
Stalker
a novel by
Dave Dykema
Copyright © 2009 Dave Dykema
Wxtest16@hotmail.com
1
Although Dan Freeman had watched the scenario a hundred times, this was the first time he truly felt afraid. Apparently others did too. He could hear their nervous giggles as couples slouched down in their seats, gripping each other, anticipating the worst. He felt a momentary pang of loneliness. The only thing he could grip was a wax cup of Diet Coke.
The flickering image on the screen changed, cutting to a wide shot of the street, shot through the trees at an elevated level. As the girl walked, the camera craned down, eventually reaching the level of her feet. The quiet click of her heels in the stillness added to the tension.
Audio from one of the other theatres bled through. A car chase, perhaps. This duet of sound became a trio as a low, menacing cello joined in. As it got louder the speakers began to rumble, the low frequencies quaking Dan's insides. Eventually it drowned out the car chase from next door.
The girl seemed to sense that something was wrong, for she glanced once over her shoulder and picked up her pace. A gas station glowed warm and inviting against the dark, enshrouded street. She pulled her coat tightly about her, trying to stop the wind from rustling down her blouse. Goose bumps covered her skin.
The camera began a steady zoom to her back. Her heels clicked along steadily. The cello grew louder. Leaves scratched along the cement, dragged by cold winds. The camera got closer, her back filling the screen. It overtook her.
Suddenly she whirled around, eyes darting in panic. The music stopped. Dan fidgeted in his seat, pulling his sneakers out of the sticky goo coating the floor and crossing his legs tightly.
The girl began to laugh, sensing the foolishness of her fear. "These cigarettes are gonna be the death of me yet," she joked.
"Das right, bitch," came a voice behind Dan. Someone laughed with the comedian. It infuriated Dan. How can they laugh? Don't they realize how intense this is?
The girl continued on. Scant seconds later the camera picked up its pursuit, artfully weaving between trees and parked cars, rising over bushes and under branches. Steadicam, Dan thought.
The audience gasped, screamed, and then dissolved into silly guffaws as a cat leapt into the frame. The grinding music score segued into a pleasant piano piece when the young woman bent down to scratch the feline's ears.
"What a beautiful pussy," the actress said, stroking the appreciative cat. Dan waited for the crack from the overzealous comedian. A better straight-line didn't exist. Surely he couldn't pass it up.
And he didn't. His remark was met with varying degrees of nervous laughter and scorn from the audience. Dan's mood soured. To truly appreciate this movie he knew he'd have to come back. Trying his best to ignore Mister Humor, he turned his attention back to the screen.
The young woman gave the cat one last pet. The animal mewed for more attention.
"I'm sorry, my friend, but if I don't get some cigarettes soon, I'm gonna die."
She waved goodbye to the cat and stood up. Her face was inches from her assailant's. The masked man grabbed her long blonde hair and violently jerked her head back, accompanied by terrified antics from the audience. Like slicing the first piece of Christmas ham, the dark figure gracefully slid the knife across her throat, producing a crimson stream. A red froth of bubbles foamed at the gash in her neck as the girl gasped for air. Fighting for balance, she clutched at his ski mask, clawing a finger into one of the eyeholes. She only managed to pull it off slightly before he tore her hand from his face. Fading, she crumpled to the ground, curling around her killer's feet, spurting blood in pulsating beats into the street's gutter. The cat came up and sniffed at it.
The screen washed white as night dissolved into day, stinging Dan's eyes. He raised a hand up, rubbed his eyes, and was surprised to find a tear.
What the hell is this? Dan thought. Sure, the transition stabbed at his eyes, but it wasn't that bad. How long had that been there?
His mind raced back to a scene in the movie a few minutes ago, before the girl went off into the night, alone. She had made R-rated love with her boyfriend before a stupid argument erupted from nowhere. Furious, she pulled on her clothes and went out to get smokes.
Dan realized that must have been it. It reminded him of his fight with Janet before he went to the movie. His eyes had welled over and he hadn't even noticed. Now it was foremost in his mind.
He had called to invite her over for dinner. Things had been going downhill of late, and he wanted to fix a special meal for her and repair the damage. As the phone rang he wondered if she would answer. Lately, he thought she was avoiding him.
She answered on the fourth ring.
"Janet! What's up? I've been trying to get in touch with you all week!"
"Me? I've been okay."
"Well you're about to feel great," Dan said, a smile growing on his lips. "I've got steaks marinating and wine chilling in the fridge. What d'ya say?"
Silence for a moment, then: "I don't think so." Her voice sounded distant over the phone line, yet it was a local call.
"Why not?" he asked, disappointed. "I want to see you."
"The earth revolves around you and your little plans, is that it? Like I don't have a life."
"Is something wrong? Did you get bad news today?"
Janet exploded. "No. It just pisses me off the way you assume I'll drop whatever I'm doing and come running to you and your waiting arms like in some stupid movie!"
"What's wrong with you? All I did was ask you over for dinner!"
"Look, I just don't feel like it."
Dan tried to calm down. "I'm sorry. I was wrong to make plans for you without asking." He looked over at the steaks, saw them slowly marinating. He turned away. "The phone's no way to talk seriously. Stay there. I'll be over in a few minutes and we'll work this out."
Before she could reply he hung up. Grabbing his keys, he went for the door. Then he remembered the steaks. Uttering a soft curse, he tossed them into the refrigerator before he left.
He decided to remain calm when he got there, letting her get all her frustrations out. He would silently listen and take it all, like a boxer's punching bag. He would put on the gloves and defend himself if need be afterward. That would depend on what she had to say, and of that he hadn't the slightest clue.
He rapped his knuckles softly on her door. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. He pressed his ear against it. Where was she? He had told her to stay. He glared at the wood grain of the door with resolve. This needed straightening out, dammit. Over time his rapping knuckles became pounding fists.
One door down creaked open, and an old woman peered out through the gap. Dan noticed her out of the corner of his eye and flushed red, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. She began to withdraw back into her room. Dan called after her.
"Mrs. Hardy! Wait a second!" He was at her door in five brisk steps. "You remember me, don't you? Dan Freeman? I've been dating Janet Evans about a year now?"
Mrs. Hardy looked him over. She was a widow with stark white hair that fell limply onto her frail shoulders. Dan guessed she wore a wig when she went out. Still, her eyes sparkled with a love of life. She nodded recognition as her frown melted into a smile.
"Heavens! I thought you were going to break the door in," she laughed.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you. It's just that I'm trying to talk with Janet and I guess I got a little frustrated." So much for my punching bag theory... he thought.
"You've had a fight, haven't you?"
"It's that obvious?"
"One doesn't normally go around pounding on doors so loudly."
Dan offered a thin smile of apology. He felt ashamed in front of this woman he barely knew.
"Did you see Janet leave? She was supposed to meet me here."
Mrs. Hardy saw the hopeful look in Dan's eyes, but shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Daniel. My senses aren't what they used to be. I haven't seen or heard Janet for weeks now."
"Perhaps you can still help me. Do you have a pen and some paper?"
"Yes, I've got some stationary. One moment." She shuffled off and Dan was able to look into her room. Floral wallpaper graced the walls. On a lovely oak hutch in a corner he could see a collection of over fifty Hummel figures. Each child radiated an inner warmth much like the one he perceived in Mrs. Hardy. She smiled like the Hummels when she returned with the stationary and a pen with the name of a local pharmacy on it.
"It's pink. Do you mind?"
"No. Pink will do fine."
He composed a short note, delicately trying to balance a fine line between love, understanding, and anger. It seemed that no matter how he phrased it the underlying gist was still the same: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
He slipped it under Janet's door, thanked Mrs. Hardy, and went out to his car. He threw it into gear and drove off, hoping for a good cruising speed to clear his head. City driving made that impossible. Times like these made Dan wish he were back home in Indiana. In the country he felt freer. He could drive for hours with no destination in mind and just enjoy the sights and smells.
But he knew he had to stay in the city. There simply weren't any jobs for television photojournalists in his small town. If he wanted to work in TV, he had to go where there were television stations. It was simple, inescapable logic.
Besides, he loved his job. Sure, it had its bad moments, as all jobs do. But he liked the chance to be creative, and he liked the people. He loved doing things with them, like the time when he and Jerry...
...met Janet. Damn. Everything led back to her. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about Janet. He decided to seek out The Norseman's Bar. Somehow he found himself at the Triplex Theatre instead. The quaint movie house had three features playing, but one title in particular caught his attention as he drove by.
Stalker.
Wasn't that the new movie by the director of Phobia? He thought so. Phobia was quite well received by the critics, especially for a horror movie. He saw it several times before buying the DVD. He knew Stalker was coming out, but couldn't believe it had already opened. He was a big fan of the horror genre.
This will take my mind off things, he thought. At least for an hour and a half, he amended.
Clicking on his turn signal, Dan pulled into the Triplex's parking lot.
2
The audience screaming and gasping in unison jolted him back to the present. He looked up in time only to catch a glimpse of blood splattering a windowpane. Then the scene ended. People were still chatting about it a minute later.
Damn, he thought, sitting alone in the darkness. Now I've just missed one of the best scares of the film.
He took a sip of his Diet Coke only to find it empty. Disgruntled, he slouched down in his cushioned chair and began to lose himself in the false reality of the screen again.
3
Ted Peters stood behind the concession counter and watched the double doors to screen 3 open. Dan walked out with a few others. That was Peters's signal to send one of his boys in to clean up after the increasingly messy patrons. He knew from Dan's many visits that Dan liked to stay and watch the credits, looking for familiar names, listening to the music. To Dan, the film wasn't over until the MPAA rating appeared. Peters didn't care one way or the other, as long as it was a good story.
Dan looked up, saw Mr. Peters, and walked over, having a passing acquaintance with the older man. If he were lucky, sometimes he could finagle a movie poster out of him after a film's run ended.
"What did you think of the movie?" Peters asked Dan, squinting his eyes to read the title card above the door.
"It was awesome."
"Ugh. Stalker," he said, finally focusing on Dan's selection. "Can't say I go for those types of films."
Dan smirked, putting his hands in his pockets and shrugging his shoulders. "For a horror film, this was excellent. Full of suspense. It really shows what the genre is capable of."
"If you say so. Me, I enjoy a good comedy. In comedies they don't show knives cutting pretty girls' throats while the crowd goes nuts, cheering the sicko on."
"You're taking the scene out of context," Dan said.
Peters gave him a skeptical look.
"Things like that happen everyday," Dan continued, defending the picture. "The filmmakers capitalized on a basic, raw human fear, without apologizing. It was a horror movie. I want to be scared. I don't want my horror watered-down with comic relief. Real horror masters like Clive Barker understand that. They peel away our skin and show us our real selves, even if it isn't pretty and we don't want to look. Sometimes we need to see it anyway."
"But don't you think that constant violence influences people? Makes them care less about others? They were laughing in there..."
Dan grinned sheepishly. "I'm not about to get in another argument with you about the media and its influences on society. You know I work at WKBC. But ask yourself this: if you feel that way, why do you book movies like Stalker?"
"I don't write 'em, I just show 'em," Peters grumbled, "and if they make me a buck, all the better."
Dan embarrassed the man exposing his hypocrisy. He took it as his cue to leave. He said goodbye and left the lobby, stepping outside into the warm night air.
Standing under the marquee, now dark, Dan wondered what his next move was. He didn't want to go home, and he didn't want to try Janet again---not yet, anyway. That's when he saw her: a woman with two boys, each clutching her hands tightly, sandwiching her like bookends. One of the boys was crying.
He had a vague memory of the woman being in the theatre with him, a few rows forward. He noticed her because she wore her hair like Janet, and he had to do a double take to make sure it wasn't Janet. He must not have seen the boys because they were too far down in their seats.
How could that woman take those children to see Stalker? he thought. They couldn't be any more than six or seven.
Following behind, he looked her over, wondering what kind of irresponsible woman would do such a thing. She wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a pullover sweater. No clue there as to her background. In the dark, Dan couldn't see much. He moved in, his step quickening. Within ten paces he had halved the distance between them. He was barely aware of the rush of adrenaline through his veins or the heat rising in his cheeks. He wanted to reach out and shake the woman, condemning her for allowing young, easily influenced eyes to watch an intense R-rated horror flick. To his amazement, he saw that he was reaching for her. He quickly recoiled his arm and froze.
He realized he was within two yards of her when he stopped his pursuit. Without moving, puzzling over his actions, he watched her and her boys walk the rest of the way to their car, get in, and drive off.
Then it hit him. She never heard. She never suspected. No wonder those guys in the movies get away with it.
It's so easy.
And fun.
Suddenly he was aware of the tingling dancing through his body. He was aware of the pulse-pounding heartbeat. He was aware of the sweaty palms. His every nerve felt so alive, awake, ready to take in new sensations. He hadn't felt like this since the tenth grade when Paula Winston asked him if he wanted to see something special and then proceeded to unhook her bikini top, letting it fall into her lap.
God, it was fun, wasn't it?
Yes it was
And easy
And she never heard a thing...
1
Dan popped a beer when he got into his apartment. All thoughts of going on to The Norseman's had fled his mind when he stood watching the woman he almost grabbed walk to her car. His body felt so alien that he needed familiar surroundings: home.
Dan's familiar surroundings might give other people the creeps. An array of movie posters lined his walls: zombies from Dawn of the Dead, Michael Myers from Halloween, Pinhead from Hellraiser, Jason from the various Friday the 13th movies... In one corner of the room stood a life-size cardboard standup of Freddy Krueger that Dan got from Mr. Peters at the Triplex.
He sat looking at his posters, reflecting on Stalker, and drinking beer. They went down one after another. He didn't even taste them; just guzzling them for their effects. The room started to spin when he leaned back and closed his eyes. He drank too much, too fast. He snapped his eyes open again to stop the spinning. They settled on his answering machine and the red message light. He felt a little guilty getting drunk while Janet was probably home, waiting for him to return her call. Slightly wavering fingers found the playback button.
beep: "Hey Dan. This is Jerry. Sorry I missed ya. I'll try back later, okay?"
Jerry, not Janet.
"That bitch," he said, staring at the empty beer cans through bloodshot eyes, the alcohol talking. "She owes me a call." Well, he thought, if she's not going to do it, I will.
He picked up the receiver and dialed her number, his mood in a complete turnaround from earlier in the evening when he had romance on his mind.
After six rings the anger slowly dispersed. He squinted at the clock on the wall. It read 11:37. The digital numbers looked fuzzy to Dan. This is unlike Janet, he thought as he hung up. She was usually home by now.
His hand had barely let go of the receiver when the phone rang. In the quiet darkness it made him jump. That's her right now, he smiled. In his mind he could see her in her apartment, listening to the ringing drone on and on, wringing her hands while debating whether to answer, knowing it was probably Dan. Her guilt made her return his call. Now his hand hovered over the phone, his mind debating the same issues. I can play this game too, he thought, his hand slipping into his lap. After the fourth ring his machine turned on.
beep: "Still gone, huh Dan? Or maybe you're there with Janet? Ooo-la-la! Hi Janet! See you tomorrow. Be good, you two!"
Dan could have picked up the phone and talked to him, explained to Jerry that Janet wasn't there, but he just didn't have the energy. The beer had taken its toll. Before the glowing numbers of his clock reached 11:45, Dan Freeman passed out.
2
Cold rain caused him to shiver. He looked up at the sky, dark and menacing. A powerful storm brewed.
He was following the woman from the movie theatre again, only this time the two little boys were holding Janet's hands. Before he had mistaken her for Janet---but now it really was her. He was going to go through with his urge to throttle her. It would feel good to get out some of his frustrations...
They walked along a row of houses, each one bordered by a white picket fence with red tulips leading up the walk to the front door where a welcome mat waited. Dan thought that was odd, but didn't pay it much heed. After all, Janet didn't have any children, yet here she was with two boys.
He proceeded on, cautiously.
He flowed with the skill of the Steadicam operator from Stalker. He barely felt his feet on the ground. But he was completely unprepared for what he saw next.
A horrifyingly familiar scene greeted him when he rounded the next corner. The idyllic houses lining the street quickly faded from sight, replaced by open fields of tall grass and weeds waving wildly about, buffeted by the cold gusts. The streetlights disappeared, replaced with the swirling lights of rescue vehicles: police, paramedics, fire. Beyond that laid the accident. Janet and the boys were nowhere to be found.
He felt a growing weight on his back and shoulders, and looked over to see his news camera perched there, red light blinking, ready to shoot.
"Jesus Christ, Dan. Look at this! Are you shooting?"
Numb and confused, he shook his head no.
"Well get to it, man!" Jerry said, jotting some notes. The blue ink smeared over the yellow paper, erasing his words almost as fast as he wrote them. "We've got an exclusive here!" he pronounced with excited glee.
Obeying blindly, Dan pressed the record button, sending the tape deck spinning into motion. He brought his eye to the lens cup, the rubber cold and slick, and set his focus. Through the lens he saw Jerry rushing off to talk to some officials, gathering details. What's Jerry doing here? he thought. Then, in a flash, it came to him.
He and Jerry had been up north ice fishing on one of their getaway weekends. It was December so getting time off was a bitch since it was the time when everyone wanted to go, but few could, since the news still had to go on as scheduled, 24/7. The one caveat to their trip was they had to take a camera along and shoot a sort of "Jerry Stevens on Holiday" piece for a future feature. During this trip Jerry made a classic blooper when he fell down on the ice talking to some fishermen.
On the way home they came upon the wreck. Jerry insisted on staying off the highway because people were driving like lunatics in the sleet.
But if he was just now coming back with Jerry, where did Janet fit in? He had forgotten her for a moment amidst all the chaos. One minute he was stalking her through city streets, the next he was here on a backcountry road. It didn't make any sense.
"Stay back! You're liable to get hurt!"
Dan spun around and saw a policeman waving him off. He nodded his understanding and backed away, returning his attention to the job at hand and forgetting about Janet for the time being.
This was the first time he really took a good look at the scene of carnage displayed in front of him. An Amtrak passenger train had slammed into an auto at a desolate railroad crossing. The collision knocked the first four or five train cars off the track, where they lay twisted on their sides, smoldering. Wide-eyed passengers wrapped in blankets milled about the remaining cars, stopped on the track. A small band of uniformed men tried, with limited success, to keep them under control.
Dan edged his way closer to the main wreckage, camera recording. He overheard a snippet of conversation:
"Any casualties?" asked a paramedic, as alternating colors of blue and red played across his face in the dark.
"One dead. We just don't know about the rest."
Dan then realized that all the others arrived only moments before he and Jerry did. There had to be more than one dead. The crossing didn't have a railing, only a light, and Dan guessed the car must have tried to beat the train. Dan turned the camera on it and saw a grisly image. The car was crinkled like tin foil, one arm dangling out of a shattered window, blood trailing to the ground from limp fingers. The windshield held a large red stain, matted with hair. Cracks in the glass disseminated from the impact point like tentacles. There was the one dead---Dan figured they must not have gotten to the train yet.
He was thankful to be looking at everything through his black and white viewfinder rather than in living color. He wasn't sure he could handle it. Over the years he had shot his share of accident video and crime scenes, but they were never this fresh, the blood not as shiny and bright, and never still flowing. This was the most gruesome thing he had ever shot. Back in the editing bay the editor and producer could decide between what was fit to air and what was deemed too offensive or tasteless, but now he wanted them to have enough material to choose from.
Finishing with the car, Dan pointed his camera at the derailed train. Clearly, no one had attended to it yet. He looked back at the police cars. Jerry was asking questions, and others were dealing with the rest of the passengers. That left a handful of paramedics to contend with, and he knew they'd be too busy to stop him from getting the footage he wanted. He hated it when he had to resort to tactics and trickery to get shots, but that was his job, and he was paid to do it well. He scurried down the embankment and headed toward the nearest overturned car.
It laid on its side, encrusted in the snow, the roof facing Dan. Climbing tenaciously with his cumbersome camera, he scaled up. He found a broken window and dropped into the car. At this skewed angle it took him a moment to get orientated. But even then, he could never be prepared for what he saw.
People were strewn on the floor, unconscious, injured, dead. Shattered glass littered everything. He spun around and encountered a young woman crawling toward him, holding something in her arms. She spoke incoherently, a desperate pleading in her tear-filled eyes. A little girl stood next to her, undoubtedly her daughter. The girl stared lifelessly out, a pain of glass embedded in her forehead, blood trickling into unblinking eyes. Dan trembled, backing away. He dropped the camera when he saw what the woman was holding out to him, like an offering. The body of a baby was swaddled in blankets stained red, its head sheared clean away. The woman stared at him, a faint hope in her eyes, as if he could repair the damage done to her son the way he could sew the head back on a rag doll or stuffed animal.
Dan's bladder let go and his legs lost their strength. He stumbled back, and slipped in a blood slick. He crashed down hard, the wind knocked from him. Lying on his back, gasping for breath, looking skyward, he addressed his God, long neglected, begging that this wasn't happening. His eyelids fluttered, his heart pounded. He was about to pass out. As his head lolled to one side, he caught sight of the baby's severed head, wedged between a metal support rod and the wall. The kicker was the light blue pacifier still in his mouth.
Dan suddenly found his breath, and screamed vehemently. It was a primal scream, all anguish and terror, his dry throat rasping, the cords on his neck standing out as the raw pain surged through his larynx.
He repeated the scream, over and over, again and again...
3
Dan bolted upright on the couch, clawing at his chest, gasping for breath. In the dark his panicked eyes darted about, searching for something familiar. They landed on a poster from the film Maniac, in which a ragged man is holding a bleeding, decapitated head by the hair. Another scream rose in Dan's throat, and he bit hard on his knuckles to keep the sound from escaping. But seeing the poster snapped him to his senses, and he realized where he was. He tried to breathe easy, but his breath still came in stitches.
The dream was as fresh in his mind as when the events actually occurred last year. With a chill, he remembered how he finally mustered the strength to claw his way out---on hands and knees---of the overturned cabin. The young mother blocked the way and Dan had to squeeze by. He became physically ill when his hand brushed the damp blanket. She grabbed the back of his coat, shrieking for help; he broke free and scampered out the way he came in.
Running like a deer, he fled into the nearby field, not stopping until he was at least two hundred yards away. When he finally stopped, he leaned over and violently wretched into the snow. Small puffs of steam rose up from the mess he made, and as he stared at it with glassy eyes it dawned on him that his camera was still inside the car.
Back in his apartment, Dan tried to forget the awful events. He had wanted to quit, but Jerry talked him out of it. Instead, he spent two months in therapy. He thought therapy had worked. Over time the images faded---until they came rushing back tonight.
He felt closed in. He decided to go walking, take in some fresh air, clear his head. Sleep wasn't going to come for some time.
1
Jerry Stevens sat across from Laura Danvers. She was on the phone. Jerry occupied himself by looking around the room. He had been in the news director's office a hundred times, but he never really stopped to look. Laura had small parts of herself on the walls: press awards, an autographed picture of Tom Selleck, candid shots of people in the newsroom. He saw one of himself and Dan. Jerry smiled sadly.
Laura finished her call and briskly hung up. She was an economical woman, even down to her gestures. "Made up your mind, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"You don't have to tell me your answer---it's written all over your face." She looked away from Jerry at some papers on her desk. "You've decided to go to Michigan State."
"It wasn't because your offer wasn't enough," Jerry stammered. "In fact, it was a very good offer, extremely generous. I feel bad turning it down. But you see---"
"I saw this coming a year ago. Talent like yours doesn't stay put for long once it's flushed out. No apology is necessary. I'm just sorry I'm losing you."
They clasped hands over the table. "Thank you. The position starts soon, but I'll be glad to continue working beyond two weeks, as long as I can, until you find a replacement."
She smiled. "A generous offer. Thanks, but I don't think it'll be necessary. I've been looking at several résumé tapes since you approached me, and a couple of them are very promising."
Jerry politely nodded. It all seemed so fast: the phone call from the University, visiting the campus, being wined and dined, all the while keeping it a secret. He had warned Laura that this might happen. She hired him, and put a lot of effort and investment into him. He thought it only fair to include her in his decision.
"How does Dan feel about this?"
Jerry dodged her eyes. "He doesn't know yet."
"Oh," Laura said softly.
When word came from East Lansing he meant to tell Dan immediately. Somehow the timing never seemed right. Knowing he was going to resign today, he tried the cop-out method of calling him last night. In a way he was glad Dan didn't pick up. This was too personal to say over the phone.
"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't post any memos just yet. There are a couple of people I'd like to hear it from me, not a sheet of paper tacked over the drinking fountain."
"I understand. I'll hold off on this until tomorrow."
Jerry thanked her again and returned to the newsroom of WKBC. Full of people, it would soon empty out as stories were assigned and staff dispatched to cover them. Everything would come together about an hour before the broadcast as everyone returned and worked like hell to make their slot. Since Jerry was a feature man he basically found his own stories. Now he sat quietly at his desk, pretending to work, waiting for Dan.
Jerry never heard him come up from behind. He simply turned around and there he stood. Jerry scanned his face and noticed the bloodshot eyes, the general puffiness of his cheeks, the creases in his forehead. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of aspirin, handing it to Dan.
"You look like hell. Are you hungover?"
"A little." He shook out a tablet and swallowed it dry, stroking his throat, trying to coax it down. Jerry grimaced. He could barely take aspirin with water.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
"I had a fight with Janet. It shook me up."
Jerry kicked out a chair for Dan. "What happened?"
Dan explained how he couldn't get in touch with her and how she wasn't at her apartment.
"That doesn't sound like Janet," Jerry commented. "Why don't you try her again? I'd think she'd be over it by now."
"I'm afraid to, okay?" Dan admitted. "What if it's over between us?"
"That serious?"
Dan sighed. "It wasn't that the fight was intense. It was the feeling I got from her, like she didn't care anymore."
"Maybe she has a problem at work, or with her family?" Jerry probed. "Her mind might be elsewhere."
"I'd like to think that we have the kind of relationship where she can tell me those things."
"It's not a perfect world, Dan. We all have our secrets."
"Maybe," Dan said, fidgeting. He changed the subject. "What did you call about last night? Two times---that's gotta be a record."
Speaking of secrets... Jerry took a deep breath. "The offer came from Michigan State yesterday."
Dan gave his friend the once over, seeing the obvious. "And you took it."
"I gave Laura my notice just before you came in."
Dan's expression soured. This saddened Jerry, for he always had a vision of celebrating his success with Dan. He continued, "You know it's a great offer to teach some photojournalism courses at MSU. The guy who did it is retiring."
"I guess I didn't think you were that serious."
"I've mentioned that I'd like to teach. It's no secret."
"But I thought you meant in the future."
"And so did I, before this opportunity came along."
Dan didn't reply, and that didn't make Jerry feel any better. Jerry drummed his fingers against his chin. How could he fix this problem? Maybe if they just got to work things would smooth themselves out.
2
It didn't turn out that way. Dan avoided people all day, except when work forced interaction. Finally he found some solace in a dark editing bay.
As Dan cut Jerry's story together, he thought back to his working relationship with him. There were other reporter/photojournalist teams at WKBC that simply couldn't get along. He and Jerry never had those problems. They could read each other's minds. Doing a story was child's play to them. And they were the best of friends.
One feature Jerry did won him a regional Emmy, was picked up by the network, and also spurred a State Representative to sponsor a new bill in the State House. The bill didn't pass, but it encouraged a lot of debate and caused people to look at public transportation in a new way. Public pressure caused some reforms locally. All that from a humorous piece satirizing a simple uptown bus ride.
He's talented, Dan thought. Maybe he's right about taking that teaching position. Maybe he's right about another thing too...
3
Janet heard the phone ringing as she fumbled for her key out in the hall. She quickly got the door open and dashed for it.
"Hello?"
"Janet? You're home."
"Obviously," she replied, irked.
"This is Dan. I called to..." To what? Suddenly he didn't know what to say. He hadn't rehearsed anything in his mind like he usually did when he apologized. Hell, he didn't even think she would be there. "To apologize, I guess. And to make sure you were all right."
"What made you think I wasn't?" she asked.
"I haven't been able to reach you," Dan explained. "I called you around 11:30 and didn't get an answer."
Janet laughed lightly. "I was home, I just wasn't in the mood to pick up. I figured only you would call me that late." She paused. "That note you left me had a subtle hostility to it."
"Yeah, I suppose it did," he admitted. "Were you there when I slipped it under the door?"
"No. I found it when I got back. After our little spat I didn't feel like dealing with you. I went over to a friend's house to get some space."
"I did the same sort of thing. I drove around, saw a movie, and finally got trashed."
"Getting drunk and hiding at a friend's house aren't the best ways to deal with our problems."
"What do you say we try again?"
"I'm not sure. Past fights have never affected us quite this way. I think we might need to reevaluate our relationship."
Dan's stomach dropped. Still, he tried. "I've got those steaks from last night, and the wine is still cold. Why don't you come over and we'll talk this out?"
"I'll come over, but don't knock yourself out. This could be a very short meeting."
"Meeting? You make it sound like we're business partners. I usually call it a date." Dan waited to see what kind of response that would illicit. None came. Not wanting to spark another confrontation, he quickly wrapped up the conversation. "How about eight? Is that good?"
"Sure."
"Okay. See you then." He almost hung up, but then remembered something else. "I'm just finishing Jerry's piece. It airs in a few minutes. You should watch it. It's pretty good."
She hung up the phone, fixed herself a cup of coffee and turned on WKBC just as they were introducing Jerry's feature, which usually was the last thing in the newscast. Taking a sip, she settled into her chair to watch Jerry's report. She almost always enjoyed them.
It started strangely. He sat at his desk in the newsroom, tie loose, papers scattered about. He addressed the camera directly.
"Today was one of those days when I couldn't come up with anything to do a piece on. Which trivial part of Americana could I isolate and pick on this time?
"Then I realized: why be trivial?
"I've been doing this for the last five years. Granted, occasionally I'll tackle a serious subject. I've always tried to mix things up, keep them interesting, perhaps even educate...
"But today I thought I'd try to get a little more personal, show you another side of Jerry Stevens."
He stood up, motioned the camera to follow him, and walked to one of the edit bays. Images flickered on a television monitor. The camera zoomed into the pictures on the screen, looking harsh and washed out. A matching dissolve later, and Janet was no longer looking at video on a monitor, but the actual video. Jerry stopped his voiceover and let the tape speak for itself.
Her eyes grew wide. She recognized some of this. It was blooper scenes of Jerry in the field that Dan shot. They often showed it to her when she visited the station. Dan even burned a copy on DVD.
Jerry was walking across a frozen lake, talking to some ice fishermen, concern in his expression as he warned of the dangers of melting ice, when suddenly he slipped and fell down, out of frame. The camera shook violently as Dan laughed, unable to hold it still. Through the magic of editing, Jerry was suddenly riding a merry-go-round at a county fair with a young lad on the horse next to him. As Jerry droned on about the fair, the boy's face turned various shades of green. Janet covered her mouth, laughing, remembering what happened next. Everyone saw it coming except Jerry, who was so engrossed in his monologue---until the boy threw up in his lap. This was followed by the time he did a standup at the zoo, and the gorillas kept reaching through the bars and hitting him on the head, not letting him finish a single take. Finally, on the fifth try, he made it, but just as he finished saying "Jerry Stevens, Eyewitness News," one of the gorillas came up from behind and threw poop at him. Hysterical laughter could be heard as the camera once again shook.
The picture dissolved back to the monitor in the edit bay, the camera zooming out to include Jerry.
"Well, I didn't say it would be a pretty side of me," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Jerry Stevens, Eyewitness News."
The picture dissolved to a shot of all the anchors on the set, yucking it up over Jerry's piece. What a bizarre feature, Janet thought, flipping through the channels with a remote until she landed on VH-1. Must've have been a slow news day.
1
"There you go, boys."
Samantha set down their second round of drinks, smiled, and then returned behind the bar of The Norseman's. Jerry watched her saunter off, hips swaying.
"I see that," Dan said.
"What?"
"You looking at Sam. I always knew you had the hots for her."
Jerry appraised her full figure and long hair. "Well, I always did have a thing for blondes. What do you think of that one?" He pointed off toward a group of young women engaged in a wild bachelorette party, snapping photos.
"The bride?"
"No. She's cute, but I'm talking about the one on the left."
Dan looked at the girl in the blue dress. "Nice, but I'm still attached, you know."
Jerry did his shot, shuddering as it went down. "You called Janet then? How'd it go?"
Dan drank his Jack Daniel's and shrugged. "Could've been better. She's meeting me for dinner after this. She thinks she's getting steak, but I'm afraid she may end up with peanut butter and jelly." He laughed.
Jerry looked Dan firmly in the eyes, getting serious. "Now listen to me. I want you to work out your problems with that lady, understood? She's much too special to let out of your life so easily."
"I know. I'll try. Thanks."
"You better get moving. You've got a hot date and all." When Dan didn't move immediately, he added, "If you don't, I will. I've always loved peanut butter and jelly in the company of a beautiful woman."
"Take a cold shower, I'm going."
They laughed uneasily, and Dan stood, putting a hand on Jerry's shoulder.
"So, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow it is," Jerry replied.
Saying "tomorrow" seemed strange to Dan, taking on a whole new meaning, knowing they were now talking in finite terms.
2
Janet sat on a stool in her bedroom, slowly combing her long brown hair and thinking about her life. It seemed to be one long cycle, awash in fads and surface congeniality. She was popular in school, supplying money to her friends to buy drugs---marijuana in high school, cocaine in college---though she didn't use them herself. After graduation, her friends moved on, leaving her behind. That taught her a sorry lesson about herself: she was becoming a clone of her parents, buying people's attention with money, not love. She vowed to change her ways, but had only marginal success. She continued to fall back to her old ways when things weren't going as she'd like them to, like a junkie returning to the cold, rusty needle, knowing that each injection might bring death but tying on the tourniquet anyway, hoping for one more high.
In her quest to rid herself of her parents and their influence she moved west, eventually becoming a Realtor. But problems still followed her. She tried crystals, yoga, and many Eastern teachings. Her latest religion was the New Age movement, but that didn't quite offer what she was looking for either. She searched for something to fill the void in her empty soul, trying to fit in when she felt like an outsider. And her choices were becoming more extreme.
As she sat at her bureau, pursing her lips and applying lipstick, she reflected on Dan Freeman. His simple ways and boyish innocence were a refreshing change for her. The odds were against their meeting: they didn't go to the same school, work at the same place, live in the same neighborhood, go to the same church, or move in the same circle of people. Their backgrounds were completely different: she from affluent snobs in Connecticut, he from good folks in Indiana. She had been walking in the park when a Frisbee nearly took her head off. A man came running over, apologizing profusely. She laughed it off, and tossed the disk back to him. That man was Jerry Stevens.
She wanted a good look at the person whom had thrown the Frisbee so off course---Jerry had been a good twenty yards off to one side. What she saw pleased her. Dan was dressed in soccer shorts and a white tank top, his sandy brown hair slightly damp with perspiration. He appeared to be athletic, his leg muscles rippling as he chased after the Frisbee. She spread her blanket on the soft grass near them and watched.
The Frisbee kept coming her way. She thought it highly suspicious---there was no wind to speak of. Every time that Jerry ran over to get it, Dan would have a big grin spreading out over his face. Either he had a terrible arm, or was trying to set Jerry up. After it landed by her the sixth or seventh time, she set down her diet soda, aimed, and with a strong snap of her wrist sent it sailing toward Dan's crotch. His eyes grew wide, and he caught it just in time. She tried to conceal her laughter when he came running over.
"That's quite an arm you've got," he said, looking her over. "Why don't you join us? We'll form a triangle."
"Well...I don't usually..." Yet she had intended to all the time.
"C'mon. Toss it around with us. It'll be fun."
And so she did.
The three of them spent a good deal of the day throwing the Frisbee back and forth, feeding the birds, or just lying on the grass, people watching. It was an enjoyable Sunday. Norman Rockwell couldn't have painted a better scene.
Later they went out for drinks. She felt a little foolish wearing a pair of shorts, bikini top, and sandals, but Dan and Jerry made her feel so comfortable that she didn't care. They were crazy and spontaneous, composed of a refreshing blend of zaniness and intelligence. Within the course of the day they had her laughing hysterically and engaged in hot political debate.
Occasionally she noticed Dan stealing a glance her way. She wondered if he knew she was doing the same thing to him. Meanwhile, Jerry tripped over himself trying to get to know her. She recognized him from TV, and the old Janet would have gone for him, but the new Janet preferred Dan's quiet gentleness---his cool blue eyes didn't hurt either. They didn't say much---but much was understood. When she finally went to leave they all exchanged phone numbers.
The next day she called Dan at work, her finger trembling slightly as she dialed the number. To her delight she found that she could talk to him easily and openly. She invited him to dinner at her place, and that had been the start of it. Over the past year they had grown closer, and Jerry, who was such a Don Juan that first day, had become one of her close friends.
If only the past were gone, she thought, looking at herself in the mirror, averting her gaze away from the eyes that judged her.
3
Dan took a shower and got dressed fast, taking a brief moment to consider his appearance in a mirror.
"What do you think?" he said vainly to a poster of Elvira, mistress of evil and late-night horror movie hostess. "Will I knock her dead, or what?"
Elvira had no reply. Dan didn't have time for conversation anyway, since he had to rush out and check the food again. Janet could be coming at any moment. He quickly kissed his hand and laid it against Elvira's cheek. He made a mental note to try and get a Stalker poster from Mr. Peters down at the Triplex.
God, that was a scary movie, wasn't it?
4
Janet arrived a few minutes later. They were polite to each other, but nothing more. Dan suggested they eat right away while the food was still hot.
Dinner conversation was sparse, as each avoided the subject they had agreed to discuss. Instead they spoke of the weather, an episode of a sitcom they had both seen, and their gripes at work. Janet seemed to perk up when told of Jerry's imminent departure.
"He'll make a fine teacher," she said, folding her napkin over her plate, "and if you ever need a second career, you should consider becoming a chef. The steak was excellent."
She began to gather up her dishes to take them to the sink. Dan laid his hand over hers.
"I'll take care of that later. Why don't we move to the living room? It's more comfortable there."
The touch of his hand sent an unexpected jolt of electricity through her. They had been apart so long. His overture to move to the other room was a sophomoric attempt at getting physical, and although she had enjoyed his boyish ways in the past, she was unwilling to give in so easily now. Even so, she went over and sat on the sofa. In Dan's apartment, the "living room" meant the sofa. After refilling their wineglasses, Dan joined her. He lifted his glass in a toast. Hesitating slightly, Janet followed his lead.
"I've been doing more of this than I should today," he said with a smile, "and I'm going to pay for it tomorrow, but I'd like to propose a toast anyway. To us: may we have many more evenings like this."
They clanked glasses and drank. Janet felt the pleasant warming effects produced by the alcohol. Dan must have to as he put an arm around her shoulder, his hand drooping over her chest, brushing against her right breast. She shrugged away from his traipsing hand, letting it perch on her shoulder instead.
Dan sensed the coolness from her. "I thought that making up after a fight was supposed to be the best part."
"I'm not convinced that we've made up. We've barely discussed our problem."
Dan began to kiss her softly along her cheek and neck. "What problem?"
The brush of his lips brought the electricity back, this time flowing at a higher current. Janet tilted her head back, allowing him better access, her eyes closed. "You know what I'm talking about."
Dan mumbled an unintelligible response. His lips found hers, and kissed them softly. Her lips were tight, pursed. He persisted, and she warmed up, parting her lips and thrusting her probing tongue into his. They mingled and intertwined with a hunger. His hand returned to her breast. This time she let it stay there, enjoying the slight bounce as he explored.
