The Redemption

by David Boiani

  “What are you reading?” Ricky asked.

  “The Fountainhead.”

  “Do people still read physical books? You’ve never heard of an e-book, grandpa?”

  “I have, but I like the real thing. There is something to be said for the feel of the soft page in my hand, the earthy scent, and the ability to add it to a collection in my bookcase when finished. Not to mention I prefer not to stare at another electronic screen for hours on end. Physical pages are easier on the eyes.”

  “There’re many benefits to reading e-books; it’s cheaper, it’s instantly obtainable, and it’s green. Don’t you care about the environment, old man?”

  “We can plant more trees. Does everything we own today have to come with beeps, lights, and tones?”

  “So, what’s it about?” Ricky asked, changing the subject.

  “You’ve never read it?”

  “I only read non-fiction.”

  “Well, I’ve read this book five times,” John replied.

  “Why, does the content change each time you read it?”

  “I don’t read it hoping for something different. I read it to be in that universe again, to experience the characters and the story again. As a matter of fact, each time I read it I feel the sadness of knowing it is coming to an end as I approach the final scenes.”

  “So, what’s so great about that particular book?”

  “It makes me feel good to be alive. It resurrects my faith in humanity and what we can achieve. It cleanses and purifies my soul.”

  “You get all that from a fictional story?” Ricky asked.

  “I do. You should borrow it and give it a try.”

  John noticed Ricky glance down at the cover, the naked man holding what looked to be the sun in his bare hand. For a moment, John thought Ricky contemplated picking it up and taking his recommendation. But the thought was gone as quickly as it came as Ricky smirked and looked up at John.

  “I’ll pass for now, but maybe sometime in the future.”

  “Sure, I’ll leave it here. Just take it whenever you’d like to read it. Remember, in youth we learn, with age we understand.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “When we’re young, our brains understand black and white, statistics and definite, rational certainties we learn from life. As we age, we understand the grey areas, the emotions and the abstract details that also come from life. The wise combine both to have a better understanding of our world. Sometimes reading good fiction helps uncover and fill in those cracks.”

  “Speaking of abstract details, anything new on the Seattle Slayer?” Ricky asked.

  John looked up at Ricky and flinched. “So, you’ve heard that horrible nickname as well? Comparing this lunatic to that amazing horse is a travesty.”

  “Well, I think it’s more a play on words than any type of comparison.”

  “Maybe, but it’s still wrong. We have nothing new. Where, when or how he strikes again is anyone’s guess.”

  “I’ll be heading out for a bit. I have to grab a report at the morgue but I’ll be back this afternoon. Call me if anything comes up.”

  “Will do. I’m grabbing a coffee,” John said as he got up and headed for the cafeteria. When he returned with a cup of joe, Ricky was gone, along with the book.

  ***

  The dark figure sipped his gin and tonic as he noticed a man at the end of the bar drinking alone. He had grey hair with a matching beard, maybe 5’8”, 150 pounds. Loner, mid-sixties, he thought. The man looked desolate and depressed, as if he were attempting to drink his loneliness away. He continued to watch the man down three scotches in rapid succession and stumble to the bathroom. The dark figure glanced around the bar, noticing the vacancy, then observed the bartender who was having a conversation with his cell phone. Not a man who remembers details, he thought as the inebriated man returned, dropped a twenty on the bar, and headed out the door. The dark figure took one last sip of his drink, placed the empty glass down on the bar, and followed him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The last coherent memory Brian Simmons had was finishing his last scotch, leaving the bar, and heading through the back alley toward his apartment on 13th Avenue behind the University. Then he woke up standing in a large glass tank that came up to his shoulders, with his arms chained and secured above his head with the aftereffects of his binge from the night before pounding in his head. Where the fuck am I? he thought as he glanced at his surroundings. He was in a small wooden room brightened by a single lightbulb hanging directly above his head.

  “Help!” he yelled, noticing the lone door leading into the six-by-eight-foot room. He looked up at the ceiling where his wrists were secured to hooks and anchored into wooden beams that ran horizontally across the structure. He noticed something that sent a chill up his spine, and terror through his heart. Below his feet, under the glass floor of the tank, was a small flame attached to a hose leading to a propane tank in the corner. He then noticed a spigot hanging over the far wall of the tank with a garden hose attached, leading through a hole in the wall. Suddenly, the spigot came to life and a rush of water flowed into the tank. As the water crept up his body, the reality of what was about to happen sent him into a panic.

  “No, Christ no!” he screeched as the water reached his knees. “Somebody fucking help me!”. The cold water continued to inch its way up his body.

  The dark figure watched his new quarry panic as the water crept up his legs, then his waist, then his chest. Satisfied, he turned the water pressure off from his control room. The man stood with his arms secured above his head anxiously looking around, the water level settling just under his shoulders. Just like a rodent caught in a trap, the dark figure thought as he studied his prey’s actions. Finally, the man’s cold grey eyes noticed the camera and the dark figure stared directly at his captive through the computer screen.

