Death Trance

by R. D. Zimmerman

  I stepped back, stood still, moved again. He hadn't seen me, not yet anyway. I crawled back, peering through the silvery light, watching the guy zero in on Toni, and soon I was far enough back. Next I started up the hill, scrambling quietly on all fours. I was behind them now, some thirty feet back. I searched the ground, spotted a meaty branch on the ground, picked it up, started forward.

  The next instant the Dragon was lunging forward, seizing Toni from behind, wrapping his thick arms around her, and yanking her to her feet. Toni cried out, then started twisting and struggling. Her camera tumbled out of her hands, dangled and swung by the strap around her neck.

  The guy shouted, “Hey, we got another fuckin’ visitor!”

  I burst forward, brought the branch back like a baseball bat, and swung. But the wood was partly rotten, and when I struck the guy's head the branch burst into a spray of pieces. It was enough to stun him, though, and Toni burst out of his arms, spun around, face red, chest heaving. The guy reached out for her with one hand, and she hesitated not an instant. Bringing her foot back, she kicked him in the crotch, connecting right where it would certainly hurt the most. The guy screamed and doubled over, grabbed his balls. Taking full advantage, Toni then raised her fist and clubbed him on the back of his head. In a moment the thug was on the ground. Toni clutched the camera, stood there in shock at her effective work.

  I charged forward. “Toni, come on!”

  As voices by the bonfire raised, the alarm, we broke into a run, pushing and moving up the hill. I glanced back, saw a handful of guys tearing into the woods. Someone was calling, another yelling. So they didn't know quite what had happened yet.

  “Did you get the pictures?” I gasped as we charged upward.

  “I think so.”

  “What about the guy down by the boat—did you get him?”

  “I don't know. I don't know if they'll come out—the light.”

  Sweat was pouring from my face, stinging my eyes. I searched the top of the hill, spotted the electrical wires that would lead us to our car and motorized escape. We were both heaving for air, and it seemed minutes upon minutes before we were pushing the crest, reaching the relatively flat ground above. As we did, I looked down one last time, saw the Dragons spread out and swarm up the hill commandolike. We still had a good lead, I realized as we ran. Just had to follow the wires. Another hundred yards or so to that turnaround and the little white car. It was easier traveling up here, too. No steep ridges. Just the forest, thick and gray.

  I reached out, took Toni's hand in mine as we tore through the woods, hearts thumping, bodies sweating. Behind us I heard someone shout out, which spurred us on even more, drove us on as fast as our legs could carry us. Up ahead I saw the clearing. Within steps I spotted the white of the car there in the dark green forest, waiting to be revved up, waiting to whisk us to safety. Toni saw it, too, let go of my hand and reached into her pocket as we ran, and came up with a couple of jangling keys. As long as they didn't have a gun, we'd probably make it, we'd probably be all right.

  We raced to the car, she jumped in, and I stood on the passenger side, heart pounding, sweat pouring, thinking she was never going to get the goddamned door open, those guys were closing in. When she did unlock my door, I dove in. Toni brought the car to a roaring blast, and looking out the rear window, I saw the first of the Dragons rushing into the clearing.

  “Here they come!”

  She slammed the car into drive, the car leaped forward some ten feet. There wasn't enough space to make a full turn, though, so she had to jam it into reverse, back up. We both stared out the rear, saw a big beefy guy lunging toward us, face red with anger, hands ready to rip and beat. Taking a huge leap, he jumped, hitting the trunk with a deep thud. Against the rear window I saw hands and a face, all swollen and red, and Toni and I shouted out. Then she heaved the gear shift back into drive, stomped on the accelerator, and we were off, swerving and fishtailing out of the turnaround, out of that clearing. The guy was still clutching the back, pounding on the trunk, the glass, and shouting at us. He was still there until Toni hit a big pothole and the whole car went flying upward. And then he was gone.