Janet ran her hands along the insides of his thighs. It filled him with a tingling sensation that drove him to the edge. He willed her hands upward until one bumped into the bulge of his crotch. There she ground her palm down and kneaded him roughly, her thumb tracing the length of the growing rigid form she felt there, her other fingers tickling his balls through the fabric of his pants.
Dan pulled back and took off his shirt, his skin covered with a thin layer of perspiration. In an instant, he reached for her blouse, undoing the buttons. As he brushed her necklace she suddenly grabbed his hand and held it firmly. He noticed her hands were cool and trembling.
"No. We can't do this."
"Why not?" Dan asked, still in a heightened state.
"Because I'm not going to be used this way. I'm not a whore," she said, hanging her head low and holding her collar tight. "I don't know what possessed me to do that. It must have been the wine."
Anger now replaced his excitement. "What's the matter with you? You're a walking contradiction! Ten seconds ago you were jerking my balls and tonguing me. It's not like that would have been the first time we made love."
"Made love? That wouldn't have been making love. We were going to fuck."
Dan reeled incredulously. "What are you talking about?"
"Look at us. We were writhing around like a couple of animals. Listen to the way you talk about it: 'jerking my balls.' You were using me to get off, and I won't let you."
"That's not true, Janet. I love you. Whatever's going on here, we can work it out." He looked at her pleadingly. Janet said nothing. Disdainful, Dan paced the room. He put an arm around his Freddy Krueger standup and spoke directly to it. "I can't believe this is happening, can you?"
"Believe it," Janet said, behind him. "And while we're at it," she gestured at all the movie memorabilia in a sweeping motion, "grow up. What is all this? Monsters and ghouls and freaks..."
"It's a hobby, nothing more," Dan said defensively.
"This is for children. There are far worse horrors lingering within man. I suggest you try tapping into those. Maybe then you'll know the power of real fear."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She tucked in a loose corner of her blouse. "I have somewhere to go," she stated firmly, ignoring his question.
"You're going to leave? You don't want to stay and talk this out?"
"From my point of view I don't see much to talk about."
Dan was stunned. "I can't believe you're going to throw away what we have."
She said nothing as she walked past him---only sparing him a pitying look.
"Can I call you tomorrow?" he asked, unthinking.
"You can call. I can't guarantee that I'll answer."
She slammed the door shut behind her, its echo ringing loudly in Dan's ears. He turned away from the door and stood in the middle of the room, alone.
1
Dan parted the kitchen curtain with one hand and watched as Janet went to her car. He was tempted to yell something obscene out the screen but thought better of it. His mind still didn't believe the pictures his eyes were sending it.
Why did she leave? Was it for good?
She wasn't at all herself tonight. She seemed conflicted, torn. If she wanted to pull that kind of crap with him it was fine. He didn't care a bit.
But he did care. He realized that as he watched her red Ferrari drive out of sight. Part of him wanted to run wildly out, hop into his Chevy, and pursue her. But what good would that do? They'd just have another scene like before.
Was it another man?
That seemed a strong possibility. If so, how long had it been going on? Wonderful memories of loving her became dirty, soiled. The thought of another man making love to (or, to use her word, fucking) Janet in the same months that he had made his skin crawl.
He released the curtains and let them fall back into place. For the second night in a row he needed to get out. He quickly changed out of his dress clothes and pulled on jeans and tennis shoes. He locked the door behind him.
The balmy air felt good on his face. For a hundred yards or so he just walked, concentrating on the air and nothing else. The cracks in the sidewalk moved swiftly under his feet, one after another in a blur. He was careful never to step on one---
(step on a crack, break your mother's back)
---not because he necessarily believed that, only because it was a habit he picked up as a child.
He took a right turn on Division Street, moving away from the commercial sector where his apartment building was toward a more residential zone. He had only gone a few blocks but felt miles away once the sodium lights of gas stations and Quick Marts faded from sight. Though it was dusk out, it was dark here, like nighttime was supposed to be, the shade of trees blanketing the street.
He walked along rows of big houses. They all kind of looked the same: two-story with a garage off to one side. Shrubs of varying heights surrounded them, planted in pools of woodchips---it was the perfect neighborhood to play games like Hide & Seek, Kick the Can, and Bloody Murder.
Dan was a fan of Bloody Murder. As he strode, absorbing the atmosphere of the area, he fondly remembered playing the game with neighborhood kids. It worked like a cross between Hide & Seek and Kick the Can, except the player who hid was also the Bloody Murderer. As other children circled the house looking for him, he crouched in his hiding place, waiting to burst out and attack. The other players got three laps around the house to find the Bloody Murderer before he found them.
The second lap generally brought on the tension. That was when an unexpected (yet expected) attack by the Bloody Murderer might occur. The group of searchers would cluster together like nuts in a candy bar, peering into the darkness of the bushes, occasionally goosing each other for fun and a cheap scare. If the branches were really thick nothing could be seen. The thought of staring the Murderer in the face and naively walking along was enough to bring a chill to the bravest spine (especially when you're eight and it's dark). The players' ears operated at a heightened level, straining to be the first to hear someone yell "Bloody Murder!" when the "killer" was found so they could run to the "goal" and not get "tagged" or "killed" and become "It."
Dan was very good at the game. He loved hiding in the shadows, watching as his friends crossed in front of him, clueless to his whereabouts. He sometimes followed them to change his hiding place---which always put them off guard. Before the game was over he would often "murder" the whole lot because his attacks were so unpredictable. He smiled warmly.
Dan wondered if he could repeat his awesome performance of the game now. The lady at the theatre sure hadn't heard him. He wondered if others would be as unaware.
He took a few steps, trying to make them light. He put his heel down first, rolled the arch of his foot down, and continued rolling until he was on his toes. He didn't hear much noise as he walked. The sound was a quiet shuffling, like leaves blowing across the street.
The palette of the sky changed from reds to blues and finally purples once the last sliver of the sun pushed beyond the horizon. Dan enjoyed the darkness, just as he had as a kid. It was his ally. He felt stronger, more sure of himself. The night hid his insecurities. He embraced it.
Thinking of the character from Stalker, he looked for someone to follow. He'd stalk him/her for a few blocks, closing the gap as he went, and then let up once he got near. He didn't want to arouse suspicion. Besides, he thought he wouldn't have to worry about that. He figured he wouldn't even get within half a block.
The street seemed incredibly quiet for so early in the evening. Only a moment ago he passed all sorts of people as folks were putting their garbage cans to the curb, watering flowers, wheeling lawnmowers into garages. Now, no one could be seen, just the faint blue flickering from television screens in homes.
It dawned on him that he had been walking quite a distance. He decided to start heading back home before he got too far. As he turned around he found what he was looking for. A woman in her mid-fifties was walking briskly down the sidewalk, holding a small bag in her arms. Her skirt swished around her legs like the agitator inside a washing machine.
Suddenly Dan felt very nervous. His heart beat faster, harder, almost audible. His lips went dry. He tried to lick them to make them moist again, but he had no spit. Opportunity was knocking: the woman was alone, and no one else was around. But her outline was shrinking smaller and smaller the longer he stood there. It was now or never.
Finally, as though the decision had been made for him, and not by him, he took his first step. The second was much easier than the first, the third that much easier than the second. The more he walked the less inhibited he felt. His confidence returned in degrees. He began to feel a quirky sense of enjoyment.
This is easy, he thought, a piece of cake. Why would she suspect that I'm following her? She's walking on a public sidewalk; I have as much right to be there as she does.
He had to be careful, sneaking glances over his shoulder every ten steps or so, to make sure no one saw him lurking around. He applied all his concentration to be as stealthy as possible.
(heel to toe, heel to toe...keep a light, rolling motion...)
He kept expecting her to produce a set of keys out of her pocket, head up one of the walks to a house, and let herself inside. Surely she lived around here somewhere. He thought the game would end just as he was beginning to have fun.
But that didn't happen, at least not yet. He continued to close the gap. When he started, he was over a good block away. Now, he was twenty-five yards from her. He began to feel more excited than ever. How close can I get to her? Ten yards? Ten feet? Close enough to touch? Wanting to get as close as possible, and sensing that his time was growing short, he began to increase his pace. As his speed increased, he started to get sloppy.
He sucked in his breath as he kicked a bottle cap skittering into the street. He ducked behind a tree, biting his lip so no sound would escape him.
Startled, she whirled around. She saw no one, which disturbed her. She thought she sensed a presence behind her for the last half block. She was about to turn back and continue walking when she saw the spinning cap, casting off reflected light from a streetlamp on each revolution. She watched for a cat that perhaps was following her to run out and swat it like a hockey puck. At home, her cat Gershwin did that all the time. When no animal chased after it, she felt nervous again, not feeling safe until she got inside her house and bolted the door behind her. Gershwin came mewing up. She was glad to see him.
Dan watched the door to her house, waiting for her to come out. When at last he was sure she was inside for good, he emerged from behind the tree. He felt his forehead with a shaking hand. It was shiny wet with sweat. His shirt stuck to his back, damp. His body was flashing him warning signals, signals he hadn't noticed while he was stalking. He was surprised to find how nervous he was. He felt so confident while pursuing the woman.
A screen door a few houses down banged open as a man came out carrying two garbage bags over his shoulder. Dan's heart leapt in his throat, choking off a gasp. Not wanting to be seen loitering about, he quickly shrugged down and walked off toward the neon lights of home.
As he went he replayed the recent events over and over again in his mind. He felt sure he could have gotten closer if he had just been a little more careful.
(heel to toe, heel to toe...keep a light, rolling motion...)
That was the secret. He had to learn to be more careful, more patient. Silence was a virtue.
1
The Norseman's Bar thinned out until only a handful of patrons remained, nursing their last call drinks, putting off going home to empty apartments.
Jennifer Cook moved from her table to a wobbly barstool. She slouched forward until her chin dangled a few inches from her chest, curving her back as though she had scoliosis. She gave up being attractive long ago. Her friends from the bachelorette party had since moved on to more risqué adventures. She didn't go with them, saying she had to get up early and go to work. Instead she found herself still here, feeling envy, then jealousy, and now a sour defeat. Among her friends, she alone was without a man.
She flagged down Sam, which was no challenge. Only four other people sat at the bar, one of which was looking her way.
"I'll have a rum and Coke," she said, trying to maintain her balance on the stool. She reached into her purse, rummaging through her things, searching for money.
"I'll pay for that. My treat."
Startled, she looked up to see where the voice came from. She recognized the man who checked her out a moment ago. He had moved down to the stool next to her. She hadn't heard him---she must have been distracted going through her purse.
"That's nice of you," she replied, "but I'll get it."
"But I want to," he said, inching his stool closer. He looked Jennifer up and down, eyes crawling over her body, enjoying her trim waist, flat stomach, and small pointed breasts. The body of a high school girl, he thought. But her face showed her years. Her eyes, highlighted with just a touch of liner, told of experience, not of a perky seventeen-year-old dreaming about the star quarterback. She had on an ice blue dress slit high up on the thigh. His mind's eye followed the slit to its logical conclusion while he longed to see it with his real eyes. "Besides, it's not often that a woman with your class comes in here."
Feeling his eyes undress her, she said, "If I let you pay for it, you might expect some other sort of payment later." She smiled as Sam delivered her drink. It amused her to see the man so angry. He deserved it for coming on like such a jerk.
"Look bitch," he gritted through clenched teeth. "I don't have to take this, from you or anybody." He moved closer, until she could smell his breath, thick with liquor. "Quit the tease. We both know what you want."
"Get away from me!" she said, trying to back away.
He reached out and clasped his hand firmly around her wrist, his fingernails biting into her skin. "You like it rough, don't you?" He breathed his foul odor on her again.
Seeing this, Sam intervened. "Leave the lady alone. You've had enough tonight."
The man didn't like two women taking him down, but he felt the attention of the bar shift to him. Defeated, he let go. Shaken, Jennifer rubbed her arm.
"Screw the both of you!" he spat, and then made for the door.
"He probably thinks we're lipstick lesbians," Sam joked.
"In his wet dreams," Jennifer laughed back.
"I'm really sorry about that. The drink's on the house, with my apologies."
Jennifer picked up the drink, twirling the glass back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. "Thanks, but after that, I'm not in the mood."
She put the drink back down and left the bar a few minutes later. Sitting in her car, she ran one finger along the titles of her CDs, searching for one to fit her mood. At last she decided on Fleetwood Mac's Rumours and slid it in. "Go Your Own Way" throbbed from her speakers. She tapped the steering wheel in rhythm, singing along, off-key.
It was easy driving through empty streets, which made her happy because she wouldn't have to bob and weave through congested traffic. She was paranoid that she drank a little too much herself tonight. She didn't want to get stopped by the police and have to face a Breathalyzer test.
She wished her roommate Lisa had come along, but Lisa barely knew the bride-to-be. Lisa usually only had one drink, if that. She almost always drove them home. She continued along, wishing she were in Lisa's car too. Lately hers had been acting up.
She checked her mirror again for any sign of police. Two bright circles of light were now behind her. They inched closer, filling her mirror with reflected light, causing her to squint painfully. Some jerk had his high beams on. She adjusted the mirror so that light didn't shine directly onto her face. She always had a low tolerance for brightness.
Storefronts paraded past her quickly. Her speedometer registered 45. Noticing this, she eased her foot off the gas, allowing gravity to slow the car. She was still in the 35 m.p.h. zone, and if this was a cop shadowing her she didn't want to give him ammunition.
A block later a traffic light stopped her. Bright light washed over her rearview mirror. The car behind her stopped abruptly a few feet behind her and revved its engine. It sounded like someone clearing his throat, lined with phlegm. Obviously it wasn't a cop. It revved again, louder this time. Jennifer squinted into her mirror but saw nothing but lights. She twisted around, fighting her seatbelt, and tried to get a glimpse of the driver. She could make out the murky shape of a man, but nothing more.
Probably the jerk from the bar, she thought. He continued to rev his engine, drowning out Fleetwood Mac. Jennifer became irritated. As the light changed from red to green, she remained at the intersection, blocking the way, slowly unrolling her window. She put her arm out and raised it high into a fist. The middle finger uncurled until it stood straight and rigid. She looked into the mirror for a reaction, but could see nothing. She had a smug satisfaction performing the act, but it would have been sweeter if she could see him pounding his fist in anger against the steering wheel---at least then she would have known that he had seen it. She brought her arm back into the car, shifted the clutch into first gear, and resumed her trip, the wind blowing stronger on her face as she sped up. The car coughed and sputtered, protesting a bit at first, but was running smoothly now.
The other car clung more intensely than ever. She estimated a gap of only five yards between them. She started to have second thoughts about giving him the bird. Apparently he didn't take constructive criticism very well.
She spied her entrance ramp and habitually flicked on her turn signal. Immediately after, she saw that he copied her move and turned his on. God, that was stupid! she thought. I've just told this guy where I'm going! Why don't I just stop and give him directions?
She thought about going straight, through the intersection, ignoring her signal. She could then go to the next block and circle back. But that seemed like a whole lot of trouble for what was likely a simple coincidence. Lots of people used the highway. Besides, it was late, and she was tired. She turned the wheel and eased her Escort onto the freeway. Behind her, the other car followed suit.
After what seemed like forever she reached her exit sign, still with her tail. She felt better, but not safe. If he followed her again she didn't know what to do. It seemed unwise to go to her apartment. She glanced at her gas gauge. It was showing just above empty. She couldn't drive forever on fumes. She bit her lip, considering her options. The exit sign loomed larger. She'd have to do something soon, and the next exit was ten miles farther. She doubted she had enough gas to get off there and double back.
Gut instinct guided her. Without a signal she swerved off at the last moment, squealing her tires. The other car sped by, continuing down the highway. Jennifer breathed a sigh of relief, the reassuring feeling of freedom overcoming her.
Gas stations and convenience stores melted away as she entered the residential area. She took a left, leaving the main drive, and headed into the thick of houses. The apartment she shared with Lisa was the second floor of a two-story home. It was quiet, peaceful, and exactly what she was looking for tonight after realizing she wasn't going to find a decent man.
Jennifer came to the first of many four-way stops. She slowed to a crawl, approached the intersection, saw that no one was coming, and resumed her speed, gliding through it. It was after two in the morning, and odds were that no one saw her traffic violation. But why risk it? She could see her house in the distance. Her seemingly long journey home was almost complete. After all she'd been through, now was not the time to be pulled over by police. At the next stop sign she came to a complete, textbook stop, looking both ways.
And stalled.
She couldn't believe it. She turned the key, stepping on the gas pedal repeatedly, hoping and praying for any sign of life. All she accomplished was creating a well-flooded engine. She wanted to throttle something. She settled for pounding a fist against the dashboard. Not wanting to have the battery run dead too, she ejected Fleetwood Mac and turned off the lights.
Sighing, she got out of the car. Her heels made audible clicks as they touched down on the pavement, one after the other. The resounding clunk of her car door slamming echoed between the rows of closely lined houses. A single light flicked on in one of the windows, fingers parted the shade, two eyes peered out. Not threatened by what they saw, the shade fell back into place, the glow of the light extinguished.
Jennifer walked down the sidewalk, leaving her car behind. Dark shadows spilled out between houses, splashing across the walk. Jennifer moved in and out of them, like an actress in a film noir.
Once she got home she had to wake Lisa. Lisa would be pissed, but what could she do? Together the two of them would figure something out. Perhaps they could push it home, one of them steering, the other doing the pushing. It was, after all, only an Escort.
The darkness shifted and separated, a section tearing itself away from the rest. The black figure stood silently, following Jennifer with his eyes. A grin formed on paper-thin lips.
She debated who should push and who should steer. She reached the conclusion that maybe she ought to push. If someone's back was going out, she deserved it. It was already a lot to ask Lisa to come out and help.
He listened to the steady click of her heels against the concrete, memorizing her rhythm and pace. Once done, he set out, treading his feet down at precisely the same moment Jennifer did. Silent as a kitten, he moved.
She wished she had left The Norseman's with the rest of the girls. It seemed that every time she lingered to try and meet a man she ran into trouble with one jerk or another.
Dark fingers rubbed against each other in anticipation, the dry skin quietly scratching, like two sticks rubbed together by a Boy Scout trying to start a fire. Air moved in and out of his nostrils at a snail's pace, drawing long, silent breaths.
Jennifer wondered if she really wanted to meet a man in a bar, especially after tonight's creep. These thoughts disturbed her as she walked.
The moonlight highlighted her hair with an ethereal glow. He wanted to run his hands through those angelic locks, smell the sweet fragrance, pull it out by its roots...
She decided to buy Lisa some cheesecake for helping out. It would be fun to man bash and pig out at the same time.
The figure brushed his hand against a bulge in his pocket. He let it rest there, feeling the strength and truth ensuing from the object. It had to be done. He had seen the Light, heard Its decrees. And the Light was good.
Jennifer could see the house clearly now. The light above the stairs leading to their apartment was on. Lisa usually did that when she stayed out late, reminding her of her father and how he used to do the same thing to discourage young men from staying too long on the porch with his daughter. A pleasant smile formed on her lips. She was almost home.
He moved up behind her, cupping a hand over her mouth. With the other hand he removed the knife from his pocket. Amidst the struggle, a small audible click was heard as the blade emerged from its casing. He grabbed her harder, firmer, overcoming her. He wrestled her off the sidewalk, where he reunited with the shadows. They were swallowed whole.
The soothing chirp of crickets filled the air, while the porch light burned on and on and on...
1
She arrived outside of Laura Danvers's office sporting a new haircut and new outfit. She realized these were indulgences and felt a little self-conscious since it was her first day. She stood at the door, gathering herself, praying that Laura wouldn't open it while she stood there, primping. She breathed into a cupped hand, waving it in front of her nose. She ran her fingers through her hair. All seemed well. Anxiously, she rapped on Laura's door.
Laura looked up from her terminal when she walked in. "Ah...Melissa. Good to see you. What are they teaching you kids in college?"
Melissa was confused. "Excuse me?"
"I was just reading a script for an upcoming story. Atrocious. Misspellings, grammar forgotten, and the paragraphs are arranged seemingly at random."
Unsure what to say Melissa only hemmed and hawed.
Laura threw back her head and laughed. "Don't take me so seriously. I could feel your nervousness clear across the room! I was trying to loosen you up. I like to keep a light atmosphere in this department. Otherwise, people would go home and slit their wrists every night after the parade of obscenities they're exposed to everyday."
Melissa smiled politely. "I suppose."
"Have you had a chance to see one of our newscasts yet?" Laura asked.
"Are you kidding? The TV was the first thing I unpacked! I wanted to get a sense of what kind of station I was working for."
"And?"
"I was impressed. Good stacking, thoughtful pieces---heck, I even liked the graphics look."
"Glad to hear that, considering how much we paid for it," Laura laughed, and then stood. Melissa warmed to her. She once again saw the competent news director that she met during her interview. "Would you like to meet some of the people you'll be working with?"
2
Dan lingered by Jerry's desk, awaiting his replacement's arrival. He only caught a quick glimpse of her as she went into Laura's office.
With a yawn he started picking through what was left on Jerry's desk after he came in over the weekend and cleaned things out. Only a few items remained: pens, a handful of paperclips, a paperweight depicting a winter scene upon a miniature church, and a Rolodex with most of the phone numbers removed. The pens would be pirated by someone before the day was over, as would the Rolodex. But the paperweight? It was so cheap and tacky looking it was no wonder Jerry left it behind.
Dan sighed. He too was starting to feel left behind. In the last few weeks his friends network was crumbling: Jerry was leaving; Janet wasn't answering phone calls. The last time he spoke with her was three days ago. Yesterday, he didn't even try. So he spent his time stalking, heading out into the night and following complete strangers. It was really taking a toll on his sleeping. He wondered what else it was taking a toll on...
Dan picked up the heavy paperweight, surprised it was made of glass and not plastic, and turned it topsy-turvy, watching the "snow" drift down. If the flakes were to scale the church would have been bombarded, smothered until mid-June when all the snow finally melted. How could Jerry ever have had such a thing on his desk? It was something a tourist would pick up in a motel lobby gift shop for their Great Aunt Martha on their way home after realizing they hadn't gotten her anything. Only Great Aunt Marthas enjoyed that sort of thing. They displayed them on their mantles right between their crucifix made of crushed seashells from the Florida Keys and their vile containing an "authentic" piece of the Berlin Wall.
He pilfered the paperweight, scooping it into his breast pocket. Corny or not, it would make a memorable souvenir of his old friend.
Laura's door opened and she came out with an attractive woman, dressed sharply, her figure flattered by the slim outfit. Shoulder length blonde hair floated about striking cheekbones. Soft blue eyes offset the sophistication the rest of her appearance suggested, offering a hint of the playful girl inside the dress. Still, her beauty was unique---not Cover Girl material. Dan suspected he could look at her face a hundred times and always find something different. They came over.
"Dan, I'd like you to meet Melissa Van Dyke," Laura said, regarding her companion. "Melissa, this is Dan Freeman, your photographer."
Melissa took his hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Are you enjoying your first day with us?" he asked.
"So far, so good," Melissa answered sheepishly to the loaded question. She became aware of the whispering voices and anxious stares of others in the newsroom and braced herself for the inevitable comparisons to Jerry Stevens to come. "I'm wondering, though, how long it'll be before they ask me to shoot my part in the promotional piece."
"What?" Dan asked.
"You know, the one where everyone is rushing around, yelling and shouting, tossing tapes back and forth across the newsroom like footballs, scrambling to the set seconds before air?"
Dan was befuddled, but Laura started to smirk.
"I'll have to shoot an insert to cover Jerry Stevens's scene," she continued. "Which do you think would be better, Dan: me hurdling over a desk carrying a camera or running out of a burning house with an armful of kittens?"
Laura's smirk grew to laughter, while Dan started to chuckle.
"Very astute. Very observant," Laura said. "The Promotion Department is always available for mocking. I'm going to like you, Melissa."
Dan felt awkward. Jerry's replacement stood in the flesh before him. She certainly wasn't what he'd expected. He was prepared to dislike her simply on principle. Instead, he found that he liked her---very much.
3
They drove toward their first assignment together. It wasn't a feature, but a serious accident that tied up the highway.
"Does it bother you that they've just sent us on a standard news story?" Dan asked.
"Not really," Melissa said. "In Fort Wayne they used me for all sorts of stuff when people were spread thin."
Dan perked up. "Are you from Indiana?"
"No. WKBC is my third station, following Fort Wayne and a brief stint in Green Bay as a part-time reporter straight out of college. I seem to be slowly working my way back eastward to my hometown of Baltimore."
"That's the nature of this business," Dan said, thinking of Jerry. "People are always moving around."
She nodded. "Green Bay was also where I learned the cruel economic truths about TV: there's not much money in it, unless you're an anchor."
"Well the anchors make more because they're the real draw to a newscast, not the content or how well it's put together. With all the crap that we put up with, it takes a real love of the medium to stay in it."
Melissa nodded agreement again. She thought she possessed the love required, but it made for a hard life. It seemed that every time she made a friend, that person would move on to a different station, or get fed up with the weekends, holidays, and long hours and remove themselves from the business altogether. She did the same thing, moving every other year. It was difficult to form lasting friendships in or outside of work. She hoped to have a friend in Dan.
"How much farther?" she asked.
"Normally a minute or two, but with this traffic..."
They were ensnared in a bottleneck of stopped cars. Flares lined the road, channeling everyone into a single file line. It appeared to snake on for miles. Impatient, Dan went around the cars and onto the shoulder, approaching slowly.
"We're media," he told Melissa. "We can do anything."
She laughed and realized for the first time how handsome he was, albeit a little haggard looking. She liked talking to him. Perhaps it was his roguish boyishness. When she saw him before, his blue eyes looked tired, but now they sparkled with the urgency of the job at hand. She liked that too.
4
Five minutes later they were at the scene and Dan had his camera out, taping, while Melissa sought someone to interview. Through the zoom lens he saw an overturned gasoline tanker on top of a small compact car a hundred yards down the road. The car was tin foil.
In the distance Dan heard sirens approaching. He whirled around, focusing on the ambulance as it sped past the crawling traffic. He widened out the shot as the ambulance loomed closer.
He felt an adrenaline rush shooting this. He shuddered, and noticed he had goose bumps. This wasn't his usual type of story. Ghosts from the train wreck haunted him.
Melissa found an official willing to talk. Dan rolled on it.
"Approximately fifteen minutes ago," he paused, looking at his watch, adopting an official-speak tone, "at 10:10 am, a gasoline tanker full of fuel en route to a delivery overturned, shutting down 475. It landed on a small car that was trying to pass it. Miraculously, the driver of the car wasn't crushed upon impact. However, she is trapped inside the car with severe trauma to the spinal cord. We also think she broke an arm and both legs. The driver of the truck escaped unharmed."
"Any idea how the tanker turned over?"
"At this time I would only be speculating."
"How go the rescue efforts?"
"Slowly, cautiously. We think the tanker's leaking gas. We're withholding any major efforts to get the woman out until the fire units arrive, which should be any second. We don't want our machinery to cause a spark." He looked away from the camera, far off, distant, worried. "That thing could blow at any time..."
"Jesus Christ..." whispered Dan.
Suddenly he heard a scream. The camera became a dead weight in his hands. Melissa saw him start to fumble out of the corner of her eye. But no one here was screaming. The sound of the scream echoed in his brain, spanning the eight-month gap effortlessly, sounding as urgent and pained now as it did then.
Get a grip on yourself, thought Dan, gritting his teeth. This isn't then; this is now.
But blotting out those impressions proved to be difficult. The past and present overlapped. Meanwhile, he was missing vital footage. He closed his eyes tighter and thought of the only thing in recent memory in which he felt strong, sure of himself, in control.
Stalking.
When he headed out over the past couple weeks the cool evening breezes felt great against his hot skin, and the time alone gave him a chance to think. Although he usually thought of Janet and how his relationship with her was going down the toilet, his mind always detoured and it wasn't long before he would be looking for someone to follow. He would stay back at first, assessing the situation, before he would stalk in earnest, seeing how close he could get before being detected.
(heel to toe, heel to toe...keep a light, rolling motion...)
He was getting quite good at it---good enough to get close enough to kill---a realization that caused gooseflesh to rise on his skin whenever he thought of it.
He reshouldered the camera with a renewed strength. He saw that the fire truck had already reached the scene, and men were jumping off, connecting hoses, fearing the worse. Another group of men prepared the Jaws of Life.
5
Cindy Warner was pinned tightly inside her car. The steering wheel pressed into her ribs; her seatbelt bit into her waist; the passenger seat smothered her, lying across her frail body, the smell of vinyl oppressive, twisting her neck at a canted angle.
It happened so fast. The dog came out of nowhere, the truck swerved to miss it, lost control, and landed on top of her, smashing her car and legs to pulp.
Cindy Warner knew the end was near. She heard a babble of voices, sounding distant to her, although they were right outside her window. She paid them no attention---she had something more important to do. With her one free arm, she desperately felt for her purse by her legs, whimpering as her fingers trailed through the warm slickness that had to be her own blood. A wave of nausea washed over her as her hand brushed a jagged piece of bone sticking through the torn skin of her thigh. She almost gave up, despairing, thinking of the people she would never see again---her husband, her friends, and especially Reverend Stone, who had helped her so much in recent months---when her fingers found the leather strap of her purse. With difficulty, she crossed her fingers around the strap and pulled it a little closer so that she could reach inside. Probing through her belongings, she breathed a sigh of relief when her fingers landed upon the object of her search. She clenched her hand tightly around the crystal in a fist, smearing it with her own blood, gathering strength from the object.
Cindy Warner closed her eyes, knowing everything would be all right.
Cindy Warner didn't smell the gas...
6
There was a loud fwhooosh! followed by a rush of incredible heat. Dan closed his eyes and turned his head away, all the while keeping the camera aimed at the explosion. The shockwave ruffled his hair. The heat singed his eyebrows and scorched his lungs. He staggered back a few steps, losing his balance. Thank God Melissa was farther away.
When the initial blast ended, Dan once again looked through the lens. He saw a scene of carnage. Any hope of the woman surviving was dashed when the tanker went up in flames. The trapped car was now a raging inferno. Thick plumes of black, oily smoke rose into the air. Scattered about were pieces of burning debris, charred metal scraps, smoking bits of vinyl already blowing away in the wind.
It was pure chance that nobody else went up with her when it all exploded. The policemen trying to comfort her were asked to move when the firemen arrived so they could apply the Jaws of Life. Most of the firemen were shielded on the other side of the truck when everything went up. The one who wasn't protected caught fire, but dropped to the ground and quickly extinguished himself.
Dan captured all of this on videotape. As they were driving back to the station, Melissa flushed with excitement.
"That was quite a first story!" she exclaimed.
Dan nodded, but kept quiet.
"Something wrong?"
"No," he mumbled.
"Did it shake you up? You seemed a little out of it for a second back there."
He shrugged. "I'd rather not get into it."
"Why not?"
"Look, I said I didn't want to talk about it!" he exploded.
Melissa saw the rage and conflict inside of Dan. Instead of dropping the subject, she pressed on, leaning closer, placing her hands over Dan's as he drove.
"Sometimes it helps to talk about it, to get it out in the open," she said soothingly.
"We just met a couple hours ago. You barely know me. How can you possibly understand?"
She felt him trembling in her hands. She stroked along his fingers with her thumb, calming him. "An objective listener may be just what you need. Sometimes people find that they can tell their problems to strangers a lot easier than they can to their loved ones."
"It's just something that happened last year," he conceded, wondering why he was saying this much. Then he looked into her soft blue eyes, brimming with sincerity, felt her squeezing his hand softly, and knew the answer.
By the time he finished, pouring out his soul as he spoke, she knew more about the train incident than Janet did. Dan couldn't help but feel guilty.
7
Dan and Melissa returned to a newsroom buzzing with commotion. They could hear it from down the hall when they entered the building. You didn't have to be a reporter to know that something had happened---something big.
The call came over the police scanner only moments ago. Laura assumed command, giving the various news teams their destinations. She conferred with the assignment editor and the producer about possible angles they could cover, hopefully fresh ones that the competition hadn't thought of yet.
"What's going on?" Dan asked another photographer.
"They've just found the body of a girl in a Dumpster. She's in pretty bad shape."
"That makes the second this week!" Dan said. "They finally found that girl that was missing a few weeks back. She was in a Dumpster too, wasn't she?"
The photographer nodded, understanding the implications.
Melissa approached the small group that was huddled around Laura, eager to get involved, but wishing her first day hadn't brought such a grisly topic. The accident was bad enough. She joined Laura in mid-briefing.
"...completely naked, except that her clothes were found with her. There was a purse there, and a driver's license identifying her as Jennifer Cook. The coroner won't confirm her identity while the Dumpster is dusted for prints. Since the purse has a substantial amount of money in it the police are guessing it's hers, and that robbery wasn't a motive. It was probably tossed in there at the same time the killer dumped the body."
"Can't they just look at the picture on the license and see if it's the girl?" someone asked.
Laura frowned. "From what I understand, she's been dead a while. Also, the corpse is heavily mutilated. Both wrists and ankles were cut, allowing for an incredible amount of blood loss. And this wasn't over the police band, but it's rumored that she was slashed repeatedly, even after she was dead, resulting in hundreds of lacerations over her body. Her face is supposedly cut up so badly that visual identification is impossible."
A stunned silence filled the room, affecting even the most thick-skinned veterans. Usually a newsroom is full of black humor. On this day, however, the jesters remained tight-lipped.
"This is an important story, gang," Laura continued. "We've got a possible serial killer out there. Let's get moving on this. I'd like to have some video to show during our 3:30 newsbreak. And please, try to keep it tasteful. Our research is showing that people are getting tired of blood and guts journalism."
The crews broke, with Melissa tossed in the middle of them. She spun around, whirling, holding her note pad in the air so it wouldn't get knocked out of her hand.
After the others left, Laura called over. "Some first day, huh Melissa?"
Melissa tried to smile, but it was faint and unemotional. She was in no mood. What kind of city had she just moved to?
1
Jerry took a bite of his Leif Ericsson Burger and as the melted cheese slopped out the side and dripped down his chin thought he was in heaven. He blotted it with his napkin and took a long moment to look around The Norseman's Bar, feeling sad. He decided one of his first priorities when he got to Michigan State would be to find an equivalent burger.
"How is it?" asked Dan.
"Pretty damn good," Jerry said, swallowing the last of his beer.
Having a watchful eye, Samantha was at his side in an instant. She wore a tight white T-shirt that appeared to be painted on. Emblazoned across the front in bold navy letters was the phrase Cool Off at The Norseman's.
"Need a refill?" she asked.
Cool off? All that's doing is making me hot, Jerry smirked, distracted from her question at first. "Sure."
"Dan here tells me you're leaving us to go to Michigan."
"You got it from a reliable source, Sam," Jerry said.
"In that case, your burger is on me tonight." She smiled and sauntered off, swaying her hips.
"Is it my imagination, or is she treating me differently than usual? I didn't think she even knew I existed."
"Cool down, lover boy," Dan said. "She's probably in a good mood because you won't be around to hassle her anymore. It's her way of celebrating."
"I'd like to think that she was showering some warm, loving attention on me."
"You don't want her to shower you---you want her to shower with you."
They laughed good-naturedly at Dan's joke. When Sam returned with Jerry's beer they both grinned adolescently, picturing her naked with Jerry. Samantha set his beer down, eyeing them suspiciously, which caused them to laugh out loud. With a shrug, she left.
When their childish laughter subsided, Dan raised his glass in a toast.
"This isn't goodbye, but rather a celebration of your moving on to fulfill your life's dreams. I wish you all the luck and fortune in the world."
They toasted. As the beer went down Jerry watched Dan. He was worried about him. He had called Dan several times to cement plans for tonight, and each time Dan seemed somewhat inebriated. Surely Janet was the cause. He now regretted that drinking was part of their farewell party, but decided to go along with it anyway. He didn't want to create any friction between them, especially when he didn't know how long it would be until he saw Dan again. He decided to follow a different topic.
"So, how are things going at KBC?"
"Crazy. Yesterday, when Melissa and I got back from shooting that gas tanker explosion, they had just found the body of that girl."
Jerry nodded his acknowledgement. It was the hot topic in town, a favorite of water cooler conversation.
"Did you hear that she was here the night she died?" Dan asked.
"I know. Part of that bridal party. You wanna talk about weird, that takes the cake."
"We probably saw her," Dan nodded, shivering.
A silence fell between them. Again Jerry decided it would be a good time to try another tact.
"You mentioned Melissa a minute ago. Who's she?"
"Melissa's your replacement, you asshole. How could you not know that? She's on TV all the time."
Jerry shook his head. The name meant nothing.
"Melissa Van Dyke?" Dan prodded.
Again Jerry shook his head, though this time he was smirking. "I'm embarrassed. I have to confess. I've been watching channel 7. I guess I didn't have the guts to see who had taken over my old turf."
"She's good, but not up to your level yet. She's really sweet, with a terrific sense of humor. She's fun to be with. If it weren't for Janet, I'd be extremely tempted to ask her out."
"Dating a fellow employee---dangerous ground there, Dan," Jerry chided. "Speaking of Janet, how is she? I'm kind of surprised I haven't heard from her. I thought she'd call and wish me luck, or at least send a card."
"I'd like her to call or at least send a card to me," Dan said angrily.
Jerry realized that he had opened a sore, red with inflammation. Why am I following this thread? He would have to tread carefully if he didn't want to get swallowed by antibodies.
"I take it you're still having problems."
Dan was exasperated. "I wish I knew! I haven't seen her in ages. She's never home anymore, and if she is home when I call she's always busy and can't do anything. I'd almost swear she was seeing another guy."
"I hate to ask this, but what makes you think she's not?"
Dan took a long drink, swallowing half of his beer. "She could be for all I know. Last night I decided to drop by her place unexpectedly to see what happened."
"Did anything?"
"I couldn't go through with it. All I did was sit in my car and watch her building. When I was about to leave the door opened and she walked out. I slunk down in my seat and watched her get in her car. She drove right past me. I don't think she noticed. About five minutes later I went home."
He finished his drink. Sam was over in a flash.
"Another round?"
"I'll take another," Dan spoke up quickly.
"I'm fine," Jerry said, and as Sam moved off, asked, "Do you have any idea where she was going?"
"No, but I'm sure I wouldn't like it if I knew."
"How do you know? She could have just been going grocery shopping or something."
Dan said nothing.
"Look," Jerry offered, "I'll see her tomorrow before I leave if you'd like. I'd love to see her one more time anyway. Maybe she'll say something to me she won't say to you. If she's trying to end your relationship, I'll find out."
"Good luck," Dan said bitterly.
"Wouldn't it be better to know now before you ruin yourself? It's pretty obvious you've been drinking a lot lately, and it's a safe guess you're not sleeping much either."
"Insomnia runs in my family," Dan deadpanned, irked. He had planned on a last evening of fun and adventure with his best friend. He didn't want to be the subject of a study.
"All I'm saying is not knowing where you stand is driving you crazy. I think you're avoiding the problem rather than facing it."
Dan turned away from him, looking off.
Jerry's mood soured too. He realized that Dan's problems with Janet ran deeper than he thought. This struck him as peculiar, because in all the time they were a couple, he'd never known them to have a serious fight. What he didn't know was that Dan felt guilty over his thoughts about Melissa.
Finally Jerry broke the silence. "Okay, maybe I'm butting in where I have no business being, but I'm your friend. I'm concerned."
"I know you are," Dan relented. "I'm sorry. I guess I've got a lot of things on my mind." He started sliding his chair away from the table. "I have a sudden urge to get out of here. Do you agree?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"Did I ever tell you about the movie Stalker?"
