Blood Angel

by Bernard Schaffer

  The microwave dinged and he pulled the plate out. It was hot to the touch. He peeled away the plastic covering and picked up the pork chop with his fingers. It came apart at the first bite. He smiled as he chewed and said, “You really did a good job with this pork chop, Lori. It’s fantastic.”

  He found the silverware drawer and grabbed a spoon. He made short work of the mashed potatoes. Fluffy and buttery and perfect. He took a swig of cold water to wash it down. He picked the pork chop back up and gnawed the rest of the meat from the bone, then set the bone back on the plate and licked his fingers. “Delicious,” he said. He passed on the green beans and scraped the plate off at the trash can then put it in the sink. He turned on the sink faucet and pumped a few squirts of All-Vegan Coco-Castilian hand soap into his palms, then scrubbed them together. “That’s it for me, folks,” he said as he rinsed his hands. “Time to go. I’m sorry we couldn’t have spent more time together. I’m sure you understand.”

  Lori O’Keefe was sitting on the couch with her back turned toward him, facing the dark screen of their large television. Both of her arms were draped over her children, who leaned against her on either side. Cute little Peyton and her younger brother, Jayden or Kayden or whatever it was.

  They were sitting in the same place they had been when Lori’s husband came home. The only difference was, the TV had been on then. Now, he was sitting on the couch next to them.

  “All right, then.” Moon waved and said, “Good night.”

  He let himself out through the back door and took a deep breath of the cold night air. The moon was full and bright enough that he didn’t need the O’Keefes’ flashlight to see. He left it in his schoolbag next to the assorted screwdrivers and rolls of duct tape and box cutter. The only weapon he kept on himself was a long hunting blade with a carbonized finish and a drop-point tip. He slid the knife into a leather sheath hanging from his belt as he came down the O’Keefes’ driveway and made a right.

  Bill Waylon’s house was directly in front of him, but he knew better than to approach from the front. He went the wide way around, inspecting the house as he walked. All the lights were off. He checked the sides and edges of the roof for motion detectors. There weren’t any.

  One of the unanticipated benefits to spending so much time inside the O’Keefes’ home, and to them living in such a disgustingly typical suburban neighborhood, was that all of the houses were basically built the same. By taking the time to study the interior of the O’Keefes’ house, he’d been able to familiarize himself with what to expect inside the Waylons’.

  There was a basement window in the back of the O’Keefes’ that was big enough for him to fit through. He liked the idea of a basement entry much better than trying to come in through the front door or a side window. He crept along the side wall until he reached the back and stopped. The Waylons had a wooden deck built off the back of their house, several feet off the ground. Moon ducked under the deck into the weeds and grass that grew below it. It was too dark to see, and he didn’t want to risk using the flashlight. He crawled along the ground, feeling the wall with his left hand. It was unfinished stone, and more unfinished stone, until he found the edge of a window’s metal frame. Just like the one in the O’Keefes’ basement, it opened sideways.

  Moon retrieved his long flathead screwdriver from his schoolbag and popped the window screen out. It was cheap and weak and bent easily. He laid it on the grass and wedged the screwdriver into the narrow space between the window and its frame. He was glad he’d sharpened it. The ribs attached to Linda Shelley’s spine had been surprisingly strong. They’d chipped the screwdriver’s metal tip when he pried them out.

  He rocked the screwdriver back and forth, trying to create enough space between the frame and the window to unseat it. He squeezed his fingers through the gap and rotated the screwdriver until it finally popped the window out of its lower ledge. It would have fallen on the ground and crashed to pieces if he hadn’t been holding it. He pinched the window with his fingertips and held it tight as he worked his other hand through the opening. He managed to turn the window at enough of an angle to pull it clear. He laid the window on top of the screen and sat for a second, catching his breath.

  Something moved behind him.

  Moon spun with the knife in his hand. He sliced a wide arc, but the blade met nothing but darkness. He held his breath and searched. There was nothing but birds in the distant trees and someone’s central air unit humming nearby.