  Chapter 18

  He was gone, that Dragon, flicked off the rear of Toni's car, and we left him back there, a blob of human flesh on a narrow dirt road. I looked behind us, saw him barely moving, saw the others running up to him. Toni kept her foot hard on the accelerator. We flew down the road, around the curve, past the farmhouse and the hanging laundry, leaving a huge plume of dust behind us. Once I'd reclaimed my car and had it going, we took a more circuitous route, looped around some of the roads rather than pass the drive the Dragons had used, and actually it wasn't until we were all the way back on Highway 94 that I began to relax. Then there weren't only a few odd headlights on the country roads, but lots of cars and trucks, which seemed to offer some sort of protection.

  It was evening and dark by the time we reached the limits of St. Paul, me leading the way, Toni close behind. Each mile made me feel safer and safer, as if we were burrowing into civilization, and by the time we crossed the Mississippi and into Minneapolis, it seemed as if all that had simply been an unpleasant dream, the nightmarish sort.

  Picking up the walkie-talkie from the seat, I checked the rearview mirror, saw her behind me on the highway, said, “Toni?”

  A moment passed before she called back, “Yeah?”

  “You all right?”

  “I guess so. You?”

  “I'm okay. Let's head back to my place and drop off one of the cars, then get the film developed.”

  “Sure.”

  We followed 94 around downtown Minneapolis and exited at Hennepin Avenue, then took that on down to Twenty-eighth, where we turned over to Humboldt. I pulled over, Toni parked, and then we were off again. If we hurried, we could still make it to the photo shop, so we drove the very few blocks to Calhoun Square, a small mall of sorts carved out of a series of old buildings. Uptown, the surrounding business district gone yuppie and trendy but always fun, was relatively quiet. Within minutes we'd parked in the ramp behind Calhoun Square and made it inside to one of those sixty-minute photo places. Just in time, too. The manager promised it to us in an hour, said to return at nine, right at closing.

  We went upstairs to a restaurant in a corner on the second floor, a place that was designed to look like an old diner and actually kind of did. Lots of chrome, some stools at a counter. We got a booth by the window, took turns washing up, and then ordered. I hadn't realized I was hungry, but now that I was relaxing, my stomach was untying itself and I was actually pretty starved. As was Toni. We both had burgers with a pile of fries. Appropriate food for nerves.

  “How much,” I began as I stuffed my face, “did you get on film?”

  “Well, the pictures aren't going to be all that bright, that's for sure, but I took a bunch.” She shrugged, took another bite of her sandwich, chewed, then added, “I got some of the guy by the fire.”

  “What about the one by the boat?”

  “I got a shot or two of him, too. The big question is whether it's going to be enough for Chris. They all had masks on.”

  I looked up at her, felt suddenly worried. In those few words she'd alluded to something of concern. But what?

  “I mean,” continued Toni, “Chris probably won't be able to tell a thing.”

  My head started pounding. That was it. Chris.

  I muttered, “Maybe she'll be able to recognize the body type.”

  “Maybe, but if not, where are we, back at square one?”

  “Perhaps.”

  It struck me that Chris wasn't going to be able to help us. God, no. Somewhere deep inside me I knew that.

  “Alex, what is it that your unconscious is trying to say? What information would it like to release?”

  That… that while we were sitting there discussing the pictures, what would come out, what Chris might be able to discern, all of that, well, it was pointless.

  “If she can't, th
en what do we do?” asked Toni. “Go to Jenkins? Show him the pictures?”

  I looked up at her, nodded numbly. “I guess so. Maybe there's something he'll be able to pick up on.”

  I wanted to stop eating, stop talking. Wanted to freeze that scene, put it on hold, and rush out of there. Just about then, just about while we were eating those stupid hamburgers, she needed our help.

  “Are you saying Chris is in danger?”

  Absolutely. And we'd put her there, squarely, clearly. An easy target. But there was nothing to be done.

  “That's right. You can't control this, only interpret it.”

  So we went on eating, stuffing down the food, most of which was covered with ketchup. We ordered a chocolate malt and split it. Soon, right when it was the most inappropriate time if we'd had any sense about the danger to Chris, we started laughing.

  Toni said, “God, I can't believe I kicked that guy in the balls.”

  “Yeah, you dropped him pretty quick.”