  “Just sit back and relax, old man. We all meet our maker at some point. Be happy I’ve given you this privilege before your time,” he said to himself. “Now, I will leave you alone for a bit. I have work to get to. Rest up, for the show is about to start and you are the main attraction, the star of the production.”

  He flipped off the camera and opened his secure email account, entering the name Captain Michael Johnson. Before he started typing, he sat back and gazed at the screen as an evil smirk played on his lips.

  ***

  The late afternoon sun was starting its descent across the Seattle horizon as John glanced out the window of the station.

  “Looks like it’s going to be another beautiful evening,” he said to Ricky. “Any plans?”

  “No, I had a date last night, so I’m just going to hang in and watch the game.”

  The captain walked up to John’s desk, catching the last of this conversation. “Another date? How did this one go?” he asked.

  “Ugh.”

  “Ugh? Care to elaborate?”

  Ricky looked from the captain to John then back to the captain again.

  “Sure. It was my third date with Gabrielle. Spent a hundred on dinner and spent another fifty on drinks and dancing after.”

  “Gabrielle? Cool name,” John said.

  “Yeah well, I’ve started calling her Gabby cause the broad doesn’t shut up. Anyway, on the way home, she leans over, undoes my pants and gives me head as I’m driving.”

  “No shit. Did you pull over?” Captain Johnson asked.

  “I had to. I pulled over on a side street and she finished.”

  “Well, at least you got a blowjob out of it.”

  “Fuck the blowjob. The best part was the fifteen minutes of silence,” Ricky said which brought plenty of laughter from his two colleagues.

  “I’m glad you two are enjoying yourselves. Needless to say, there won’t be a fourth date. How did you guys do it? How did you find a wife that was right for you? It seems an impossible task.”

  “At some point, it’ll just happen. You won’t have to second guess yourself, you’
ll just know instinctually,” John said. “My advice is not to search for her. She’ll come at a time when you least expect it.”

  “Yeah, well someday I guess,” Ricky said.

  “Listen to this man, Ricky. I remember when he was in the same situation you’re in now and look how he turned out. Husband of the year material,” Captain Johnson said as he walked away and headed to his office.

  John looked at Ricky. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but Julie and I do okay.”

  “Meanwhile, there are worse things in life than sleeping with a different woman every month,” Ricky said. “I’m going to pack it in and call it a day. The Mariners, Chinese takeout, and a few beers await me.”

  As soon as Ricky made his first step towards the door, Captain Johnson burst out of his office. “Come in here you two! It’s on. I’ve received a new email.”

  The three cohorts gathered around the computer as the captain opened his email. John noticed a quick glance from the captain as he clicked on the message. All that it contained was a hyperlink for a video feed. The captain pasted the link into his browser, sat back and waited for the fateful scene to come to life. The video feed opened and instantly they were viewing an older man, maybe in his sixties, standing in a glass tank of water. His arms were secured to the ceiling. The water line was just under his shoulders.

  “Shit, is he going to drown him? Dunk his head under?” Ricky asked.

  “No, look underneath,” the captain said as he brought the cursor over the spot and magnified it. “There’s a small flame under the vat that connects to a propane tank in the corner. He’s going to boil him alive like a fucking lobster.”

  They all took a moment to regain their composure as the reality of the situation sank in; if they couldn’t save him, this man was going to die a horrific death.

  “Okay, let’s start from the beginning. What kind of room or structure is he in?” John said.

  “It’s all wooden. Looks like maybe a room in a cabin or even a shed,” Ricky said.

  “My guess is a shed. It’s very compact, maybe six by eight. What rooms are that small, even in a cabin? Also, the rafters are untreated two-inch by six-inch planks, it looks like. Most cabins use treated logs cut down to fit the size of the cabin. I bet my pecker this is a shed.”

  “Okay, so we have a six by eight-foot shed. Gee, that really narrows it down to any butt-fuck town, U.S.A,” Ricky said.

  “I’m going to send the link to the feds… have them run a search on this guy’s face. If we can figure out who he is, it will give us an idea where he was abducted,” the captain said.

  The captain left John and Ricky and headed to the office next door to speak with the feds.

  The pair continued to survey the scene, looking for anything that may give them a clue as to who the man is or where he was being held.

  “John, you have no idea who this maniac could be? I mean, he asked for you personally. There has to be some connection.”

  “I have no idea. Someone I put away at some point, or maybe a family member of someone I put away? That’s always possible.”

  “That may be the missing link to solving this whole thing and finding this lunatic.”

  “I know. Believe me, I’ve thought about it many times but I have no idea.”

  “Look at that poor guy. I can’t imagine hanging there for twenty-four hours waiting to be boiled to death. He may be insane long before then,” Ricky remarked sadly.

  “Have the nightmares started yet? Do you see faces that you’re unable to save?”

  Ricky glanced quickly at John then back to the computer screen.

  “Yes. Does it get worse?”

  “I’m not going to lie, each case you fail to solve, each person you fail to save, will haunt you forever. It doesn’t get easier, but over time you’ll learn how to deal with it. You’ll learn how to flip that switch off. Sure, those thoughts and images will invade your dreams, but you’ll learn how to put it all aside and function during the days just as I have.”