Jerry shook his head.
"You'd love it. It ranks right up there with Halloween and The Exorcist for classic terror."
Jerry was doubtful. "Isn't that one of those dumb teenager movies? You know, the ones where the half-naked girls get cut up by some psychotic heavy breather?"
"It's along those same lines," Dan said excitedly, "but the execution is far superior. Remember, Halloween had that for its basic plot too."
"I guess..."
"C'mon. Let's go. I've been meaning to see it again." His voice dropped markedly in volume. "I didn't pay too much attention the first time. That was the night Janet and I had our first big falling out."
Jerry knew what to do. A movie would take Dan's mind off Janet for a while. Besides, he was a sucker for a good movie too. "Okay, let's go."
Sam returned with Dan's beer, but Dan was already heading for the door. He had a running tab there.
"Leaving so soon?" she asked Jerry.
"No. Just in time," he said, and went after Dan.
2
The light from the motion picture bathed the audience with a sporadic flickering of images at twenty-four frames per second. Jerry looked over at Dan to make a comment about the film, but decided against it after he saw him.
Dan was glued to the screen, mesmerized. His body sat in the stiff theatre chair, but his mind was up there on the stained screen, observing the characters and their motions. He studied with fascination the fluid-like movements of the killer. It was a ballet of horror, the murders performed with operatic beauty. He dreamed of becoming graceful, like his counterpart on the screen. With practice, he knew, it would come, as do all things.
Practice makes perfect.
Jerry saw this and could imagine Dan walking the streets, stalking girls and killing them. It gave him a terrible chill. He pulled at his shirt, searching for some source of heat to cover himself.
Stalker played on...
3
"I love coming out of a movie into the night, especially after I've seen a horror film," Dan said, bounding down the few steps to the parking lot. "If it was still light out, the whole effect the filmmakers were trying to instill in us would be wasted. What's the use of trying to scare the hell out of someone if that effect can't be sustained?"
"I've always felt a spook show was meant to be more like a roller coaster," Jerry said. "It's white knuckles for a while, but eventually the car reaches the bottom of the hill. If you had fun, you do it again. With a scary movie, you just wait for the inevitable sequel." He laughed a little. "How many Friday the 13ths have there been?"
Dan realized that Jerry wasn't catching his point. "You're trying to compare Shakespeare with comic books: one is art and entertains, the other has art and is simply meant to entertain. A true horror film should deeply disturb the audience and follow them home. If the viewer doesn't question his security and reevaluate his position, then the filmmaker has failed in his job."
"I think you're giving these guys too much credit," Jerry scoffed. "I think the only aspirations they have is to make more money on this film than they did on their last one."
Ignoring the remark, Dan kept on. "Take Jaws for example. That movie kept a lot of people out of the water for a long time. Eventually, of course, people are going to realize they're being stupid and go swimming again. The ad campaign for the first sequel touched on this. Remember: Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water...Jaws 2. The movie sucked compared to the first, but the slogan was great. It paid homage to the fear the original generated."
Jerry tried to comprehend what Dan was talking about. "If what you're saying is true, then you think I ought to be looking over my shoulder every few steps to see if I'm being stalked while we're walking back to the car."
"Exactly."
"Do you see me looking over my shoulder? I guess it's not working, but then again, I'm not a girl. That killer was awfully sexist. At least Jason gives equal time to the guys." He laughed.
Dan remained serious. "Joking aside, if you were a girl, alone, don't you suppose you might feel a little unnerved, a little afraid?"
"Thinking of it that way, I suppose maybe I would."
"It takes a special talent to tap into the human psyche and find the pulse of what frightens them. I think this movie does more than that. It finds a darker side of human nature, and exposes that raw nerve. People may like to look in mirrors for vanity purposes, but shed away the skin and expose the darker core that comprises that part of them, and they will shriek in terror. If that special mirror is constantly thrust in front of them, despite all their efforts to escape, they eventually cave in. They've been shown a part of themselves they don't enjoy, and that scar will stay with them for a while---they will be disturbed. And if that happens, the filmmakers have achieved their goal."
"You sound like a professor. Maybe you're the one who should be teaching."
Dan smiled. "So, like a professor, I decided to do an experiment." He hesitated. "I started stalking people."
"What?"
"You heard me. I've already done it a couple of times. It keeps the creepy feeling of the movie within me."
Jerry was shocked. "Don't you think you're a little old to be playing the Bogeyman?"
"You're never too old if you're having fun," Dan countered. "Think of all the things you'd like to do, except society dictates that you can't. Wouldn't it be fun to run after an ice cream truck, or fly a kite, or bury yourself up to your neck in the sand? I admit it's a little strange, but stalking is my way of getting some of that youthful feeling back that I used to get when I played Hide & Seek and Bloody Murder."
"Don't you worry that someone might call the police?"
Dan shrugged his shoulders. "It hasn't happened, yet. I don't anticipate it ever will. And if it does? I guess that's part of the risk. Think about it. It wouldn't be any fun if there wasn't any danger involved."
They reached Dan's car and got in. For the first time in their long friendship Jerry felt like he didn't know the man who sat next to him in the dim light. Despite all his recent personal problems, he appeared to be fueled with life, a fire that only sparked once they went to Stalker. It was as if the movie had some kind of hold over him.
They drove off.
4
"What are we doing here?" Jerry asked, sitting in the darkness.
Dan turned toward him. "It's obvious that you have no idea what I'm talking about," he said. A sly smile curled the corner of his mouth. "So I'm going to show you."
Jerry sighed. There was no talking Dan out of something once he decided to do it. It wouldn't matter that Jerry felt extreme discomfort at the suggestion of stalking passersby, no matter how innocent Dan's intentions were. He was stuck in Dan's car.
He knew trouble loomed when Dan turned into the posh residential district a few miles back. He asked where Dan was going, but Dan kept mum. He hoped they were taking a shortcut to some place Dan was saving for a surprise, but in his heart he knew that wasn't true. Like it or not, they were going stalking.
Now they sat in Dan's car, parked on the street under the shadow of a large oak tree, lights out, silently watching and waiting. It was 10:30 p.m., but the late August temperature still invited folks to take a short stroll around the block or to walk the dog one last time before bed.
"What are we waiting for?" Jerry asked impatiently. "If we're going to do this, let's get it over with."
"We've got to select the right person," Dan answered, not looking at Jerry, continuing instead to survey the territory. "Choosing is half the art."
He was about to speak his protests when Dan shushed him with a wave of his hand. Without saying a word, Dan motioned for Jerry to duck down in his seat as he did the same.
"This is ridiculous," Jerry whispered.
"Just do it," Dan urged.
Reluctantly, Jerry followed Dan's lead, slinking down in his seat, his knees cramped against the glove compartment. He looked over at Dan, who had a goofy grin on his face.
"What now?"
Dan pointed to an attractive brunette coming toward them on the walk. She wore hot pink running shorts, a tank top damp with perspiration, jogging shoes, and a headband that matched her shorts. She wiped her face with a small hand towel, cooling down after her workout.
She got closer to Dan's Chevy, to the point where Jerry could make out the features on her face. Not wanting to be caught halfway hunched down in a parked car on a dark street with another man (and think of the possibilities that brought to mind), he pulled his legs in closer to his chest and tucked his head in, becoming as compact as possible. Glancing over, he saw that Dan did the same. Afraid to even breathe, he held his breath as she walked by. He dared to look up as she passed. She couldn't have been more than five feet away from the car. He waited a few more seconds, and then blew out a huge sigh of relief, uncurling himself and sitting back up. Strangely enough, with the danger of detection gone, he felt kind of giddy.
"Is that it?" he asked, his heart pounding. "You know, that was kind of scary in a fun sense of the word."
Dan patted him on the leg, smiling. "Not even close. It's only just begun."
He reached up and unscrewed the bulb from his overhead interior light. Soundlessly, he opened his door, and slipped out. Jerry's feeling of dread returned.
"Stay here," he whispered, and then mutely clicked his door shut, leaving Jerry alone in the darkness.
What's he going to do now? Jerry agonized, biting his lip.
He didn't have to wait long to find out as Dan stealthily crept onto the walk, not hunched over like some disfigured creature as Jerry imagined, but standing rigid and straight, as though a shaft had been rammed into his spine. He took easy, even steps, his feet gliding over the sidewalk, always remaining in firm contact with the concrete so not to create unnecessary shuffling. His wooden legs churned endlessly on, like a windup toy soldier out of control, matching the girl's rhythm and speed, but since he took large, broad steps, he quickly closed the gap.
Jesus H. Christ! What the fuck am I doing here? Jerry glanced wildly about, certain he would see people anxiously pointing his way, running off to call the police. He wanted to be home, tucked comfortably in bed. Yet at the same time, he had a strange fascination with the recent events. He had been there since the start, and was dying to see the story through to its final act. His fears were abated when he noticed no one looked his way suspiciously, no one ran off to call the police. In fact, no one seemed to realize they were there at all, least of all the girl in the pink shorts.
Jerry unlocked his door. It seemed odd that the interior car light stayed out. He put one foot on the street, and then the other, careful not to scatter gravel. Taking a deep breath, he stood. He hitched his breath when his car door shut louder than he anticipated. Eyes darting in every direction, he was ready to leap back into the car at the slightest hint of trouble. There was none. Heart pounding, he took his first steps towards catching up to reaching Dan and the girl he was stalking.
5
Up ahead, Dan continued to draw nearer to his target. Though he usually felt in control, a little bit of doubt, a little bit of fear always remained. But tonight he could feel strength in his soul, a powerful command over his senses, a great awareness of his surroundings and how he related to them---he practically had a bounce in his stride, he was so confident. He attributed these feelings to the fact that he was showing off to Jerry. He understood that Jerry thought the whole idea ludicrous, and he was determined to prove to him that it was not. On the surface he could see how it might be taken as a bizarre activity, but if Jerry would only try it he would come to realize the spiritual cleansing qualities involved---he was sure of it.
He focused his attention to a single point on the girl's back, right where her shoulder blades came together. He let all other distractions fall away. The only sensations he was aware of were things he needed to survive: sudden noises that might signal the appearance of people, the steady beat of her step, and the direction and speed of the wind. In all likelihood, his nerves were as keen as a jungle cat's hunting its prey.
Moments later, he became aware of another noise: the sound of Jerry's footsteps as the novice followed, fascinated. He allowed himself a casual glance over his shoulder to confirm it was indeed Jerry, but he really had no doubt. He looked back to the girl, and she seemed totally ignorant to the sound that was echoing in Dan's ears. He thought Jerry would give them away. It was so loud and obvious! How could she not hear it?
6
Jerry continued to observe, careful to maintain a discreet distance in case something happened. No one will ever connect me to this activity as long as I stay back, he surmised. He had no idea what might happen, except maybe the girl screaming "Rape!" once Dan was upon her. In any case, he was glad to be this far back.
Despite all his reservations, the closer Dan got to the girl, the more Jerry's curiosity piqued. He wondered if he had the skills necessary to carryout a successful stalk. He watched Dan's movements, studied his techniques. In a short time, he felt that he too could escape detection. He began to understand Dan's passion for this uncouth pastime. It felt creepy, but a good kind of creepy. There was no other way to describe it. Disregarding his earlier plan, he now moved closer.
He had to contain a gasp. He saw that Dan was virtually on top of the girl---he could get no closer. Dan looked like a character in a sitcom, waving his hands behind the girl, teasing her, as she was oblivious to the situation. If this was a sitcom, the girl would suddenly spin around, turning the tables on Dan, and he would pretend that he was brushing his hair or swatting at a bug. But this wasn't a sitcom, it was real, and Dan's proximity to her made him nervous again. If she suddenly stopped, Dan would crash into her---there was no avoiding it. What would he do then? Say, "Excuse me" and continue on like nothing happened? Jerry wondered if Dan had ever been in that situation before. He thought not.
To his relief, Dan stopped dead in his tracks, letting the girl continue along as before. He posed waiting for Jerry, one hand resting comfortably on his hip, the other outstretched, prissy, fingers pressed tightly together. Apparently he'd had enough.
Jerry hustled the rest of the way to Dan. He was sweating bullets, but Dan, who did all the work, was as dry as a model in an antiperspirant commercial.
Dan stood smugly, handing Jerry the object he had pinched between his fingers.
"A piece of lint from her towel that drifted onto her back," Dan announced. "I thought I'd tidy her up a bit."
"You picked this off her back?" Jerry asked, unbelieving, examining the small ball of fluff in his palm.
"It was the least I could do. She was so attractive, and something like that really messed up her ensemble."
"That's insane! What were you thinking?"
"Believe me, she never knew."
"But still---"
"I don't really know why I'm showing you this, but for some reason I'm trusting you. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you didn't get a rush from doing this?"
Jerry avoided his look, because he knew that he did get a thrill from it---the kind of thrill a boy experiences soaping windows on Halloween night, or hiding in the woods and throwing water balloons at cars as they drove past. Every fiber in his body told him that it was wrong, yet every fiber in his body yearned for more.
"I didn't really do anything," he said, ducking the question.
"Then I guess we'll have to change that," Dan announced.
"What do you mean?"
"It's your turn."
Jerry knew that he'd regret what he said next, yet he said it all the same. "Okay. What do I do?"
Dan clapped his hands together in triumph and took Jerry under his wing, tutoring him in the fine art of stalking. He explained the importance of always keeping one foot on the ground, rolling from heel to toe in a light, continuous motion. For the next few minutes they walked up and down the sidewalk, rehearsing.
"You know, that killer in Stalker could've used some lessons from you," Jerry cracked. "You're really very good at this."
"All it takes is a little practice."
"Don't plan on me dropping golf for this. This is a one shot deal, and only because you goaded me into it."
"Can't take the peer pressure?" Dan commented snidely.
"No. It's because you have the keys."
Dan patted the jingling bulge in his pocket and smiled. He had no intention of letting Jerry off the hook.
"How much longer do I have to keep pacing back and forth? Can't I just do it and get it over with?"
"You're not ready yet," Dan said calmly. "A few more minutes." He nodded encouragement.
Placating Dan, Jerry continued practicing, while Dan surveyed the territory, seeking a proper target. A few minutes later Dan signaled to him to be quiet and pointed.
Jerry had to admit that Dan did have an eye. She wore Lycra bicycle pants, hugging her tightly, a trim waist, and incredibly long legs. Red hair tumbled down her back. Jerry could only imagine the green eyes he knew had to exist. To make it easy, she wore a Walkman. She snapped his fingers and bopped in her own world to the music as she walked.
"There she is. She ought to be easy. Go get her, tiger."
"Now?"
"Right now."
Jerry's gut knotted up, his lips went dry. He nervously ran a hand through his thinning hair.
"Hurry up, before she goes inside," Dan provoked.
"Okay," Jerry replied spitefully. "Don't push."
He felt like he was in junior high again, trying to summon the courage to ask a girl out on his first date, the fall dance. He would sit by the phone and dial the first six digits of her phone number, but dialing the seventh was a real stumbling block. The one time he finally did have the nerve to dial all seven he frantically hung up after two rings when he heard his father's footsteps coming up the stairs. He was embarrassed to have his dad overhear his conversation. He knew that his pop would get a stupid parental smile on his face, summon his wife, and the two of them would stand grinning in the doorway, their arms around each other's waist, musing about what a little man young Jerry was becoming.
His fears were annoying then, and they were annoying now. He sucked in a deep breath, wiped his sweaty palms off on his pants, and took his first step toward the girl.
He spent the first few blocks simply trying to catch up to her. She was young, athletic, and walked for exercise, not pleasure. She moved quickly in tempo to her music.
So far, stalking her was easy. He kept far enough back that a casual observer looking out a window wouldn't think anything was strange. He glanced back at Dan, who followed discretely, urging him on with a knowing smile. He tried to smile back, but it felt unconvincing.
His heart beat like a hummingbird's. The strain on its muscles actually hurt. In his mind he envisioned the blood soaked tissue pumping furiously, exerting every ounce of energy to keep up with his body's demands for oxygen, until the pressure grew too great, and his organ burst open in one final grandiose act, flooding his body cavity in a pool of gore.
Jerry shook his head, dismissing this image, and found that he was virtually upon the girl. In between the time that he conjured up his gruesome vision and now, he had closed the gap to mere feet. Leaning in, he could hear the tinny sound of music from her speakers, though he couldn't make out the tune. Even in the darkness between streetlights her red hair burned, begging for closer examination. Taking the plunge, Jerry moved in, his pace quickening, his breath short. Jerry always was a sucker for redheads.
Suddenly, when he thought he had the knack of this down, she turned around. Jerry toppled into her. His eyes opened wide as he swung his arms wildly, trying to maintain his balance. She reached out, trying to help, but it was too late. They both went sprawling on a nearby lawn, wet and glistening from being freshly sprinkled.
The girl removed her headphones, laughing with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. I guess I didn't hear you coming." She pointed to her Walkman.
"That's okay," Jerry gasped, hitching for breath. "I was following too close. I was about to pass and..."
A look of recognition flashed across her face. "Hey, you're Jerry Stevens, aren't you?"
All worry of having to explain himself vanished. Instead of being annoyed or afraid of the man who bumped into her in the dark, she fell into a "gosh wow" pattern that Jerry experienced almost daily.
"Yes."
"I thought so," she blushed. "I was sorry to hear you're leaving."
"Thank you. I was out walking around the neighborhood one last time," he lied, surprised at how smoothly it came out.
"You live around here?"
Jerry hesitated a moment. "A few blocks over. The address is unlisted."
She nodded in amazement. Here she had lived for the past five years within walking distance to Jerry Stevens's "house" and never knew it.
"Well, I'd better get going. I've still got some things to pack."
She was still in awe and didn't have much else to say except, "It was nice meeting you."
"Yes. You too."
They stood smiling stupidly a moment longer, and then Jerry took off continuing along in the same direction. The girl headed back the way he came. At the first corner Jerry turned left. He looked back at the girl, who was walking, but still watching him. He gave her a small wave, and went around the bend, out of sight.
7
Ten minutes later Jerry returned to the car. Dan was leaning against the hood, legs crossed, stifling a yawn.
"How'd it go?" he asked loudly.
"Shhhh! Get in!" Jerry whispered, running over. He frantically looked in all directions, fully expecting the girl to come over at any second, pointing an accusing finger: You said you lived around here!
"Don't worry about the girl," Dan said calmly, not making a move toward the door. "She came by here a while ago. Nice smile. Green eyes. Very attractive. Did you get her number?"
"Shut up, you dumb shit and get your ass in the car!" Jerry hissed angrily. He wasn't in the mood for Dan's haughty attitude.
Dan smirked and took his time getting in the car, laughing to himself. A minute later they were driving away from the scene of Jerry's fiasco with stalking. Dan hummed along with a tune on the radio while Jerry sulked.
"Do you realize I had to go around the block? I mean way around the block," Jerry stated matter-of-factly, appealing to some sense of mercy in Dan. He found none.
"Can I help it if I'm better than you?"
He looked over and saw that Jerry was truly concerned.
"Relax," Dan assured him. "You've got nothing to worry about."
"Oh yeah? What happens when she starts talking to her friends, telling them that Jerry Stevens lives by her?"
"Is that what you told her?"
"What else was I supposed to say? I had to explain my presence somehow."
"There are hundreds of houses you could have come from. It's a nice night, you could have taken a lengthy stroll, maybe even gone a couple of miles. Do you actually think that she'll go walking around, looking for your supposed house?"
Jerry grunted. Dan took that as a "no."
"She'll never find out that you don't live around here," Dan continued. "And besides, in a few weeks no one will remember that you ever worked at WKBC. You'll be forgotten like yesterday's news."
"Thanks a lot," Jerry grumbled. "That's very comforting to know."
"You don't believe me? When was the last time you thought about Tina Joyce, or Ken Tucker, or Barbara Cummings, or---"
Jerry held up a hand, chuckling. "All right, already! That's enough! I get the picture."
"It just goes to show that you pretty boys are worth a dime a dozen: here today, gone tomorrow."
"Jesus, you can be an asshole," Jerry moaned, slugging Dan playfully in the shoulder. "I'm gonna miss you."
"Same here, buddy," Dan said, feeling a tear well up. Embarrassed, he wiped it aside. "Same here."
1
Jerry kicked himself for putting off his move until the last minute, but after working hard for the last three hours, his apartment was finally almost empty. Just a few items remained, along with the phone. He reached for it to make one final call before unplugging it from the wall. Janet answered on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Janet. This is Jerry."
"Jerry!" she said, surprised. "How are you?"
"Fine. I wasn't sure you'd be home."
"You got lucky. I'm not showing any houses today."
They small talked for a few more minutes, Jerry explaining that he wanted to see her before he left. They decided to meet for an early lunch. She suggested a small coffee shop, and they made arrangements to meet there in one hour.
He was still holding the phone when it rang. He was startled by the shrill sound, convinced it must be Janet calling to change some detail of their meeting---the time or location.
"Hey, something change?" he asked casually.
"Is this Jerry Stevens?" an authoritative voice inquired.
"Yes," Jerry responded, puzzled over who this might be. It sure didn't sound like a telemarketer.
"I'm Sergeant Miles Cameron with the police. I'm heading up a murder investigation and was wondering if you might be able to answer some questions."
Jerry's heart stopped and he slumped to the floor. This has to be about stalking last night! Somehow he knows about it, and that red-haired girl has pressed charges!
"Did you say murder?" he asked, suddenly realizing this wasn't about him.
"It has to do with Jennifer Cook, one of the 'Dumpster Killer' victims. Her friends got some pictures back that they took at The Norseman's Bar, and we happened to recognize you in the background of one of them. We're trying to contact as many people as we can who were there that night, to see if they saw anything."
Jerry shook his head. "No. Nothing. I remember the bachelorette party going on, but that's it. No strange people in the shadows."
"Was anyone with you?"
"Dan Freeman, but I doubt he can help you either."
"Can you be reached at this number if we need to get in touch with you again?"
Jerry let out a little laugh. "You were lucky to catch me this time. I was just packing up the phone. I'm moving today."
"Really? Where to?"
"Lansing, Michigan."
"Have a safe trip. I doubt we'll need you again. Like I said, we're just calling and asking everyone we can identify."
After he hung up, he pulled the cord from the wall and wrapped it around the phone. That call left him unnerved. He didn't want another to follow in its wake. He tucked it under his arm, grabbed two suitcases and went down to the car. Three trips later, winded from hiking up and down the stairs, he was finished.
The apartment never felt so empty.
Jerry took one last walking tour of the place. Each room held some sort of remembrance for him: some good, some not so good. But when you live in a place for a certain length of time, from the most rundown hole to the swankiest penthouse, it becomes a part of you, taking on a life of its own. Saying goodbye to his home was almost as trying as parting with his friends.
He tried to think of his opportunities at Michigan State and get excited about those. It didn't take long to get pumped up about his future. Yes, he regretted having to leave, but knew it was for the better.
Before he could lose his enthusiasm, he flicked the lights off and stepped into the hall, closing the door on this chapter of his life, but eager to start writing another.
2
Jerry stopped drinking his water in mid-sip when Janet walked in. She wore shorts, a sleeveless knit top, and sandals. She beamed when she found him.
"Jerry! Good to see you," she said, embracing him.
He held her close, taking in the scent of her perfume. "It's good to see you, too."
That sat and played catch-up on each other's lives, with Jerry doing most of the talking. Soon the food arrived, and Jerry realized he had yet to ask any questions for Dan. He slid into it gradually.
"I'm glad I reached you," he said. "Dan says you're hardly there anymore."
"Does he?" she said, sounding slightly bored.
He took a long drink of water. "He says that the two of you have been fighting lately." He asked the question in a way popular with reporters: not really asking a question, but simply saying a statement and seeing how the interviewee responds. He looked across his glass and into Janet's eyes.
She avoided his gaze as always. "I've been busy. I don't have as much time to do things as he would like."
"Then you've been active at work? I didn't think the real estate market was that strong this time of year."
"Not only with work related stuff," she answered, "but all sorts of things."
"Like what?"
She smiled at him across the table. "A girl's got to have some secrets, now, doesn't she?"
"Sounds to me like you're avoiding him."
"Does it?" she asked back. She hated what he was doing to her. She was dodging questions, and he knew it. In light of recent events Dan was old news, but that didn't mean she didn't have any feelings for him.
She decided on a different tack since being coy didn't seem to work. Instead, she was more direct.
"It seems like you're judging me without knowing the full truth."
Jerry's eyebrows rose. "How so?"
"Step back and look at this objectively for a second. You're his best friend. Of course you're going to side with him."
He was a reporter, objectivity part of his daily routine, but still he thought she might have a point. "Okay, tell me your side."
"Let's get one thing straight first. I like Dan. I like him very much. I'm just not sure I love him anymore."
"Did you tell him that?"
She looked down. "No."
"He's confused. He doesn't know where he stands. I know whatever's happened has affected him deeply. He's been drinking a lot lately."
"I thought so. The last time I saw him he practically attacked me," she said, slanting the truth.
"What?"
"I went to his place for what was supposed to be a make up dinner. Dinner went all right, nothing special. Afterwards we sat together on the couch. I wanted to talk about us, but all he wanted was to screw. He kept pulling at my blouse, trying to unbutton it. I told him to stop, but he just kept pressuring me. Next thing I know he's pinning me down, pressing himself on top of me." She paused for dramatic effect. "I managed to roll out from under him and ran for the door."
Jerry virtually dropped his fork. "He didn't tell me any of this."
"Do you think he would?"
Jerry was shocked. Dan was capable of odd behavior---his new interest in stalking certainly proved that---but he couldn't believe his friend was a rapist. On the other hand, what did Dan do with those girls once he caught up with them? He didn't do anything the night Jerry went with him, but was it always innocent? Jerry remembered the look on Dan's face during Stalker and a chill ran through his spine. Still, he found all of this hard to comprehend.
"He said the two of you had your differences lately, but I had no idea..."
She gave his hand a squeeze and smiled. "Don't worry. I don't blame him. He was drunk that night, and he's never done anything like that to me before. I doubt he will again. I just wish you weren't going now, in his time of crisis."
"So do I," Jerry said quietly.
"Don't feel guilty. It's not your fault. He's just had a couple shocks to his normal routine. Everyone's entitled one breakdown."
Jerry nodded. "You've got to do me a favor, and I hope I'm not asking too much. He must be thinking the two of us are abandoning him. Someone's got to keep an eye on him, and I can't do it very well from Michigan." He looked her in the eye. "Will you?"
She winced slightly at his suggestion. He hoped he wasn't asking her to return to the lion's den.
She took a moment before saying, "Of course I will. Our relationship's not totally trashed, you know. There's still something there."
He breathed a sigh of relief. He felt there was nothing more to say on the topic. They had reached an understanding, and had, for now, resolved the problem, deciding on a course of action. Anything more was out of his hands.
3
Dan watched the eleven o'clock news, lying on the couch, one leg draped over the arm, a fresh beer in his hand. The glow of the television set lit the dark room, bathing everything in its blue luminance. It gave the room an eerie quality, one that Dan would have appreciated had he noticed.
He was waiting for a story by Melissa to air. It got bumped from the six for time, and due to the shuffling, someone else was editing it. She wanted his input on it. He didn't know whether that was because she was still new to the station and wasn't comfortable asking Laura's advice, or if she had something else in mind. Frankly, he hoped for the second alternative. He had been smitten with her from the first day.
During a commercial break Dan looked up at his newest acquisition and admired its smooth, sheen surface reflecting the commercials blaring from his TV. The word "Stalker" stood out at the bottom of the poster in metallic block letters. The artwork consisted of a man's wrist, half obscured in shadows, clutching a knife held down by his side. The image of a woman appeared on the blade, walking down the dark street, oblivious to the danger behind her. The tip of the knife had an airbrushed glint applied to it.
He had stopped by the Triplex on his way home and his heart sank when he saw that Stalker was no longer on the bill. According to the exhibition license, Mr. Peters had to return the poster when he returned the canisters containing the reels of film. The manager of the Triplex had bypassed this little technicality for him before, but those times he had asked for the poster while the movie was still running.
The box office wasn't open yet, but Peters let him in when he knocked. "What can I do for you?"
"I know this is a real long shot," Dan said, "but I was wondering if by chance you might still have a Stalker poster. I noticed outside that you're not running it anymore."
"Horror movies never do have a very long run," Peters explained. "I've noticed that there's a small, but loyal, core that goes to all the scary movies. Most everyone else stays away. Once the groupies have seen the movie, there's no audience left for it anymore."
Dan nodded anxiously. He too found that to be the case, but right now he wasn't really interested in discussing the viewing habits of a fickle public. He wanted to know if he could get his hands on a Stalker poster today.
Peters picked up on this and chuckled inwardly, feeling a bit like Santa Claus. "I thought you might be back, Dan. Come upstairs to my office. I have something for you."
Within moments he had a crisp, smooth poster in his hands. It was flawless except for a small crease in the lower left corner. He couldn't thank Mr. Peters enough. He felt like a babbling fool.
"I told the UPS guy that my ticket taker accidentally ripped the poster in half as she was taking it out of the frame in the lobby. Since it was torn, we 'threw it away.' That's my other option under the contract."
Dan felt a little devilish as he smiled and read the fine print in the white band framing the artwork:

"Property of National Screen Corporation Licensed for use only in connection with the exhibition of this picture at the theatre licensing this material. Licensee agrees not to trade, sell, or give it away, or permit others to use it, nor shall licensee be entitled to any credit upon return of this material. This material must be returned or destroyed immediately after use."

Knowing that it was forbidden to have made it that much sweeter. He had an inkling how Adam and Eve must have felt in the garden.
The news came back on after earning its bread and butter through the commercials. Another girl was missing. A number flashed on the screen along with a full screen picture of the girl, asking people to call if they had any information on her whereabouts. All calls would be kept confidential.
Dan took a long swallow of his beer and wondered if her body would be turning up in a Dumpster soon, slashed beyond recognition. When Sergeant Cameron came on the screen with a soundbite saying it was too early to tell if there was any connection to the recent murders, Dan had a face to go with the man who had called him earlier in the day. Like Jerry, he had nothing new to offer.
He finished his beer and got another, amazed at the amount of money he had spent on it recently. He understood that he really ought to cut down on his drinking, but it numbed the pain so effectively. It also added a few pounds. Thanks to Janet he didn't really care if he let himself go. He had a defeatist attitude, unconcerned if he ever saw another woman again. But if that was true, why was he sitting around waiting for Melissa's package to air?
Before he could debate that the phone rang. Jerry was on the other end.
"I'm sitting in a hotel room in East Lansing looking out my window and watching all these college kids terrorize the good citizens of the city," Jerry said.
"I have good faith that you'll be able to tame them," Dan replied, envisioning his friend cooped up. "I hope the University is paying for your room."
Jerry answered that they were, at least for a couple weeks. He'd have to start canvassing the area soon. He had bought a newspaper and gone through the classifieds, circling the possibilities that looked interesting, and planned to visit some of them first thing in the morning.
Jerry nervously paced his room. Something about Janet's words rang false, but Dan wasn't exactly himself lately either. Finally, he couldn't wait any longer. He took the plunge.
"I had an interesting talk with Janet before I left."
"You did get a chance to see her. I'm glad," Dan said, sincerely interested. "What did she have to say?"
"She told me about your last date..." he said, trailing off, hoping Dan would pick up the topic and start filling in the blanks.
"Ah...that disaster," Dan said with recognition. Laughing, he added, "It wasn't a pretty sight."
In his hotel room, hundreds of miles away, Jerry moved to the edge of his bed, pressing the phone as close against his ear as he could. Was Dan laughing? He found it unfathomable that Dan would find any humor in the date if what Janet described actually happened. He supposed it could have been nervous laughter. Either that, or Dan was one hell of a liar.
He hated the way he was using his best reporter tricks on Dan to get information. He only hoped that Dan didn't recognize what he was doing. "That's what she said, although she didn't go into any specifics."
"And you want me to fill in the details?"
"Well...yeah."
"I knew it!" Dan replied. "Dinner went okay, and afterwards we moved to the couch. I was hoping for a little make up fun. You know how it is..."
"Yeah."
Jerry winced. He was piecing it together: Dan, in the throws of sexual excitement, forced himself on a reluctant Janet, though Dan wouldn't describe it that way. He might say she was holding back because she was mad, but only as a tease. She meant to give in---only he rushed it. He would say he was drunk, not thinking clearly, but from what he had said so far, everything was leading to a simple fact that Jerry couldn't ignore. Dan had tried to rape Janet.
"But then, just when things start to get interesting," Dan continued, "she gets up and leaves."
Jerry, who had been bracing himself for the worse, perked up. "She just left? That was it?"
"That was it," Dan said. "Why? What did you expect?"
Jerry didn't know what to say. He didn't want to tell Dan what Janet said and ruin any chance of them getting back together. When he left her things seemed hopeful for reconciliation---Janet was going to watch Dan's drinking; she said she still cared---and Jerry believed that she was sincere. Now he wasn't as sure. His gut told him that Dan was telling the truth, and that Janet lied about their date. Why would she do that? For spite? To have me leave town thinking badly about Dan?
"I don't know," he said, answering Dan's question at last. "Janet made it sound more dramatic."
"That's a woman for you."
Jerry, uncomfortable with the subject matter, changed the topic. "So, did the police call you today?"
"Yeah. They wanted to ask me about that night at The Norseman's and if I saw anything. I said no."
"Same here. Kinda creepy, isn't it? I thought at first when they called they were going to ask me about stalking."
"Did you say anything about that?" Dan asked, alarmed.
"Hell, no."
"Good." Dan took a drink of beer, but lost his appetite for it. He needed an answer to his question. "Do you think Janet's seeing somebody else?"
Jerry flipped the phone to his other ear. "I don't think so."
"Are you sure? She might not have come out and said it, but she might have dropped some hints, or acted differently or uncomfortably..." Dan offered.
Although last night he had volunteered to do it, now Jerry didn't like being a spy. Something weird was going on with those two, something he didn't want to get involved in. "Why don't you follow her for a few nights, instead of stalking strangers? You're good at it, I don't think she'd catch you, and you might find something out." Then, realizing what he was saying, and trying to make it sound like a joke, he laughed and added, "It's cheaper than hiring a private detective."
The pause on the other end confirmed his fear---Dan took it seriously.
"I don't know if I could do that," Dan said slowly, the wheels turning. "It doesn't seem right."
"Forget I even mentioned it," he said, hoping Dan would heed his words.
"Well, it's not a bad idea. It's just that it's crossing the line of doing it for fun and moving into the realm of doing it for a purpose."
Dan's doubt made Jerry think that maybe he wouldn't go through with it, and that was reassuring in a way. Besides, Dan was a grown man---how much longer would he continue this fad? He decided to change the subject again.
"Do I hear Night Beat in the background?" he asked.
"I'm waiting for Melissa's package. She wanted me to see it."
"How's she doing? Fitting in okay?"
Dan told him that she was, and then filled him in on other newsroom gossip. They sounded like old friends again, laughing at the crazy goings-on at the station. It was the first time in the conversation that Jerry felt at ease.
Melissa's piece came on and they said their quick goodbyes. Dan hung up, feeling somewhat sad, and turned his attention back to the TV.
In East Lansing Jerry followed suit, replacing his receiver in its cradle. The call had been strange, not at all what he expected. He was prepared to beg Dan to get some therapy after his "alleged" attack on Janet. He was prepared to get into a nasty fight, possibly ending their friendship. He was prepared to hear denials and lies. He wasn't prepared to find Dan laughing and joking, so calm and reassuring about that night that Jerry was now positive Janet was lying to him about it. But why would she do that? It made no sense.
Despite this, he hung up having positive feelings about their talk. The air was cleared on some issues, and it felt like he could talk freely to Dan again. He felt good, liberated.
Excited about his teaching position and the prospects it offered, Jerry went to bed, thinking the worst was over.
He was wrong.
4
Melissa's story ended. It was the last piece in the show, running in the spot known as the kicker. The kicker was a humorous or charming feature that gave people a smile and was a pleasant or memorable way to end the show.
Dan thought her story turned out well and picked up the phone to call and congratulate her. He had dialed half her number when he stopped cold, his finger pressing down on the number four, issuing a sustained tone, a sudden realization occurring to him.
Why was he calling her? It was something of a newsroom penchant to watch the show at home, on the phone with another co-worker, critiquing every little thing from story content and camera angles to the anchor's tie. It was fun, something to share with a special friend. He often did this with Jerry. But was Melissa up to that level yet?
Certainly she'd want to hear his feedback on the story---she was the one who told him about it in the first place after all. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much weight he put on one simple phone call. The whole scenario was absurd. He wasn't proposing marriage. Yet, he still felt guilty over calling Melissa, thinking that maybe instead he should be trying Janet again.
Pressures started to build in his head. He didn't know what to do anymore, and was sick of the whole mess. Endless nights of not sleeping were taking their toll. When he did manage to sleep, nightmares of the train accident, or nightmares of Janet walking out awakened him. Both were unpleasant experiences that left him lying in bed, sweat ridden, looking at the ceiling, contemplating things he had no control over.
He went to the bathroom to urinate from all his drinking. He got a good look at himself in the mirror. He wasn't pleased with what he saw: bloodshot eyes, rough tongue, puffy cheeks, nasal drip. Between his drinking and the hysterical state he was in he looked like a real prize. Crying eyes, mussed hair, wrinkled clothes---the image disgusted him.
When he got back to the living room he reached for the phone again. He felt he had to talk to somebody. Halfway through dialing Jerry's number out of habit, Dan realized he didn't live there anymore. Calling East Lansing was out of the question, because he didn't know which hotel Jerry was at. He thought about Melissa, but it dawned on him how little they really knew each other. Besides, thinking about calling her was what got him into this mess anyway.
That left Janet. But Dan got exactly what he had expected---no answer---and went to bed feeling dizzy and alone.
She wasn't home.
1
Melissa walked into the newsroom, made her way to her desk, and draped a handbag over the arm of her chair. She checked for messages, and seeing none went to the coffee machine and poured herself a cup. Although she didn't realize it, she had fallen into a drab morning routine. Had she known, she would have welcomed it, for it signaled the beginning of feeling at home at WKBC.
Still she felt a burden. She needed to prove herself because she knew how well Jerry was loved. The local paper's TV critic liked her, and she was increasing her circle of contacts, but she felt it was time to shake things up, make a name for herself, make people forget about Jerry Stevens.
Sipping her coffee, she looked toward Laura's office window, disappointed to find the light out. It didn't take a reporter to surmise that Laura had yet to arrive. She wanted to meet with her boss to tell her about the idea she had this morning. What she wanted to do was a series of special reports.
2
Mrs. Hardy was struggling with the lock on her door when Janet came strolling down the hall carrying a small bag of groceries. The two nodded in greeting as Janet inserted her key in her door and opened it with no trouble. She was halfway inside when she noticed an unspoken plea for help in Mrs. Hardy's fading blue eyes. She set her bag down on the floor, and although she was in a hurry, went to help her neighbor.
"Having trouble with your lock?" she asked Mrs. Hardy in a whispering tone she used only with the elderly as she tiptoed over. It was a patronizing question, for the answer was obvious.
Mrs. Hardy looked up into Janet's face, feeling foolish. She expected to see heartfelt concern in her features, and was disappointed to find cold impatience, for she had always liked Janet. Still, she tried to spark a conversation.
"It's these old wooden doors," she complained. "The heat warps them something awful. It's a wonder anyone can open their door at all."
"I didn't have any trouble," Janet replied.