  Then we started talking about how scared shitless we were running out of there, those guys chasing after us, and how we hoped the pictures would turn out. The pictures, I exclaimed. It was already five to nine, so we quickly paid up and hurried out of there, dashing down the stairs, down to the fast-photo shop. Even as I wrote out a check, an eager Toni was ripping open the envelope.

  “Here's those guys up on the bluff,” I said, pointing to the first pictures she'd taken. “They didn't have those masks on yet, so maybe this'll help later.”

  Toni was going through them as fast as if she were dealing cards, finally hitting on one, muttering, “Dammit.”

  It showed one of the older men, the guy with the gray chest hair, but was very faint. His head was half-turned, too. And, of course, his face was masked.

  “Let's see the next one,” I asked.

  Toni flipped to it. A little better, the body a little more in view. But the light—it was very weak.

  “God, these aren't going to do us any good,” said Toni, who let out a long, frustrated groan.

  She shuffled through a few more photos, came to one of the Dragon down by the boat. She'd zoomed in well, everything was in focus, but again the mask and of course the light, so faint. And this time a tree that cut off part of the man.

  “Look at this,” I said, pointing to a large object strapped on the guy's left wrist.

  “What is it?” asked Toni, squinting and holding the photo closer.

  I leaned closer but couldn't tell, couldn't be sure. The picture just wasn't quite sharp enough.

  I said, “It almost looks like a Soviet watch. You know, one of those things with huge faces and gargantuan bands.”

  “Sure.” Still studying the image, Toni said, “I wonder if Chris will remember it. I mean, it's the kind of thing you'd notice and remember.”

  My heart began pounding. I quickly went through the last of the pictures. There were some of the other men, but nothing that interesting, that clear, that telling. Then I was struck with an overwhelming purpose, need, desire.

  I started putting away the photos, said, “Let's go show these to Chris.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah, right now. She said she works afternoon and evenings. It's after nine—she should be home.”

  As soon as I said it, I knew, unfortunately, she would be. Toni agreed, said okay, let's go, so we stuffed the pictures back in the envelope and headed out. I drove quickly, almost as if one of the Dragons were behind us, and Toni said, What's going on, why are you driving so nutty? Relax, she told me. Everything's okay. But it wasn't. I just knew that it wasn't.

  Chapter 19

  From Uptown to Chris's was only about ten minutes, maybe even less. Just a quick swing up Hennepin, then a right on Twenty-fourth and a few more blocks. We were getting close, dangerously so, to piecing together Liz's death, but we didn't know it, not then. In fact, it didn't seem as if we had much at all. Just a few hunches and some dark photographs of men in the woods.

  I parked behind John's dark brown van, a beat-up old thing, and glancing up, saw a figure in one of the upstairs apartments. Just as quickly, it was gone and an instant later the second-floor window fell dark. Had that been John looking out at us, perhaps checking on his vehicle? Was he now on his way out and would we run into him? I hoped not.

  Toni and I got out of the car and started across the street, up the front concrete steps, right up to the old white wooden door. Chris's front window glowed with light, so she was home, reading a book perhaps. I wanted to hear a stereo, some sign of life. Voices. Anything. But the building and even the whole neighborhood seemed horribly quiet.

  At the door, Toni paused, looked back at the street, said, “We're standing right where my sister did with that guy—whoever he was.” She pointed to a small yellow vehicle parked below. “There's Chris's car. She would have been about that far, too, the night she saw Liz with the mystery man.”

  And whatever Chris saw, I sensed, was of grave concern to someone. Not wanting to waste any time, I reached over and pressed Chris's doorbell.

  We stood there at the outer door, poised for Chris's voice to bleep over the intercom, poised for her to buzz us in. Ten seconds later there was not even a hint of a response. I stood perfectly still, tried to hear a chair shifting, footsteps hurrying across a hardwood floor. There was nothing but silence. Impatiently, I pressed the doorbell again, this time holding it in good and long, and there was no way she couldn't hear that. No way if she were in there and everything was all right.

  “Come on, Chris,” I muttered. “Come on.”

  “I've got Liz's key to the building.” Toni reached into her small purse. “Maybe Chris is down doing laundry.”

