Call Me Dreamer

by Ryan Maitland

  “Do we know what the killer used to burn the numbers into their skin?” Earl interrupted.

  “We’re pretty sure the killer used a soldering iron, or something like it,” Simon answered, giving a sigh at the end. “The numbers are irregular, so they were probably hand-printed. We think the victims were awake during this time because there are one or two spots where the numbers veer off slightly. We think this happened when the victim struggled while being branded. The wounds were cauterized in the process so there was little blood loss.”

  “I see,” Earl nodded. “And then?”

  “And then,” Simon paused once more to puff out his cheeks and run his hand over his hair. “And then, the killer injected them with a long-lasting paralytic. We found needle marks in each of the victims’ arms.”

  “What kind of paralytic was used?” Earl asked, still sounding utterly devoid of emotion. I, on the other hand, was having a hard time masking my horror at what was being explained in clinical, yet utterly graphic, terms.

  “The drug is called,” here Simon consulted some file to be sure he got the name right. He also gave another sigh as he read over it. “Pancuronium. It’s one of the drugs they use in lethal injections. There’s actually a ban on exporting this drug from England to the US because of this, but it’s still available for use in surgeries. The coroners tell me that they think this drug contributed to the heart-attacks, as it raises both blood pressure and pulse.”

  “So, it amplifies their fear…” I whispered, unaware that I had spoken aloud.

  “Seems to,” Simon confirmed, startling me a little.

  “You said there were numbers burned into them,” I mentioned, trying to cover up my embarrassment at blurting out the earlier comment.

  “Yes, I have them here,” Simon told me, handing me a sheet detailing the victims’ names and the numbers burned into them.

  “Have you been able to decipher them?” Earl asked, looking over the sheet in my hands.

  “Not yet,” Simon answered with a frustrated sigh.

  “They’re bible verses,” I tell him, looking over the numbers and translating them into their corresponding verses in my head.

  “Oh?” Simon asked, looking a little surprised. “How can you tell?”

  “This first one, with the numbers 46, 6, and 18?” I ask, pointing to the numbers he has jotted down. “That translates to 1 Corinthians, chapter 6, verse 18, or ‘Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.’ Was the person an adulterer of some kind?”

  “She was a prostitute…” Simon explained, sounding awed. “She was convicted of shooting her pimp…”

  Earl was giving me a hard look that I was unable to decipher. He seemed to be concerned, awed, and fearful all at the same time.

  Or maybe he was just trying to tell me to shut the hell up… hard to say…

  “The other numbers correspond to bible verses,” I tell the two men. “The first number is the book, numbered in chronological order, the second is the chapter, and the third is the verse.”

  “And you just knew that verse, off the top of your head?” Simon asked, his eyes bulging a little.

  “I was homeschooled,” I explained, shrugging my shoulder. “The next one, with the numbers 21, 5, and 10 translates to Ecclesiastes, chapter 5, verse 10. That’s ‘He who loves money will not be satisfied with money, nor he who loves abundance with its income. This too is vanity.’ Does that mean anything in relation to the victim?”

  “Nothing jumps out,” Simon tells me, consulting a file. “Although… the victim was known to be a bit of a gambler…”

  “That might explain it, then,” I tell him. “If you want, I can translate the rest of them.”

  “Just off the top of your head?” Simon asked, now looking at me suspiciously.

  “My teacher was super strict,” I told him in a cold voice. “She basically made me memorize all the books of the bible.”

  “Sounds awful,” Simon consoled. “I’ve known priests that could only give a few memorable verses off the top of their heads…”

  I shrugged in response, not knowing what to do with that information and Earl spoke up with his idea. “How about we have Agent Dreamer translate the killer’s code while you prepare a copy of everything else you have so that we can review it?”

  “Sounds good,” Simon nodded, putting everything back in their folders. “It’ll take me about an hour to get everything copied,” he told us with a large sigh before leaving the room.

  I sat at an empty desk, found a pencil, and started translating.

  Victim 3: Numbers 1, 38, 24 (Genesis, chapter 38, verse 24). Translates to: ‘About three months later Judah was told, “Tamar your daughter-in-law has been immoral. Moreover, she is pregnant by immorality.” And Judah said, “Bring her out, and let her be burned.”’

  Victim 4: Numbers 19, 137, 9 (Psalms, chapter 137, verse 9). Translates to: ‘Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!’

  Victim 5: Numbers 2, 23, 1 (Exodus, chapter 23, verse 1). Translates to: ‘You shall not spread a false report. You shall not join hands with a wicked man to be a malicious witness.’

  Victim 6: Numbers 24, 19, 9 (Jeremiah, chapter 19, verse 9). Translates to: ‘I will make them eat the flesh of their sons and the flesh of their daughters, and they will eat one another’s flesh in the siege and in the distress with which their enemies and those who seek their life will distress them.’

  When I finished writing all this down, we took it over to Simon, who read the translations, looking distressed at some of the quotes.

  “The verse for victim 3 seems to make sense,” he remarked. “The victim was a man that was convicted for killing his mistress after she became pregnant with his child. It was the DNA of the unborn child that got us on his track…”

  He perused the quotes some more before remarking, “You may be onto something here, Agent Dreamer…”

  “Explain,” Earl commanded gently.