Mrs. Hardy simply smiled and stepped aside, giving Janet the opportunity to try. She hurried over and jiggled the key, expecting it to turn on her command. Mrs. Hardy felt a small victory when Janet's efforts met with failure. Janet frowned and tried again. Her lips curled with determination, she twisted the key every which way. Mrs. Hardy cringed, thinking Janet's reckless methods would snap the key off in her lock.
"Are you sure this is the right key?" Janet asked.
"Look at it. It's the same design as yours."
Janet realized Mrs. Hardy was right. She pressed her shoulder against the door and leaned hard, pushing with her hand. When it still wouldn't budge, she began banging her hip against it. At last she slumped in defeat.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hardy, but I can't seem to get it open either."
The old woman smiled. "That's okay, dear. You tried your best. That's all that counts."
"Would you like to come inside my apartment for now? We can call the landlord from there."
Mrs. Hardy clapped her hands together. "Bless you, child."
She gave her door one last, scoffing look, and then followed Janet inside her apartment.
3
"How are things going with Dan?" Laura asked.
The mere mention of Dan's name brought a smile to Melissa's face. "Great. We're starting to get a little telepathy going," she said, explaining how she didn't have to spell everything out to Dan that she wanted shot.
"Good to hear it. I was a little worried that since Jerry Stevens was his best friend he might unconsciously give you a hard time."
"No. Not at all. In fact, every time we work I get left in stitches. He's so funny. I like him a lot."
Laura nodded happily, and then asked, "So, what kind of project do you have in mind?"
"Well, I'm not exactly sure," Melissa said, trying to pick her words carefully. She had a concept to sell, but what it was was even a mystery to her. "I guess it begins with this weird lady I met at my spa yesterday..."
"Weird?" Laura asked. "How so?"
"I was drying off after my swim," Melissa answered, shifting uneasily, "when this woman came in and walked over to the locker next to mine. I recognized her from the pool because she was swimming with a crystal on a chain around her neck, which I thought was odd. We got into a conversation, and I asked her how she could swim with her necklace on. I said it would drive me crazy."
Laura nodded patiently, but Melissa realized she was babbling. If this was going to fly, she had to cut to the meat of the issue.
She asked Laura, "How much do you know about the New Age movement, crystals, that sort of stuff?"
"Not much at all. I've dismissed it as a trend."
"So did I, but after yesterday, I'm not so sure."
Laura leaned forward, becoming intrigued. "Go on..."
"This woman started telling me all about the crystal she wore, and how she never went anywhere without it. She was like a devout Catholic carrying a crucifix or saint medallions with her all the time. I asked her if she ever worried that she might lose it having it with her constantly, and she looked at me like I was insane. She said it was impossible to lose."
"I wish my earrings were like that," Laura jested.
Melissa nodded, smirking. "I know what you mean. But seriously, this woman truly believed that she would never lose her crystal. When I asked her what would happen if she did, she said that she didn't ever want to think about that, and then she clutched it tightly, almost fanatically."
She knew that Laura was interested, but not hooked.
"Anyway, I was thinking about doing a special report, maybe a series, about the new era of religion," Melissa continued. "I'd like to focus on some of the alternative religions that have come out recently, especially since the turning of the millennium, and maybe use this New Age crystal following as a springboard."
"You think it's an organization, and not just one woman's idea?"
"I'm sure of it," Melissa said. "After we talked for a little while longer she asked me if I was interested in learning more about it, and invited me to a gathering."
With this new piece of information, Melissa could tell that she had Laura hooked. "It sounds like it might make a good sweeps piece. Take the time to investigate it further if you'd like, but I'm a little nervous about this 'invitation.' It sounds sort of cult-like."
Melissa smiled. "Don't worry about that. I can take care of myself."
4
While Janet brewed coffee in the kitchen, Mrs. Hardy took the opportunity to look around the room uninterrupted. She did some interior decorating years ago, though her tastes were more old-fashioned, European. Janet's place was very modern. A series of black and white nude prints hung on her wall. The surroundings were painted in with pastel watercolors, but the nude was left untouched, stark and contrasting, faceless. Mrs. Hardy wasn't offended, but she felt that the art painted a bleak portrait of man and his relationship with his environment.
"How do you like your coffee?" Janet called from the kitchen.
Mrs. Hardy was slightly startled. She felt like she was in an art gallery more than a home and almost forgot Janet was even there.
"Cream and sugar if you've got it. Otherwise, black is fine."
Janet emerged from the kitchen carrying a serving tray on which two cups of steaming coffee, saucers, milk and a small dish of sugar rested. She invited Mrs. Hardy to sit down, and set the tray on the glass coffee table.
Mrs. Hardy marveled at the serving tray. It was impeccably polished, highly reflective. Its smooth demeanor was broken only on the handles. Embedded in each were three large quartz-like crystals. They too were shiny, but jagged.
"That's lovely. Where did you get it?" she asked.
"A friend gave it to me," Janet answered. "He says that its high reflectiveness is a good reminder of our own souls, acting as a window to our spiritual being."
"I suppose..." Mrs. Hardy replied, not expecting that bizarre answer at all. Janet smiled at her, offering the first hint of genuine kindness since they met. Not wanting to break the mood, Mrs. Hardy asked another question. "Do the stones have any significance?"
"The quartz is supposed to channel the portions of the soul that escape through the window back into the person reflected, renewing them with new vigor and a healthier outlook."
Mrs. Hardy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Do you believe all that?"
"Why not? Standard religions don't seem to hold the answers," Janet answered frankly.
"For you," Mrs. Hardy pointed out. "For me, Christianity has been the guiding force in my life."
"I'm glad you can say that with such confidence. Take comfort where you can find it, I say."
"Maybe this is none of my business," Mrs. Hardy said slowly. "It seems to me that you're not all that convinced about...about whatever it is you're talking about."
"You're right," Janet said curtly. "It isn't any of your business." She stood up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing the extension. "I'll call the landlord for you now."
5
Dan wandered through the newsroom, lost in thought. He didn't like the way his life was going. Here he was, a man of twenty-seven, obsessed with horror memorabilia. He thought that maybe there was something wrong with that. He also felt alone, since there wasn't anyone he could call to talk to last night. I should have called Melissa... Why didn't I?
He then spied Melissa on her hands and knees by her desk, a hurried look on her face. She frantically looked for something while stealing glances at the clock. He crept up on her.
"Can I help?" he asked, startling her a bit.
"I'm supposed to be at a meeting in twenty minutes, but I can't find my notes."
Dan dropped down on all fours next to her, admiring the curve of her back from this angle. "What exactly am I looking for?"
"It's a light blue notebook, about the size of a paperback."
"Something like this?" Dan said, holding up the notebook, grinning.
"Yes!" Melissa exclaimed, taking it from him and jamming it into her bag. "Thank you!"
She was so excited Dan was practically expecting a hug, and found himself somewhat disappointed when one didn't come. Crouched under her desk with her, he suddenly felt awkward.
"Feel free to ask again whenever you need help."
"I actually did call to you, but you didn't answer. You looked a little preoccupied. What was that all about?"
"Oh, that," Dan said nonchalantly, deciding to act on his warm feelings toward her. "I'll make you a deal. If you go out to dinner with me tonight, I'll tell you all about it."
Melissa looked disappointed. "I'm sorry. I can't. I've already made other plans."
"Another time, then. Don't worry about it."
"I've got to run, or else I'll be late to that meeting."
"Do you need me to come along and shoot anything?"
"No. It's just a fact gathering thing."
"Okay. See you later."
He watched her leave, surprised at the amount of unfounded jealously he felt. It was always interesting how soon two people got away from each other when a date offer fell through, as if being in the same room was hazardous to one's health. She said she had to go back to work, but he wondered how pressing her need was.
6
They didn't say much while they waited for the locksmith to arrive. Janet sat on a chair she pulled up, Mrs. Hardy on the couch, the coffee table acting as a boundary between them. Every time Mrs. Hardy looked at the serving tray she was reminded of her inquiries, and understood that it really wasn't any of her business to delve into Janet's religious practices. If Janet was happy with her beliefs, so be it. She didn't have to agree with it, but then she didn't have to agree with Hinduism, Islam, Judaism or any number of a hundred different religions either to appreciate what they stood for. She silently sipped her coffee.
Janet had barely touched hers. She felt guilty about snapping at Mrs. Hardy. All the woman had done was ask an innocent question about her tray. It was her fault that the conversation veered toward things spiritual. She could have simply replied that a friend gave it to her and leave it at that. She remembered that in college she hated it whenever dorm topics turned toward religion and philosophy. There was something about post-midnight that brought out deep discussions in people. Of course the debates always occurred in her room, and she remembered several times when she slept on another girl's couch down the hall while the heated words still issued from her room. Shaking her head, she realized that religion was a heated topic with most people, and one best to avoid.
Mrs. Hardy, tired of the uneasy silence, decided a new topic was needed to engage Janet in a bit of "girl talk."
"How are things with your young man?" she asked.
"Huh?" Janet said. She had been staring off into space, still thinking about those religious debates, and didn't hear the question.
"A few weeks ago he came knocking at your door, but you weren't there. He borrowed a sheet of stationary from me, wrote you a note, and slipped it under your door. I was wondering what happened."
"Oh, that," Janet said blandly, crushing the romantic in Mrs. Hardy. "To tell you the truth, not much came of that note. We're not seeing each other anymore."
"That's a shame. He was such a nice man."
"I've outgrown him," Janet said frankly, getting up. "Would you like another cup of coffee?"
"No, thank you," she replied, again feeling unwanted.
There was a knock on the door. Janet, already up, practically sprang for it. Behind the door stood the locksmith.
"I understand you've got a problem?" he asked, shifting his eyes back and forth to each woman, unsure which one had called.
"Yes," Mrs. Hardy replied, getting up. "It's right next door, apartment #7. You can get started right away. I'll be with you in a moment."
The man nodded and went next door. Mrs. Hardy clasped Janet's hands in her cool arthritic ones. Janet felt repulsed. The physical changes of age gave her the creeps.
"Thank you for your hospitality," she said sincerely. "The coffee was delicious, and your company appreciated. I don't know what I would have done had you not come along."
Janet smiled thinly. "You'd do the same for me."
7
Jerry sat in his car, pulled off the shoulder of the road, and looked at a city map of Lansing. In pen he had marked the locations of possible places to live. It was a long, tedious process. One by one he crossed them out, with only a handful now to go.
"Where are you, you little shit...?" he mumbled softly, a pen clenched angrily between gritted teeth. He spent the last five minutes circling around trying to find Hidden Oaks Apartments. He thought he spotted the roofs of the buildings, but he couldn't seem to get to them. The man he talked with on the phone said they were simple to find.
He folded up the map and was about to give up when he spotted the entrance hidden by some trees. A small placard on a wooden post marked the driveway. This could be perfect, Jerry thought, imagining a disgruntled, egg-toting student searching in vain for his apartment after receiving a failing grade in one of his courses. It looks quiet, secluded...
He clicked on his turn signal and disappeared into a thicket of trees. As he approached the office, he admired the clean upkeep of the grounds. Fittingly, no students seemed to be around. He wondered if the price might be a little too steep for him.
He loved the apartment the moment he'd stepped inside, from the layout and color of the carpeting down to where the cable outlet was. And the price wasn't as bad as he feared. The manager offered him a Coke as they sealed the deal.
"This solitude is perfect," Jerry said. "I have a feeling my new job's going to be very stressful, at least at first."
"What job is that?" the manager asked.
"Teaching journalism and photojournalism at the University."
"Lots of professors live here," the manager said. "You ever live in Michigan before?"
Jerry took a drink from his can and shook his head. After swallowing, he added, "I'm looking forward to the winter activities, though."
"We do get our share of snow. Do you enjoy skiing?"
Jerry smiled fondly. "I haven't gone in years, but it's something I'd like to pick up again."
"We don't have any good hills around here in the central part of the state. Oh, there are some man-made ones, but they're kind of lame in comparison with the slopes up north. That's where the real action is."
Jerry pictured himself shushing down powdery snow-covered hills, lined with tall evergreens. "How long of a drive is it?"
"Depends on the weather, but if it's a good day, you can do it in around three hours."
"That's not bad," Jerry said, the idea of winter fun sounding better and better as he sat in the hot office draining his Coke. Christmas break would afford him some quality time to vacation, something he wasn't used to in the breakneck world of television. He'd have to look into renting a cabin or time-sharing a condo with a group of colleagues.
He signed the lease and slid it across the table to the beaming manager.
"Thank you very much, Professor Stevens," he said, handing Jerry the keys to his new apartment. "I'm sure you'll enjoy living here."
Professor Stevens... How strange... I never really heard it said before...
"Thank you," Jerry replied, happy and relieved to have found a place. His next task was trying to fit into his new environment.
8
Tommy Phillips came in the house dripping sweat from mowing the lawn. It was humid out, rain lingering in the clouds. He was a sprite boy, age twelve, just beginning to realize that those fascinating creatures known as girls were more than targets for snowballs and spit wads. His body had begun its growth spurt, but the growth was so accelerated his body didn't have a chance to keep up in bulk, giving him the appearance of frailty. In a year or two he would fill out, his father assured, but that wasn't enough for Tommy. He was very self-conscious of his thinness. So much, in fact, that on this hot, humid, late summer day he mowed the lawn in jeans and a T-shirt. Now finished, he was parched, and all but ran to the refrigerator for a Mountain Dew, which he gulped down until the pain from carbonation in his throat overwhelmed him.
Once refreshed, he looked around the house for his mother. Hearing her puttering around in her bedroom, he went back to the kitchen and grabbed the phone, dialing his friend Dave's number.
He was glad when Dave answered the phone, and not his nosy sister.
"Are we still on for tonight?" he asked in a whisper.
"I'm planning on it," Dave replied.
"What if it rains?"
"It won't."
"Midnight?"
"Midnight."
"Okay. See you then," Tommy said, hanging up the phone.
9
Dan got home late and was hungry. He found a can of SpaghettiOs and looking at the label felt his disappointment over Melissa's rejection of his dinner proposal all over again. He felt kind of stupid that such an innocent invitation was causing him so much grief. Aren't I supposed to be going out with someone named Janet? he asked himself, spooning the cold pasta into a saucepan.
He tried to remember the last time he had fun in their relationship. He couldn't. He wanted, once and for all, to know where he stood with her. If she wasn't interested in him anymore---fine, so be it. He'd then be free to pursue Melissa without guilt. He was brought up to be faithful. Again he wondered if Janet felt that way as thoughts of another man invaded his head.
He needed to know. His hand snatched for the phone, yanking it off the cradle. He pounded her number in fiercely, lifted the receiver to his ear, and waited for Janet to answer.
10
Melissa barely knew the man across from her. It couldn't be classified as a blind date, for she had met him before, albeit briefly.
His name was Parker Flint, a phony sounding name that fit his personality perfectly. He was a handsome man in his early thirties with thinning black hair. Earlier in the evening he had told Melissa about his strategy for fighting his baldness: the tonics he rigorously applied, the scalp massages he performed on himself daily, the special brushes he used... He truly believed that they worked, and he asked Melissa if she thought so. Since she had only seen him once before, and that only three days ago, it was hard for her to make a judgment.
It was difficult to believe this was the same man she profiled earlier in the week. Then he appeared to be a model citizen: concerned with the homeless problem, helping to set up a food shelter, and often sleeping on the street with what he called his "misunderstood friends." He had said that these people were no different from scores of viewers, except that they had been dealt a cruel hand. If circumstances were different, "You could have found yourself on the street instead," he said gravely into the camera, ending Melissa's report.
Afterwards, he asked if she would like to have dinner with him sometime. Charmed then, she said yes. How she wished she could retract those words...
"Try the garlic shrimp," he said, offering her a forkful, waving it in her face.
"No, thank you," she refused as politely as possible.
"You don't know what you're missing. You must have some," he insisted. By now the utensil hovered only inches away, the smell about to make her heave. And the thought of eating off his fork made her shudder.
"Just put it on the side of the plate," she said with a smile. He did so, obligingly.
As inconspicuously as possible, she stole a glance at her watch: 9:30. That meant at least another hour, more likely two, with this clown. She might be able to cut the evening short by saying she had to be at work early the next morning. He seemed awed that she worked in TV, and he might relinquish the reins of control if it had something to do with her TV job. The thought of a goodnight kiss was out of the question, as she imagined his garlicky tongue trying to probe her mouth...
Why couldn't I be here with Dan instead? she wished, watching Parker Flint suck in another saucy strand of linguine.
11
He found himself standing on her street corner, meshing with the shadows, watching the yellow glow of her window, waiting to do what he never thought he would. He tried to get a glimpse inside the apartment and felt ashamed. But he didn't leave.
He had planned it carefully---this was no spur of the moment caper. Although it was hot, he replaced his shorts with dark jeans and black sneakers so he would blend better with the darkness. He wore a navy blue T-shirt inside out, so that the white Nike logo couldn't be seen. His costume was perfect.
The phone conversation that brought him over here was brief, like every call lately. After the usual greetings, in which they both paced back and forth, clearly uncomfortable with being on the phone, Dan jumped in with both feet.
"Is there anything left between us?" he asked.
Janet stopped pacing. That was a curveball. Dan was usually not that direct. There was a long pause before she answered.
"To be honest? I don't think so," she said, surprising herself with her cold candor.
Now he paused for a moment before continuing. "How long have you felt this way?"
"I think it's pretty obvious that we've grown apart lately. We haven't gone out in weeks except for that one dinner, and look what that turned into."
"So, what you're saying is that we're through."
"Basically, yes," she said, finding it easier to brush him off as she went. "Look, I don't have time to go into all of this. I have to go somewhere in a little while, and I haven't begun to get ready. I'm going to have to jog there. If you want, I'll call you tomorrow. But there's really nothing left to discuss."
"No. There's not, is there?" he said, banging down the phone, hoping her ears were ringing from the impact.
He circled the kitchen, hands clenched into fists, spouting every foul expression about women known to man and inventing a few of his own.
("I have to go somewhere in a little while, and I haven't begun to get ready.")
Her words hung in his memory. He envisioned himself following her, seeing where she was going that had her in such a rush, wondering what could be so important that she couldn't stay and discuss the end of their long-lasting relationship. One more time to satisfy his curiosity...that would be it. He would have his answers, and all loose ends would be tied, closure achieved.
His heart stopped when he saw a dark shape flash by the open window inside her apartment. He ducked into a doorway quickly, causing some stares in his direction. He bent down and pretended to tie his shoe, obscuring his face to passersby.
Slowly, he raised his head again and peered at the window. The movement behind the slightly billowing curtains was gone. He couldn't even be sure he saw it the first time. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, chasing shadows in its deepest recesses. He didn't know.
Then he saw her again. She walked by with a light coat folded over one arm, looking down at her watch, and then moved out of sight. Seconds later, her light winked out and her apartment engulfed in darkness. His line of sight moved down to the steps leading from her brownstone to the street. Given the time it would take to lock her door, walk down the hallway and go down the stairs, he figured she should be out any moment. He backed into his tiny alcove as far as it would allow.
The moment of truth was coming.
The door leading into her building swung open and a figure stepped out. The light issuing from the entryway backlit the shape, but it was plain that it was a woman. Dan squinted, wanting to be sure, and saw the coat draped over her arm like a waiter with his towel in a fine restaurant. His heart beat louder and he swallowed dryly. It was unmistakably Janet.
She walked down the steps and looked both ways, appearing indecisive, before moving on. Dan rubbed his hands against his thighs in anticipation. No matter how many times he wiped, he couldn't seem to get his hands dry. There was a constant, irritating stickiness to them.
When she did go, she moved away from the parking lot. Like she said, she was going to jog, or at least walk, wherever she was going. Dan took a final deep breath, and set out after her.
12
She was in a fog, balanced in a state between conscious and unconscious thoughts, trying to recall what had happened to her when her eyes snapped open. Blinking at the blackness, she tried to pierce the opacity, both in her head and in the candlelit room she found herself. She lay there for a moment, trying to get her bearings, when suddenly she sensed she wasn't alone. Her instinct was to bolt upright, but when her muscles tried, they were held taut by strong leather bonds. She tried to scream, and only then realized she was gagged, the cloth dry and stale in her mouth.
Her eyes darted about, a wild panic behind the lids. Amidst the flickering light she could make out dim figures, dressed in white robes, circling her. They moved dreamily in and out of the shadows, seeming to float, disembodied, like thoughts wisping through her memory, leaving her just when she started to grasp them.
She heard a voice whisper, "She's awake." Those two words held a chilling finality to her. Moments later she was being lifted by two of the robed figures. She hadn't the strength to fight back, lying limply in their arms, drugged.
This had to be a crazy dream. She had a foggy recollection of leaving her apartment to walk to a friend's house. They were going to have a girls' night of video watching, starting with Beaches, and for the second feature, the more risqué G-Men in G-Strings. It had become a Wednesday night tradition with them: popping up a big bowl of popcorn, guiltlessly smothering it in butter, dimming the lights, and engaging in girl talk while the movies played---a fun way to break up the week.
She remembered locking her door and stepping outside. Beyond that, nothing.
They placed her in a large cistern, and then backed away. She was utterly naked, her breasts heaving as she gulped in terrified breaths. When did they take my clothes off? What's happening to me? She tried to roll over, attempting to conceal herself. It was too difficult with her arms bound behind her back. As she squirmed, the bedding beneath her shifted, her body grinding deeper. She felt sharp pangs in her skin. Whenever she moved, it was accompanied by the painful pricks, and also a sound---a sound she connected with her brother. It was a sound from childhood, if only she could remember...
Then, as she twisted again, it came to her. He loved to play marbles. Often, just before going into battle, he would hold a handful---cat's eyes, peeries, steelies---and grind them together in his palm. It made a grating sound almost identical to the one she heard now. She grit her teeth thinking about it. Looking down, in the flickering candlelight, she realized she was right. She was lying in a bed of stones.
Movement again. The robed figures came closer. There were at least thirty of them, probably more hidden behind the others. In a whisper, they recited some sort of incantation.
One by one, figures began to separate themselves from the others, coming up to her. She looked pleadingly into faces that were as inconspicuous to her as the next, faces she would never associate with this type of ritual---if that's what it was. They looked like doctors, lawyers, civil servants, clerical workers, corner grocers, housewives, mothers, fathers---sane, rational people. She hitched in her breath whenever one came close, arm extended. Then a fist would open, and a small glistening stone would fall from the outstretched fingers into the cistern, mixing with the others she was lying on. She could tell they were more than stones; they were crystals of some sort. As silently as they stepped forward, each person slipped back into the fold before another would approach. This process repeated itself until they all made the pilgrimage.
Her senses started to return as the drug wore off. The bed of crystals became uncomfortable as they dug into her back and buttocks. Fearing what might be next, she wished to God that the drug would kick back in.
She wouldn't be so fortunate.
13
Tommy Phillips rode his brand new blue Schwinn mountain bike into McAlester Park. The studded tires maneuvered through the gravel lanes of the park, biting into the loose stones with an awesome edge. It was his pride and joy.
He got it last week for his twelfth birthday. He was finally free of the baby bike he'd been saddled with forever---its fire red paint only a memory now. Tommy worried that the sleek blue job he was straddling might be a memory as well if he got caught out after-hours and was grounded from it. But that was part of the excitement, the enticement.
He veered onto the baseball diamond and sliced across it toward home plate, imagining he was in a race toward home against a throw from left field. If he scored, his team would win the pennant! He crossed home plate in a flurry, beating the imaginary ball by inches. Gripping the handlebars until his knuckles flushed white, he applied the hand brakes with all his might. He skidded to a stop, putting out a foot to keep from falling. He sent a hail of stones scurrying into the chain link backstop, the screaming pings echoing into the quiet night.
Tommy stayed at home plate for a brief instant, bowing to the cheers he heard in his head while Britney Spears ran out onto the field to congratulate him, giving him a big kiss. Sighing, his fantasy over, he dismounted his bike and walked it toward the wooden bleachers squatting along the third base line. He leaned the bike against them and climbed up, perching at the top.
It was only quarter to twelve. He was a little early. He lay back on a warped plank, looking up at the stars and storm clouds gathering to the west, and waited for Dave.
14
Janet's eyes opened wide as the first knife plunged down.
There was a muffled scream as the sharp point of the knife pierced skin. Just as quickly, it was withdrawn. Blood dripped from the blade onto the girl's bare belly in red splotches. The next cut was more visceral, slicing through her lower body cavity. She twisted and turned, trying to squirm away from the pain, unknowingly aiding the dagger's gruesome work. One by one, as they had done with the crystals, they took turns mutilating her body. In no time it was a red canvas, riddled with punctures and slash marks. Ravaged flesh hung limply like torn paper, exposing the white gleam of bone. Tendons frayed and snapped like twine. When her heart was finally hit, it burst like a balloon fraught with tension, spilling blood out of her chest in a cascade of gore. They seemed to revel in it, each one trying to gratuitously upstage the last. Soon she was unrecognizable, just a lifeless carcass heaped into a cistern, soaking in her own fluids. The crystals were also covered; smeared dark red with freshly let blood, shiny in the candlelight.
Janet watched this orgy in a detached manner. Though she knew what to expect, the actuality of it left her dazed. Initially she was mortified, but as it continued, she grew used to it, though still a little faint. Her legs felt wobbly, and she thought she was going to fall, until a sturdy hand to her back braced her up. It felt strong, solid, sure. She looked up into reassuring eyes.
When she tried to speak he put a finger over her lips, hushing her gently. Trusting his every instinct, she became silent.
Something cold and hard was placed in her hand. It had a familiar weight to it, comfortable in her grip. She flexed her wrist a few times, giving this new object a test drive.
She looked down, and of course, it was a dagger in her hand: highly polished eight-inch steel, brand new, without a nick or scratch or bloodstain. The grip was a smooth mahogany, reddish brown, firm. It seemed to be molded especially for her hand. It felt as though it belonged there all her life.
Next thing she knew she was standing over the sacrificial victim. Janet had no memory of being led there, but one look into the cistern, coated with sticky blood beginning to coagulate, proved that she had.
Instinctively, she started to turn away. Firm hands grabbed her by the shoulders, biting deep into her muscle, and slowly spun her back around.
He leaned close, his warm breath on her neck. She could feel his chin resting on the nape of her neck, lips brushing her earlobe. He whispered something ever so softly.
"But...but she's dead already."
"It's not her life from which we draw our strength," he coaxed. "It's her blood."
He closed his hand in a fist over hers. He pinched her fingers against the hard wood of the hilt of the knife, on the brink of causing pain. Then he released his grip, smiling with his lips, yet his eyes burned with an intensity. Janet's fingers tingled as the blood flowed back into them.
She took a step forward, and lifted the knife. She hesitated for a moment, looking back, confused, seeking guidance.
"Go on," he whispered. "The others are waiting."
Without noticing, the contingent of robed figures had drawn in, circling the cistern, pressing closer. She looked into their faces, and saw mostly smiles and looks of encouragement. Suddenly it seemed all right.
She raised her arm and in a swift motion brought the blade down. At the last second though, she veered off, barely pricking the skin. The knife fell from her limp fingers into the standing pool of blood collecting around the body. She shuddered.
From behind her an arm reached around, dipping into the sanguine fluid, and withdrew her dagger, sticky and wet. He placed it back in her hand. Once the shock left her, she gripped the slippery handle again. The man cupped both hands into the blood, and then rubbed her forearms with the gore, stroking sensually up and down along her tingling skin. It was a cool, smooth sensation. Her breath quickened. He hugged her from behind, his powerful forearms crossing her chest.
"Come now," the man with the broad shoulders, angular chin, and paper-thin lips said softly, stroking her hair gently, taunting her. "You can do better than that." He gave her a subtle nudge.
Determined not to disappoint, and before she could change her mind, Janet advanced rapidly on the body, slashing down, cutting the air with a brutal ferocity. This time she did not wince away, but connected solidly. The blade bit into rib bone, stopping suddenly after passing easily through flesh. The shock reverberated through Janet's arm, into her whole body. Her hand stung, like she just hit a baseball on the wrong part of the bat. Undaunted, she pried the knife free from the cartilage surrounding the ribs. The corpse rocked lifelessly as she jimmied the blade out, its head lolling over to one side, splashing into the blood. Again and again she brought the knife down, cutting, slashing, finding it easier as she went on and on and on...
Behind Janet, her teacher smiled.
15
Dave fumbled with the paper, trying to roll it again before the dried brown flakes blew away in the wind.
"It never looked that hard when my brother did it," he grinned sheepishly at Tommy.
Tommy sat nearby, skittishly on the lookout. A few miles off to the west a huge thunderstorm raged. Before Dave showed up with his booty, he wondered if they would still go through with it, with the threat of rain looming. Tommy's heart thumped in his caved-in chest. He had second thoughts.
Ever since Dave stumbled upon where his brother Kurt stashed his marijuana, he had been itching to try it. Kurt sometimes lit up when their parents went out, and Dave watched everything he did---the way he laid out the paper, how he measured the weed, the careful method of rolling, and finally licking the paper before he could smoke.
Dave was once foolish enough to ask for a puff, and Kurt smacked him so hard his face stung for hours. Kurt told him it was dangerous stuff, not to be messed with, and if he ever saw Dave doing drugs he would beat him senseless. Dave asked why it was okay for him to do it, but Kurt just shrugged and walked off, leaving Dave alone, smarting.
When Dave found Kurt's hiding place, he swiped a tiny amount and a couple papers. He hid them in a tiny plastic bag tucked into a sock in the back of his dresser drawer, waiting for an opportunity to use them. He told Tommy about his find, and egged Tommy to try it with him. They mutually decided on this night, at midnight, in McAlester Park.
"Do you have a lighter?" Dave asked Tommy.
Tommy fumbled in his pockets for the Bic he took from a kitchen drawer at home. He looked up suddenly, ears pricked.
"What's that?" he asked.
"What's what?"
"Didn't you hear something?"
Dave shook his head. "You're just paranoid."
Tommy sat upright for a moment longer, listening intently, hearing nothing, before laughing at himself with a smirk. "You're probably right," he said, pulling out the lighter. "I'm a little nervous."
"There's nothing to be afraid of," Dave said, taking the lighter from Tommy. "I've seen Kurt do this hundreds of times."
That in itself was something to be afraid of, for Tommy didn't want to turn into some kind of junky. He pictured himself years from now, having graduated from grass to cocaine to LSD to heroin, wandering the streets, homeless, pandering for money to support his habits. It was a naïve exaggeration, but he was only twelve, and afraid.
Dave flicked the Bic, its orange flame illuminating brightly in the darkness. He was about to light up the rolled end of the joint when he too heard a noise. With a gasp, he quickly extinguished the flame, hoping no one saw it. The boys stared at each other, wide-eyed. Dave threw the joint and the lighter into some bushes. They sprung off the bleachers and crawled underneath them, breathless.
A car approached, coasting slowly with its lights off, engine in idle. The only sound was the tires on the gravel. Had they been talking when Dave lit up for a toke, the boys might never have heard it approaching until it was too late.
A man got out of the car and walked to the trunk. He opened it, rummaging around for some time.
"What do you think he's doing?" Dave whispered.
"Shh!" Tommy hushed him. "Do you want him to see us?"
Dave shut up, burying his head once again in the grass. Tommy glared icily at him one last time, and then started to hunker down. A gleam of blue chrome caught the corner of his eye, and he froze. His Schwin still leaned against the bleachers, partially illuminated by a far away streetlamp. The skin on his belly crawled, his testicles withdrawing into his body. He touched Dave on the arm and pointed to his bicycle.
Dave mirrored Tommy's worried look. He lived close enough to walk, so he hadn't thought about the bike at all. In fact, he never saw it until now. He could only hope that the man wouldn't see it either.
The man struggled with something large, wrapped in a dark cloth. He carried one end while the other dragged. He made his way toward a Dumpster. From there, Tommy's bike was right in his line of sight.
Dave started to crawl over Tommy, toward the bike.
Even though he wished to stay silent, Tommy had to whisper, "What are you doing?"
"Look," Dave whispered back, "you might think I'm a dumb shit, but I do read the papers."
The realization hit Tommy. "You don't think---?"
Dave nodded. "Your bike. We've got to move it---get it down on the ground. At least then he might not see it. He'll kill us if he does."
Before Tommy could reply he moved off. Tommy panicked as he imagined the loud clanging as the metal bike crashed against the metal supports of the bleachers while Dave tried to move it alone. He shut his eyes, trying to block out all thoughts, and began to snake over to the bike. They might be able to do it if two people worked at it.
The man was halfway to the Dumpster. Once he cleared the backstop, the bike would be in plain view.
Dave reached up and grabbed the straddle bar of the bike, lifting it off the bleachers. Tommy put his hands on the tires and slowly pushed them away as far as he could while Dave steadied the top half, lowering it carefully toward the ground.
The man reached the Dumpster. He lifted the lid, walking with it all the way until it was down, rather than flipping it open and letting it clang loudly like a sanitation worker might. His movements were cautious, precise. He had his back to Tommy and Dave, unaware of the boys' desperate movements behind him.
Fumbling, Tommy pushed while Dave pulled. It was awkward, but the mountain bike slowly came down. It would still be in sight, but it would be out of the streetlamp and into the shadows. It would also be flat---to see it, you'd have to be looking for it.
The right handlebar got stuck, its ram horn-shaped curve hooking around a support strut. Tommy didn't see, and kept pushing at the tires, plowing through the loose gravel, raising quite a mound. Dave tried to get his attention, patting him on the back. Tommy ignored him, intent on getting the bike flat in the dirt. Dave gave up, and feverishly worked on trying to untangle the handlebar before Tommy pushed the tires too far and the slack was gone. His hands pulled and lifted, but his arms were tired from supporting the weight of the bike at this odd angle. He twisted his body to try another approach, and in that instant of rest, the handlebar shifted and pinched his pinky finger against the strut. A flap of skin tore off as easily as the plastic wrapper around a slice of cheese. He bit down hard on his lip to avoid crying out, tasting blood in his mouth.
The man lifted the bulky form and dropped it into the garbage container. He then ran around to the other side and lowered the lid gently back down.
Clanging loudly, the handlebar suddenly got unhooked, and the bike came crashing down. Tommy and Dave became one with the ground, pressing as close to the earth as she would let them. They held their breath---and waited.
16
"What's going on out there?" a voice inquired, trying to sound tough, but betraying some fear.
A house light clicked on nearby, and a man clad in an undershirt and work pants unbuttoned at the waist stood on his porch, looking across the street into McAlester Park.
"I know I heard something over there!" he bellowed again, not caring whether he woke the neighbors or not.
He peered into the inky blackness pervading the park. He had written the City Council several times asking for more lights to be installed. The wimpy ones just weren't enough. He complained of the homos loitering in the park after dark, lurking in the bushes, recreating Sodom and Gomorrah. Ask him, and he'd tell you he'd seen enough used rubbers lying about to attest to that. He wished to God that AIDS would kill them all off as part of His vengeful wrath for their unnatural acts.
It wasn't just the homos that bothered him. It was the druggies, the winos, the bums, the gangs---anyone who preyed upon others. He was an upstanding man of moral Christian character, and he was tired of the Devil's work rotting the minds of others, polluting the city with a stench like a soiled diaper. He was tired, ready to take action. He took a step forward.
But when he heard the screams from the two boys, he darted back inside his house as fast as his chubby legs could carry him, and dead-bolted the lock. He leaned back against the solid oak door, panting, and thanked God that whatever was happening to them wasn't happening to him.
They probably deserve it anyway, he tried to reason. Nothing awful happens to the truly righteous---He sees to that.
17
Tommy yelled first. He thought he only imagined the first question, but when he heard the man say, "I know I heard something over there!" he knew he wasn't dreaming. God had answered the desperate prayers he was sending upstairs. He screamed for help, loud and long.
Once Dave recoiled from the shock of Tommy giving away their position, he joined in. The man by the Dumpster obviously knew where they were now---being silent held no advantage. If he cried out, someone might come.
Panic hit the man. He ran to his car, still idling, jumped in, and peeled out of McAlester Park, hoping the children didn't have the good sense to read his license number. It was a plate stolen off another car, but it still might be traced to him somehow.
Tommy and Dave still didn't move from their spot for a good two minutes. Since their cries for help, they kept expecting some kind of cavalry to come to their rescue. They didn't want to crawl out from hiding until that happened. When none came, Dave finally emerged, cautiously.
"Do you see anything?" Tommy whispered.
Dave took his time answering, shifting his eyes briskly in all directions, spinning his head when moving his eyes alone couldn't cover an area. At last he shook his head. "I think it's safe."
Tommy scooted over his bike, leaving it lying right where it fell, and joined his friend. He shuddered as he looked at it, thinking what might have happened if things turned out differently.
"Do you really think that guy was the Dumpster Killer?"
Dave nodded, and then gulped. "There's only one way to find out."
Tommy immediately knew what he meant. They had been friends too long not to be able to read each other's mind when it came to things of this nature. Peering into the Dumpster was not something he looked forward to, but he understood it had to be done. If that man had nothing to do with murder, and was only out disposing the carcass of a deer shot out of season, they would never know, and sleep would not come easily as their imaginations ran wild.
They stood by the Dumpster, afraid to lift the lid, afraid of what they might see. Never having seen a dead body before, they didn't know what to expect. One of their mutual friends at school had seen Faces of Death and had taken ghoulish delight in informing the uninitiated about all the details. At the time, they wanted to get the movie for themselves to see what all the fuss was about. Now, they just wanted to forget all about death, and get on with living.
Dave lifted the lid, not looking down. He was afraid he would drop the heavy metal covering if he saw something unpleasant, the loud clang bringing the curious. He didn't want to have to answer questions about why he was there at this late hour on a school night. All the noise in the world wouldn't have mattered, for soon he'd have to answer those questions anyway.
Tommy clapped a hand over his mouth to contain a scream. Wrapped in blankets, stained dark with blood, was what was left of a beautiful young woman, twenty to twenty-five. They couldn't tell she was pretty now---it was only after they saw her photograph at the police station did they realize that. What they saw was a nightmare of carnage, an obscene butchering of the flesh. They could be thankful she was wrapped up in the blankets. They were the only things keeping her entrails from spilling across the other garbage.
When he finally collected himself, Dave said, "We've got to tell somebody."
Tommy agreed, but under one condition. "We can't tell anybody that we were here to smoke pot. We've got to come up with another story."
Despite the horrific situation, Dave uttered a nervous laugh. "After this, I don't think I'll ever want to smoke pot again."
18
Dan walked into his dark apartment and turned on the radio. The announcer went on about another body found in a Dumpster. Dan felt sick.
What is happening to me? he thought. What am I doing following Janet? What am I doing with my life?
Disgusted with himself and looking over his room, he came to a sudden decision. He strode resolutely to the kitchen to pick up his garbage can. He then went back to the living room and turned on the overhead lights, the exposing brightness stinging his eyes, illuminating the room with its cleansing light. The room looked completely different fully lit. None of his posters looked particularly threatening. In fact, they looked rather silly. Janet was the one who said they were for little boys.
Before he could change his mind, he approached the nearest poster and tore it from the wall. Scream and Halloween came down next. Their value as collector's items didn't matter to him as he ripped them in half, wadding them up and throwing them away. He moved in a flurry. He lifted his Freddy Krueger standup and folded it over, stuffing it into the trash. Dark Shadows trading cards fluttered into it next, followed by a stack of Fangoria magazines. Everything went.
Everything, that is, except his Stalker poster. He had just gotten it. Dan felt like he would betray Mr. Peters and all the secrecy he went through to keep it for him if he threw it away so soon. Besides, it was kind of cool. Surely he was allowed one reminder of his hobby.