  He leaned back in through the basement window and turned the flashlight on to check what was inside. There was nothing but boxes and bins and a bare concrete floor. He lowered his schoolbag down through the window as far as he could reach, so that when he let go, it landed quietly. He stuck his feet through and shimmied his body down past the window and clung to the frame until his feet landed.

  He squatted on the basement floor and forced himself to breathe. A deep breath in through his nose that he held. A long, slow, breath out through his lips. He needed to go slow. He needed to not get excited.

  Moon went up the basement stairs and opened the door to enter the Waylons’ kitchen. It was dark, but he turned right as he passed the refrigerator and found himself in the hallway leading to the front door. He crept toward the staircase and went up the first step, walking on the ledges where the wood was strongest. They creaked as he ascended but were no louder than branches scratching the house’s siding, not even as loud as the wind rippling through the trees that made the branches move.

  At the top of the landing on the second floor, he saw the master bedroom with a closed door on the right. There were two bedrooms and a bathroom on the left. The bathroom door was open. Moon leaned his head in and looked around. One of the bedroom doors was open as well. It was empty. The other was shut.

  There was no decision as to who he needed first. If he went after Bill Waylon or his wife, the man would fight. The wife would run into her daughter’s room and call the police.

  But if he took the girl first, there would be no fight. There would only be the sound of the girl pleading and her mother and father promising to do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t hurt her.

  Moon twisted the bedroom’s doorknob and opened it.

  His eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough that he could see the white dresser to his left. It was cluttered with perfume bottles and deodorant and hair supplies. There were posters on the walls and clothing scattered on the floor around the hamper instead of in it and shoes piled in front of the closet and there, at the other end of the room, the blond-haired girl lying in bed with her back turned to him.

  He raised the knife as he moved across the room toward her. His feet were silent on the bedroom’s carpet. He felt himself crossing the threshold toward eternity. He was the master now. The O’Keefes had been mere prologue. What he would do now was his first full symphony.

  As he drew near, the girl rolled over. He realized she was looking at him. Her hands came up from beneath the blanket, holding something. She pointed it at his face. He heard a gentle electronic hum and the last thing he saw was a pulsating light that burst into his eyes like a million suns.

  Moon cried out and raised his hand to shield his face, but the light flickered so brightly that it found its way through his fingers. All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and not move.

  “Look at that light for more than a few seconds and you’ll have a seizure, asshole,” Carrie Santero said. “Take one step forward with that knife and trust that I will gut shoot you.”

  She kept the gun on him and had to wiggle out from under the covers to get free. The strobe had worked perfectly. Shout-out to Australia, she thought.

  Moon’s head was buried in the crook of his left arm. He moaned into it, saying, “Stop! I can’t see. Why are you doing this to me?”

  “You’re under arrest! Drop the knife and I’ll shut it off.”

  Through the strobe’s flicker, she saw Jacob Rein come into the doorway behind Moon. She expe
cted him to grab the knife and put Moon on the ground. Instead, he reached for the wall and flipped on the bedroom’s overhead light. The overhead light dispersed the strobes pattern and rendered it harmless. Carrie flicked the strobe off. “Rein, what are you doing?”

  Moon lowered his arm and blinked, trying to let his eyes adjust. He sniveled and glared at her like a rodent with red-rimmed eyes. Snot bubbles popped from his nostrils with his every clutched breath.

  “Drop the knife!” Carrie shouted.

  Rein closed the bedroom door. “Don’t put it down, Gregory. You need it.”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Carrie shouted.

  “Ending this.”

  “We are ending this,” she agreed. “By taking him in.”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Goddamn it, Jacob! He’s caught!”

  “Listen to the girl,” Moon said. He wiped his nose with his free hand. He turned around to face Rein. “Let her arrest me.”

  Rein took a step sideways, moving slowly. Moon circled away from him.