  “Victim 4 was a man convicted of drunk-driving,” Simon explained. “He drove his truck into a minivan, killing the kids in the other vehicle.”

  “Do the verses make sense for anybody else?” I asked, feeling a little nauseous at the thought.

  “Only the latest victim,” Simon told us. “The latest victim had survived a plane crash and was forced to eat his dead friend to keep from starving to death…”

  An idea struck me and I grabbed Earl’s sleeve and connected to his mind, not wanting to discuss it openly in front of someone not cleared for the information.

  “I need to speak with you away from the FBI agent,” I sent into his mind without speaking out loud.

  Earl seemed to understand as he quickly made an excuse, “Agent Dreamer and I are going to grab some coffee. We’ll be back for the files a little later.”

  Simon sighed before nodding, dismissing us as he used the photocopier to make duplicates of everything.

  I did not like where this case was going…

  Chapter 14

  Sidebar

  There’s a coffee place within walking distance from the police station. Well, it’s walking distance for Earl, but not really for me. I had to stop for a minute or two to catch my breath when we were just over halfway there. Earl tried to be patient about it, since I can’t really help it, but eventually he remarked, “Must be tough to be you…”

  “You… have… no… idea…” I huff. I took another minute to catch my breath and added, “Just imagine what I was like before I got a non-starvation diet!”

  Earl seemed surprised by this, but eventually nodded understanding and we continue to the coffee shop. Earl gets something fancy, but I stick with simple coffee with just enough sugar to take the edge off the bitter, along with several pastries, since I hadn’t had anything to eat all morning. Once we had our drinks, Earl guided us to a table in the corner, where he could have his back to the wall and s
till keep an eye on everybody inside.

  “So, what did you get off Simon?” Earl asked once he’d finished scanning everyone in the café.

  “What do you mean?” I reply, feigning innocence and covering my shock with a sip of the hot coffee.

  “I saw you shake his hand,” Earl chided gently. “I know you peeked inside his head.

  “Fine,” I acknowledged with a sigh worthy of Simon. “He resents us being here because he thinks the home office wouldn’t send us if they had confidence he could solve this case on his own. He also thinks I’m a ‘cold fish’ and a ‘stuck up bitch’ for what it’s worth…”

  At this, Earl chuckled a little rudely and I glare at him in response.

  “I think you should play up to it!” Earl smiles. “Think of Agent Dreamer as a character you’re playing! If he thinks of you as a no-nonsense woman, he might give you less grief. At the very least, he’s less likely to ask you for a date!”

  My glare turned into a scowl, but Earl didn’t so much as flinch!

  Still… he wasn’t wrong… The thought of playing somebody Simon could hate was strangely appealing…

  “Now,” Earl interrupted my train of thought. “What did you want to discuss with me?”

  “I think this case is out of the FBI’s league and more in… ours…” I confess, glancing around to make sure nobody is listening to us.

  “Why is that?” Earl asked, sounding like a professional interrogator.

  “I met one of the victims before,” I answered, pausing as a sudden wave of nervousness threatens me.

  “Go on…” Earl prompts.

  “A ghost was anchored to him,” I continued. “His wife, Harriett. She was yelling that he had killed her, then framed somebody else for it.”

  “And then he gets a verse about not bearing false testimony burned into him…” Earl finished with a slight groan.

  “Exactly,” I affirmed.

  “Could it be a coincidence?” Earl asked, the tiniest trace of hope in his voice.

  “Dunno,” I shrug, not really sure of anything at this point. “Maybe… but… it’s the fact that Simon didn’t know about it, yet the killer did that bothers me…”

  “True…” Earl nodded, lost in thought. “Maybe the killer found out some other way?”

  “I don’t see how,” I moan. “Then there are the other victims Simon couldn’t link to the quote burned into them…”

  “You think those verses mean something personal to each of the victims?” Earl asked, considering.

  “Seems like a fair assumption, given that we know that the verses relate to acts done by some of the victims,” I responded. “There’s also the fact that the victims that we can relate the quote to have all killed somebody…”

  “Except for that guy in the plane crash,” Earl countered.

  “Can they prove that the guy didn’t kill his friend and eat him?” I asked, feeling nauseous at having to ask such a question.

  “No,” Earl answered with a small sigh. “We only have his word for it that the man was dead…”

  “Is what I’m thinking even possible?” I asked, hoping this isn’t a stupid question…

  “You tell me,” Earl commands. “You’re more of an expert on ghosts than I am!”

  “Ghosts tend to anchor to a person, place, or thing,” I lecture softly. “It’s usually something personal to them. If I was a ghost, it seems reasonable to anchor to the person that killed me so that I might try to get revenge on them, somehow…”

  “Okay,” Earl acceded, “let’s say you’re right and the killer gets this information from ghosts. That would make him a spooky.”

  “Right,” I nodded, taking a bite of some sort of chocolatey cupcake.

  “Then how does he scare the victims to death?” he asked, sounding like a policeman.