A little more in control, he moved back to the couch and noticed that in his fury he had knocked an empty can of beer from his coffee table. Looking at the number of dead soldiers that were there, he realized that he'd also been doing a lot of drinking lately. He dragged the garbage pail to the edge of the table. With a sweep of his arm, Dan knocked them all into the trash. But he didn't stop there. He went to the refrigerator next, and threw away all the beer that was in there as well.
Dan stood in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips, and surveyed the damage. The walls were bare, desolate. They looked strange to him---he felt like he was in another apartment. He had lived for so long with his walls and shelves plastered with scary things, especially for the last few months when he really immersed himself in his hobby, traveling to conventions, picking up collectables and holding his own marathon horror video "film fests."
He looked down into his Rubbermaid can and saw bits and pieces of gruesome eyes, hideous faces, sharp teeth, sinister grins. While there was a part of him that wanted to reach in and salvage some of it, the other part felt cleansed. Tearing down the posters and throwing them away had been therapeutic for him. He only hoped that his ghosts would go away.
1
Three weeks had gone by since Tommy Phillips and Dave Brown found the body in McAlester Park. Three weeks of the city living in fear's grip.
All over, people banded together, forming citizen's groups, block watch programs, trying to fight something they didn't understand. Parents set curfews, and for once they were being obeyed. Police upped patrols. Politicians screamed for heads. The masses were angry, fearful, vengeful.
Some bordered on hysteria. Twice mobs attacked suspicious people, their only crime being in the wrong place at the wrong time. One was hospitalized with broken ribs and a punctured lung.
Sergeant Miles Cameron could stomach little of the chaos. Self-made vigilantes running amok in the streets dealing out justice as they saw fit brought him to the boiling point, and when he reached the boiling point he was not a man to be messed with. He wished more people would stay inside and heed his warnings. Maybe he could say some comforting words to calm people down during his press conference.
2
Laura Danvers walked down the hall and woke her daughters for school. Lately they didn't even want to go outside anymore. Last night the twins had again asked to sleep with her. Though she hated to do it, feeling like an ice maiden, she refused. But what hurt her more was when one of them said, "Daddy would've let us."
Laura wished that her husband had been around to offer support to his frightened children. They needed that kind of strength right now. She had tried to balance the roles of mother and father equally since the divorce became final, but it was difficult. And though it pained her to admit it, she was thinking of sending the girls to his apartment for a while, knowing full well that he would barely acknowledge them at all. He could be a cold bastard, but the girls would be safe.
While they got ready, she did too, paying special attention to her appearance. Today was a very important day. The Police Department had announced a press conference for eleven that morning. They would have to hustle to get some soundbites for the noon news, but what Laura really wanted was to get Sergeant Cameron to do a live interview. She applied some perfume to her bosom to ensure it---a dirty trick, for sure, but sometimes that sort of thing was necessary in the ratings game. Laura picked Lynnette Connor, her most experienced crime reporter, to accompany her. On a day-to-day basis she would never consider going on a story with a reporter, but this was such a potboiler that she felt she had to go to oversee everything, from setting up interviews to making sure that the microwave signal back to the station remained intact. It was in times like these that she most annoyed people, but it was also in times like these that she earned her pay. She was a hands-on manager.
Police Headquarters didn't have big enough facilities for the coming media circus so Government Center was selected. All the local stations would be there, along with radio and print journalists, and some crews from stations in adjacent markets eager to cash-in on the blood fever. Nothing sold papers or increased ratings like a good bloodbath.
The police had been tight-lipped so far, "No Comment" being the reply of choice. Obviously they were under tremendous pressure. Laura hoped they would share new information. Their silence made her newscasts much more difficult to put together.
Dan went with them since Melissa was off doing research for her upcoming series, and other photographers were spread thin. Their drive to the conference in the news van was as silent as the police had been.
"God, we're a quiet group," Laura mused.
"I guess it's the subject matter," Lynnette suggested, waving her folder of notes on the case. "This stuff would give Stephen King the creeps."
"I noticed the goose bumps on your arms while you were reading it," Laura said.
"I haven't felt safe in weeks. Who wouldn't be scared?"
The killer, Dan thought.
3
It looked like a squid had been upended and set upside down on the podium, its tentacles branching out in all directions. In truth, the tentacles were a mass of cables and microphones pointed toward where Sergeant Cameron would be speaking. Government Center was a zoo.
Off to one side was a legion of photographers, both television and print. In the front rows were the reporters. Behind them sat concerned citizens and the curious. Rows of folding chairs were put out, but they were still not enough. That left some folks standing in the back of the room.
Sergeant Cameron stood waiting in the wings, nervously adjusting his collar. This kind of case was a career maker, one that could put him that much closer to a captaincy, and he was proud to have been put in charge of the task force. He knew that he had been promoted to a life of high media visibility as long as the case was hot news, and though he accepted that fact, it didn't mean he had to like it. Sweat already formed on his forehead from the tight uniform and collar. Under the lights, he could imagine the torrential flood of perspiration cascading down. The city's PR man had warned him to anticipate this, and advised him to use a powder on his bald spot to avoid shining. Cameron scoffed at him. He wouldn't use makeup of any sort, no matter what the situation.
"It's eleven o'clock, sir," one of his aides informed him.
Cameron nodded, and adjusted his collar one last time. Punctuality was something very important to him. Clearing his throat, he emerged from the wings and walked toward the podium, carrying his robust body.
The room hushed as Cameron approached the bank of mics, tapping them apprehensively. A sound like a giant explosion echoed throughout the room, setting off a chain of feedback. Cameron's eyes opened wide, clearly not expecting the squealing noise, and he stepped back from the podium, intimidated, as if the "squid" were alive.
After the echo died down, he dared to step forward again. "You'll have to excuse me for that," he apologized, offering a faint smile. "I'm a little new at this sort of thing."
The gathered crowd nodded knowingly, forgiving him. They would give this man a little leeway to speak before they chewed him for dinner.
"I'd like to read a short statement before opening the floor to questions," Cameron said, producing a few wrinkled sheets of paper from his jacket pocket. He coughed, and then began.
"I regret to inform you that at this time, we have no suspects in the Dumpster Killings. Over the---"
An uproar from the back filled the room. Dan quickly panned his camera around to shoot the screaming throng. People were standing up, waving their fists, demanding justice. They began to press forward. Dan saw that it was a mob mentality, and was fearful for Cameron's safety.
He shouldn't have worried. Cameron calmly raised his hands, imploring the crowd for silence. His serenity amidst the chaos soothed. He didn't say anything, didn't beg for quiet; he just stood there, gazing out, disapproving in a grandfatherly sort of way. He understood that the audience was angry---he expected this. After they got it out of their collective system, they would calm down.
And he was right. When the explosive confrontation didn't occur, people slowly began to sit back down. Some were even a little ashamed.
That didn't stop some of the reporters from shouting questions once the format broke down.
"What do you mean you've got no suspects?" asked a reporter from a rival station. "Are you telling us that after all this time, no progress has been made?"
"Quite the opposite," Cameron replied. "We've been able to rule out several possible scenarios."
"Such as?" the reporter followed-up.
Cameron breathed out heavily. In that moment he decided to throw out the established format and let it turn into a question and answer period. Ruling the proceedings with an iron hand was not the image he wanted to project right now. The people wanted, needed, a police force they could trust.
"In the beginning, these were treated as separate murders. At one point, we thought we had a fairly reasonable suspect in the slaying of Jennifer Cook---a man who treated her roughly at The Norseman's Bar only about a half hour before she died. He admitted to following her in his car afterwards, angry and a little drunk. Why did he follow her? He says he was humiliated, and wanted to get even. What did he plan? He says he doesn't know, only that once he started driving around, he started to come to his senses, and dropped the pursuit once she left the highway.
"The approximate time he gave when she exited coincides with statements Jennifer's roommate gave us after the body was found. Lisa Brooks said that she awoke that night to use the bathroom. As she went by Jennifer's bedroom, she saw that she wasn't in yet. She remembered quite clearly looking at the clock and seeing that it was a little after two-thirty. She decided to sit in the living room and wait for Jennifer to come home. She knew it would only be a matter of minutes, unless Jennifer left with somebody."
Lynnette leaned over to Laura. "Next he'll imply that she somehow asked for it."
"I don't think so," Laura whispered. "Cameron's coming across as being sincere. I think he truly cares about the people in this case."
"After she went down the hall," he continued, "she realized she didn't turn the outside staircase light on, which she usually did when Jennifer went out. She turned it on and waited. She thought she heard Jennifer's car approaching in the distance---it had a distinct sound---but then it went away. Ms. Brooks thought she'd imagined it after Jennifer didn't come in a few minutes later."
Then Cameron shocked everyone by breaking character for an instant. "The poor girl now feels guilty about the outside light, like having it off was some sort of bad omen."
"Tell us more about this man at the bar," another voice demanded.
"I'll not give you his name, if that's what you want. He might be a jerk, but he didn't kill her, and he didn't kill the others."
"You said that originally all the murders were treated as separate cases," Lynnette queried. Cameron nodded. "When did you realize they were connected?"
"It didn't take long, but we kept it quiet," Cameron said, sending a murmur through the crowd. "The bodies were found in very similar conditions, conditions that haven't been released in full to the media. We held back things that only the killer would know, so we'll have more ammunition to nail him with when the time comes to prosecute." He thought of the strange pockmarks on the victims, little indentations into the skin that suggested the victims were killed or tortured amidst stones and gravel. He had his people combing quarries and aggregate companies for leads. "Also, we didn't want a citywide panic."
"What about the public's right to know?" someone shouted.
"Well, I guess that's a moot point now, isn't it? Now everyone's aware that he's running around carving up young ladies like Halloween pumpkins," Cameron spouted back, losing his control for an instant. He hated the type of journalists who felt they had the right to know absolutely everything. Some things just weren't meant for mass consumption.
"Do you think it's one man?"
"A serial killer? At this point, we think that's a strong possibility. Our psychologists have come up with a tentative profile, a character sketch if you will, of what he might be like. Keep in mind, this is largely speculation based on past cases of this sort.
"The killer is probably a white male between twenty and forty. Any older would make it difficult to do some of the things we suspect. He probably suffers from an unresolved Oedipus conflict. Something, a recent trauma perhaps, has triggered an untapped murderous tendency to rise to the surface. In cahoots with his Oedipal feelings, he is striking out at women."
"What about the kids that found that body in McAlester Park? Any new leads there?"
"It was dark, they were children. There's no proof that the load the man was carrying was the body of Amy Whittenberg. He might have tossed his garbage in without ever looking inside and seeing Ms. Whittenberg." Cameron said this with an air of authority, though he himself had a hard time believing the sincerity of his words. Dan zoomed in tightly to his face, searching for clues he was lying.
In fact, the boys' words were taken very seriously. Every effort was made to extract a set of tire tracks from the site, but it was futile. Hundreds of cars drove through there each day. Neighbors were questioned, but no one heard anything, and the one man that did didn't say anything. He didn't want to have to answer to the possible outcry as to why he didn't go help the children when he heard them scream. The bottom line was that there wasn't any evidence to pursue from the park, so Cameron played it down as much as he could.
Lynnette piped in with another question. "Two bodies were found that night. Do you think there might be more than one killer?"
"Serial killers? That's unlikely."
"What about some of the missing persons? Might any of them be victims?"
"There's always an outside chance a body might have been ground up in a waste disposal vehicle before it was found. There have been cases of homeless people who have crawled inside a Dumpster to stay out of the cold or rain, falling asleep, and being crushed to death when the garbage truck came the next morning."
A silent grimace passed through the audience as stomachs rolled, playing out the scene in uncounted variations of imaginations.
"But since the two bodies were found, all city sanitation workers must check all Dumpsters before emptying their contents," he was quick to add.
4
The Q & A continued for another fifteen minutes, but with nothing else significant being revealed. The general consensus was that Cameron was straightforward, but that his time was running out.
Backstage, Cameron wiped his brow, feeling good about himself. He was mad for allowing himself to blow up at that one point, but other than that he thought he carried himself well. Even the PR man with all his talk of powder makeup and correct posturing was congratulating him. When he saw Officer McKay approaching, he assumed another pat on the back was coming.
McKay quickly grabbed him by the arm and hauled him off, away from the others. Cameron became alarmed.
"We've got a problem," McKay said in his ear.
What little was left of Cameron's cheerful disposition quickly vanished. "What is it?"
McKay looked around before answering, making sure they couldn't be heard.
"Two garbage men on the East Side just found another one about a half hour ago."
Cameron's heart sank. It had been three weeks since any girls had been found. He had even allowed himself to think that maybe it was over, maybe the killer had moved on, died, or simply stopped doing it. He was living a fantasy. Now another girl's life was cut short. That's why he found it hard to believe McKay's next words.
"And this one," McKay said, "is a man."
1
The water felt smooth against her body as she cut through it, stroking gracefully and powerfully. Melissa had been a swimmer in high school, so the art of gliding across the pool came naturally to her now, decked out in her lycra blue Speedo. Swimming is a solitary sport, where the participant can't talk to others. The solitude involved invites introspection.
She recalled what brought her here in the late afternoon. She and Dan were taping an environmental story about how pollutants were ruining a local river. Dan suggested they go early so he could use some beautiful sunrise shots as a striking contrast to the blighting of the water. Coming in early allowed her to get off work sooner than usual.
It had been a fun shoot. Dan was right---the conditions were perfect for making the statement she wanted. At one point she stumbled back climbing up the muddy bank and fell right into Dan. He caught her and held her tight in his firm grip against his body, not dropping his camera. They were awkwardly off-balance, and she thought for sure they were both getting a face full of mud.
"Watch where you're going, Mel!" Dan teased.
He hadn't called her Mel before. She took it as a sign they were really beginning to bond as a team.
"What's the matter? Can't you handle me?"
She saw Dan smirk and caught him contemplating tossing her playfully into the mud. Her on camera shots were done, so theoretically he could do it.
"I don't know...what's more important: your appearance, or the camera staying in good working order?" he taunted.
"No, Dan! Don't do it!" She clung to him.
He laughed, and the two of them swayed precariously to the edge, clinging to each other. For a brief moment it seemed as if they were the only two people in the world, hidden beneath the trees in the river gully. She enjoyed the moment. Dan did too. With Janet a dimming memory, he felt free to play the field. With a pounce, he decided to act upon his wishes.
"Mel, are you doing anything tonight?"
They were still hugging each other, and she knew he wasn't asking out of curiosity---he was asking her for a date.
"No. Nothing in particular. I had thought about renting a movie."
She did a flip turn and cursed herself for saying that. The thought had never crossed her mind. She said it as an out, to see how serious he was in his pursuit. She knew there used to be a girl in Dan's life from conversations as they drove from story to story. Dating someone from work just didn't seem like a good idea either, especially someone she was paired so closely with. But she had been attracted to him since they first met, and now it didn't seem that implausible.
Looking at him, she inwardly grimaced, wishing she had simply said she was free. He looked confused, unsure as to whether he should press on. His grip on her loosened and he repositioned his hold on the camera. Undoubtedly, there was still some guilt left in his closet.
"You can join me if you'd like?" she said, her last word lifting upward in pitch, making it sound more like a hopeful question than a flat invitation.
He smiled, the pressure off. "Sure. I'd like that."
Melissa stopped and took a breather. Over in the hot tub she spied a young couple cuddling. It was probably against spa policy, but it sure looked harmless enough. And pleasant, too.
She put her goggles back on and started swimming again. Not wanting to think about the young lovers and her jealousy of them, she picked another topic to pursue. This time she thought about matters on a more spiritual plane.
Ever since the woman at the health club had brought up the subject of the group, Melissa had been intrigued as to what belonging to the group entailed. Deep into the research for her proposed series, she found a wealth of exciting material, but was disappointed that she was no closer to discovering the practices of the religion that was the catalyst to the whole project. She would feel a little foolish if she marched into Laura's office to sell the series for November sweeps without anything to reveal about the woman's group.
She'd heard plenty of tales of cults and charismatic leaders who were able to sway even the most cynical. Jim Jones sprang immediately to mind, and how he was able to get some nine hundred of his followers to obediently drink the fatal Kool-Aid. Melissa knew it was silly to expect a Styrofoam cup of death, but she still had anxieties.
Even so, she spent a lot of her off time at the club looking for the woman, hoping to bump into her. That's why she came here today, after stopping by the video store to rent a movie.
She did another flip turn, snapping her thigh muscles tightly against the wall, pushing off. Tiny bubbles slid down her back, unable to latch on. She kicked fiercely. She tried to drive her failure from her mind, concentrating on her stroke and the pleasant feel of slicing cleanly through the water. She tucked her head down, not breathing until she touched the smooth tile of the other wall.
She stopped, gulping for air, brushing the hair from her face. She looked at the clock to see how fast she swam that last set. Not bad, but far from her peak years.
As her gaze returned to the pool, Melissa had to contain a gasp. Standing in the lane next to her, not five feet away, was the woman she sought. One look at the slightly milky crystal around her neck confirmed that.
The woman returned her gaze with a kind of quizzical smile, and then submerged under the water, pushing off the wall and surfacing fifteen yards farther down employing a smooth breaststroke. Melissa reflexively almost followed her, and then thought better of it.
She didn't want to come on too strong. As she watched her coming back, her head bobbing up and down, she tried to think of a line to prompt conversation, but couldn't think of how to start. She felt uneasy.
But all her worry was for nothing. As soon as the woman reached the wall, she stopped swimming and stood up, addressing Melissa.
"I thought I knew you from somewhere," she said. "It took me the length of the pool to figure it out."
Melissa immediately thought she was going to say she knew her from television, and that would make gaining her confidence more difficult. Celebrity had its benefits, but this was not one of them.
"You're the girl I talked to a while back about this, aren't you?" she asked, indicating the crystal she gently twirled between her breasts.
Melissa was relieved that she didn't mention TV. "That's a beautiful crystal. I still can't believe you wear it swimming."
"I wouldn't part with it," the woman said, looking Melissa over, not sure what to make of her. She felt awkward asking the next question. "You looked like you wanted to say something just before I took off. Did you?"
The woman certainly made it easy for Melissa. Instead of having to come up with a clever way to introduce the topic at hand, all she had to do was play along.
"Well...yes, I did," Melissa said. The woman was so kind and open she felt ashamed for having her Kool-Aid thoughts. "Last time we spoke, you started to tell me about a group you belonged to."
The woman nodded, recalling the incident.
Melissa stopped talking, instead extending her hand over the lane marker. "This is awkward talking to you without knowing your name. I'm Melissa." She purposefully withheld her last name.
The woman took Melissa's hand in hers, smiling warmly. "I'm Kim. Pleased to meet you."
2
Melissa bought Kim an orange juice at the club's juice bar and brought it over to the table. Kim thanked her, and took a big sip.
"That tastes great. It's funny, but every time after I swim, I get really thirsty. You'd think that would be the last thing to happen with all that water around."
"It's probably just the exercise making you thirsty," Melissa said. "Of course, washing the chlorine out of your mouth doesn't hurt either."
Kim laughed. "I know what you mean."
After they made introductions, they didn't speak much. Melissa ducked under the lane marker to join Kim in her lane, and they spent the next ten minutes swimming laps, occasionally engaging in a race.
They chatted some more in the locker room. Melissa tried to get a feel for Kim, and she thought Kim was doing the same. Kim dressed very professionally, wearing a sharp navy blue blazer combined with a matching skirt. Her white blouse was buttoned all the way up, the collar held together by a beautiful amulet. Underneath she wore her necklace holding the crystal, but no one could see it now. Even though she was dressed rather conservatively, she had an exotic look to her. Her eyes were like almonds, dark and smoky, and she had long black hair held off her face with barrettes.
It was easier to engage in an almost flirtation than to discuss the issues on both of their minds. Melissa found that she liked Kim, happy to have a female friend her age to pal around with. That was the one thing she had been lacking since her move.
Now, resting after their swim, Melissa thought it was time to play the reporter. She had spent enough time with Kim to gain at least a little insight into the woman, and felt that she could now ask questions without rebuke.
"What more can you tell me about your group?"
Kim raised an eyebrow skeptically. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything you can tell me."
Kim let out a small snicker. "Everything?" she said, looking at Melissa over her glass of juice. She took a drink, set down the glass, and added, "That will take a while."
"Can you at least try?"
Kim gave her a straightforward look. "If you're sincere about knowing all there is, I'm not the one to tell you. I'm just a mere novitiate. I can really only give the invitation."
Melissa gulped. "Are you extending one to me?"
"Yes," Kim said, apparently very pleased to have found not only a new friend, but also a new initiate for the sect. "In fact, we're having a meeting tonight. It would be great if you would come."
Melissa looked down, biting her lip. If she went to the meeting, that meant blowing off Dan. She didn't want to do that. On the other hand, she didn't want to risk alienating Kim after all the progress she'd made.
Kim noticed her dilemma. "Is there a problem?"
"I do have plans tonight," she said sheepishly, as though she needed Kim's permission to continue her evening as scheduled. "Is there some other time I could meet your friends? Maybe tomorrow?"
Kim frowned. "You'll have to wait until next week. You can meet me here at eight o'clock, and the two of us will go together." She started to collect her things.
"Are you going already?"
"Yes. I have some errands to run," Kim said sternly, sliding back her chair and standing.
Melissa also stood and extended her hand again, suddenly uneasy and wishing she had said yes. "I'm glad we met again. I'm really looking forward to next week."
Kim took her hand and some of the kindness returned, but she was still stern. "I have to let you know that if you are really serious there are sacrifices to be made. Most of your friends won't understand you anymore. They are just ignorant. You will discover this for yourself. But you will make many new friends, friends that share the same philosophy of life that you do."
Melissa nodded understanding, pretending to follow along.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is this: right now your plans are more important to you than meeting us. That will change. I want you to know that we expect that of you. In time, you will learn to expect that from yourself if you stay with us, but you'll see it more as a privilege than a duty." She smiled broadly. "Don't worry about all that I'm telling you. The best time of your life is about to begin."
3
"...and then she left."
"That seems kind of weird," Dan said.
"But she was so sincere," Melissa said. "She truly believed every word of it, and seemed so content with herself." She leaned back against the sofa and stared off into the darkened room, contemplating. "I wonder what it is they're preaching?"
"You'd just better watch yourself. These people are masters at brainwashing."
"There's nothing to worry about. As long as I know what I'm doing when I go there they can't change my mind about anything. Besides, so far I can't find any evidence of brainwashing. It's just a different way of life. Of course it seems strange to us."
Dan didn't like the way she was talking. It almost seemed that she had more than a journalistic interest in probing what he still considered a cult.
Melissa saw the concern displayed on his face. She reached over and placed a hand on his thigh. "Would you relax, you dummy? It's just a story."
"At least let me go with you when you go."
"How am I supposed to gain any kind of trust from them if I drag along my camera crew? I have to feel them out for myself first before I can do any kind of story." Her eyes softened and they met Dan's. "I'm touched that you want to go, but you can't. Not yet."
He looked down, dodging her gaze, and focused on Melissa's hand resting on his leg instead. He folded his hand over hers and nodded. He knew she was right. The next words were hard to say:
"It's just that...I get worried about you. It's funny. When Lynnette goes off on a potentially dangerous crime story, I see it as part of her job. But with you..." Unable to complete his thought, he shifted in his seat. "And this probably isn't even dangerous. All the other religions you've investigated so far were harmless." He flushed red. "I feel so stupid."
She placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face toward her. "Don't," was all she said before kissing him.
Dan, caught by surprise at first, inhaled sharply through his nose. Her kiss was different from Janet's, softer, more tender. After his initial shock, he returned her kiss, holding her hand, their fingers entwined.
1
Melissa sat in her car in the spa parking lot, breathing deeply.
"Nervous?" asked Dan.
Although she said he couldn't come along and shoot during her first meeting, Melissa let him ride along with her to the health club. Since last week, they had been acting like a couple of teenagers falling in love for the first time, constantly talking on the phone, meeting for dinner, catching themselves gazing at the other when there was work to be done. It was all so fast, yet it felt so natural.
His comment broke her out of her daze. She looked at him, sitting next to her in the front seat of her Sentra, and smiled reassuringly.
"I'd be lying if I didn't say I was a little apprehensive, but I think most of my jitters come from never doing anything like this before."
Dan nodded. He still wasn't big on the idea of Melissa going off alone to this meeting, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew if he opened it he was likely to say something he might regret later. Besides, she already knew about all his reservations.
"I guess I should go in," Melissa said. "Kim's waiting."
"What time do you want me to pick you up?"
A small frown creased Melissa's face. "I really have no idea how long this will last. It could be a few minutes, it might be hours."
"I could go get something to eat, and then come back and wait for you. I brought along a book..." he offered, waving a paperback.
Melissa shook her head. "I don't want you to have to do that. I'll call you from here when I get back. The spa's open late, so it shouldn't be a problem."
"Okay. Be careful."
"I will," she said, kissing him.
Dan watched her go until she disappeared behind the spa's double doors. He wanted to see Kim, but didn't want Mel to catch him sitting in the parking lot, waiting for them to come out. That would show a lack of trust, so he forced himself to let it go and drove off back to his place, where he would spend the rest of the night sitting by the phone, anxiously awaiting her call.
2
Cameron sat hunched over his desk and rubbed his eyes. He spent the day reading files and reports, poring over hundreds of photos. He sought some kind of modus operandi, searching for some sort of clue that might have been overlooked. He feared the day was spent in vain.
When the police psychologists put together their theory about a homicidal maniac with an Oedipus complex--- killing women because he's angry with his mother---Cameron scoffed at it. It appeared to him as too easy a solution. But over time, he had allowed the idea to seep into his system, where it stewed and germinated, taking a life of its own. Eventually he convinced himself that it had to be true.
But then the last victim, the male, had shown up. Skinny, not able to put up much of a fight, but a man nonetheless. That kind of shot the mother fixation thing to hell. Cameron had his men perform intensive research into this man's background, so much so that at times he bent the law a little bit, disregarding the late man's privacy. What he was looking for wasn't pretty, but it would answer a lot of questions, keeping the case neat and tidy.
He hoped the killing was a mistake, the murderer confusing him for a woman for a few fatal seconds. They searched his apartment for clues that he might have been gay or at least a cross-dresser. They searched for male pornography. They looked through his credit card receipts for billings to phone sex lines. They searched for panties and bras, wigs and makeup---anything that might prove that the man had started out the evening dressed as a woman.
While all of this sounded farfetched to Cameron, he was willing to cling to it. The pressure he felt from above was unbelievable. In the end, the man turned out to have a healthy, heterosexual sex life. So much, in fact, that some of his escapades were hard to believe, but they were all backed up by different women.
That left the most frightening theory of all. It wasn't an Oedipus complex, it wasn't someone with an intense hatred of women, it wasn't a case of mistaken identity---the victims were chosen completely at random for their ease of opportunity. Sex didn't matter. Age didn't matter. Lifestyle didn't matter.
And that wasn't much to go on.
3
Melissa walked into the juice bar and spotted Kim immediately. She walked over and said hello.
"I'm glad you came," Kim said. "Often they don't."
"What do you mean?"
"It's the same old story over and over. I'll meet someone who seems to be interested in what we're offering, but once it becomes time to commit, they abandon us."
"Why do they do that?"
"They're afraid of us," Kim said, "but there's nothing to be afraid of. You feel that, don't you?"
Melissa thought back to the parking lot a few minutes ago, gathering the courage to walk in the door; she relived the tense walk on wobbly legs to the door; she recalled the butterflies in her stomach and her dry mouth. She remembered all these things, but didn't speak of them.
"Yes," she said, lying.
Kim smiled, fooled so thoroughly. This made Melissa feel guilty about the ruse. She was straightforward with the other churches she covered, never coy about who she was or why she was there. Why was it different this time? Was it because she already had a level of communication with Kim and wasn't approaching her as a stranger? Was it because the whole concept of crystal worship fascinated her more than the others? Or was it because she sensed something half-baked under Kim's façade, a truth that she wouldn't be able to reach if she was completely honest?
Melissa thought for a moment about coming clean right here, right now. If Kim didn't want to continue that was her prerogative. At least she would feel less of a manipulator and more like a reporter. She had already uncovered plenty of material to use in her series. What would be the big deal if the spark that drove the whole thing fizzled? The big deal would be that I wouldn't feel like I've done my job, Melissa thought bitterly.
"So, how did you get into this, Kim?"
"Now's not the time for questions," she said abruptly. "There will be ample time for that later. We should probably go."
Her succinct response caught Mel off guard, but she didn't push the issue any further. She decided it would be best to just sit quietly and ride it out, crossing her bridges when she came to them.
The two women left the club.
4
Dan watched the Pacers getting slaughtered by the Pistons on ESPN. Chips and beer surrounded him. When the Pistons stole the ball and hurled it back down the court for a quick two, Dan punched the throw pillow he was nuzzling and grabbed for his beer, taking a healthy swig. The performance of his team disgusted him, but it was something to take his mind off whatever Melissa was doing at the moment. The silent phone ate at him.
At halftime Dan stood up to shake the weasel, remembering that tried and true drinking expression: you don't buy beer; you only rent it. The tightness of his bladder could testify to the truth of that statement, as could his overworked kidneys.
He remembered back to the night when he threw out all the beer in his refrigerator, vowing to never drink again. How long had that lasted? Not very.
He decided that throwing out his beer and movie memorabilia was a knee-jerk reaction to his relationship problems. He partially regretted doing it---not because some of it was worth a lot of money, but because he threw away a lot of memories. How many of his friends wished they hadn't let their mothers throw out their comic books or sell off their baseball cards at a garage sale? He sighed.
He understood that since the events of last December he had buried himself in his hobby. Renting horror movies, seeing them in theatres, reading ghoulish works of fiction---all of it had increased beyond what was once a harmless distraction. All the horror in the world couldn't have prepared him for that train wreck, but he'd been confronting horror head on ever since trying to deal with why he ran away that night instead of helping.
But the pop psychologist in him couldn't understand why he still wanted to stalk people. Maybe because it's fun...?
Returning from the toilet, he stole a glance at the clock. He dropped Melissa off almost three hours ago. He thought back to his days of catechism and tried to remember how long those sessions lasted. Not more than two hours---he was sure of that.
He found himself looking at the phone again, willing it to ring.
My God, how much longer do I have to wait?
5
Two hours earlier the self-anointed Reverend Jim Stone stood before a mirror in his private room, primping and priming, fine-tuning his appearance. He straightened his tie with a sudden quick jerk, the knot taut against his throat, the cords of his neck straining against the collar, protesting. With an almost feminine softness he smoothed the wrinkles of his shirt with his immaculately groomed hands, the nails polished to a brilliant shine. He then narcissistically stroked his chin, admiring the masculine angularity. A sly smile formed on paper-thin lips as he vainly approved of his reflection. As the final touch, he donned his robe, bleached blinding white, and pulled the rope around his waist tight. The robe flattered his broad shoulders and narrow hips, flowing naturally over his sculptured physique.
He heard a knock on his door.
"It's almost time."
"I'll be out in a minute," he replied.
He took one last inspection of himself in the mirror before assigning his final stamp of approval. After he deemed himself fit for public consumption, he walked over to a small urn in a corner. It was atop a wooden stand, polished and smooth, and resembled a baptismal fount.
Stone reached under the robe and removed the crystal he wore on a chain around his neck. It was similar to Kim's, but bigger, with a better cut, like a diamond or other fine gem.
He removed the lid covering the urn and placed the crystal inside, submerging it in the thick, dark fluid and holding it under with one hand. His perverse mind called up an image:
"Madge!" the woman exclaimed, horrified, withdrawing her hand. "You mean I'm soaking in it?"
Madge grabbed her hands, lowering them again into the bowl of dish liquid. "Relax, it's---"
---blood. And it's good for you too!
He laughed at his black humor, as he did every time he performed this macabre ritual. The routine hadn't changed in the six months since he'd set up shop. Then, he had a small following, most making the move from California with him. However, his small family continued to grow, as more people saw the Light.
He removed the crystal from the urn and placed it in his mouth, slowly sucking off the dripping juices like a cheap whore. Tonight there was to be another induction into his fold---another mind to mold. The thought excited him so much he had an erection in his trousers.
He licked the crystal clean, better than a dog lapping up a plate after dinner, then replaced the lid on the urn and wiped his fingers off on a tissue. Stone draped the necklace around his neck again, this time wearing it on the outside. To complete the wardrobe, he pulled the hood on the back of his robe over his head.
Stone then opened the door and went outside to greet his flock.
6
When Kim pulled into the lot, Melissa was disappointed. She naively half-expected some kind of glass cathedral, celebrating the glories of crystal. Thinking about it, she realized that this was a small religious group probably barely scraping up rent to pay on the leased building each month. It was white, bland, its windows painted over. Nothing fancy here.
Melissa wasn't prepared for the reception she received when she walked in the door. She feared they'd be distant and paranoid, skittish and weird. They turned out to be none of the above. Warm smiles and heartfelt hellos immediately greeted her.
"I told you there was nothing to worry about," Kim said, introducing her around. "You were trembling outside."
"Well, you know," Melissa stammered, trying to explain, "this is all very new to me. My parents are WASPs."
7
Stone wandered out unobserved by most of his troop. Those that did see him waved from across the room or flashed him a kind smile, while at the same time allowing him the privacy a man in his position deserved and kept their distance. They knew him as a moody, contemplative man who didn't like to be disturbed.
When he ducked back into his parlor, no one said a word or had a second thought about it. The few that noticed his absence simply thought he needed more time to reflect. Most didn't even realize he came out in the first place.
Stone leaned back against his closed door, virtually panting.
What is she doing here?
When he came out he felt proud because of the possibility of another member. He always was at his best when faced with a new recruit, selling them something he knew was right.
And it almost always worked. Lost souls found their way to him, people in search of answers to their questions, people in search of alternatives. They were lonely, in need of friendship. He supplied them with that, and more. He gave them a feeling of unity, of belonging.
The blood is the one thing we share in common, no matter the color of your skin, sex, age, or creed you adhere to. We all have blood running through our veins, crimson and strong. Through the blood we draw our strength. Amen.
People didn't want to give up the joy they had found. Naturally they were repulsed at first. That's why he trained them slowly, sharing his secrets selectively, as they gained his trust. Eventually they came to realize the sacrifice was necessary, even pleasurable.
All along he knew what he was doing was illegal, tantamount to murder. His religion didn't blind him to the facts. Taking another life was something society deemed wrong, although he knew otherwise. It was his mission to convince the populace of their folly, but before he could do that, he had to keep their actions private. Like Moses before him, eventually he would be able to come down the mountain proclaiming the only true way of life, but that time hadn't yet arrived. He needed more planning, more disciples.
Stone's mind raced, trying to rationalize his fears. Why is Melissa Van Dyke here? He knew her immediately from TV, even though he didn't watch much. But when he did it was usually local news. Stone understood that she was new in town, and new people are often lonely... He supposed that could be why she was there. Kim said she met their newest pupil while swimming at her health club. It seemed innocent, and she did fit the profile of his usual convert, but he was dubious of her.
He decided he would have to keep a careful watch over Melissa.
8
Kim gave Melissa a cup of punch. The punch was fruity, but had a discreet hint of another flavor under it. Melissa couldn't place what it was, but it was familiar in an odd way, not something Melissa associated with food. She thought it might be spiked, so she drank sparingly, even though it was quite tasty.
Everybody wore a crystal as a jewelry item, or had it tucked away in a purse or pocket where they could have easy access to it. No one questioned why she was without, although Melissa felt under the glare of a spotlight. Another jewelry item she noticed was a lack of wedding bands on the people she met, a significant omission in a group of successful adults this age.
They all seemed to be very professional: doctors, lawyers, business people, unlike the troubled youths that peopled most cults. They stood clustered in small groups, chatting, drinking cups of the red punch like guests at a cocktail party. The room was small, but not too crowded. There were two doors besides the foyer leading out of the room. A rope with thick velvet braiding, like the kind in movie theatres, blocked one of them.
"What's behind that?" she asked Kim.
"Don't know. Offices, I guess. It's always been that way."
The reception her protégée was getting pleased Kim. Technically, she knew that Melissa wasn't hers to instruct, but she intended on keeping a sisterly watch over her. It made her feel warm inside to watch Melissa fit in so well. Long dormant memories of her own initial meeting flooded to the fore and caused her to become dewy-eyed. She so wanted Melissa to meet the man who made it all possible.
As if on cue, Stone opened his door and reentered the room. Kim, pumped up by her recollections, had to stifle a gasp when she saw him. She tapped Melissa on the shoulder.
"There he is," she said. "Reverend Stone."
Melissa turned to see whom she was talking about.
9
Dan drove like a bat out of hell, pushing Melissa's car to its limits. When her call finally came, four hours after he dropped her off, he scrambled out of the apartment to get her, almost tipping over his fifth beer, half-finished.
He wouldn't be convinced that she was all right until he saw her face to face. He regretted leaving her alone from the start, and vowed that he would go with her next time, whether she wanted him to or not.
Melissa had to call him from a pay phone across the street from the spa, for the club had closed an hour earlier. Kim didn't want to leave her alone in the dark parking lot on a cold October night, so she sat in the front seat of Kim's car waiting for him, the heater running as they talked.
"Why didn't you drive yourself?" Kim asked. "It's your car."
"I know, but Dan wanted to drive me himself." She wasn't sure if she should say the next thing, but said it anyway, trusting Kim. "He was a little concerned about me."
"Why don't you invite him along next time?" Kim asked excitedly. She was thrilled with the results her first find brought. If she produced another member, she thought Reverend Stone would be so pleased with her that he might accelerate her through the novitiate stage. "That'll put his fears to rest."
"You know how men are," Melissa laughed. "You can never drag them to church. Sundays are for football, not for worship."
Kim nodded, not replying. She thought of the man she was involved with when her adventure with Reverend Stone began. He tried to be understanding at first, but soon walked out of her life, leaving her alone again. Kim knew it was for the best. There were certain priorities in life. When she warned Melissa about the necessary sacrifices she would have to make, she wasn't kidding.
"Speaking of the doofus," Melissa said, spying her car rounding the corner, "here he comes."
Dan pulled in and screeched to a halt. Now that he saw her, and that she was safe and sound, he felt very intoxicated. It was as if the alcohol held off until he knew she was all right before kicking in.
Melissa watched this with a frown, but turned back to Kim, smiling. "Thanks for the ride and for waiting with me." She stepped out of the car. "I'll see you next time."
"No problem."
Dan stood outside her car holding the door open. Behind her, Mel heard Kim pulling out. She noticed his white pallor immediately.
"Dan, are you all right?"
"I was worried, that's all. Still, maybe you should drive."
She took the keys from him. "It's cold. Get in. We'll feel better once we get inside a nice, warm apartment."
They drove back to Melissa's place, not talking much. He was drunk and tired; she was concerned. They both just wanted to be home at this point.
She invited him up, not wanting him to drive until he looked better. She started her fireplace and went off to throw some sweats on, glad to get out of her outfit and into something loose. Dan climbed onto the couch and sat with his head lowered, eyes closed, hoping he wouldn't be hit with the spins.
When she came back Melissa saw him and smiled. He looked like a tired little boy, exhausted from a day at the amusement park. She came over and played with his hair.
"You're welcome to spend the night if you don't think you can drive. This couch is a little lumpy, but it's not bad."
"I might take you up on that offer," he said, seriously considering it.
"I think you should."
Dan was amazed that she couldn't smell beer on his breath, and then it occurred to him that perhaps she was just being polite. He felt like a heel.
(heel to toe...)
Oh, shut up! his mind screamed. I may be screwed up, but I'm here for Mel. Can't I do anything without drinking a few beers first? I'm a worthless piece of shit! I could have wrecked her car. All she asked me to do was drive her. In fact, she didn't even ask me---I was the one that pushed myself on her to do it. Jesus, I'm fucked!