  “They’ll take me out of jail and put me in a hospital and keep me there until the money runs out and I’m suddenly cured.” Moon laughed at the idea. “It might take a while, but they’ll eventually let me out.”

  “I know they will,” Rein said.

  “And then, we’ll see each other again. We’ll all see each other one last time, Detective. I promise.”

  “I believe you,” Rein said. He stepped in front of Carrie, blocking her view. She yelled at him to move and Moon sprang forward with the knife, lunging for Rein’s jugular. Rein turned aside just as the blade’s edge sailed past his exposed neck. He spun back, coming up from below with an open palm that struck the side of Moon’s jaw so hard, it made his entire body wobble.

  Rein grabbed the knife away and pulled Moon in close. He held Moon close to his chest like they were embracing, while he yanked Moon’s head back by his ponytail. Moon’s eyes were wide open, fixed on the knife in Rein’s hands.

  Rein struck downward with two quick thrusts at Moon’s face. Moon screeched and Rein released him.

  Carrie watched in horror as Moon writhed and shrieked on the floor. He clutched his face and blood streamed through his fingers.

  Rein wiped the knife’s blade on the leg of his pants and stepped away, giving the man plenty of room to convulse and flop around.

  “What did you do?” Carrie whispered. She could barely hear herself over Moon’s high-pitched screams.

  Rein set the knife on the dresser behind him. He nodded to Carrie, “I’m under arrest. I surrender.”

  “What?”

  “You’re arresting me, as soon as we get him handcuffed.”

  Moon howled at them and spun himself around, kicking wildly. He kicked the wall and door, screaming in agony.

  There were tears in Carrie’s eyes. “Why did you do that? We had him. Why, Jacob?”

  “Don’t be upset. Everything is okay now.”

  The bedroom door flew open. Bill Waylon stood in the threshold, fully dressed and holding his revolver. He looked down at Gregory Moon, writhing on the ground. Blood spilled into Moon’s mouth from between his fingers. He gagged on it and coughed and spat it at them with every curse he hurled.

  Waylon had been barricaded in his bedroom with Jeri and Kate. Now, those two were huddled together on the bed, and Kate had her hands clamped over her ears.

  “It’s over, Bill,” Rein said.

  “It appears so,” Waylon said, glaring down at Moon. “You’re about to enter a whole new world. Prison as a blind man. Can’t think of anything worse. Son of a bitch, you’re getting blood all over my little girl’s room. Lay still.” He walked over and swung his foot back and kicked Moon in the side of the head with his boot. “Lay still, I said!”

  “Bill!” Carrie shouted.

  Moon went limp. His hands fell away from his face and she could see only black pools of blood where his eyes had once been. “Jesus Christ, I’ve got enough problems already. How the hell am I going to explain this?”

  “You aren’t,” Rein said. “When Bender gets here, I’ll tell him what happened. We can let him arrest me. I’m sure he’ll like that.”

  “Both of you sit there and shut your damn mouths,” Waylon snapped. He slid his revolver into the waistband of his jeans and straightened his back. “Not another word from either of you until I say so.”

  * * *

  An hour later, the house was flooded with police and paramedics. Jeri Waylon was downstairs in the kitchen, apologizing for not being prepared for so many people. The whole house smelled like coffee. She just kept making it, pot after pot.

  EMS had strapped Gregory Moon to a gurney and pumped him with morphine until he went limp. They packed his eye sockets with gauze, piling it into the wounds until the blood stopped seeping through, then they wound a bandage around his head to keep the gauze in place. There was a bloody outline of Moon’s body on the carpet. The arms and legs were splayed in a wide smear, shaped like snow angels made by children in the winter.

  Harv Bender came up the stairs, followed by Sal Vigoda. Both of them were holding full mugs of coffee. Bender leaned into Kate’s room where Waylon and Rein and Carrie were sitting. Waylon was massaging his throat and drinking a hot cup of tea Jeri had brought him to help soothe it so he could talk. “Evening, folks.”