  “I don’t know…” I answer miserably, seeing my theory start to fall apart. “There’s also the fact that he left his victims in cemeteries… There’s no way I’d go to a cemetery at night! Especially not this close to Halloween!”

  “I think you may be onto something there…” Earl remarked after a long, thoughtful, pause.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, feeling utterly confused.

  “Don’t ghosts get stronger around Halloween?” he asked, looking perfectly serious.

  “They did last year,” I commented, thinking of those times I biked past the cemetery while running errands.

  “Do you think they might be strong enough for someone with a guilty conscience to hear?” he asked, his eyes looking a little wild. “Maybe someone that has just had the bejeebus scared out of them when a psychopath has just kidnapped them and burned numbers into them?”

  “I’m not sure…” I answer hesitatingly. “But… Mr. Astard remembered something about his friend, Mr. Boday, hearing voices after he ran into me…”

  Earl looked like the proverbial cat that ate the canary! “There you go!” he almost shouted with glee at the confirmation!

  “But what about the cemetery?” I almost whined. “How could a spooky even think of going to one of those at night, much less so close to Halloween?”

  “Well, not every spooky is like you…” Earl answered.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, though I knew the answer. I wanted to hear him explain his rationale because, so far, it didn’t make sense to me.

  “Most can only see or hear ghosts,” Earl explained somewhat patronizingly. “If a spooky could only see or hear ghosts, wouldn’t that make cemeteries more bearable?”

  “Maybe…” I considered. “I don’t know…”

  “For now, let’s consider that our working hypothesis,” Earl commanded, finishing his coffee. “But let’s keep it between us.”

  “Okay,” I acknowledged, finishing my own coffee. “But I’m not heading to any cemetery!”

  “We’ll see…” he chuckled a little derisively.

  “I mean it!” I almost shouted.

  This only widened Earl’s smile…

  Hell and blast! He was planning on having me go to a cemetery! I could see it!

  I swore under my breath during the entire walk back to the police station…

  Chapter 15

  Case Files

  By the time we had finished our coffee and pastries and walked back to the station, Simon had finished copying the files. He presented us with a large box and, once again, I let Earl take the lead.

  “Thank you for the files,” Earl nodded, gripping the box.

  “You think you’ll catch something I missed?” Simon asked, looking anxious.

  “We’ve got a theory or two,” Earl shrugged. “These will help us flesh them out.”

  “What are you thinking?” Simon asked, sounding downright fearful that we were going to take over and hog all the credit. “Maybe I can help!”

  “We’d prefer it,” I interrupted whatever Earl was about to say, deciding to try my ‘bitch’ persona out, “if you let us do our jobs. We’ll call you if we find anything.”

  Simon scowled at me while giving a slow sigh of frustration. I turned my back on him, nodded to Earl, and walked confidently back to the car.

  Earl locked the box of files in the trunk and was chuckling as he got in the driver’s seat.

  “Was it too much?” I asked, biting my lip.

  “The only way it could have been better,” Earl told me, suppressing another chuckle, “was if you said it with a Russian accent!”

  “Really?” I asked, blushing a little at the approval.

  “With two short sentences,” Earl explained with a smile, “you managed to keep him from bothering us all night! Now he’ll be too afraid that you’ll bust his balls if he interrupts us!”

  Okay, I confess that I was naïve, and I had never heard that particular phrase before, but I wasn’t naïve enough that I couldn’t figure it out on my own! Having said that, my slight blush at the unexpected praise turned into a full blush of pure embarrassment! I covered my face in my hands in a
vain attempt to hide this!

  We drove for a little way after that and stopped at a small motel nearby.

  “You okay with us sharing a room?” Earl asked, turning off the car.

  My nervousness must have showed because he quickly added, “We’ll have separate beds.”

  “Oh, then I guess that’s okay,” I squeaked.

  Earl nodded before getting out and making arrangements at the front desk. I got out, grabbed my bag, and set it atop the box of files before hauling everything with me to meet up with Earl. He showed me the room key, then led the way to the room we’d be sharing. The room was minimally furnished, with the promised two bed setup, along with a small table and night stands. The room smelled of old cigarettes with a heavy dose of musk and… other less pleasant bodily smells… all covered with something flowery and slightly overpowering…

  “It’s just one night, Jane,” I reminded myself. “You can do this, Jane…”

  At least there weren’t any ghosts… that was a relief, and something of a minor miracle!

  I set the heavy box down on the table and tossed my bag on the bed closest to the bathroom. Earl left the room a moment and came back with his own overnight bag, tossing it on the bed closest to the door.

  “I’ll order some pizza,” Earl remarked casually. “What do you want on it?”

  “Meat,” I told him simply. “Anything but a salad,” I added after he gave me an odd look.

  Salads are evil. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

  I sat on the bed, panting a little, as Earl called for delivery. That box was heavier than it looked!

  “So, the plan is,” Earl started as he sat on his bed, facing me. “We’ll go through the files and see if we can come up with any new leads. If we find anything, we’ll hand over what information we can to Simon and let him follow-up on them, okay?”

  “But what if the killer is a spooky?” I asked a little hesitantly.