  Ricky and John turned their attention back to the scene. The man looked at the camera with a defeated, morbid look on his face.

  John glanced at Ricky, who seemed transfixed on the man standing in the tank. “Do you think he’s more consumed with dying, or the pain he will feel before?” Ricky asked.

  John inhaled deeply as he worried about the changes he started to see in his young partner. “I’m sure both equally,” John answered.

  Let those thoughts go, he pleaded in his own head. Stay clear of that path, for once you go down it, you will never be the same.

  22:51:03, 22:51:02, 22:51:01…

  “The feds have a good shot of the victim’s face. They’re going to run it through their database using their NGI software,” Captain Johnson said as he walked back into the office. “They’ll then review the candidate’s photos and perform a further investigation to determine if any of the candidate’s photos match. Let’s hope the vic has a record.”

  “Now what do we do other than sitting here, watching this poor bastard?” Ricky asked.

  “Pray, I guess,” the captain answered.

  “What if I don’t believe in prayer?” John asked. “I was never one for church. I’d rather be in the mountains thinking about God than be in church thinking about the mountains.”

  “Good point. Sarah wouldn’t hear of me not joining her, but I’m not sure I get any comfort from it anymore. I’ve seen too much evil in my life,” the captain said.

  “That makes two of us,” John said.

  John glanced at Ricky and noticed he was still studying the video feed. John couldn’t tell if he was searching for clues or if he was still digesting the morbid actuality of the situation. He looked at the captain and motioned for him to meet him in the kitchen.

  John walked out of the office, through the station, and entered the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and Captain Johnson soon appeared.

  “What is it, John?”

  “We need to watch him,” John said as he motioned towards the office. “This all may be getting to him. He’s acting a bit off, saying strange things. He’s very green and we don’t want to burn him out. Think about giving him a week after this one; he’ll need a break.”

  The Captain frowned. “I’ve noticed it as well. I was going to mention it to you and get your opinion. At least now I know it wasn’t my imagination. After we save this guy, if we save this guy, I’ll tell him to take a week. Thanks, John.”

  20:25:03, 20:25:02, 20:25:01…

  John was alone in the breakroom working on his second piece of pepperoni pizza when Captain Johnson rushed into the room.

  “We have a name. Brian Simmons from Capitol Hill. He was picked up for public intoxication and urination last year. He lives on 13th Avenue in an apartment complex between Seattle Central College and Squire Park.”

  “I know the neighborhood. I’ll take Ricky and comb the area for info.”

  “Okay, I’ll call the owner and have him meet you there with the key. Contact me with any and all info you collect.”

  “Will do,” John said as he grabbed Ricky and headed out the door.

  19:33:03, 19:33:02, 19:33:01…

  John pulled up to the complex on 13th Avenue where Brian Simmons lived. He glanced at Ricky. “Ready, partner?”

  “Let’s go,” Ricky replied.

  “He lives on the second floor, apartment 2C.”

  John led Ricky to the front door where an old man waited. John noticed the man’s short, squat physique, his white hair and pale blue eyes. A friendly smile appeared as the man stepped forward with his right hand held out in an offer to shake.

  “John Corbin? My name is Tom Ford. Captain Johnson called and informed me of Mr. Simmons abduction. I’ll help in any way I can, just tell me what you need.”

  John shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Ford. This is my partner, detective Ricky Burton.”

  John waited as the two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

>   “We’ll need to get into Mr. Simmons apartment, and will need to ask you a few questions about him.”

  “Absolutely, follow me.”

  The building was an old three-story complex in need of maintenance and a thorough cleaning. There was one bathroom on each floor shared by the occupants of four one-room apartments. John made a mental note not to touch anything for fear of picking up unwanted bacteria.

  “He lived in 2C, second floor,” Mr. Ford said.

  They followed him up a narrow, dingy spiraling staircase to the second landing.

  “Here we are, his room is down the hall to the left, right after the bathroom.”

  When they reached the door, Tom inserted his key and turned the knob. The pungent odor of sweat, mold, and alcohol hit John immediately. Tom stepped aside, and John led the way into the room. To his left was an old black leather couch riddled with tears and worn spots. There were a pillow and blanket which obviously completed Mr. Simmons sleeping arrangement. Straight ahead against the far wall was a sink with a modest table in front of it. To the right were a leather chair, a small television on a stand, and a framed picture on the wall. John walked over to inspect the image. It contained a photo of a younger Brian Simmons standing beside a beautiful young woman.

  “Who is this standing next to Mr. Simmons?” John asked.

  “I believe that is his daughter, Alexis.”

  “Daughter? Do you have any info on her, address or phone number?”

  “I may. Let me check my office,” Tom answered as he turned and left the room.

  “I wonder why we had no record of a daughter,” John said to Ricky.

  “That’s strange. Our boy is a drinker. Three empty bottles in the sink. Hey, check this out.”

  John walked over and glanced at something hanging on the wall by the sink.

  “That’s a Medal of Honor. He’s a war hero.”

  “Nam?”