  Bender walked in and stopped at the blood on the carpet. “Looks like the bad guy got the shit end of the stick tonight,” Bender said.

  “We got lucky,” Carrie said.

  Bender clapped Waylon on the back. “I just talked to your wife and daughter, Bill. They’re doing good. Strong. You should be real proud.”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  Bender glanced sideways at Carrie. “When did you know the killer wasn’t Pennington?”

  “Really not that long ago. We were chasing that lead and it just wound up being a different suspect. Pretty much happened by accident.”

  “Bullshit,” Bender said. “You left us sitting at Pennington’s house like idiots while you put this whole plan into motion.” He held up his hand before she could argue. “Don’t. No need to say anything.” He glanced sideways at Rein. “I know exactly where this came from.”

  Bill Waylon stepped forward. “Chief, I think the important thing here is that my family is safe and a deranged killer is off the streets. That’s all anyone is going to care about.”

  “Fair point,” Bender said. He looked at his watch. “The press is going to be here any minute, and you know who they’ll want to talk to. I need to find someone to assign this to first, I guess.”

  “I’ll take it,” Sal said, raising his hand.

  “You suddenly want to be a detective now?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “The sight of a little blood isn’t going to freak you out anymore?”

  “Not anymore, no.”

  “Fine,” Bender said as he walked back into the hall. “Take statements and get the crime scene folks in here afterward. Keep it simple. Bad guy’s in custody, no victims were injured, all’s well that ends well.”

  “Sounds good.” Sal set his coffee down on the dresser and pulled a notepad out of his pocket. “I guess I need to separate you all and get statements. Who wants to talk to me first?”

  “You don’t want to talk to them,” Waylon said. “They were too busy dealing with the bad guy. They’re probably traumatized. I saw everything. I was watching from the hall.”

  “What did you see?”

  “The suspect had a knife when he entered the room. Detective Santero pulled her weapon and ordered him to surrender. He didn’t want to surrender and went crazy.”

  “Bill,” Rein said.

  “You be quiet and let me say what I saw,” Bill said. “Moon didn’t want to surrender and he took the knife and he stabbed himself in the eyeballs. Boom and boom. Just like that.”

  “Jesus,” Sal said as he wrote. “What a maniac. Who does that?”
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  “After that, he fell on the ground and we called you. Pretty simple.”

  “Anything else?” Sal asked.

  Waylon winced and said, “I shouldn’t tell you this, but I gave him a little kick when he was down. I admit, it was wrong. I’ll take whatever punishment you feel is necessary.”

  “You kicked the guy who broke into your house and tried to kill your family in the most horrific way possible?” Sal said.

  “I must have been overcome with emotion.”

  “Sounds to me like you stumbled on the carpet and your foot slipped and accidentally made contact with his head, “ Sal said.

  “Maybe that’s what happened instead,” Waylon said. He touched his throat and winced. “I think that’s all you need. If you don’t mind, it hurts to talk. I can stop by tomorrow and give you a written statement if you want.”

  Sal scribbled a few notes on his pad. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Like the chief said, all’s well that ends well.”

  “So you’re staying in the office, Sal?” Carrie asked.

  “I figured you’d get lonely in that trailer without me.”

  “Well, I’m glad.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Sal said. “I guess I better go find the crime scene people.” He picked up his coffee mug and went back down the steps.

  When they were alone, Waylon walked over to the bed and sat between Carrie and Rein. He put his arm around Rein’s shoulders and they sat like that for a long time. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them had to.

  23

  “The phone is ringing, Ihan,” Jose said. “Aren’t you going to pick it up?”

  “I’m not answering the fucking phone. I’m about to win,” Ihan said. He looked through the cards in his hand. He held the makings of a straight, open at either end. “I think you want me to answer the phone so you don’t lose.”

  “I won’t lose to you, my friend. I have God on my side.”

  They all laughed at that.