Melissa saw him beating himself up inside. Of course she knew he was drunk. Any moron could. And she was angry with him for driving back to the club. Kim probably would have driven her home had she asked. That girl seemed devoted to her cause. But instead of lashing out, she reached out, putting an arm around him, pulling him close. He rested his head on her shoulder, fighting back sobs.
"It's all right, it's all right..." she soothed.
To get his mind off his guilt, she began to tell him some of what occurred during the evening.
"The man was magnetic when he walked in. All eyes were drawn to him. Even I felt his tug. I don't know if it was his size or his posture or his booming voice or what, but he carried himself with great authority. It was creepy the way they dropped everything they were doing to give him their undying attention. And get this," Melissa continued, "his name is Reverend Jim Stone. Does that sound manufactured, or what? Jim Stone...gemstone... Either those people are blinded by their devotion, or they don't care."
Dan listened to all of this, nuzzling closer. He felt very tired now, about to go to sleep.
"I kept waiting for them to ask me for some money, but they never did." She looked off at the fire, watching the dancing flames, her eyes glazing over. "It's funny. When I'm here with you I can be cynical about the whole idea, but when I'm with them, it somehow seems right. I may think those people are weird, but they're certainly satisfied. I believe they've found what they're looking for."
"Did you ever think that's the way they want you to feel before they sink their hooks in?" Dan mumbled against her sweatshirt.
She shrugged. "I suppose. There's a lot of secrets going on there...things they're not telling me..."
She took her arm from around Dan and reached down the front of her sweatshirt. Dan almost fell over into her lap when she moved, losing his balance. He quickly sat up, jerked awake. His eyes were transfixed on the twirling object she dangled in front of him on a gold chain.
"Where'd you get that?"
Melissa reached out and cupped the crystal, ceasing its whirligig motion. "From them. I'm supposed to keep it with me at all times. Do you like it?"
Dan examined the crystal. It was about the size of a walnut, not as clear as he would have thought, but flawed with a cloudy middle and a slight aqua hue. He had to admit that the flames reflected off it quite nicely, and it was pretty to look at, but nothing special.
Then he looked beyond the crystal at Melissa. She was fascinated by the smoothness of its cut, the clean jagged lines, the murky color...
Dan saw this, and without knowing why, became worried.
1
Janet entered her apartment building wearing a smile on her face, the first in what seemed like years. In her hands she held the nice fat commission check from a house sale she just closed and a bottle of bubbly. She planned to peel off her clothes and slip under the suds of a hot bubble bath, sipping champagne and listening to Mozart. Her building was empty this time of day, and the only one left to hear would be Mrs. Hardy, but she always complimented Janet's choice of music when it bled through her walls.
She bounded up her stairs in a flash, and then stopped dead in her tracks.
A shape separated itself from the dark shadows of her corridor, revealing it to be Reverend Stone wearing a dark coat. Janet held a hand to her chest, gulping in air.
"Good God, you scared the hell out of me!"
"God doesn't have anything to do with it," he said flatly, approaching. "Hell perhaps, though I don't think so." He laughed low and deep.
Religious humor, Janet thought. I don't get it. But she smiled patronizingly anyway.
"What brings you here?" she asked as they went inside her place.
Stone acted as though he didn't hear. He walked around the apartment like an art critique, hands folded behind his back, scrutinizing every piece of décor. Janet stood by the doorway, twirling a brunette lock of hair with one finger, trying to decide what to make of this.
He stopped circling only once to turn and say to her: "Beautiful nudes." He meant the watercolor paintings that hung on her wall, but he looked at her in a lustful way. "Do you mind if I take off my coat?"
Janet shook her head no, put down her champagne on the counter, and approached him.
"Let me take it. I'll put it on the bed."
Recoiling his arm, he brought the coat in against him. "I'd rather you not. You must have a closet."
"Well...yes, I do." She took the coat. "I'm sorry."
"I just wouldn't want it to get wrinkled."
Janet took out a hanger from her closet and carefully draped Stone's coat over it. She was a little annoyed at his insinuation. She would have laid it flat, smoothing it out. He had nothing to worry about. However, now was not the time to be griping. She had a guest to attend to, and a very important one at that.
"Would you like some coffee? Tea?"
He pointed at the champagne. "How about that?"
Janet flushed red, embarrassed, though she didn't know why. She supposed it was because her teacher arrived, showing up just as she was about to pop a cork in the middle of the afternoon.
"Okay. I just closed a big deal on a house, and was going to celebrate." She bit her tongue, wincing as she said, "was going to," as in: until you came along and ruined my plans...
"Excellent! We can celebrate together."
Janet went off to get champagne goblets. She was flattered, even honored, that he would single her out of his congregation for a visit. She respected him greatly as her teacher. He was wise, a truly inspirational figure. She couldn't deny that he also held an attraction for her. She hoped he didn't sense any disappointment from her, for really, what's the point of celebrating if there's no one to share it with?
She poured two glasses, put them on her serving tray, and rejoined him.
"My tray!" he said, beaming. "I'm so glad to see you using it."
Janet blushed at his words, betraying her attraction. "It is lovely. I must thank you again for it."
"No need," he said as Janet sat next to him. He handed her one of the goblets and took the other for himself. "The pleasure I've received from your use of it is thanks enough." He hoisted his glass up to her in salute, winked boyishly, and then took a sip.
Janet did likewise, enjoying the robust flavor of the grapes. She congratulated herself on her choice of bubbly, glad he was there to enjoy it.
"You still haven't said why you came."
Stone smiled as he took another sip from his glass. "It's a short walk. I just thought I'd drop by and see if you were home."
"It seemed to me when I came home that you were waiting---"
He shushed her by placing a finger over her lips. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"
He reached out and buried his fingers in her thick brown mane, stroking her tresses and brushing his rough fingers against her smooth cheek.
"Reverend Stone..."
"Jim."
She nodded. "Jim...I---"
"There's so much I want to tell you, so much I want to share with you. The others---some of them don't understand me like I know you do." He set his champagne down, and then reached over, taking her glass, and setting it down also. He looked her straight in the eye, locking in and focusing on her soul. "I must have you."
Stone placed his hand softly in the middle of Janet's chest, resting in the valley between her breasts, and tugged at the first button he felt, undoing it, never lowering his gaze from her eyes. Breath whistled between her lips as Janet gasped in a lung full of air, caught completely off guard by his seduction. Her mind spun, heart racing as she experienced the serendipity. Her body tingled all over. She wanted to fight it, but the calm, powerful reassuring look in his eyes arrested any action she might take. His gentle nod told her it was all right---this was her moment to lie back and enjoy. She could be the author of her own fantasy if she desired. Her head swimming with the implications, Janet complied with Stone's wishes and leaned back on the cushions, his weight pressing on her.
After he had three buttons undone, Stone slipped his hand under her blouse, exploring by touch alone. His fingers found one breast and he caressed it through the smooth fabric of her bra in slow, circular motions, feeling the areola tighten and the nipple grow erect before sliding his hand underneath the soft cup for a more intimate encounter. Her tit was warm to his touch, heaving up and down as Janet drew sharp breaths. He pinched and twisted her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
He kissed her full on the mouth, tasting the bite of the champagne on her lips. He plunged his tongue into her and she wrapped her lips around it, lightly biting down with her teeth as he darted in and out. He felt Janet's hot breath on his cheek as air streamed out of her nostrils passionately. Stone was in control and he knew it.
By now her blouse was unbuttoned all the way, spread open, and her bra was off, in Stone's hand. He tossed it away, returning his attention back to her before he could watch it waft lightly to the floor. He kissed her earlobe, her neck, her collarbone, making his way down. He buried his face in her bosom, suckling there like a child.
Janet ran her hands up and down his back, starting with his hair and ending with his taut buttocks. He squirmed against her, grinding in urgency. She reached under and undid his belt, unzipping his pants at the same time. She grasped at his binding elastic waistband and slipped it down over his round ass, freeing him. Her nails bit into his cheeks, pulling him closer. She felt his shape pressing against her thigh, growing rigid. She reached down and fondled it.
Moments later they moved to the bedroom, Stone lifting her in his arms. She invited him into her folds, and he entered with relish, smiling as he did. She was his, just as he'd planned.
2
Afterwards, lying quietly in the disheveled sheets, Janet rested her head on Stone's chest, occasionally dancing her fingers through the thick curly hair that grew there. She felt like she was on a boat as her head gently rose and lowered with his breathing. She thought she could actually hear his lungs fill with oxygen, and was awed. Stone just stared at the ceiling, glad that the primer coat was laid.
"What do you think of the new girl, Melissa?" he asked, getting to the task at hand.
It hurt Janet somewhat that he would bring up the name of another woman while lying next to her in her own bed. Inadvertently, she tensed slightly, drawing away from him. Stone felt this.
"The reason I ask," he quickly continued, "is because I value your opinion. Also, I was wondering if you knew her since she works at the same station as your old boyfriend."
Now Janet did sit up, sliding across the sheets away from him. "You sound suspicious."
Stone laughed and reached up, stroking her hair. "Not of you," he chided, speaking to her as though she were a child. "I have some doubts about her. She's nice and likeable, but I'm not sure she fits in."
"Kim seems to like her a lot."
"Kim is still a novitiate. She hasn't been exposed to the true secret of happiness yet. She thinks she's ready to advance, but she's not. She's still naïve." He leaned over and kissed her thigh. "Unlike you."
"No, I didn't know her before," Janet finally answered. "She started after I broke up with Dan."
"He didn't approve of your new life?" Stone probed, worming his way into Janet's past, trying to sound concerned and compassionate and understanding, but actually manipulating her.
"Dan never knew a thing about any of this. I knew he would never go for it, so I didn't even try." She thought back to that day in the park when she first met him, and the quiet gentleness of Dan's manner that appealed to her in the first place over Jerry's bumbling antics. "I hope you won't get offended if I talk about him while I'm here with you, but I've often regretted that I never at least gave it a shot." Her eyes dewed over slightly.
"Come here," Stone said, pulling her close and hugging her tight. She didn't resist; instead placing her head back on his chest as he falsely consoled her. "It's okay. I'm here." And then the final coat: "You know I'll never leave you."
3
Stone walked back to his office, reflecting on their conversation.
His doubts about Janet were cleared up for now. He had a fleeting suspicion that Janet had clued Dan in about his following, and that Dan had told his co-worker, Melissa, all about it. He knew that Janet wouldn't have revealed the information for any type of exposé---she did, after all, partake in the mutilation of their last blood sacrifice. She understood the necessity of blood letting to reap the rewards offered. Strength was gained through the blood, and as It flowed over the crystals, that strength got channeled into every member of the group. She had felt Its healing power, and wouldn't knowingly do anything to compromise their position. Still, if she were responsible for his downfall in any way, Janet would pay the consequences.
He pulled his coat up around his throat, feeling the chill in the air, gloating over his latest triumph. Kim was eager, but she wasn't ready yet. Janet was still in the impressionable stage, not having hardened to the acts of violence like some in his sect. Stone knew that she was clay, pliant to his will. By the time he left, she was explicit about wanting to help.
"So you want someone to watch her?" she had asked.
Stone didn't want it to be so obvious. "Train her...be her friend. At this stage, that's what she needs the most. When she asks questions, don't be afraid to answer---only don't tell her all she wants to know. The impact of the truth means more when it's revealed in small doses, a little at a time."
"I'll talk to her at our next meeting."
That's when he left, mission accomplished, his visit over.
1
"We're screwed!" Melissa said.
"How?"
"I was just in talking with Laura, and I found out when our series airs."
"We're first," Dan moaned.
"Almost as bad---second actually, behind Michael's diabetes series."
Sweeps months---February, May, July, and November---are measuring periods held to determine the ratings local stations achieve. Advertising rates are then based on the numbers watching. Networks and stations always bring out the big guns, stacking the deck in their favor. News series are always part of that strategy, but since they're shot around covering all the other news, it's a very hectic time.
"On the plus side," Melissa continued, "our feature yesterday on the bird that rides around on the pig's back all day was picked up by the network. It's on today's regional feed."
"That's cool. Congratulations!"
"I couldn't have done it without your input."
Dan blushed. He knew making the feed could be a career booster. Her package would be part of the menu the network sent over its satellites everyday for stations to choose stories. If a lot of stations picked it up, it meant saturation over much of the country. Saturation meant exposure.
"That's how Jerry got his job," Dan said. "Someone at the university saw one of his stories broadcast on the Lansing station, and remembered his name when an opening came up."
"Our 'New Religions' piece isn't going to make any feeds if we don't get somewhere with it soon."
"Relax. We've got a lot of good material."
"On other religions, maybe. But so far we've got nothing on Reverend Stone."
"You want to focus on this Jim Stone. Why?"
She looked off, pondering. "I don't know, but I think there's something going on there, something unusual that he doesn't want me to find out. But believe me, I intend to."
"Let me bring the camera tonight."
"It's too soon. If I have any chance of developing a rapport with these people, I've got to do it myself. Bringing you would ruin any inroads I've made."
"He likes loners, doesn't he?"
He surprised Melissa by how accurate he was without ever meeting the man. "Yes. I think he does. Outcasts have always been drawn to groups that will embrace them."
"At least let me drive you there tonight. I want to know where you're going. Waiting for your call was one of the worst nights of my life."
"Okay," she relented, smiling. "You can drive. I hope knowing where I am will make you feel better."
"Oh, it will, but I won't feel truly comfortable about your going there until I get inside those doors and see this place for myself."
2
"Turn left at the next light," Melissa said, giving directions. She might have well said, "Drive to Janet's apartment and we'll take it from there," for it was getting obvious that their destination was close to her place. Dan drove these roads hundreds of times, but with a different purpose in the past. He shuddered knowing Janet was so close by when Melissa said they were only a few blocks away. But that was nothing compared to the chill he experienced when Melissa told him to pull into a particular parking lot.
"There it is," she said.
Dan was speechless, only nodding. Mel looked at him peculiarly, and then undid her seatbelt, jumping out.
"I'll give you a call when I'm done," she said, and then remembering how blitzed he was last time, added, "Don't get upset worrying about me. There's nothing to fear in there."
"Okay. I won't," he managed, starring wide-eyed. A million thoughts whirled in his brain.
"See you soon."
She kissed him goodbye and walked off, casting one last glance over her shoulder back to Dan's Chevy. She saw something in his eyes, but couldn't put a finger on the emotions he felt. It was very odd, but she would ask him about it later. Now, she had an appointment with Reverend Stone.
Hardly believing it, Dan watched her step inside the very building he saw Janet go into the night he'd followed her.
3
The room was as Melissa remembered: small groups of people talking, wearing crystal necklaces, punchbowl in the corner, the one door roped off. She looked about for Kim, but didn't see her, so she walked over to the punchbowl to get a cup while she waited.
She was going to start mingling when suddenly she remembered she had forgotten something. Backing quickly into a corner, she reached into her purse and dug around until she found her own necklace. Melissa hurriedly looped it around her neck. Standing with them, she felt completely naked without it.
"Feel better?"
Melissa nervously glanced about and saw a woman she didn't recognize approach her.
"Excuse me?" Melissa asked.
"I noticed you frantically putting on your necklace, but don't worry, I don't think anybody else saw it." The woman now stood before Melissa. "Isn't it amazing how weak you feel when you don't have the crystal with you? Some of the others think it's good enough just to have it nearby, within reach, but I like to keep it in contact with me all the time." To prove it, she reached down the front of her blouse and pulled out the chain, showing it to Melissa, caressing it like a lover. Then she tucked it back inside her shirt, feeling secure again, and extended her hand. "My name is Janet. How are you?"
4
It explained a great many things, Dan supposed as he sat in his apartment, nursing a Diet Coke instead of beer.
How long ago did she become a member? Was she in the cult (as he considered it) while we were dating? Was it responsible for our breakup?
He figured it was. Seeing Melissa walk into the same building had the same effect as removing a blindfold from his eyes. Suddenly he was able to see the subtle changes in Janet, the little nuances, the small quirks...all the things that led to their downfall.
He wondered if the same things would happen to Mel. He had already lost one woman to Stone's cult---he wasn't about to let it happen again. He wanted very much to know what was going on inside that building. He wanted to hear what was preached, what was promised, and what was expected to achieve salvation.
But on top of all that, what would happen if Mel and Janet met? It could happen so easily. All it would take was for someone to bring up WKBC. During the course of the conversation Janet would let drop that her ex-boyfriend worked there, and did she know him?
Of course, how would he tell Melissa that Janet knew Stone? Melissa still barely knew anything about Janet. He had kept it all to himself.
Questions upon questions created a sticky situation:
How did you know Janet was a member?
Oh, I followed her one night, and saw her go inside.
Follow your girlfriend? Why?
Well, see, I was into this thing called stalking, where I'd pick out some unsuspecting person and stalk them down like some kind of crazed psycho-killer, probably like the Dumpster Killer's doing.
Oh, I understand. Kiss me, you fool!
Somehow Dan didn't think it would go over that smoothly. He wanted to avoid the issue altogether, if possible.
The phone rang, breaking his train of thought. It was Mel telling him he could pick her up. Her tone was neutral, which made it hard to tell if she knew anything more. His stomach felt queasy. He dreaded going. He was afraid Janet would recognize his car.
5
Melissa stood in the foyer, leaning against one of the glass panels on either side of the door, looking out into the night, watching for Dan.
It had been a good evening. People were friendly to her, and she felt a cozy sense of belonging. She gathered a lot of fat for her piece, but she still lacked the meat. Right now she only had anecdotes, an outline from which to build a story. She didn't have any real opportunities to talk to Reverend Stone---she was too busy getting initiated into the preliminary philosophies. The bottom line was that even though it was a good learning experience, things weren't moving fast enough. In four days it would be Halloween, after that, November. She had less than two weeks.
"What's wrong? You seem a little tense."
Melissa turned to find Janet standing there, pulling on her coat.
"Oh, I was just thinking about something..." she said, not elaborating.
"You know," Janet said, gesturing around her, "all of this means nothing if we can't help each other out every now and then. What's on your mind? Can I help?"
Melissa didn't answer right away. If the offer had come from Kim, she probably would have started to spill out what details she could afford to give her in an instant. Kim, whom she thought was flaky at first, turned out to be a real friend. However, tonight she was separated from Kim, only able to greet her with a quick hello before being scooted off to a small room by Janet to be instructed in the catechisms. Still, the thought of talking to another woman while idling the time away had its appeals.
"Just some stress at work," Melissa said, trying to downplay it. "Who doesn't have it?"
"I know what you mean," Janet said, pulling out her crystal. "It's times like these when stroking your crystal can bring you inner strength."
Melissa took her stone out and followed Janet's example. She felt like she was rubbing a talisman, but it did have a soothing effect.
"Thanks."
"Are you waiting for someone? I live really close to here, and was about to walk home, but if you'd like, you can come with me and I'll give you a lift once we get there."
"No. That's okay," Melissa said. "I'm waiting for my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?"
"Yeah. He's a great guy."
"You should bring him by one of these nights. I'd like to meet him."
"Kim said the same thing to me last week."
"Why don't you then?"
"I just don't think he'd be into it," she said, lying, knowing that Dan wanted to come to a meeting very much.
Janet nodded, familiar with the situation. Again she regretted never inviting Dan. "Sounds like you've never asked him. Have you?"
She shook her head.
"Why don't you? Give it a try---you'll never know his response until you do," Janet said hopefully.
"Maybe..." Melissa said, trying to sound noncommittal.
"He might like it, you know," Janet piped in. "Tell me about him: What's he like? What's his name?"
6
Dan headed for the white building from a different direction, twisting his Chevy through winding back streets in the kind of neighborhood that he once stalked in, lined with houses. It was perfect: empty streets dimly lit, no one to see him---especially Janet.
He knew that she liked to walk around her home turf. He lingered in his apartment a few minutes before he left to hopefully give Janet time to get home.
He could just make out the shape of the building. He wondered if Mel would be waiting inside or outside. Earlier, he might have hoped that she was inside, so that he could get a glimpse of the interior when he picked her up. Now though, he wanted her outside, so he could whip in and out as fast as possible. The cold weather probably put a damper on that, however. He slowed the engines, planning to cruise by languidly, checking out the lot for any sign of Janet before he pulled in.
7
"There you two are," Stone said, butting in just as Melissa was about to unwittingly reveal Dan's name. "I've been looking for you. How did it go tonight?"
"Everything went well," Janet said. Melissa noted that she acted as if she was reporting to a superior officer. "Melissa is very eager to learn."
His gaze shifted from Janet, where it rested wearily, to Melissa. His eyes sparkled when they alighted on her.
"Is that so?" he said in such a manner that Melissa wasn't sure of his sincerity. "Glad to hear it."
"There's so much more I would like to know, though. I was wondering if you could help me," Melissa said to him, playing out her part to Stone. She hoped that the urgency in her voice came across.
It did. "Janet, why don't you leave us," Stone said. "It's been a long day. Go home."
He tried to sound consoling, but it was clear that it was an order. Janet, deflated and hurt, said a quick goodbye and headed out the door.
"It was really nice to meet you!" Melissa quickly called before the door swung shut. She didn't really like Janet all that much but felt sorry for the cold way Stone shunted her out.
Stone turned his attention back to Melissa.
8
Dan slammed on the brakes. He was about to turn in from the street when he saw the double doors thrust open and Janet step out into the dim light of the parking lot. He was too far away to distinguish her features, but he recognized the familiar stride she adopted when angry. Her head hung down as she marched home, arms swinging at her sides, determined not to let Stone bother her, but failing. His fingers fumbled for the headlight switch, turning on the windshield wipers before connecting with the proper button and extinguishing the lights, which dimly faded to black in a halogen glow.
Janet turned, sensing a change in the air behind her. She continued to walk as she looked back, really only glancing. Dan slithered down in his seat, feeling like Jerry the night he taught him to stalk.
Then she stopped, noticing the car in the middle of the street with its lights out. She drew one hand through her hair as she stood on the sidewalk, puzzling over the sight. She didn't see a driver, but it sounded as though the engine was idling in low gear. She saw plumes of exhaust rising through the cold air from the muffler. She immediately got creeped out and accelerated her pace home.
Dan waited a good minute before daring to sit up. Discovery was simply too much of a possibility to be bold. As he did right himself, he had a vision of her standing in the middle of the street, hands resting on her hips, five feet from him, a horrible grin etched on her face as she glared at him victoriously. Fortunately, she was nowhere to be seen.
Did she see me? Could she recognize my car? For all he knew, she ducked back inside the church and was confronting Melissa about him right now. But that was a chance he'd have to take. He had dawdled long enough picking Melissa up, and he still wasn't sold on the idea of her waiting alone with them. He wanted her out of there.
9
"Did you have a problem with Janet?"
"No. She's fine."
"What can I help you with then?"
Melissa sighed, hoping it was effective. "It's just that I'm getting discouraged. Things aren't happening as fast as I'd like them to."
Stone chuckled an almost fatherly laugh. "Rome wasn't built in a day, you know. It's the same with the philosophies. They take a while to absorb. Exposure to them all at once can be very confusing."
"I suppose I understand that," Melissa said, "but I thought talking to you might help. When in doubt: go to the source, I say." She did her best to flatter him.
"What exactly do you want?"
"I was wondering if I could meet with you tomorrow, one on one. There's much I'd like to discuss."
"That goes against procedure, you realize. There is a very hierarchical system to the instruction. Why should I make an exception for you?"
Dan's car horn sounded. Melissa looked out and saw his blue Chevy pull up close to the door. She was running out of time.
"Is that your ride?" Stone asked.
Melissa damned Dan's timing. Stone was changing the subject, and she couldn't afford him the luxury. Her series would fall apart. On the other hand, she couldn't stand by the door forever. Dan could clearly see her through the windows.
"Yes it is," she said quickly. "Now about---"
The horn sounded again.
Melissa stared daggers outside. What bug crawled up his ass? she seethed.
"It sounds like your ride is a little impatient."
"I've got to go," she said, pulling her coat around her shoulders, "but will you see me tomorrow? Please?"
Stone came around behind her and helped guide her arms through the sleeves. In a way, Dan's urgency worked in her favor, for Stone didn't have time to debate the pros and cons of speaking with her. Plus, his ego liked the attention.
"I guess so," he relented. "What time would be good for you?"
"Around ten tomorrow morning?" Melissa asked, trying not to let on her feeling of triumph.
"Okay. I'll be here, but I can't make any promises." He finished helping her with her coat. "You'd better go now."
"You don't know how much this means to me," Melissa said, opening the door. "See you tomorrow."
She left. Stone watched her dash over to the waiting car and got a good look at the man sitting behind the wheel when the overhead light came on as Melissa climbed inside. It appeared they were beginning to argue. He locked eyes with Dan's when Dan glanced over. Stone didn't like what he saw, but he held his glare. Dan dropped his eyes. A moment later he drove off.
10
"How'd it go?" Dan asked as Melissa slid in.
"What was the damn rush?" Melissa chided, ignoring him. "I was starting to make some headway with Stone."
"I'm sorry," he shrugged, looking over at Stone. At least he would have the opportunity to see the man. He suddenly knew what Melissa meant when she said he was magnetic. For a moment he seemed to get sucked into the cold pools of Stone's eyes, but then he broke contact, shifted into gear and pulled out. He drove in the opposite direction of Janet's apartment. Seeing her once tonight was plenty. He didn't feel comfortable again until they were well on their way.
Melissa sulked in the front seat, arms folded across her chest. Finally, barely audible, she said, "I thought you had a stake in this series too. I thought you wanted it to turn out."
"I do!" Dan said, surprised, overreacting. "I just think that you're doing it in a dishonest way, and that could cause trouble later. Why can't you just be upfront with these people?"
"Because it's a very closed society," she snapped back. "They wouldn't open up to outsiders."
"Do they consider you one of them now?" he asked, inwardly horrified at the thought.
"I think so," she said, though not very convincingly. "At least they might have if you hadn't come buzzing up, honking your ass off."
"I said I'm sorry," he replied, trying to remain calm. It was unfair for him to get angry with her because his ex-girlfriend happened to be at the same meeting she was. He took a deep breath. "Do you think I ruined your chances with Stone? Will we get him on tape?"
She frowned. "I'm not sure Stone will talk on camera at all. He's kind of crafty, inherently suspicious, but also conceited. I'm seeing him tomorrow, and when I do, I'm going to try and convince him to go public. My strategy is to play up to his ego."
Dan bit his lower lip, trying to suppress his anxieties. She didn't seem to hear any of his earlier reservations. He didn't want to make them an issue again, but then he thought of that look in Stone's eyes...
"Don't you think you might be getting a little out of your league? This 'investigation' is beginning to go beyond the realm of your usual profiles and features. Do you think Laura would approve?"
"Laura approved of it when she gave me the okay to go ahead. The methods I choose to use are my own business. I was hoping they'd be yours too."
"We're a team, Mel. I am on your side."
"But it's not the same with me as it was with Jerry, is it?"
No, it's not. Jerry was my best friend, but I love you.
1
"If all goes well," Melissa said, organizing some items in her purse, "we'll come back this afternoon with the camera."
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you and wait in the van?" Dan asked. "That way, if he agrees, I can come in and we'll have the camera all ready to go, saving a trip."
"No. I have to approach him humbly. If he agrees and you suddenly waltz in with a camera, he'll think I'm a smug little bitch who set him up. He has to think that I'm still a loyal follower who wants to use my position to help spread his word."
"Turning him into a televangelist. Just what the world needs."
"I'm hardly about to turn Stone into another Jim Bakker. God knows I'm not willing to become the next Tammy Faye."
Dan smirked at this, and it felt good. Some friction still existed between them from last night. After Melissa's comment comparing her to Jerry, not much was said, except curt goodbyes exchanged as Dan dropped her off. She didn't invite him up, but then Dan didn't expect her to either. They both said something about it being a long day, and how tired they were, and that seemed to take care of the subject neatly without having to deal with it directly.
Melissa scratched Dan's back. "I've got to go, but I'll be back as soon as I can."
"I'll log some of our other field tapes while you're gone and try to locate some good soundbites."
Melissa smiled. "That would be great."
"One more thing," Dan said as she started to leave. "Does anyone recognize you from being on the air?"
"A few people, but it's not a factor in how I'm treated," she answered, though not thoroughly believing it.
"Does Stone know?"
Melissa speculated for a moment. "I'm not sure."
"It's just that you said something about setting up Stone. I wonder: do you think he could be setting you up to be his conduit to television?"
Melissa pondered. "That's a thought. I guess we'll soon know."
She turned and left.
2
The sun cast a warm glow over everything. Melissa wore sunglasses to keep the glare out of her eyes, but it was nice to see the sun again after the overcast skies of the last few days.
Stone's church looked very different in the daylight. In the dark it took on a persona of foreboding. She supposed that tied in with her first feelings of dread when she began her infiltration. In the sun, it only looked bland.
When she pulled up, Reverend Stone greeted her warmly at the door and invited her in.
"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" Melissa commented, not sure how to begin talking about what she came to discuss.
Stone poked his head out the door quickly before shutting it. "I haven't really looked. I painted over most of the windows because I don't like distractions. It's too easy for me to get caught up in what's going on outside and forget about what I'm supposed to be doing."
He smiled at Melissa and gestured for her to follow him, and they walked to Stone's office in an awkward moment of silence, their footsteps the only sound. Each didn't know what to make of the other. Melissa tried to be smooth, clever, but couldn't come up with the right approach. Stone waited her out, not wanting to make any offers.
"I guess you know why I've come," she finally said.
"Not really," Stone replied. "You were somewhat vague last night. I got the impression you had a problem with Janet."
"Janet was very kind to me. She's not the problem."
"Then what is?"
"I don't even know if 'problem' is the right word. It sounds a lot stronger than it actually is."
"Last night you said you were impatient..."
"I am. I want to know all there is to know. When I'm here, I feel welcome. I look around and see happy people. There's a family feeling. I want to share in that. I want to know their secret. I---" she paused, aware of the grave lie she was about to tell. "I want to become a member of your church."
"Confirmation is a very serious thing," Stone answered. "I assume you've got some sort of religious upbringing in your background?"
"Methodist. Pretty conservative."
"Then if you belonged to the church for any length of time you understand what it means to join. You probably took some classes taught by the minister or an elder, didn't you?"
"Six weeks worth, after normal services," Melissa remembered.
"And when you finished you had to state your intentions before the consistory, am I correct?"
Melissa knew where this was heading, and reluctantly nodded her head.
"We're not that much different here. The process is basically the same. I'm glad you like us, and that you want to be part of us, but you still have to go through the steps."
Melissa smiled, knowing she was stopped on this particular track. "Well, if you can't help me at this point in good conscience, maybe I can do something to help you, in effect, proving myself."
Stone raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
"I believe in the things you're teaching," Melissa continued, "and I think your views should be spread." She paused, thinking back to Dan's questions. "Do you know what I do for a living?"
"You work in television. You're a reporter," Stone answered, realizing there was no purpose in hiding the fact that he already knew that from her.
"A reporter, yes. But what I mostly do is features. I think you and this church would make a fascinating piece."
So that's your game, he thought. "I don't know. I'm not sure the time is right."
"But think of all the people we could reach."
"Do you think people will accept me? Don't you think the mainstream will find all this a little strange?"
"That's the point of the piece. It's a comparative look at new religions and what they stand for---the choices they offer a new generation who feel the old standards don't apply."
Stone looked her firmly in the eye. "Is this why you came to us? To do your story?"
Melissa found herself in an awkward position. If she told him the complete truth, he might throw her out with nothing to put on the air. If she lied, she would only be found out later when she stopped coming. And she wasn't a hundred percent sure she wanted to break all ties with the church. Although she didn't believe in the powers of the crystals, she had found a new friend in Kim. Just because her religious beliefs didn't jibe with hers didn't mean they couldn't be friends. In college one of her best friends was a Muslim, and there were several Jews at the station she liked.
"Initially, yes," she confessed. "Kim's beliefs fascinated me when I met her. They seemed so strong compared to mine. I wondered what the source of her inspiration was."
Stone stood up and paced the room, finally stopping with his back to her, his hands clasped behind him. Melissa watched his shoulders rise and fall as he let out a tremendous sigh. His fingers were wrestling in his grip, squirming to be free. She could only guess at the thoughts running through his mind.
"You'll be doing yourself a favor," she added, trying to sway him to her side.
"And you'll only ask about the religion itself, and nothing else?" he asked, still facing away from her.
Melissa thought that was an odd request, but was excited at the prospect of his tone. "Sure, if that's what you want."
He spun around and locked eyes with her again. "That's what I want. If it goes beyond that, I will terminate the interview."
"Okay. Fair enough," Melissa said, joining him on his feet.
"What time should I expect you?"
"Three hours? That would give me enough time to make the proper arrangements."
"Three hours, then," he said. "Let me escort you out."
3
Dan and Melissa ate lunch before the interview at a dinner. The jukebox played "Just My Imagination (Running Away with Me)," and Dan wondered if the title was intended for him. Everything regarding Stone and Janet would be over in a couple hours. They'd waltz in, set up the camera, conduct the Q & A, and waltz back out, the job done. But for some inexplicable reason, Dan had trouble seeing this come true. He had a gut feeling that if they proceeded with the interview without him telling Mel about Janet there would be hell to pay.
"You seem deep in thought," Melissa commented.
Dan blinked his eyes, refocusing. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"That clinches it. You haven't said more than two words since we got here. What's on your mind?"
"Nothing important," Dan said, quickly taking a bite of his sandwich.
Melissa lowered an eyebrow and looked Dan over. He wore the same pasty look he had last night when they pulled into the parking lot of Stone's church. She now remembered that she meant to ask him about it, but then they got in that stupid argument on the way home and she forgot to.
"Hmm," was all Melissa said as she returned to her meal. It was an explicitly ambiguous remark meant to goad the subject into responding.
Dan had the privileged knowledge of Melissa's methods of getting information from working with her on a daily basis, but he was still suckered by her brush off.
"I was thinking about Stone, and your interview," he said, not being completely truthful.
"Why do you insist on being so paranoid about him? I admit he's a little off-kilter, but I don't think he's anything to worry about."
"That's because you don't know what he does to people," he blurted out.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
There it was. He had said it. Now that he started, he couldn't very well pull back.
Dan thought he'd better add a disclaimer first. "This is going to sound pretty strange. I've been trying to find the right opportunity to tell you, but to be honest, I was hoping I wouldn't have to. I thought maybe after today I could try to forget it, but I know that won't happen."
Melissa looked at him with some concern. She didn't have a clue to what any of this was about. He was suddenly so serious. Then a sudden absurd thought struck her: "Were you a member of Stone's church?!" she asked, disbelieving.
"God, no! Nothing like that."
"Then what---?"
"Will you please just let me finish?" he said, his voice rising. He was getting discouraged, and he had yet to begin.
"I'm sorry. Go on."
He sighed, took a quick swig of Diet Coke, and began: "You know that I had a girlfriend when I first met you, but that we were at the end of our relationship. Her name was Janet. Things weren't going well, we hardly talked anymore, and it seemed like she was avoiding me. When we did talk, it was very scripted, as if we were playing roles, reciting dialogue someone else wrote. Nothing was natural or open anymore. She wasn't the same person I first dated. It was gradual though. I never even noticed that it happened except in hindsight. Even then, I thought I was just waxing nostalgic. How sure can you be about feelings you felt a year ago?"
His question was rhetorical, but Melissa answered anyway. "You can't be. Memories are clouded over time."
"Exactly. That's what I thought. And there were still good times. Hearing this, you'll never understand it completely. But living it---it's perfectly clear.
"Anyway, about the same time this was going on, a movie named Stalker came out. I thought it was terrifying, brilliant. You've seen the poster in my living room."
Melissa nodded that she had.
Dan could no longer meet her eyes. He looked down at his plate and began tearing at his napkin, wishing he didn't have to confess this next part. Including Jerry was one thing, but then they were drunk and it was for fun. He didn't think Melissa would understand the game behind it. Hell, he wasn't sure himself.
"It influenced me more than it should have, to the point of obsession. It became more than a movie to me, but a way of life. I guess maybe it was because of what I was going through with Janet, but I'm probably making up excuses. I don't know why I did it."
He laughed out loud, a small, desperate burst of sound. He realized that he hadn't even told Mel what he had done yet. Surely she must be confused, thinking she was teamed with someone certifiable. He found it absurdly humorous.
"I got to wondering how the killer in the film was able to creep around so silently, his victims never aware he was right behind them. It began accidentally, when, without realizing it, I was practically stalking this woman and her kids outside the theatre after the movie and they never heard me. That blew my mind. It didn't seem possible, but I was doing it, and well. I began to follow people on a regular basis, to simply see if I could do it without being noticed."
Melissa tried to picture him stalking. To her surprise, it wasn't that difficult. She always thought that he was into the horror stuff a bit much. But instead of shirking from him, she found his story weirdly fascinating.
"Getting back to the changes in Janet, I was beginning to think that maybe she was seeing another guy. It was Jerry's idea that I try to 'stalk' her and see if I found anything out. I had my doubts about doing it---it didn't seem right. But that hadn't stopped me any of the other times, and finally one night I went out to spy on her. I was basically hoping to catch her in a compromising position.
"I know you must be thinking that you're going out with some kind of voyeuristic sicko peeping Tom, and I admit listening to myself, that's exactly what it sounds like. I need you to know that I haven't done any of this for over a month." He emphasized the next sentence, pausing for effect. "The last time I did it was when I followed Janet to Stone's church."
Melissa gasped. "When you said her name was Janet, I had a feeling you were leading up to that, but I still can't believe it. The Janet that's been teaching me must be her..." Her voice trailed off, awed.
"Holy shit! Janet's been teaching you?"
"This is just too incredible to believe. What happened when you followed her to Stone's?"
He shrugged, looked away, and then tore his napkin in half. "Nothing. I just saw her go in and that was the end of it. I had no idea it was any sort of cult thing until I dropped you off there last night."
"That explains why your face went so pale," Melissa noted.
"It was that obvious?" he said. "I was trying to hide it."
"Not very well, let me assure you."
She allowed a small chuckle. It relieved Dan to hear it. He thought she might run screaming from him, thinking he was crazy.
While Dan felt a great burden lifted, Melissa thought back to something Kim first told her: I have to let you know that if you are really serious there are sacrifices to be made...right now your plans are more important to you than meeting us. That will change. I want you to know that we expect that of you. In time, you will learn to expect that from yourself if you stay with us, but you'll see it more as a privilege than a duty. These words really didn't sink in with her when she first heard them, but now, hearing the story of Janet, they began to assume a life of their own. So far there had been no mention of personal sacrifices or anything else that was expected of her---it had been purely social.
What did they expect? When would they tell her? Why would friends abandon her? What sacrifices were necessary?
"The point I'm trying to make," he continued, "is that once Janet joined the cult, she changed. She's nothing like she used to be."
Melissa looked at her watch and let the words sink in.
"We'd better go," she said, getting up.
Suddenly the topics of discussion with Stone changed radically. This new information about Janet voided her earlier promise to Stone. She had a feeling her interview might be more interesting than she possibly dreamed, and she couldn't wait to get there.
4
Normally Kim wouldn't call Janet. They were on pleasant terms, but Kim was a little intimidated by her. She was above her in the hierarchy, after all, and Kim also saw how Reverend Stone seemed to care for her. Kim just wanted what all novitiates did: full acceptance into the church. A good word from Janet might speed that along.
After initial pleasantries, Kim said, "I wanted to know how Melissa's instruction went. I didn't get a chance to talk with her last night."
