “Calm yourself, please.”

  Gregory Moon hiked up his elbows and knees like a cartoonish minstrel, dancing when he said, “Nice and quiet, now. Keep it down. Don’t disturb the loonies. They get agitated and start squawking and next thing you know they’re smearing themselves with their own shit so when the guards come in to grab them, that’s what they grab. What’s your name?”

  “Leave me alone,” Tucker said. He sat on one of the bean bags and opened the Bible to read it.

  “That’s good you’re reading that,” Moon said, sitting down beside him, pointing at the page. “It’s good for your brain. Lots of ideas in there. You ever read it before?”

  “Many times,” Tucker said.

  “My mother always wanted me to love Jesus. Hey. What did you do to get in here?”

  “Nothing,” Tucker said, turning the other way.

  “If you did nothing, you wouldn’t be in this room,” Moon said. “Maybe another one, but not this room. This is the last room before they put you in with the loonies. So who was it? Your mother? Your sister? It was your mother, wasn’t it?”

  Tucker tried to get away but Moon followed close behind him. “Just tell me who it was. Give me a few details. That won’t hurt. Come on. I’m tired of what I did and I need something new. What did you do? Did you ever have a nurse? My last one was a nurse. Tell me what you did and I’ll tell you all about what I did to her. Come on. Tell me.”

  “Mr. Moon,” the monitor called out. “That’s enough. Go sit down and leave him alone.”

  Moon held out his hands in disbelief. “Look, I just want to know if he fucked her before he killed her or after! Is that so much to ask?”

  “That is enough!” the monitor shouted, tossing the paper aside. “One more remark like that and you’re going into solitary. Do you understand?”

  Moon drew a line across his mouth, zippering it shut. He slinked back to the other side of the room, all knees and elbows once more. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, muttering against it, like the words would leap out of him at any moment if he did not keep them physically restrained. He watched Tucker the whole time.

  Tucker turned one of the beanbag chairs around so he did not have to look at Moon and collapsed down inside it. He was lost in despair and could feel it welling in his chest. He was going to cry. Everything had gone so impossibly wrong after everything was going so impossibly good. He had failed and he had lost everything in the process. He thought that he would most likely kill himself when he realized a woman was sitting in a chair directly across from him.

  She had long black hair and bright green eyes that peered at him from behind a pair of cat-eyed glasses. Her lips were bright red and full, and she smiled at him. Hello, Tucker, she said.

  She crossed her long, bare legs, visible from the upper reaches of her thigh down to the curve of her foot where she let her high-heeled shoe dangle from her toes. She wore a gleaming white lab coat and a blouse, left open to reveal the clasp of her bra. A long silver stethoscope dangled between her breasts, and she toyed with it with the tips of her carefully painted fingernails. I see you’ve made a new friend, she said.

  “He’s not my friend,” Tucker said, turning around to see if Moon was still staring at him. The maniac’s eyes lit up when he saw Tucker looking, but Tucker spun back around, getting out of view. “He’s crazy.”

  Crazy people can be useful. You should try to get along with him, she said.

  Someone screamed from across the hall, a blood-curdling howl from deep within the caverns of the solitary confinement cells. It set off the rest of loonies, making them pound the doors and shriek. It went on and on until he let go of the Bible and put his hands over his ears, pressing them tight. “I hate this place,” he whimpered.

  The woman leaned forward so no one else could hear her. If you show them that you are afraid, they will use it against you, Tucker.

  “Who are you?” He pointed at her stethoscope. “Are you my doctor?”

  One of them. The most important one. I’m the one you’re going to talk to about all of the things you don’t tell anyone else. And I’m going to help you.

  “Will you help me get out of this place?” he asked. Hot tears were forming in his eyes and making them sting. “I don’t want to be around these people. I want to go home. I really just want to be home, okay?”

  If you do everything I tell you, the way I tell you to do it, then you will be. Will you listen to me?

  “I’ll try,” he said. He glanced at the corner of the room where the monitor was sitting. The man’s face was still hidden behind the newspaper.

  Good, she said. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

  “The beginning of what?”

  The beginning of you, of course. When you first realized your true destiny. Tell me about The Master.

  “I’ve lost him,” Tucker groaned. The tears were blinding him, making everything swirl and blur, except the woman. “I’ve lost him and I’ll never find him now.”

  Don’t cry, Tucker. You must be strong in this place.

  “All right,” he said. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and took a deep breath to settle himself down.

  There you are. Now start at the beginning, and we can find him together.

  “You don’t think he’s gone?” Tucker asked.

  My dear, sweet Tucker. You can never lose what you are.

  FIFTEEN YEARS LATER

  4

  “Do you remember the man who saved us, Nubs?”