  “Maybe.”

  But I didn't think so. I leaned on the doorbell again, pushing my body against it as if the force of my weight would bring Chris running. It didn't.

  Toni stepped up to the door, said, “Here.”

  She unlocked the door, we stepped into the small vestibule lined on one side with mailboxes, through another door, and into the small, dark hallway. I quickly glanced to the left and at the door to Liz's apartment, which still looked securely locked, and we turned right, stepped up to Chris's door.

  “Chris?” said Toni, raising her hand and knocking. “Chris, are you there? It's me, Toni Domingo, Liz's sister.”

  No answer, no voice calling, Hi, I'll be right there. Only silence. I pounded on the door, my fist hard, determined. Still nothing. Concern was bubbling in my stomach. The lights were on; she'd said she was almost always home at night. She had to be there. Impulsively I reached for the doorknob, twisted, and the door clicked open, just as I'd known it would. I pushed and it started to swing back.

  “Chris?” I called. “It's us, Alex Phillips and Toni Domingo. Chris, are you here?”

  I pushed the door wide, and it creaked the whole way. Toni and I stood there on the threshold, peering into an apartment that was identical to Liz's, only flipped in layout. The furniture and decoration were totally different, of course. This was the home of someone orderly. A nice couch, a framed print hanging squarely above it. A side chair and standing lamp, which must have been where Chris did her reading. And a couple of bookcases, both packed. I took a step in, saw a blond wood dining set, four chairs all neatly arranged around it in the dining alcove.

  “Chris?” called Toni.

  No voice, not a sound, came back to greet us, and I didn't like it, because who in this day and age, particularly a single woman, left their door unlocked in the evening? Something was terribly wrong. We entered Chris's apartment, leaving the door wide open behind us, and I felt the blood coursing through my veins and rushing, shoving, every worst fear into my imagination.

  The living room was empty, as was the dining area. The kitchen light was on, and impulsively I was drawn to it, pulled to it, like a bug seeking light and warmth and death, too, all at the same time. Something creaked behind me. Toni. She was just several steps behind me. We were both silent as
if we already knew.

  “Chris?” Toni weakly called one last time.

  Which is when I saw it. The blood on the kitchen floor, a long, winding red trail of it, slowly rolling over the whitish linoleum like spilled coffee or maybe maple syrup. Something dark and thick and hideously viscous.

  “Oh, shit,” I gasped.

  I didn't want to go any farther, but I couldn't stop myself, of course. My breath started coming short and quick, as if I were jogging instead of eyeing a riverlike flow of blood. Oh, Chris. I reached back as I moved, reached back and took Toni's living hand in mine, and the two of us moved forward, stepped right up to the threshold of the kitchen. I closed my eyes for a half second, turned, gazed past the sink, past the old stove.

  And there she was.

  “Oh, Jesus!” I cried.

  Toni screamed, I think, and crushed my hand in hers. We couldn't move, either of us. I felt my stomach flop over. Her skin a chalky gray, Chris was sitting in a chair by the sink. Her eyes were open and still, her mouth frozen wide. But there was so much blood, a veritable waterfall of it still slowly gurgling from her throat, over her chest and dripping onto the linoleum. My first impulse was to rush to her, that there must be some way of saving her, but then I saw the wound, a large, coarse gap cut across her neck.

  I was caught by this death before me, unable to move or think, and then I heard a loud gasp from behind me. Toni. Too shocked to speak, she clutched the back of my arm, sank her fingers angrily into me. Yes, it was clear now. Absolutely. We'd been on the right track. Toni's sister Liz hadn't committed suicide. She'd been murdered, and Chris had been silenced into death for what she had seen and what she might have been able to tell us about Liz's other boyfriend.

  Chapter 20

  Toni had a brief, doctorly urge to go to Chris, to check her, but I pressed her back and out of there, and we stumbled out. It was no use. Nothing to be done. Chris was mutilated and dead, and so we retreated through the living room. As soon as we opened the door, a large figure rushed toward us. Toni screamed, I jumped. It was John, the caretaker.