"Why don't you ask her yourself?"
"I tried calling, but she wasn't there. She's probably at work. I thought you might be home if you weren't showing a house."
"You're in luck. You caught me napping."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's time for me to get up and get busy anyway. I've already wasted half the day."
Kim felt like a teenager discussing boys over the phone, giddy with excitement. "I think Melissa will make a great member, don't you?"
Janet yawned. "So far she's progressing rapidly. She does ask a lot of questions, though."
"I noticed that too. I think she's eager to learn and make new friends. I wish she'd bring her boyfriend Dan along. Then she'd have someone to learn with. I think it goes easier that way."
Janet wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. "What's her boyfriend's name?"
"Dan...something. I don't know his last name. He works with her. Why?"
Janet was no longer yawning, but suddenly alert. "Just to make conversation next time," she lied, trying to think of how to get Kim off the phone. She decided on an old reliable scam. "Whoa! Look at the time! I guess I slept longer than I thought. I really have to run, Kim. I hope you don't mind."
"That's okay," Kim said, hiding her disappointment. "In a way, I guess it was a good thing that I woke you after all."
"Yes. It was," Janet said. "See you next week."
She hung up before Kim could reply.
Janet was horrified. She didn't like the idea of Melissa hanging around the church to begin with. The opportunities were too great for her to find something out, something that implicated Janet with the killings. She kept away from specifics during their session last night for that very reason. But she had always assumed Melissa was lonely, and came to the meetings longing for companionship. Kim had told her how they met one day.
But Melissa didn't need companionship. She was with Dan, and it was still new, not old and tired like it became in her case. That meant she might be there for other reasons. Maybe she suspected something. Janet thought to the other day when Jim was over and talked about Melissa...
She had to warn him. Quickly she put on some shoes, grabbed her coat, and ran out the door.
5
Bill Cambridge approached his teacher.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Reverend Stone?"
Cambridge had followed Reverend Jim Stone from California. He was one of Stone's first students.
"Don't you think I've gone over the possibilities in my head already Bill?"
Cambridge backed off a bit, intimidated by Stone's presence. He was a medium-sized man and a couple years beyond his prime.
"It just seems suicidal."
Reverend Stone was never this open to the press in California. Cambridge couldn't understand what he was thinking.
"Could I have dissuaded her? Is that what you're asking?"
Cambridge hesitantly nodded.
"She's a persistent woman," Stone continued. "One way or another she's gonna get her story. If she didn't get the story from me, she'd get it from someone else, perhaps Janet, but more likely Kim. Kim doesn't know the full commitment required for membership yet, but she could still say some damning things."
Cambridge stepped forward again. "But even so---"
Stone raised a hand to silence him. "I'm glad you've been with me for so long, and I appreciate your concern. However, it's misplaced. It's better for me to handle her personally, having full control over the interview."
"Do you need media exposure? If the police didn't know about you before, they sure will now."
Stone smiled. He was relieved that she was only interested in doing a piece about his "New Religion" as she called it. He could envision the quotes around it. If he really used his imagination, he could picture the animated graphics that would go with it. When he thought back to the heart-stopping panic he'd felt when he first saw her, he had to laugh. He thought she was somehow onto his use of sacrificial victims in the blood ceremonies. Her revelation this morning was a great weight lifted off his mind.
"And what will they know about me? Only that which I choose to share."
Cambridge grumbled, but tried not to let on.
"Relax my friend. In another hour or so, this will all be over."
6
Small white puffs of steam escaped from Janet's mouth as she ran, the moisture condensing as it contacted the cold air. The sun was out, but it was cold for this time of year. Winter would come early.
When she got to the church she hunkered over, catching her breath, her lungs feeling the cold pangs from the blustery air. Then she looked back up and saw the van parked in the lot. The call letters WKBC were clearly marked on the outside. She was too late.
Or was she? She could make out Dan and Melissa just getting out of the vehicle. Could she run inside before they got there?
As she hesitated those few seconds in debate, Stone exited the building and walked over to greet them. Janet overheard a little of their discussion when the wind blew the right way.
"Melissa dear, glad you could make it."
"I wasn't about to let you down and not show up. We're just unloading the van now."
Janet ducked behind a tree and quietly watched the proceedings. She thought about yelling to Reverend Stone, but decided to wait it out for now.
"Let me help you with that," Stone said, coming over and taking a small bag filled with power cords, tapes, and extra batteries for the camera from her. As he did so, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Then, he escorted her inside the building with one arm around her, leaving Dan to carry the heavy stuff.
A green surge of jealously passed through Janet. If Stone kissed every member of his congregation when they arrived she wouldn't have felt hurt. But he didn't. He was almost cold, impartial, except to her. Amend that, she thought. Add Melissa.
She thought he singled her out and sought her company the day he came over and they made love. What had been fulfilling now caused her to seethe with anger. The thought of him lying between her legs made her feel violated.
Keeping her mouth shut, she withdrew quietly and went home, conflicting signals battling in her brain.
1
Stone conducted them into his office.
"What shall I do?" he asked.
"Nothing for now," Dan said. "It'll take a minute to set up."
He set down his tripod, perched his camera on top and locked it into place. Next he worked on the lights. Throughout the setup Melissa and Stone chatted pleasantly. She sat opposite him and produced a notebook full of questions and ideas, jotting more things down as they occurred to her. Stone casually tried to peer over the binding and read the queries.
"No peeking," Melissa said playfully, holding the pad close to her chest after she caught him spying.
As Dan wired him with a microphone, Stone recognized him as the man in the car picking up Melissa last night, but he didn't say so. He stared contemptuously at him, not liking Dan's fingers fondling and smoothing his jacket.
"Fire away when ready," Stone said as Dan turned on the lights. They were brighter than he expected.
"For now I just want to keep talking. Dan will get shots of us chatting. They're mostly shots of me nodding my head and listening to you and looking stupid that we use for cutaways when we edit. It would be impossible without them," Melissa explained.
Dan circled around the two of them, getting tight shots and wide shots from various angles for variety. He monitored Stone's audio levels through an earpiece, tweaking knobs to get his normal speaking tone of voice. Too often nervous interviewees would speak incredibly soft in the preliminaries, only to shout once the questions began. He and Melissa liked to do this pre-interview whenever they had time. It gave the subject a chance to get used to the camera as Mel asked him earth shattering questions like what he had for breakfast or what good books he had read lately.
Finally, Dan returned to his position across from Stone, shooting just over Melissa's shoulder. He zoomed in, checked his focus, and then pulled out to a fairly tight shot. He would stay this way for most of the interview.
"I'm ready," Dan announced. "We can begin whenever."
2
MELISSA: When did you begin your church?
REV. STONE: I guess that would be five years ago...yes, five years next month.
MELISSA: Does your church have an official name or title?
REV. STONE: No. I don't suppose I've ever thought of it, though you'd think I would have by now (laughs).
MELISSA: Do you have a religious background? Did you break away from another denomination?
REV. STONE: Yes. My family in California is Baptist. I did a lot of the usual things: sang in the junior choir, attended Sunday school, went to youth groups. I think I was somewhat resentful of all that because I hated going. My parents had very strong beliefs and felt it was their duty to see that their son made it to Heaven.
MELISSA: That doesn't sound too bad. It's better than them not caring about your afterlife, isn't it?
REV. STONE: But they could have been more moderate about it. Their fanaticism killed all hope of me following in their religious footsteps.
MELISSA: How old were you when you left?
REV. STONE: Eighteen or nineteen, I guess. Most others my age had broken away from church long before then, if they ever went to begin with. It took a lot of guts to stand up to my parents and refuse to go with them.
MELISSA: Why'd you do it?
REV. STONE: Typical youth rebellion. I was tired of being ordered around. My friends stayed out and partied on Saturday nights. I was always home early so I wouldn't get too tired the next morning trying to hold my eyes open during the sermon.
MELISSA: So then it had nothing to do with your current beliefs in the forces of crystals?
REV. STONE: No. That came much later.
MELISSA: How does your family feel about your beliefs now? They sound pretty strict and by the book.
REV. STONE: I don't really know. I haven't talked to them in years, but I can't imagine them being too enthused about any of this.
MELISSA: I'm sorry. That must be tough on you. Did this fallout occur solely over religious issues?
REV. STONE: That's part of it. At the time I was a Satanist, but I think I practiced Satanism more to shock them than for my own personal benefits. They've never forgiven me.
MELISSA: Satanism? That's pretty shocking for a, shall I say, man of the cloth to admit to practicing...
REV. STONE: Yes and no. The religion I preach doesn't deal with deities and Gods. It's more practical in its approach, almost elemental. The Satanism is just the pendulum swung all the way in the other direction. I settled on a place in the middle.
MELISSA: We'll get to that later. For now, why did you leave California?
REV. STONE: I didn't like the weather. Too hot.
MELISSA: Why come here?
REV. STONE: Because it's far away from there. That'd be the only reason. There was no great guidance or plan. I was tired, and it looked like a good place to stop.
MELISSA: How did you get started here? How was your message first spread?
REV. STONE: Very slowly in the beginning, but I was always confident true believers would come to me. Some of my most faithful came out with me; my disciples you might say (laughs), and helped me spread the word.
MELISSA: How many followers initially?
REV. STONE: I don't understand. In the very beginning or when I first came here?
MELISSA: Both.
REV. STONE: At first there was only me (laughs). Later a few friends hooked up with me, but it was so gradual. I would have never garnered enough attention to make the news (laughs again)! By the time I left California, about a hundred people were interested in what I had to say. Roughly a fifth of them came with me.
MELISSA: How many do you have now?
REV. STONE: About five hundred have come in the doors, and maybe one hundred have stayed. Those hundred are at different levels of training and instruction.
MELISSA: One hundred. That doesn't sound like a lot.
REV. STONE: I'm a patient man. I can wait.
MELISSA: What can you offer them?
3
Stone raised a hand. "I'm sorry, but I'm getting thirsty with all this talk."
He got up, stretching. Dan quickly rushed over to attend to the mic clipped to his tie.
"Careful. We don't want you to snag anything," Dan said as he removed it.
"I forgot that was on. I bet a lot of people get up and walk away with these things still attached to them."
"More than you'll ever know," Dan grimaced.
"Would either of you care for some punch?" Stone asked as he poured himself a cup from a bowl in the corner.
"No thanks," Dan replied.
"None for me either," Melissa said, "but you sure love it. It's always around. What's in it?"
"Secret recipe," Stone answered, trying to be coy. He had gotten along so far under fire, although he had to lie a couple of times. There were about twice as many people with an active interest in him and his teachings than he said. And then there were the twenty or so people that met later in the back room behind the ropes that even Kim didn't know about.
"Ready to continue?" Melissa asked.
He sat down. Dan clipped the mic back on.
"Shoot."
4
MELISSA: Where were we? Oh, yes. What is it that you offer your followers?
REV. STONE: Strength. Guidance. Companionship in an ever increasingly complicated world.
MELISSA: What can you give them that they can't get on their own?
REV. STONE: What do you mean?
MELISSA: So far the things you've named can be found in a number of ways: through friends, lovers, mates, co-workers, neighbors... What can you offer them spiritually that they couldn't find at the local church on the corner?
REV. STONE: I know you're asking me these questions pretending ignorance, playing the role of the common man on the street. Through your own experience you know that this is no ordinary church. It's a collection of people who feel the same way about things. I provide a common roof over their heads so they can meet in safety and comfort.
Before you ask if they couldn't get this elsewhere meeting at someone's home, let's say: I don't think so. I provide the answers to questions members might have, as well as establishing guidelines and exercises for them to perform.
MELISSA: What do you ask of your followers in return?
REV. STONE: Devotion only. Nothing monetary.
MELISSA: How do you classify your religion as a "New Religion" different from the others?
REV. STONE: First off, as I've said, it's not really a religion, but a way of life. There is no deity that we pray to. We get our strength from within us, not from some omniscient corporal being floating about in the atmosphere.
I believe conventional religion was created by man as a way to cope with his darkest fears and questions of the unknown. Who wants to die and have that be the end? It's so final. Belief in an afterlife gave man hope for living during that otherwise hellish existence he was enduring. It was also handy for the early governments as a way of controlling their populations.
We are stronger than that. We know that Earth is our mother, and our final home resides with her. If that is the end, so be it.
MELISSA: So then there's no afterlife for you or your followers?
REV. STONE: That is an uncertainty. But even the most advanced scholars in any church can tell you that's not a certainty. It's a question of faith, and faith only.
MELISSA: Explain what the crystals are supposed to do.
REV. STONE: The crystals act as a conductor. Portions of our souls are constantly leaking out. You've heard of people who claim they can see auras around people? That is the soul permeating through our skin, like those infrared pictures of houses insulation companies like to use to show how much heat can escape. The crystal draws the soul back to its owner. Contact with the crystal gives its wearer strength and vigor.
MELISSA: Most people might find that hard to believe. What do you say to them?
REV. STONE: If they choose to disagree, that's their business. I'd prefer them to believe, of course, but that would be in a perfect world, and as we all know, it is not, nor will it ever likely be.
MELISSA: But doesn't it bother you that a sizeable portion of the audience disagrees with you? They probably think you're an insane cult leader, placing you in the same category as Sun Myung Moon or Jim Jones...
REV. STONE: I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me. That's part of the reason I consented to this interview: to get my point of view across.
MELISSA: Do those who don't believe you go to a type of Hell?
REV. STONE: No.
MELISSA: Do you consider yourself a modern prophet?
REV. STONE: No. I'm just a man who teaches others what he believes.
MELISSA: What type of person follows you?
REV. STONE: All kinds, from every walk of life. My philosophy doesn't exclude anyone. Like-minded people see that, and come to me. Members include a schoolteacher, two lawyers, a doctor, several college students, and many other professionals.
MELISSA: How do their families react?
REV. STONE: You'd have to ask their families that. I don't know.
MELISSA: Ever had anybody try to forcibly take a relative or friend from the church?
REV. STONE: That type of thing happens with the Moonies, not here. Everyone is happy. Nobody is forced to do anything they're not comfortable with.
MELISSA: What about the stories I've heard that some people that go through your program are changed along the way. Are they true?
REV. STONE: Where did you hear that?
MELISSA: Never mind that. Is it true?
REV. STONE: I'll choose to look at your question in a positive light, though I'm offended that you would ask it in such a way.
The people that come in are confused, seeking answers to universal questions. I show them how to unlock the potential within themselves, enabling them to accomplish great things. If that's what you mean, I suppose people do change from how they were before, but it's a change for the better.
MELISSA: Why the long training sessions? Why the hierarchy?
REV. STONE: Every large group must have some sort of organization. Without it, we'd be lost. The long training sessions are no different from any other church's catechistic training. The process in itself is self-sorting, weeding out those who aren't truly interested before they commit.
MELISSA: What does total commitment mean?
REV. STONE: That is a very personal step, and one I'm not going to share with your viewers. To be appreciated, it must be experienced.
MELISSA: Sounds almost like some sort of hazing or pledging ritual...
REV. STONE: I assure you, it's nothing like that.
MELISSA: What's in the punch? Any influencing drugs?
REV. STONE: Melissa! I can't believe it!
MELISSA: It's always out. Why?
REV. STONE: It's called refreshments.
MELISSA: Why is there a rope in front of one of the doors? What's behind it?
REV. STONE: Melissa, I'm afraid your last few questions are going beyond the subject matter we agreed upon.
MELISSA: What's a few curveballs? I'm only trying to play the devil's advocate, asking you what the public wants to know. I thought you'd rather hear it from me than them.
REV. STONE: They're inappropriate, that's what. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.
MELISSA: Are you serious?
REV. STONE: Yes. Please leave. Now.
5
Stone stood out in the parking lot until they left. After locking the entrance, he quickly hurried back to his office, where he shut the door behind him and locked it too. He was glad he had sent Cambridge on his way---solitude was foremost on Stone's mind.
He reached inside his shirt and pulled out his crystal, twirling like a ballerina on its chain. He cupped it in his hands and shut his eyes, closing himself off from the outside world, concentrating on feeling the strength surging through the crystalline veins and arteries of the stone. A natural pulse was inside the gem, but he couldn't feel it.
He instinctively started to head for his urn, but then realized he had emptied it as a precaution before the interview. He felt weak. The power of the stone simply wasn't enough. He needed the blood.
For a brief moment he started to panic. Now was not the time for another sacrifice. He thought he could go longer without recharging his energies, but the interview had gone badly. His heart was palpitating and his breath was short, passing over his dry lips in audible husks. His eyes darted wildly about, seeking an alternative. They fell on the punch bowl.
He let out a gasp of relief as he rushed to the bowl, dipping his crystal under the liquid. Though it was diluted, there still might be enough blood in the punch to do the job. The seconds he left it submerged seemed like eons until he could wait no longer and pulled it out, clasping it tightly next to his heart. He didn't mind that sticky red fruit juice dribbled down his suit, staining it badly. He had plenty of suits, and cleanliness was the last thing on his mind.
Besides, he had already made a mess of things when he bellowed at Dan and Melissa to get off his property. They were in the parking lot trying to tape some B-roll.
Melissa tried to smooth the situation. "We're really sorry if we offended you. Please understand that I was only trying to do my job. I didn't mean to upset you."
"You can consider yourself stripped of your novitiate ranking," he said, turning on Melissa, red-faced. "I never want to see you again, you backstabbing bitch!"
He regretted pursuing them and his choice of words. No doubt the young man caught it all on tape and soon the whole town would be privy to his act of rage. It was not the impression he wanted to parlay when he agreed to the interview. His goal was to come across as a man of strength, intellect, and caring. He laid bare more of his soul than he meant to because he felt it would help Melissa see him favorably. And it was very necessary for her to see him that way. A negative report might bring a flood of media interest. He wasn't naïve to the fact that the only reason she was around was to get her story.
At least he had managed to keep certain things from her. His delving into Satanism had a stronger influence than he let on. He never truly believed in Lucifer and eternal damnation, but the power and the ritual enraptured him. He was heavily into it when he first heard of the power of the crystals. He tried to follow that train of thinking for a while, but its peaceful message conflicted too much with rituals he had already participated in and enjoyed. Rejecting both, he fused the Old World Satanic rituals with New Age philosophies, and came up with his own agenda: a New Order for a New Age.
But now Melissa knew of the violence that he was capable of. She would try to delve into his background, he knew, but suspected she wouldn't find much. California was all she had to go on, and he didn't think her feature merited that kind of research. This was, after all, a feature to be shown once and then forgotten on a local station, not a 60 Minutes exposé. Still, the thought caused him some concern, and he began to think of ways to handle her if the need arose.
6
They were at Dan's apartment, relaxing after work.
"Do you think we could've gotten more out of him?" asked Mel.
"I don't think so. He wasn't about to put up with your line of questioning."
Melissa looked down at her shoes. "I suppose you're right. I should be glad I got him to speak at all."
"Don't you think your piece will still be good?"
She drew lines in the carpet with her feet. "It won't be the story I set out to do."
"We've got tons of good shit, and there's all the stuff from the other churches. I admit the interview with Stone was disappointing. What about talking to Kim?"
"She doesn't know much."
"Then it's over."
"Is it?" Mel wondered.
"What do you mean?"
"He's hiding something."
"That much is obvious."
"But there's more. There's something about him, Dan. Something evil. Couldn't you feel it when you were with him?"
"You know I never liked him."
She desperately wanted him to feel the urgency in her statement. She wanted him to experience the moment of fear she felt when Stone called her a "backstabbing bitch." For once he let his guard down, his cool façade cracking, hinting at the true persona beneath---a seething demeanor burning with rage and hatred.
"When he was threatening us, waving his fists, throwing us off his property...I've never seen him like that before. It was eerie."
"He's always in control isn't he? You must have touched a nerve."
She looked off, not answering. He wondered what she was thinking about. Weeks of legwork were over, the footage shot---the hard part was over. What remained was the shifting through facts, sorting out continuity, and writing a narrative. To some that was the most challenging part, but Melissa breezed easily through the closing moments before putting a project to bed.
Dan saw she was looking at his Stalker poster. When that revelation came out earlier in the day, he felt like he was caught with his pants down. He felt embarrassed, humiliated, afraid, and ashamed. They hadn't talked about it all day. He assumed she was thinking about him and stalkers.
That kind of thing is nothing new to anyone on television. Letters to anchors and reporters at a local station often fluttered in, revealing threats or obsessive love when opened. Sometimes the writer offered gifts, from something as seemingly innocent as a new scarf or tie to vacation getaways for two. Dan remembered one anchor that was always getting letters written in crayon on a monthly basis from someone who wanted to "Cut her hair," whatever that meant. The implications were chilling.
Melissa was still fairly new in town, but that hadn't stopped her from receiving her share of odd fan mail. It was easy to laugh off and dismiss, but Mel didn't like to walk to her car alone when leaving the building in fear of people who might approach her. Nine out of ten times the solicitor had nothing but kind words---but who knows what the tenth person might do? Everyone who works in TV receives death threats. The practice is more commonplace than most people might think.
Dan didn't want her to clump him in that category of psychos. She obviously trusted him enough to be with him now, but he wanted to clear the air. He was about to bring up the stalking himself and get it over with when Melissa surprised him with a question.
"What exactly did you do when you stalked? What did it involve?"
He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to be discussing it.
"I thought that might have been nagging you all day," he said, not meeting her eyes. Just because he was happy to talk about it didn't make him any more comfortable.
"It hasn't nagged me as much as trying to figure out a way to use it."
"Use it?" Dan asked, incredulous. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"There must be a way to keep an eye on Stone and his followers. Your stalking seems like it might work."
"Now wait a minute," he said, almost laughing as a defense mechanism. "You're not suggesting that I start that up again?"
"You're the one who told me about the changes in Janet. Wouldn't you like to know what happened to her? Why she changed so much in so little time?"
He shrugged. "I suppose."
"You want to know more than that."
"Okay, God dammit, I'd like to know! Is that what you want?" he snapped.
"Well that's more like it," she said. "At least now you're being honest with me."
Dan didn't know what to make of this. It wasn't their job to delve in this deep---that was for the police. Of course, there was no cause for police to get involved, only the worries of a reporter and her photographer, and downtown that didn't amount to squat. This was personal for both of them: Melissa carried a vendetta because she'd lost to Stone and wanted to nail him; Dan lost someone he once loved to the man, and wanted to know why.
"Say that I did agree. What do you have in mind?"
She began to outline her plan. Dan shook his head in disbelief, but he listened, and that was more than half the battle. By the time she kissed him and left, she was convinced he would do it.
1
Dan laced up his tennis shoes, pulling the strings taut. The leather pressed firmly against his foot, becoming more of an extension of his body than a piece of clothing. It was tight, but he could still wiggle his toes, which he subconsciously did in excitement.
Knowing it was wrong, a boyish part of him still longed for the thrill of the chase. He had been denied his hobby, and his anticipation was great. Watching Dan prepare was like watching a condemned man smoke his last cigarette: slowly, deliberately, savoring each and every moment.
He took one last inventory of his outfit. Everything seemed to be in order. He did some squats to loosen up, shaking every limb, cracking his knuckles. He stretched his muscles like an aerobics instructor, rotating front to back, side to side. When he left his apartment his mind was focused on a single goal:
Stalking.
2
Am I doing the right thing?
That thought haunted Stone as he tried to collect himself in his rectory. Caution dictated that he was foolish to proceed with tonight's plan, and had he felt better, he probably would have canceled them. But last week's experience with Melissa left him drained. A fresh sacrifice was required, where the blood pulsated from its host in dark spurts, rich with life-giving force. He wanted to look into the eyes of his victim and experience the shear terror they divulged, absorbing their fear, for fear was the strongest emotion. It was the only emotion where there was never any doubt---it was pure, unqualified.
He envied his victims. They had a feeling he would never know, not fully anyway.
Am I doing the right thing?
Again the thought intruded his mind. Despite all his special care, lingering doubt still persisted.
3
Janet headed out toward Reverend Stone's church, but not with the same eagerness. The fire that burned within her whenever she thought of Stone had died out. She grappled with feelings of betrayal, jealously, and loyalty. Stone had done a lot for her, or so she thought.
The image of him leaning over and planting a soft kiss on Melissa's cheek stung her again. What are they up to? What is his game? Was he using me to get some information on Melissa?
She opened the double doors and entered. Some of the cold baggage she carried in with her melted away. Friends she hadn't seen since last time were laughing and carrying on, and she felt the embrace of her family. There were some good people here. That's what she remembered as one of the major drawing points for her in the beginning, and was a major cause for her return visits. She looked for Reverend Stone, and wasn't disappointed when she didn't see him. She felt like she was trying to dodge a filthy uncle at a family reunion. As long as he wasn't there, she was happy.
4
Dan was cold. A few snowflakes fluttered in the breeze, and the station meteorologists were calling for an early winter---all of them in agreement for a rare change. Farther north, a few inches already fell.
The cold front moved in over Halloween, and that holiday was a fiasco. Everyone was on edge, convinced that the Dumpster Killer would choose that night to strike again even though there was no logic to support it. The annual trick-or-treating was conducted under very watchful eyes, and several neighborhoods canceled it altogether, opting instead to hold supervised parties in their school gymnasiums. Dan and Melissa spent the night curled up on the couch watching a marathon of horror classics on DVD.
They were almost finished editing their piece on "New Religions." It started airing next week Sunday, since Sunday was a big audience day. The series was turning out better than either of them thought possible, and they were pleased. Getting information on Stone now would be icing on the cake, although it had taken on a more personal meaning for both of them. Melissa would have come along tonight if she could, but this was his baby, and she didn't have the first idea how to stalk. Trying to explain it to her was an exercise in futility. She just didn't have the heart.
But Dan did. It had only taken him a few blocks to get back into the persona of the killer from the movie, taking on his actions and mannerisms. He followed Janet with silent precision.
He watched her go inside from behind a thick oak tree across the street. He prepared himself for a long wait, gazing at the stoic building, wondering what secrets lay beyond its glass doors and white walls...
5
Kim couldn't find Melissa anywhere. She felt they had developed a genuine friendship, something that she lacked in her professional and personal lives until the day she found Stone. She looked forward to seeing her friend, and Melissa's absence left her feeling empty.
Kim felt most comfortable with the other newcomers. She had been part of the congregation for a few months now, but still had the distinction of novitiate, and therefore saw some of the others in a higher light, as if they belonged to a different caste. She happily talked with them when approached, but would never engage them. She wasn't that bold.
"Kim, how are you?" asked Janet.
"Fine," Kim said, beaming, happy to be spoken to. "Have you seen Melissa? I was hoping to talk with her before she went off with you."
"No. I haven't. Are you sure she's coming?"
"I think so. Why? You don't think she is?" she asked, never considering the possibility.
Janet said nothing. She knew of Kim's kinship with Melissa and thought she might be able to get some information out of her about Melissa's meeting with Stone, but it was obvious that Kim knew nothing of it.
"I'm sorry," Kim suddenly apologized. "It's not my place to ask such questions."
The girl's extreme devotion startled Janet. She was practically groveling for forgiveness around her knees. Janet didn't share Kim's vision of herself---far from it. She didn't feel superior in any way.
"Kim, you've got to lighten up," she chuckled. "This isn't supposed to be frightening. We're all equals here."
Janet's lighthearted reaction irked Kim. Color burned into her cheeks, her eyes blazed. She spoke before she could think.
"I feel Reverend Stone might think otherwise. Why else would he ignore me all this time? I've followed his teachings. I've tried to be a good example to others. Why does he withhold the ultimate knowledge from me? Every time I ask him, he rebukes me. What have I done to disappoint him? Why does he hate me?"
Tears burst from her eyes. Sobbing, she reached out to Janet and clung tight. In that moment, Janet saw a girl with extremely poor self-esteem, and awkwardly returned her embrace, patting her back and whispering soothing words, trying to bring some comfort into her world.
Then she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. Without even having to look, she knew it was Stone. He waved her off with a simple flick of the wrist. Hating herself, but acting obediently, she released her hold on Kim and stepped away.
Stone moved forward.
"There, there," he cooed, embracing Kim, pressing her wet cheek against his, stroking her back with his large, powerful hands. "What's wrong, my dear Kim?"
6
Several times Dan had the urge to try to peer into the painted over windows. The hastily splashed on whitewash reminded him of Tom Sawyer and the picket fence he was supposed to paint, but instead manipulated his friends into doing the work. Dan supposed Stone was a lot like the roguish boy, and that was part of his appeal. If he was lucky, he might find a small corner of a pane that was missed---a dime-sized window into Stone's world. More likely, if he were fortunate enough to find such a hole, it would look into a broom closet.
The glass by the front doors was out of the question for the obvious reason of being the only way in or out. It was too easy to be caught off guard with nowhere to hide should the doors open and the crowd spill into the sodium-hazed parking lot.
He kept moving while surveying the building. He didn't want to be seen in one place for too long. While skirting around the back, he noticed a small cul-de-sac partially hidden by a high wire fence. He decided that warranted further investigation should the opportunity arise.
He started to head back to the front when suddenly he heard voices. He stopped, stooped over, listening, his head cocked to one side like a dog sensing danger. It sounded like people were leaving. He got up from his crouched position and scurried around to the front, staying close to the houses lining the street, enveloping him in the deep shadows they cast.
Janet was among those leaving. She walked with one other girl, and they soon rounded a corner, out of sight. He was extremely anxious to see how she interacted with other people, and if he could get close enough to overhear some of the conversation he might get a clue. He closed the gap quickly.
7
"What happens now?" asked Kim.
"We wait," Janet said flatly.
"How long?"
"Long enough for everyone to leave. Coffee?"
"No thanks. I'm already a little on edge as it is."
Janet nodded her head in understanding and plopped down on her couch, gesturing for Kim to follow suit. She turned on the TV and flipped through the channels.
Kim awkwardly sat down on the edge of her seat, keeping her posture very rigid compared to Janet's floundering on the furniture. She didn't know what to make of Reverend Stone's invitation, and the secrecy that followed did nothing to calm her nerves. She wondered how long this "secret society" had been meeting, but didn't feel it was an appropriate question to ask her hierarchical superior. Although, on the other hand, that status might be about to change.
Janet stopped on VH-1. Kim tried to make conversation.
"Behind the Music. I love that show."
"Don't get too involved. This is only to kill time. The night's barely begun."
8
On the other side of the door Dan wondered what that possibly meant. It had an almost sinister tone to it.
He was nervous following them here. All it took was for Mrs. Hardy or some other neighbor to enter the hall and find him leaning against Janet's door---dressed in dark colors, ear pressed to the wood---to ship him off to jail for the night.
He hadn't heard everything they said. Only moments ago he reached into himself and found the courage to follow through with his plan, sneaking through the dimly lit halls and up the stairs to her door, cursing each time a step moaned with age. He eagerly listened for more.
9
"Has this been going on all along?" Kim finally mustered the guts to ask.
"Yes."
It was hard for Kim to believe. For months a charade had been played out right in front of her and several others, yet none of them had a clue.
"Why all the secrets?"
Janet sighed heavily. Kim took that to mean she shouldn't ask so many questions.
"It's a precaution. Reverend Stone is a little paranoid, and doesn't think that some of his followers would understand. I tend to think he's right."
That Janet would suggest such a thing shocked Kim. It also made her wonder what was in store for her.
"He likes to know that his people are with him one hundred percent before he shares with him his greatest gift. You must have proved that to him tonight, or else he wouldn't have pulled you aside and asked you to come back."
10
For the next few minutes all Dan could hear was some music from the television. He could only guess that Kim was mulling over all that she was exposed to tonight, forming a new opinion of Stone and everything associated with him. He wondered if Melissa had stayed with the program would she have ever come to know of Stone's "greatest gift" or be invited back to find out? He shuddered thinking about it.
Suddenly the audio from the television clipped off as the featured band was beginning its downward spiral into alcohol and drugs. Dan's heart leapt to his throat. Something was happening.
"We better get going," he heard Janet say. She sounded just on the other side of the door, inches from him. The door was going to snap open any second and they would find him squatting here!
Before that could happen, he scrambled to his feet and fled down the hall to the stairs. He bounded down them three at a time, disregarding every warning his mother had ever imbued in him when he was a boy. Behind him, he heard the door swing open and their voices flood into the hall.
He was out into the street a second later. He paused for an instant, waffling as to whether he should run to the left or right. Panic had gripped him, and it was a fatal hold. He had to shake it if he was going to come through unscathed.
What would the Stalker do?
Certainly not run about like a beheaded chicken.
He risked an instant to take a deep breath and collect himself, realizing that the girls would be walking down the stairs, not leaping down them. That moment allowed some reason to trickle back into him and he quickly ran to his left, to her parking lot. If they were going to get into a car and drive, he'd be able to see them do it while hiding behind another car. If they walked back to the church, they'd go to the right, and he would elude them. He was regaining his control. He felt that. The moment of unease was gone, an unpleasant memory.
When they didn't come his way after a minute or so, he realized they had indeed gone back to Stone's church---but then again, he really knew that all along. Now he was acting on instinct alone, like some kind of animal. He crept out from his hiding place and resumed the hunt.
It didn't take long to spot them again. This time he followed with an assurance he never felt before. The night's high stakes were paying off in a windfall he'd never expected, fueling his desire for more instead of satiating his appetite. He cast his earlier doubts aside and stalked with relish.
A few minutes later he watched as Janet and Kim once again entered the white building, glancing furtively about before going in. Dan also noticed that some of the cars that had left earlier had returned, although the lot was peppered with far fewer vehicles now. He wondered if there was some sort of meeting of the higher members about to commence. The secrecy intrigued him.
While he kept watch a few more people trickled in, but after a time, the flow stopped. He guessed all the returnees had assembled and he emerged from hiding. Before he kept himself from trying to peer through the windows, but this time he felt an attempt must be made. He glanced quickly about, and then rapidly crossed the street, going right up to the cold exterior. Against the white building, dressed in blue, he felt like a blemish on a model's face. Exposed such, he wasted no time examining the windows.
He found that his initial theories were incorrect, and that the whitewash was no rush job. Every inch of the glass was meticulously glossed over, butting up directly with the pane on each window he inspected. After the third one, he gave up on that avenue and instead concentrated on trying to hear through the glass. All he could make out was a dull murmuring, revealing nothing.
He decided he'd spent enough time on this face, and slipped around to the back. Aside from preventing the risk of overexposure on the east side, this gave him the chance to further investigate the cul-de-sac he spotted earlier. But no sooner had he rounded the corner to the south wall then he darted back the way he came.
A car was pulling in behind the building. As soon as it was off the street and on Stone's property its headlights winked off. Dan could still see the light from them imprinted on his cornea after staring directly into the glare, reminiscent of a school photographer's flashbulb.
A moment later he heard two doors open and close quietly shut, instead of slamming. His sight returning after blinking away the image, Dan ducked his head around the corner of the building to see what was going on.
In the darkness, the two men hoisted a load from the trunk of the car. It was wrapped up in a dark blanket. When each man grabbed an end and they began walking, it sagged limply in the middle, grazing the ground. It made a sound that caused Dan's stomach to lurch with dread.
He studied the contours, and his mind's eye filled in the blank spots. Dan was positive there was a body underneath the thick wool. Animal or human he couldn't tell, and they were inside before he had a chance to know for sure.
And even if they were still outside, what would he have done?
1
"What do you make of it?" Dan asked Melissa.
Melissa shook her head, not knowing what to say. Dan told her what happened last night while they were scrunched close together in a dark editing bay, cutting her series together. He said it with such detail that Mel felt like she had come along. It was all so bizarre.
"It's hard to say, but it does explain a lot."
"What do you mean?"
Melissa frowned, thinking back. "I always had a feeling they were keeping something from the novitiates. It was the way a few of them circled around, exchanging knowing glances over the punchbowl. Most of the novitiates want in so much that they were oblivious to the actions around them. Kim certainly was. I never brought it up to her because I knew she wouldn't have the slightest idea what I was talking about."
"I think you're right. She seemed completely surprised by it, but rather than be angry or bitter, she was in awe."
"Kim worships the ground Stone walks on. That kind of devotion is alien to both of us. If it were me, I'd have told them to shove it, that I didn't want to belong to their little club if they couldn't trust me."
"And that raises an interesting question: trust her about what?"
Melissa stared at a frozen image of Stone on one of the screens, trying to find the answer in his eyes. She saw nothing but a shell of the man. That was the way he always presented himself---distant and aloof with outsiders. How foolish of her to think she could go in and charm the man in a few short weeks. She now realized completely the futility of her actions. She didn't blow her interview---he would never have opened up to her in a million years. He had an empire to protect. If anything, he enjoyed the attention she showered on him, but that was where it ended.
Melissa broke her lock with Stone's eyes and turned to Dan. "How sure are you about this 'body' they brought in the back?"
"Well, it was dark, and the bulk was covered up, but it reminded me of when I used to work for my dad. He was a veterinarian, and I used to help him dispose of the bodies of dead animals that he put to sleep. It sagged just like one of those. There's no way to prove it. I just have a really deep gut feeling."
"Intuition isn't much to go on."
"I know what you're getting at," Dan said. "You're wondering if my 'body' just wasn't a figment of my imagination. I was stalking, and to you that's basically playing a game. You think I took the game too far."
Melissa got defensive. "If I thought it was simply a game I wouldn't have asked you to do it. But you have to admit, what you said sounds pretty far out."
"That brings me back to my earlier question: what is it Stone doesn't trust some of his people to know about? I'd say bringing an unconscious body in the back answers it pretty well."
Melissa turned back to the grainy blown-up frozen image of Stone. What is it you're trying to hide, you bastard? Why are you afraid of me?
Dan clearly saw the intent in her stare.
"Don't do it, Mel. You've already played your part in this."
"Do what?" she asked innocently.
"See Stone again. It's obvious that's what you're thinking."
"What if it is? Why shouldn't I?"
"Do I have to spell it out for you? The man's dangerous!"
"He wouldn't do anything to me. I'm a public figure. I'd be missed. There'd be an investigation."
In desperation, Dan grabbed her hands and held them tightly in his, looking deep within her eyes.
"You don't have to go. There's another way."
"Which is...?"
He could feel the warmth of her hands. He gently caressed them with his thumbs.
"I'll talk with Janet. Maybe now that I know what she's been doing she'll talk to me."
"Do you really think she has anything left to say to you?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "Probably not. But it's worth a try, at least."
The idea didn't sit well with her, but she wondered how much of that was jealousy coloring her opinion. She looked back to Stone and saw no answers in his eyes.
Softly, she said, "Okay."
2
Janet kicked off her shoes, slumped on the couch, and lay back to relax when three terse raps fired off against her door. She groaned and rose, grumbling her way across the room, while the pattern repeated itself urgently.
"Who's there?" she said loudly through the wood. In this day and age it wasn't safe for anyone to open his or her door blindly. Ironically, she understood that she was part of the cause of the current paranoia running rampant throughout the city.
"Janet? It's me. Dan." He knew she would be there because he watched her come home through the window of a bookstore across the street, pretending to be absorbed in the latest bestseller from the paperback racks.
It took a moment, but finally her door opened, stopping when the security chain took hold. Janet poked her face through the crack.
"What do you want?"
Dan didn't really know how to phrase this, or where to begin. He decided on the casual approach.
"How are you doing?" he asked, managing a smile.
Janet almost pitied him. As he stood in the dim hall, trying to talk with her through the gap between the door and the jamb, he reminded her of the first boy that asked her for a date, and the way he was so unsure of himself, although he tried to present a cool picture of control.
"I'm okay...I guess. And you?"
"Fine," Dan said, nodding his head. His hands were still in his pockets, invisible from the wrists down.
"That's good."
Both tried to read the mood of the other as they awkwardly gawked---neither with success.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked after a long silence.