  The little girl looked down at the menu on the table, avoiding the question, as she always did whenever Carrie Santero brought up that night. Almost two years had passed since they’d stood together in the locked room, Carrie holding the shivering child, ready to sacrifice her own life if it meant Nubs would escape. Two years since Jacob Rein had appeared in the doorway standing over the monster’s body, clutching the bloody stump of his right wrist. All he’d wanted to do was see the little girl, to get one good look at her alive and breathing. Carrie remembered the way Jacob smiled then. How his eyes fluttered shut and he fell.

  A third menu was laying on the table in front of an empty seat, beside an unused place setting. The waitress appeared. “Will your guest be joining you soon, or would you like to order now?”

  “Just give us a few more minutes,” Carrie said.

  Nubs pushed her menu away. “You already know what I want.”

  “Chicken and fries.” Carrie sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want to try anything else? There’s an entire menu of other stuff. How about a burger?”

  “Nope.”
>
  “If I get something you’ve never had before, will you at least try some of mine?”

  “Nope. Just chicken and fries.”

  “Oh,” Carrie said. She turned the menu over to look at the drink section. “I guess we don’t need to get any of these fancy milkshakes, if that’s all you want. Just plain water to drink, then?”

  “Hold it!” Nubs said. She yanked the menu back and flipped it over, smiling as she scanned the selection of milkshakes.

  Carrie draped her arm across the little girl’s back and stroked her hair as she read. It was a luxury just to feel Nubs breathe. To sit with her at a restaurant and do normal things and have a normal life. She’d never lost sight of that in the two years since that awful night.

  Carrie looked at the restaurant’s front door as a couple entered. The man held the door for his wife. They held hands quietly as they waited for the hostess to greet them.

  Jacob Rein wasn’t coming, Carrie thought. Why was she surprised?

  “Aunt Carrie,” Nubs said. “I have something to tell you.”

  “What is it, sweetie?”

  “I don’t want to be called Nubs anymore.”

  “You don’t?” Carrie asked. “Why not? Is somebody teasing you because of your name?” Carrie felt her face get hot. Did she need to go to the school and have a chat with the principal? Did she maybe need to wait in the parking lot for the fat cow of a mother who raised a fat cow of a child that was picking on Nubs because of her name? If somebody’s ass had to get kicked, that was no problem, Carrie thought. Bring it on.

  “I just don’t like it anymore,” Nubs said. “It doesn’t sound like a real name. You have a real name. Grannie has a real name. I just don’t want to be called Nubs anymore, that’s all.”

  “Honey. Nubs is what your mommy always called you.”

  “I know. But she’s not here,” Nubs said with a light shrug.

  The waitress reappeared at the table, flashing a wide smile. “Okay, are we ready to order some delicious food? I thought I heard somebody say something about milkshakes!”

  Carrie felt tears in her eyes and wiped them away as fast as she could. Nubs said, “I’m getting chicken and fries, and a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and sprinkles.”

  “That sounds wonderful! And how about you, Mom?” the waitress asked.

  Carrie took a sip of water and cleared her throat. “Just Aunt. Not Mom,” she managed to say. She pointed at a salad on the menu, letting the waitress know what to bring.

  When they were alone, Nubs leaned against her. “Are you upset with me?”

  “No, baby. You’re just growing up, that’s all.” Carrie wiped her cheeks with a napkin. “So what do you want to be called?”

  “Natalie. That’s my name, right? I figure Mommy wouldn’t mind, since that’s what she named me.”

  “Okay,” Carrie whispered. She leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Natalie it is, from now on.”

  * * *

  Carrie lifted the little girl out of the backseat and raised her up against her chest, getting Natalie’s head nestled against her neck. She kicked the car door shut and hurried up the sidewalk. Penny was already standing on the porch with her hands on her hips, looking down at them. “It’s a little late. She has school tomorrow.”

  “I know, I know,” Carrie said, climbing up the steps. “We were having too much fun to come home.”

  Penny grabbed the door and pulled it open for her. “She tell you it’s Natalie now?”

  “She certainly did.” Carrie stopped inside the entrance and sniffed the air inside the living room. “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?” Penny asked sheepishly.

  “That! The cigarette smoke I smell.” She glared at Penny, “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “I had one!” Penny said. “First in six months. What’s the big deal? I took two drags and threw it out. I realized I don’t even like them anymore. There. Now I can be done forever.”

  “I found Grannie smoking two days ago,” Natalie said, eyes still closed. “She’s been doing it in the basement since.”

  “Aha!” Carrie said. “Caught red-handed!”

  “Oh no,” Penny said, waving her hands in the air as she retreated into the kitchen. “No way. I had to put up with you and Molly ganging up on me all those years, I am not going to put up with it from you and the kid now! Forget it!”

  Natalie giggled against Carrie’s chest and said, “We’re gonna team up all the time, right?”

  “You bet your butt we are.” Carrie held up her hand. “High five, partner?”

  Natalie slapped her hand. “High five.”

  Carrie felt her pocket vibrate and let Natalie down. She saw the words County Dispatch on the screen and held it to her ear. “Detective Santero, can I help you?”

  “This is nine-one-one, Operator four-fifteen. Are you available to assist Terrell Township with an investigation?”

  “Did you already try the on-call detective? Tonight’s not my night,” Carrie said.

  “We’ve been trying for a little while, but no one’s picking up,” the dispatcher said. “I saw your name coming up most often on the computer so I figured you’re the one who always answers your phone.”

  “That will teach me,” Carrie said. “What do they have?”

  “D.O.A., adult female. Came in as a suicide.”

  Carrie looked at the time. Natalie was going to bed soon anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to pick up a little overtime, she thought. “Sure, I’ll respond. Text me the details.”

  She bent down to give Natalie a hug. “Aunt Carrie’s gotta go to work, baby. You get some sleep, okay?”

  Natalie said she would. Carrie kissed her and they wrapped their arms around one another again. “Love you so much.”

  “Love you too,” Natalie said.

  Penny emerged from the kitchen, holding a full coffee mug in one hand and a to-go cup in the other. “I heard,” Penny said.

  Carrie took the to-go cup and sniffed it. “There’s no liquor in this, right?”

  “Not enough for anyone to notice.” Penny leaned in and kissed Carrie on the cheek. “You be careful out there, you hear me?”

  “I will,” Carrie said. “Stop smoking.”

  “I already did.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I’m the police.”

  “And I’m practically your mother.”

  “Good point,” Carrie said. “I’ll call you in the morning. Good night.”

  Penny held the screen door open on the porch and called out, “Hey, I mean it. Be careful.”

  “I’m always careful,” Carrie said, tapping the right side of her hip where she kept her gun.

  * * *

  The GPS guided her through the unmarked roads that wound through the dark woods leading toward Terrell Township. Terrell was a small town, even by Vieira County’s standards. People who lived in small towns, out in the deep woods, were there for a reason. Usually, not good ones.

  The night air was humid and dense. It was mid-October and she was still using her air conditioner. Her windshield fogged and she flicked on her wipers, leaving a wet smear across its glass surface.

  Carrie saw a wooden sign for CHUVALO TRAILER PARK—SLABS AVAILABLE ahead and turned at the entrance. At ten o’clock at night, the park was still alive with activity. People sat on folding chairs in front of their trailers drinking beer and tossing the empty cans into trash bags hung from their mailboxes. Some had firepits dug in the ground, surrounded by ornate stone arrangements. Some just had rusted-out metal barrels where the flames licked through the openings along the sides of the barrel like winding fiery tongues.

  There were flags strung from the trailers like medieval banners. American flags, Confederate flags, NASCAR flags, Steelers flags, and dozens for Budweiser. One of the trailers had a sign in the front window that read FUCK WITH ME AND YOU FUCK WITH THE WHOLE TRAILER PARK.

  Carrie saw two police cars parked at the far end of the lot. They were facing the last
trailer in the lot, wedged against the wooden fence surrounding the property.

  The trailer’s door was open, and Carrie could see one officer standing in front of it, guarding it to keep anyone from going inside. The second officer leaned over the open door of his police car. He was tall and skinny, with a long neck and an Adam’s apple that looked like he’d swallowed a cue ball. He reminded Carrie of Ichabod Crane, from the old cartoon.

  A crowd of people roamed the street nearby, wanting to see what was going on but not wanting to get too close. They clustered together and gossiped and pointed but none of them said anything directly to the cops.

  Carrie parked behind the police cars and radioed the dispatcher that she was on-scene. As she went to get out of her car, Ichabod Crane came around the side and rapped his fingers on her window. “You the detective?”

  “That’s right,” Carrie said. “You called?”

  “Great. I need you to back your car up so I can get out of here.”

  “How about you give me a second to take a look at what we have first?”

  “No can do,” he said. “I have to get going.”

  Carrie turned and looked at the people skulking in the shadows. There were a lot more of them than she thought. She pointed past Ichabod at the officer standing at the trailer and said, “Is he staying? I could use someone to watch my back while I’m in there.”

  Ichabod worked up a batch of tobacco spit and let it fly. He cocked his head and hollered, “Jimmy, you staying?”

  “Does she need me to?”

  Ichabod looked back at her. “Do you need him to? That’ll leave just me to answer calls.”

  “You understand this is your township, right?” Carrie said. “I’m just here to assist you with the investigation, not just get it dumped in my lap.”

  Ichabod turned his head and spat again. “Jimmy, stay and give her a hand but keep your ear to the radio in case we get any calls.”

  “Ten-four,” Jimmy said.

  “He said he’ll stay,” Ichabod told her.

  “Yes, I heard,” Carrie said.