"I'm not sure I should," she said.
"Why not?"
"Because things would be better if you and I just forgot about each other."
Dan sighed. Even though it had been over for a couple months, the words still hurt.
"Well, I came for a couple of reasons. First, I thought you might like Jerry's address." One of his hands finally emerged from a pocket and held a crumpled piece of paper with the WKBC logo in one corner. It was from a memo pad at work. He gingerly placed it in the rift open to her apartment.
Janet took it from him, looking over the address written on it. She hadn't allowed herself to think of Jerry since their last lunch the day he left town. She lightly stroked the surface of the paper like a blind woman reading Braille, fondly remembering times past. Dan thought he saw a hint of a smile curl the corners of her mouth.
"Have you talked with him recently?" she asked softly.
"I did a few weeks ago. He told me he was thinking of buying a small cabin up north, in the hills, around the Traverse City area. Can you believe that?"
"He always liked the snow," she said more to herself than to Dan, musing affectionately about Jerry.
"Yeah. Well, things seem to be going nicely up there. MSU was a little different than he thought, but I guess that's to be expected."
"I guess so..."
And like that, the topic of Jerry was spent. Janet was genuinely thankful for the update, but felt her chemistry with Dan was gone. Talking with him was like receiving a package from the UPS man---pleasantries exchanged, but nothing else.
"What was the other reason you came?" she asked.
Dan cleared his throat. He suddenly didn't want to continue. He could make up something quick and avoid his real reason. Melissa and he could credit their overactive imaginations for causing a ruckus and let it go at that.
But Dan couldn't let it go. And he knew Mel never would either. They had to see this through to some kind of satisfactory conclusion.
"I saw you go into Reverend Stone's church a while back. What's going on?"
There. Blunt. To the point. He waited to see her reaction.
She recoiled from him in shock, taking in a sharp gasp of air. After a nanosecond of indecision, she tried to slam the door. Dan shot his foot in the gap. The edge of the wood bit sharply into the bone.
"Whoa! Hold on a second!" he shouted. His foot felt like it was in a vice, pinned between the door and the jamb. "Shit, Janet, what's the deal?"
She continued to press on the door, leaning her full weight into it. No matter how painful, Dan was not going to give up his blockade. He'd no doubt struck a chord, and he wasn't leaving until he'd heard a symphony. He leaned his broad shoulder into the wood, pushing back. She fought with a manic strength, but she was no match for him. Finally, he made some headway, and was able to shift his foot to a better position. He looked down and saw a deep crease in his shoe leather.
Janet gave an exasperated sigh and backed away from the door, giving up. She moved out of sight.
"Why are you so scared that I know? What has he done to you?" Dan called desperately through the crack. "Has he threatened you if you talk to others about him?"
Silence. All Dan heard was his own breath rasping heavily in his lungs and coursing hotly through his flaring nostrils. His pulse pounded his temples like timpani drums.
"God damn it, Janet! Talk to me!"
Janet stood in a corner of the room, her back turned to the door, hands pressed over her ears. She tried to shut him out, but his voice droned on and on, even when he didn't speak, ricocheting around in her brain like a ball on a racquetball court. First he was pleading, then demanding. She began to cry, her shoulders heaving. She couldn't take it anymore.
"Just go away!" she screamed.
"No!" Dan hollered back. "Open this door and let me in, or God help me, I'll smash it down!"
One apartment down Mrs. Hardy dared to open her own door a crack and stare out through the slit, wondering what on earth was going on in the hallway. She could hear the strain in Janet's voice as it cracked. She saw Dan pounding a fist against Janet's door and recognized him as the same man who had played out a similar scenario a few months back. She ducked back in when Dan shot her a steely glare, fastening her draw chain back in place. She wrung her frail arthritic hands, wondering what to do.
Dan felt ashamed of his actions. He knew he had senselessly frightened the old woman, but he couldn't dwell on what he had done---not if he wanted any kind of results.
He listened again, and now he could hear the hiccup of her sobs as they struggled their way out of her shuddering form. Thinking of Mrs. Hardy, he lowered his voice some.
"Janet, please. We've got to talk!"
"We've got nothing to say! You know nothing about Reverend Stone!"
Her sudden reappearance in the doorway startled Dan. Mascara streaked down her cheeks. She wiped at her tears with the back of a sleeve, sniffling.
"I know more than you think."
"Like what?"
"That he's manipulative. That he's an egomaniac. That he's a misguided crystal worshipper, demanding total submission from his followers," Dan listed, wondering if he was having any effect or whether she was in too deep and blinded by Stone's faults. "Shall I go on?"
"You sound jealous of him."
"That's ridiculous!"
"Is it? You think I left you for him."
"That's not true!"
"Why do you keep hounding him then? He's a strong man who knows what he wants and is willing to share. It's more than I got from you. What's wrong with asking for a little devotion in return?"
"If he's so great, why don't I believe you? You're saying all the right words, but I don't sense any conviction behind them."
That was true. She was breaking down before his eyes, at one moment hiding from the fact that he knew about her membership in Stone's cult, trying to drive him away, and the next steadfastly defending the man. He could see the contradictory struggle in her face. He sensed that she wanted to tell him more, but was afraid to.
All this was a gut feeling, but one Dan felt was strong enough to act upon.
"Melissa and I know that there are things going on there," he let drop to see how she'd react.
"How can you possibly? Melissa only knows the most rudimentary fundamentals of our way of life. I taught her myself."
"You didn't teach her about the bodies brought in the back. I had to see that myself. If she'd stayed long enough, what would you have told her about that?"
The color drained from Janet's face.
Dan pushed on.
"She's not satisfied with what she knows. She plans to keep coming back again and again as long as it takes for her to get some answers."
It was an empty threat, but Dan felt lucky, willing to push to the extremes.
"Is your group responsible for the Dumpster Killings? I'm sure the police would be very interested to hear about the late night activities Stone's conducting over there."
When Janet finally spoke she had lost her spirit, as if she had been kicked in the stomach.
"You have no proof of anything. You're trying to scare me."
"And doing a pretty good job of it too, by the looks of you."
Janet's hands flew to her face, where she stroked her cheeks, feeling to see if they were flush. Instead, the skin felt cold, clammy. She noticed her fingers were trembling. She took a deep breath, looking down, avoiding his eyes.
"If you care anything for Melissa, drop this right now. You've no idea how dangerous he can be." The words were spoken quickly, rapid-fire.
"Who? Stone?"
"Just forget you ever met him, for her sake as well as yours. Don't let her go back there."
"Why? What will he do?"
"I've said enough already." She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "Please. Go."
Over the last minute Dan let his footing slip in the door, removing his anchor. He had kept it forged in the gap when the words got heated, but once she started to open up he let his stance relax, changing to a nurturing posture. Before he knew it, Janet slammed the door with lightning speed.
"Janet! Open the door! Janet!"
He immediately began pounding his fists on the door again, harder than before.
"Janet, for God's sake, what's that supposed to mean? Janet!"
He kept up his barrage, even after his fists became numb and white---he had pummeled all the color out of them. Only when it became painfully obvious that she wasn't coming back did he cease, withdrawing his throbbing hands. Handling a camera would be difficult tomorrow.
He slumped down, leaning his back against her door, wondering where to go from here. It didn't take long for the image of Mrs. Hardy darting back into her apartment and bolting the door to develop in his mind. She probably already called the police. If a car were in the area, officers would be climbing the stairs at any moment. He had to get out of there.
He dashed down the hall seconds later.
3
The man in the hall ducked farther into his alcove as Dan ran past. The narrow nook once housed a telephone when the residents of the brownstone all shared a common phone when the invention was new. The phone had been removed decades ago, but the small wooden bench still remained. The man slid down the varnished plank of wood and hugged the wall, recessing into the shadows. He didn't think Dan saw him in his haste.
Instead of panicking, a cool smile formed on his thin lips. He had come over for a quick poke, but this was much better. He had overheard everything.
After he was sure Dan was gone, Stone emerged from his hiding place, pulled the collar of his coat tight around his throat, and descended the stairs. A minute later he was walking back to his church, whistling a light tune.
1
The phone woke Janet. After her confrontation with Dan she laid back down on the couch, trying to forget everything, wishing she hadn't said anything, but couldn't relax. Exhaustion finally overtook her in the end.
She opened one eye to a slit and glanced foggily about the room. The blinds were still wide open, allowing in the orange sodium glare of streetlights. Long shadows filled her dark apartment. Janet experienced a brief moment of confusion when she wasn't sure where she was.
The phone rang again. She was afraid to answer, fearing who might be on the other end.
Just then her machine picked up the call. Janet listened in the dark as her prerecorded message played out, followed by a short tone.
"Janet, this is Jim."
Reverend Stone's referring to himself using his first name surprised her. He only did that one other time: on the afternoon they had sex.
"I really need to see you tonight. It's urgent. I'll be busy with other matters for a while, so could you make it around ten? I know it's late, but that can't be avoided. Please get in touch whether you can make it or not. I'll be here. You know the number."
The machine's tape whirred for a second more, recording nothing but a whispery hiss, and then clicked off.
The call puzzled Janet. He didn't get into any specifics at all. He said it was urgent, yet his voice was calm and casual. It didn't even suggest disappointment that she wasn't home and might not get the message in time.
To save face, she couldn't return his call right away. She didn't want to let on that she was screening. That turned people off, and in the real estate game she couldn't afford to do that. Often the pivotal point in closing a deal was not the house or property itself, but the relationship she had with the buyers.
As she waited impatiently for some time to pass, she mulled over what Reverend Stone could possibly want.
2
Kim gently replaced the phone in its cradle. She trembled with nervous excitement.
"Well Sparks, this is it," she said to her cat almost dreamily, scratching his mangy whiskers. "I'm going to truly join the ranks tonight."
Sparkle wasn't particularly interested. He just enjoyed the scratching. Kim, however, was very interested.
One by one, the call went out to Stone's followers.
3
Dan wished he had gloves. He had been standing outside for hours now, first hiding a block away to see if the police showed up. When they didn't, he became more bold and started pacing back and forth on the street in an effort to keep warm. While he was looking for his first hiding place he missed Stone leaving.
He didn't think Janet would stand still after what went on between them. She would act in some way, either going to Stone and warning him or hiding from the man. It all depended on what kind of influence he held over her.
Dan wanted to hang around to see if he could get a gauge on it.
4
Twenty minutes later Janet reached for the phone. For a time she debated whether she should even call Stone back. In the end, it was fear that motivated her.
5
He was about to give up and go home, perhaps soak in a warm tub before calling Melissa and letting her know the developments of the day. Maybe Janet was right. Nothing was happening. Maybe he should drop his vigilance, but the warning she gave worried him:
If you care anything for Melissa, drop this right now. You've no idea how dangerous he can be...
What did that mean? How dangerous? Life-threatening?
Dan's heart skipped a beat when he saw Janet emerge from her building onto the street. It was a go.
"Too late to back out now," he muttered to himself. A passerby glanced back at him, quickened his step, and clutched his groceries closer to his chest.
Staying out of sight, in the shadows, Dan followed Janet to Stone's building.
6
Janet felt relief to see the other cars outside. They confirmed Reverend Stone told her the truth about this being another meeting when she called him back. For some reason she didn't trust him fully and was afraid that she would be alone with him.
She was determined this would be her last meeting. As the days wore on, she found it increasingly difficult to live with herself. But pulling away from Stone proved to be more challenging than she first thought. It was like trying to kick cigarettes or drugs. She remembered watching some of her college friends that she supplied agonize during the early stages of withdrawal. Most never made it, eventually reverting back to their narcotic of choice.
She realized that Reverend Stone and his teachings were her narcotic. Even though the days of her friends' frivolous drug indulgences were over, she had a better understanding of their pain. She disliked the way her younger self handled the situation, offering money for more drugs instead of trying to be helpful and supportive. At the time all she wanted was for her partying friends to come back. She was selfish.
Breaking away would be hard. She didn't have any friends to help her. She had driven Dan away. There wasn't really anyone at the office. And this wasn't something she could confide in others anyway. How would she explain the killings?
She thought about breaking away now, starting tonight. But the pull was too great. She was already there, why not go inside and see what the man had to say?
7
Kim spied Janet coming through the door. She hurried over.
"What do you suppose this is all about?"
"I don't know," Janet replied. "Stone didn't say much to me over the phone except to be here."
Kim frowned at her friend. "His name is Reverend Stone. We must always treat him with respect, even when he's not around."
Janet shrugged off the comment. If he wanted to be called Reverend Stone so much, why did he refer to himself as Jim on the phone? Kim was obviously star-struck, so Janet offered no defense.
"I'm sorry. You're right, of course."
Kim immediately forgave her and assumed a nervous, almost frenzied state.
"Do you think we'll perform the ceremony again? I still feel so strong, so invigorated from last night. I've never felt so powerful in my life!"
Kim had been invited to soak her crystal in the fresh blood last night as Reverend Stone revealed to her the true secret of the power lying dormant within the gem. But for some reason, she wasn't required to take part in the bloodletting as Janet had been forced to when it was her initiation. Janet was jealous of the fact.
"I suppose we'll find out soon enough," Janet said, pointing. "Here he comes."
The dozen or so people gathered hushed. All eyes were on Stone as he emerged from his office, followed by three men---Bill Cambridge, Jeff Goodall and Paul Rogers---all of them longtime followers. This seemed a little odd since Stone generally liked to be alone before meetings. A caul of concern enveloped everyone.
Stone sensed this from his chosen. He raised his hands to command their full attention, silencing the last whispering voices.
"First, let me say I'm glad so many of you came on such short notice. I know you didn't expect to be summoned. I'm sorry you had to leave the comfort of your homes, but sometimes it is necessary. You that are gathered here belong to a special group, an elite core of individuals whose actions will be richly rewarded."
He stepped over to the velvet ropes cordoning off the door that led to the back and unhooked it. With a broad sweeping gesture, he encouraged those present to join him.
"Come," he said. "We have business to attend to."
Kim broke apart from the group and quickly took an excursion to the back room. Hesitantly, the next person separated himself from the others and followed her. Others soon followed, but they were cautious. Stone was acting differently. Something was up, and some were not sure they wanted to find out what.
Janet understood that she had to go as well---there was no getting out of this one. Reverend Stone was treating it as almost a "Last Supper," with his twelve or so most loyal followers his disciples.
She took a step forward, only to suddenly have her arms wrenched behind her in a lock hold. Stone's men sprang forward without warning, seizing her. As Goodall maintained his grip, pulling her arms practically out of their sockets, Rogers clamped a chloroform soaked cloth over her mouth and nose. She fought them, holding her breath and kicking out with her legs. Everyone else was in the other room already, most likely oblivious to her struggle. Janet wiggled and squirmed, jumping up and down. The pain in her arms and shoulders was beyond belief, but she fought on. She could feel Goodall's grip slipping and thought she might get out of this yet. But then Cambridge punched her in the stomach. The wind momentarily knocked out of her, her lungs hitched, desperate for oxygen. When she finally did breathe, she sucked in the contents of the cloth, tasting a burning, sweet flavor.
As she slumped down, she saw a vague image of Stone standing over her, hands on his hips, a triumphant smile on his thin lips.
8
This time, Dan was determined to get inside. He felt as though his future with Melissa depended on it.
Just forget you ever met him, for her sake as well as yours. Don't let her go back there...
He found it odd that Janet would show concern for his new girlfriend. Bitterness or jealously were more likely. The fact that she was scared for Mel---and there was no doubt that she was afraid from the expression on her face---gave Dan a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, with icy tendrils reaching out toward his extremities.
As he slinked through the parking lot, weaving between the rows of parked cars, he had an intuitive tug that told him this was a special session, called in a hurry, and that not everyone could be reached. There were a lot fewer cars than at either of last night's meetings. He sensed an all or nothing feeling of dread in the air.
Dan stopped by the glass doors leading inside. Crouching behind a Honda Accord, he could see most of the gathering room. It appeared to be empty. He thought of tiptoeing inside, but decided to use that as a last resort. Instead, he headed to the back, and the cul-de-sac.
9
Janet woke to find herself bound and gagged. Her clothes had been striped off her, baring her naked flesh. Around her, candles flickered.
The scene was all too familiar. Janet's stomach knotted up into a tight ball, constricting painfully. When the two men who knocked her out came forward and lifted her into the cistern, she moaned, the sound muffled through the cloth stuffed into her mouth and tied off with another strip behind her head. She cast her eyes rapidly about, trying to read the expressions of those around her, but too many stayed in the shadows, hiding from the dim candlelight.
She hoped it was a dream, her conscience punishing her by bringing forth the countless demons of those she stood by aimlessly and allowed to be killed. Her mind tried to rationalize her actions, pointing out to her ego that she never impaled anyone to get to their blood until after they were dead. Her id argued that she enjoyed it just the same.
"I'm asleep on my couch, I'm asleep on my couch," she mumbled as a kind of mantra, though it sounded like "Mim ahseeh uh ma couu" through her gag.
"What's that, Janet?" Stone asked, leaning forward. "I can't understand you."
His taunt proved to her that this must indeed be happening. Panicked, she retreated into her recitation even louder, squirming against her bonds.
Stone stood upright and spread his hands to address his children.
"We have here a traitor in our midst. This is intolerable and cannot be forgiven. She has divulged secrets from our inner sanctum---secrets we don't even share with the novitiates."
Janet's mind fought to overcome the murkiness clouding it. What secrets? What is he talking about? When did I---Dan! He somehow knows what I said to Dan!
She began to shiver uncontrollably. Stone again looked down at her, reaching out to brush the hair out of her eyes, caressing her forehead as he did so. He gave her a patriarchal smile. Janet thought she saw a tear forming but he turned away before she could be sure. He once again addressed his group.
"Witness and remember."
10
Dan faced a tall wire mesh fence. It was the same sort of chain-linked fence that served as a backstop for thousands of baseball diamonds across the country, except it had a sharp tangle of barbed wire looped around its top. It's shielding the world from something, Dan thought, something far less wholesome than Little League foul balls.
Frowning, he inserted his toe in one of the small diamonds in the pattern of the mesh. He pulled himself up, lifted his other leg off the ground, and searched for a foothold. The fence sagged with a chang! as his full weight pushed against it. He felt like a mountain climber, but appeared more like a drunken Spider-Man, all arms and legs, as he fumbled his way up.
At the top, he faced the grim task of dealing with the sharp barbs of twisted metal waiting to poke through his clothes and cut him. He found gaps in the wire through which he could grip the top of the fence, and then he swung one leg widely over the top, hooking his toe back in the fence on the other side. Straddling off-balance, he swung the other leg over. As he maneuvered awkwardly, he lost his toehold, his sneaker slipping on the chain-link.
Dan plummeted down, his sleeve catching in the barbed wire. Like claws, the metal talons slashed through, cutting his forearm. He landed hard on the concrete below, rolling on his shoulder to soften the fall. He came to a stop when he crashed into the cement wall of the building. He pulled back what remained of his sleeve and appraised his wound. Three parallel gashes spilt open the skin. In the dark, the blood looked black, slightly shiny from the distant streetlights. The cuts weren't deep, but they hurt like hell.
He had come too far to back away now. Visions of a warm bath and Melissa massaging his sore shoulders tempted him, but he cast those thoughts aside. He pulled his sleeve back down and held his cut arm against his chest, trying not to streak any blood on the ground or walls.
The backdoor was padlocked, but Dan found it had some give when he tugged on it. It opened a small crack, about the width of three or four credit cards before stopping. Dan didn't want to push his luck and settled for what he got.
He dropped down and sat cross-legged by the opening. He pressed one ear close and listened, drawing in a sharp gasp when he discovered he could actually hear voices. Someone had just asked, "What's that, Janet?"
He leaned in closer, taking in what was said.
11
Kim came forward from the shadows and without hesitation slit Janet's throat. Janet barely felt the cold steel blade against her skin---it all happened so fast. Thick blood seeped into her throat and she choked on her own fluid, coughing out a fine mist of red. She tried vainly to swallow, her gash opening and closing like a mouth. Before she died, Janet saw some candlelight glint off the bloodstained knife and thought of heaven.
Stone came up from behind Kim and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her close against him. He whispered, "I'm proud of you" in her ear, and removed the knife from her hand. She held it so tightly he had to wrench it free, her knuckles white.
Some of the others tentatively began to lurch forward, coming to cut Janet's corpse and bathe their crystals. Stone stopped them.
"No. I don't want you to soak your crystals in her blood. It's tainted. You won't get any strength from her. It is only for me. As far as we're concerned, Janet Evans is a non-person. She never existed, none of us ever knew her, and her name will never be mentioned again."
12
Dan couldn't believe what he was hearing. The voices were muffled, but he was sure he could make out Stone's among them. And although he couldn't understand, he was pretty sure he heard Janet moaning something.
And then she simply stopped making noise.
He pulled at the door, but it wouldn't budge, and he didn't want to try harder and make any more noise. He was learning that macho deeds were not as easy as they were on TV and in the movies. Tired and fearful, he fell back against the wall, shell-shocked, eyes closed.
They suddenly snapped open. During that instant of respite, rationality came back to him, and he realized the imminent danger he faced. He sprang to his feet. There was nothing he could do here, and now his fight or flight response kicked him in the sides with both heels.
Dan hightailed it out of there, vaulting over the fence like a teenager. Pain meant nothing, noise meant nothing, being seen meant nothing---all that mattered was to be as far from those muffled cries as he could. He hit the ground running and didn't stop, heading into the night.
13
"It doesn't stop here," Stone explained to his shocked audience. "The threat still exists. There is still the man Janet spoke with and warned about us."
"Who is he?" someone asked.
"Bring him here! We'll take care of him for you!" someone else yelled frantically. They were quickly overcoming their surprise and rallying around their leader.
"His name is Dan Freeman," Stone said. "He is a photographer for WKBC, channel 4."
The twelve that were gathered began to inch closer to Stone, unconsciously, listening intently to his plan as it unfolded. Already Janet, once a well-liked friend, was becoming nothing more than a slab of meat, another anonymous face killed to serve a greater cause.
"I also want someone else from that station taken care of," Stone continued. "Melissa Van Dyke. She's a reporter. She's been here, snooping around, and promises to be a thorn in our side. Some of you may remember her."
A gentle murmur waved through the crowd, ebbing and rising in volume. It was clear that including them in his plans formed solidarity among the faithful.
Stone reveled in the control he had over his people. Kim cut Janet's throat without question; the rest were eager to do anything to help, including murder. He could see it on their faces, although they were draped behind hooded robes. He had a raging erection in his trousers unlike any he'd had since he performed his first ritual slaying some five years ago. He soaked in the power of total dominance over them all before he delivered his ultimatum:
"For the preservation of us all, they must be eliminated."
Enthusiastic heads bobbed up and down in agreement, acknowledging their support. If Melissa and Dan were in the room right now they would be shredded apart on sight by a dozen clawing hands like a scene straight out of Romero's Dawn of the Dead. Stone could see it in their glassy eyes, in the way their tongues wagged.
"That is all," he said, excusing them. "Remember your duty."
Like children on a field trip, they filed out excitedly. Stone put a hand on Kim's shoulder as she was leaving, stopping her. He waited until they were alone to speak.
"Before, when I said I was proud of you, I wasn't kidding," he said, slipping off her robe. He caressed her bare shoulders, looking deep into her glazed eyes, urging her on.
Kim stepped out of the bundle around her feet and pressed close to Stone, running her hands across his chest. Without saying a word, she allowed him to remove the rest of her clothes. He then took a step back and stripped off his own until he too was naked.
Suddenly, he gripped her buttocks and pushed her back against the cistern, where he entered her roughly. She made a sharp gasp as he tore into her. He grunted and bucked like an animal. As they copulated, he dipped a finger in Janet's cooling blood and brought it to Kim's mouth. She sucked eagerly.
The whole time Stone had his eyes open, looking over Kim's shoulder, ignoring her beauty and the sensual curve of her back. Instead, he gazed at Janet's corpse, meeting her drying eyes with his own. Even as they shuddered in orgasm and Kim fell against him, he refused to break his lock with Janet, wondering what it was she now saw.
1
Dan pounded frantically on Melissa's door. It was a little after midnight.
"Melissa! You've got to let me in!" he shouted through the wood between pummels.
Inside, he heard faint sounds of somebody ruffling around. He imagined her tying a bathrobe around her waist, blinking sleep out of her eyes as she stumbled foggily to the door. He continued beating, willing her forward, until he saw a beam of light click on through the space under her door and heard the chain being pulled back.
"What do you want?" Melissa asked groggily, pulling open the door.
He didn't answer. He only rushed in, swung the door shut, reattached the chain and bolted every last one of its locks. Then he ran over to the light switch and clicked it off, bathing the room in darkness.
His actions woke Mel in a hurry. She didn't know what he was doing, but there was an obvious agenda to his roaming, and it frightened her.
He came back to her, placing an arm around her waist. He nudged her toward the couch.
"Get down," he whispered succinctly.
What in God's name is going on? she thought as they fell on the cushions.
2
Dan stayed the night. Neither of them got much sleep. They never left the living room. Occasionally one of them would nod off, but it wouldn't last long as nightmares invaded their dreams and snapped them awake, swiping at shadows.
After Dan filled her in, Melissa couldn't believe the amount of time she had spent in the same room as Stone. She had talked to him, touched him, but she never imagined anything like this. To hear Dan tell it, Stone was deeply involved in some kind of blood rite. She remembered the punch, and the vaguely familiar taste hiding under the fruit. Melissa shivered thinking about it.
For now, they decided it was best to do nothing, to make sure whatever Dan heard through the crack in the door was not misinterpreted by an overactive imagination. After all, he had no proof---he didn't see anything. The egg on their faces was sure to be runny if Janet turned up alive and well.
They drove to work in separate cars. Several times on the way Melissa glanced nervously into her rearview mirror, exchanging worried looks with Dan, following close behind. Being apart made them both feel uneasy and afraid. Arriving at WKBC seemed like a major accomplishment. They agreed that they'd be safe in the company of others, and once there, they did their best to act as if nothing happened. But it wasn't easy.
3
They were in an editing bay when word came in over the scanner that another body had been found. Laura sent Lynnette Connor on it. Melissa and Dan spent the next hour and a half under the pretense of working on their series, but they were really waiting for Lynnette to get back.
Dan couldn't find a soundbite that eluded him. Frustrated, he hit the console.
"Damn it!" he shouted, rubbing his fist where he hit the editor. It throbbed numbly.
Melissa put an arm around him, fearing he might shrug it off. She hated it when men started acting this way, lashing out and hitting things, smoldering inside instead of sharing. Dan surprised her when he took her hand and held it tight before looking out the window into the newsroom for the umpteenth time.
"When are they going to get back?" he whispered almost desperately.
"I don't know, but looking every two minutes isn't going to speed them up."
"I suppose you're right," he sighed, turning back to their project.
They worked for five minutes in silence, actually making some progress. Dan found the quote he was looking for and dropped it in cleanly. Despite the cloud Reverend Stone draped over it, Melissa wanted to maintain the tone she started out with: that of chronicling the New Religions available to people out there. It would be unfair to the other legitimate beliefs she encountered to lump them all together with Stone. She was saving him for the end, when she hoped they'd have enough information to blow the lid off of him. If they were lucky, he'd be in jail by then, after Dan went to the police, and she'd have exclusive tape of her interview with him.
She felt for Dan. Obviously he had some warm feelings for Janet. He tried to call her several times last night, but only got her machine. Looking at him now, she wondered if they did the right thing by doing nothing. Saving face seemed like a selfish thing when Janet's life might be at stake, but to hear Dan describe it, she was surely dead. At the time he feared they might be following him. Now that seemed a little unlikely. Still, they had made their decision, and there was nothing to do now but wait. She couldn't help but see the anguish he was going through.
Dan stopped his work and took another glance out the window. He saw Lynnette Connor enter the newsroom, surrounded quickly by the curious. Dan decided to avoid that scene, and instead left his edit bay and sought out Lynnette's photographer, Joe. Melissa followed behind.
Dan knocked on Joe's edit bay door. Joe opened the door a crack. He normally liked to work in privacy.
"Can we come in?" Dan asked.
"What do you want?"
"We want to ask you some questions about your story," Melissa said. "Believe us, it relates to something we're working on."
Joe frowned. "Okay. Come in, but shut the door behind you. I don't want the whole frickin' newsroom jamming in here."
They did as they were told. Neither Dan nor Melissa wanted a crowd gathering either. If they had their choice, they would have taken the field tape and looked at it themselves after Joe was done with it, but this was too important to wait.
"What did the victim look like?" Dan asked. "Was it another girl?"
"Jeez, you're a ghoul today," Joe commented.
"This is serious, Joe. Please."
Joe shrugged, and hit the fast forward button on his editing deck. "I don't have to describe her. I've got her on tape, being loaded into the coroner's van."
Shots of police cars with their lights still whirling flew by at breakneck speed, the camera panning rapidly about, often at canted angles as Joe set up his next shot. People walked jerkily by like extras in a Charlie Chaplin movie. For a one minute and forty-five second story, roughly twenty minutes' worth of tape was shot, and it was Joe's style to edge more toward thirty minutes to always keep recording in case something interesting happened. All this slop would later be edited out.
"Oops, went past it," Joe said, rewinding the tape, offering a thin smile of apology.
He found the footage he sought. He ran it for them.
On the screen two men wheeled a body on a stretcher toward the back of the van, its doors open and waiting. The body was covered with a sheet, a strong wind ruffling it, causing it to billow up and down. One wheel of the stretcher hit a pothole and it bounced roughly. A pale arm lolled out from underneath the blanket. It was ghastly white, as though it hadn't seen the sun all summer. When one of the attendants bent down to tuck the arm back beneath the sheet, another gust of wind came along and blew the covering off the face of the body. Joe quickly zoomed in, adjusting his focus. The blurred image crystallized sharply. The woman on the stretcher had dark hair, matted with blood. Her throat was slit down through the trachea. Her color obviously left her through that savage cut. Joe froze the tape.
Dan turned away, an arm over his eyes.
"Pretty strong stuff, isn't it?"
Dan couldn't speak, but nodded. He felt Melissa's arm come around behind him and give him a squeeze.
"Thanks," Melissa said quietly. "We'd better let you get back to work now."
She opened the door and they stepped out, into the newsroom, away from the still-framed image of Janet's corpse staring blankly out.
4
Minutes later, when they were alone again in their own edit bay, Dan and Melissa spoke in hushed tones.
"I think I'm okay now. Thanks for getting me out of there."
Despite the circumstances, Melissa offered her best smile. "You looked like you could've used a hand."
"You recognized her, didn't you? I'm not dreaming---that was Janet." He said it affirmatively, but his eyes were like a lost pup, looking to Melissa for guidance and reassurance that he was sane.
Melissa nodded. "Yes. It was. I'm sorry."
"What are we going to do?"
"You've got to go to the police with what you heard last night."
Dan ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I know you're right, but shit, it's not something I look forward to."
"Do you think we should tell Laura and the others?"
"No, at least not until after I get back from the police. No one here besides Jerry ever met Janet that I can remember, although someone will recognize the name eventually and they'll all come offering sympathy. I'd like to hold that off as long as possible. I just don't think I can handle it now."
Melissa looked at him closely and wondered when he could. He seemed to be crumbling before her eyes. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and he trembled slightly. She resisted a strong urge to mother him, knowing this was something he'd have to work through himself. Pretending to understand his feelings would be a thin veil, one that he would see through and probably resent later.
Dan slapped his hands on his thighs decisively and stood, albeit on wobbly legs. "I'd better get going," he announced.
"Good luck, honey," she said, scratching his back as he left.
"I'll need it," he replied, and then walked off, leaving her alone in the bay, hoping they were doing the right thing.
5
"What makes you think that?" Cameron asked.
Cameron saw Dan based solely on the fact that he had been questioned briefly once before about being at The Norseman's Bar the night Jennifer Cook was killed. At first the sergeant nodded politely as he took down Dan's story, but Dan could tell he wasn't giving him much credence. It wasn't until he mentioned Janet's slit throat that Cameron sat up and took notice.
They had now been talking nearly an hour, and Dan had to fight the urge to look out the blinds again to the parking lot bristling with activity. He had done it enough times already, and didn't want to give Cameron the impression he was avoiding him or that he was skittish. Not to worry, for Cameron was beginning to form other opinions about him.
"I don't know. It's just a gut feeling," Dan replied, barely conscious of the question after so many others. He wanted out. "Janet just wouldn't do something like that."
Cameron nodded, pursing his lips. "At least not the Janet you knew."
"Look," Dan said, growing irritated, "when I saw Janet yesterday she was confused. It was obvious she was being pulled in two different directions. She was anguished, crying. I know Stone killed her because he felt she was a traitor."
"Your story is filled with huge leaps in logic. To be honest, I must add that a rather large suspension of disbelief is required to swallow what you're saying."
Dan started to speak up in protest. Cameron stopped him with a wave of his hand.
"We'll look into Reverend Stone and his church, but I must tell you, we've been aware of him for some time now. I especially don't like religious charlatans coming in and conning pensions away from widows who should know better, but aside from that, we have no reason to believe he's involved in any kind of illegal activity."
"You have reason now, damn it!" Dan said, rising.
"And as I said, we'll look into it," Cameron said, remaining calm. He extended his hand. "Thanks for coming, Mr. Freeman. I'm sure we'll be in touch."
Dan was dumbfounded as Cameron opened the door, showing him out. He ignored the officer's hand, only staring blankly at it as he walked around him. Stone wasn't some snake oil salesman setting up shop for a few weeks before moving on---he was a high-stakes player, more interested in souls than money. Dan felt he couldn't communicate that to the sergeant. He felt he had failed Janet's memory.
6
After Dan left McKay came into Cameron's office.
"That guy looked pretty dazed when he left," he said. "What did he say?"
Cameron folded his hands in front of his face, extending both index fingers until they formed a steeple. He methodically tapped them against his pursed lips, staring off.
"I wonder that myself. Some of the things he said just don't make any sense."
Cameron quickly filled him in. All McKay could say was, "I can see why he would think it was the Dumpster Killer."
"But this wasn't done by the Killer," Cameron said. "The throat was slit. That was all. All the other victims were mutilated, cut over and over. Also, they had weird pockmarks all over their bodies. The press doesn't know about that. We withheld that fact."
"You think Freeman staged this, and is trying to blame the Dumpster Killer?"
"I don't know. Could be. Did he come here to accuse the cult of being the Dumpster Killer because he's angry with them for, in effect, stealing his girlfriend from him? Does he hate them that much? Or did the cult kill her like he says and is trying to make it look like another Dumpster Killing?" Cameron shook his head, swimming with new questions. "One thing I do know," he said. "That boy warrants further investigation."
1
Dan took a walk to clear his head after their argument.
Over the last two days, to keep themselves sane, they holed up in an edit bay and concentrated on finishing Melissa's piece when not out doing fresh material for the nightly newscast. It wasn't an easy task, especially with Stone's face staring out at them every few moments. However, its airdate was days away and people in the promotion department were screaming for video so they could hype the piece.
Shortly after two in the afternoon, Dan set an in-and out-point on the tape and made his last edit. After checking to make sure it took, he crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back, breathing out a long sigh.
"What? What's wrong?" Melissa asked, snapping out of the fog she had drifted into. "Do you need the next cutaway?"
Dan smiled at her mischievously, like the Cheshire Cat.
Then Mel's eyes widened like a child on Christmas morning.
Excitedly, she said, "We're done!" Then, a beat later: "Aren't we?"
Dan refused to answer, choosing instead to play the fool.
She punched him lightly in the stomach. "Quit staring at me, you prick! Are we done or not?"
Dan calmly said, "That was the last edit."
"What a relief! Let's celebrate!"
He pulled her close until her nose rested against his. "Sounds good to me."
"What do you want to do?"
"You did most of the work. How about letting me cook dinner for you tonight?"
"You're on!" she said, kissing him.
2
But that was a while ago.
Dan shivered against the cold. He wished he had pulled on a sweater before leaving his apartment in a huff. He wasn't thinking then---only craving open space. Despite the chill, it felt good to be out.
He stuck his hands in his pockets, slouched over, shoulders slumping, and stared as the cracks in the sidewalk zipped by his feet one by one. He had no destination in mind. Stalking was the last thing he wanted to do, and he knew that if he stayed in his neighborhood he was less likely to slip into the guise.
For a second he stopped walking and cocked his head, listening. He thought he heard something moving by the houses to his right. He couldn't see anything, and dismissed it as payback for all the times he lurked in the darkness, following others. He continued walking.
The distraction only sidetracked him for a moment. As soon as he resumed his pace, dinner with Melissa returned to his mind, especially the eerie resemblance to his last dinner with Janet...
3
They didn't speak much during dinner. Dan puzzled whether it was relief and just utter exhaustion that kept Mel so silent, hunger, or something else.
"Anything wrong?" he finally asked.
"No, not at all," she said, smiling almost too quickly.
Before he could reply she collected her dishes and brought them to the sink where she began to rinse them with the nozzle.
"Don't worry about those. I'll get them later." He got up and switched off the water. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong."
"There's...nothing wrong."
Her brief pause confirmed to him that there was.
"Mel I know you better than that. Come sit with me on the sofa and let me in on what's bugging you." He led her by the hand to the couch. "Is it Stone?"
She sat close to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He took in the fresh fragrance of her hair, stroking it. She didn't answer, only breathed deeply. Dan felt her rise and fall against his chest.
"I'm not afraid to tell you that I'm scared shitless by him," Dan continued. "The police don't seem to be doing anything. And we can't very well go bringing it up with Laura until the cops do something about it. In the meantime, what are we supposed to do? I can see why you'd be nervous."
"It's not him," she said, letting out a sigh. "I mean: yes, he's bothering me. But he's not my problem." She turned her face upward to look in his eyes. "I got a job offer from Tampa today."
Dan couldn't contain his shock. "What?"
"There was a message left on my machine when I got home. They want me to fly in next week and see their station. I'm thinking of taking a sick day and checking them out after my series has aired."
Dan sat up straight. Melissa's head fell back against the cushions. "I don't believe this! You only started here a few months ago!"
"It wasn't intentional. When I was job hunting I sent out a whole bunch of tapes to markets all over the country. That's how Laura hired me: one of them came across her desk. To be honest, I sent so many I don't remember sending one to Tampa."
"How can you leave? What about your contract?"
"If it's a top 20 size market they have to release me. It would also mean getting away from Reverend Stone, and that's worth considering."
He was at odds with himself. Her safety and his happiness were battling it out. Then there were still the wounds from Jerry's departure. He also wondered if maybe he wasn't a little jealous. After all, the people close to him were moving ahead in their careers while he remained at the same station. Leaving was a fact of television that he never accepted.
"It's only to see what they have to offer. Think of it as a free one-day vacation."
Dan fumed like a child denied a candy bar by his mother at the checkout lane in a grocery store. She ran a finger along his arm, trying to get cuddly. He brushed her off. "I'm not in the mood for this."
"Dan, you're overreacting."
He stood up and paced, wringing his hands, mumbling, "I can't believe this is happening to me."
Now Melissa got irked. "You're being an ass. Stuff like this happens all the time."
"Well, maybe so," Dan said, grabbing his coat, "but I thought you'd be around for a while---at least more than three months!"
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know. Outside. I've got to get some fresh air."
Dan grabbed the doorknob and threw open the door. Without looking back, he slammed it behind him.
4
She was right. He wasn't just being an ass, but an asshole. This occurred to him about ten minutes into his walk. Sighing, he turned around to head back. He wondered if she would still be there.
As he turned, he only had a moment to see the blur heading toward him before he was knocked to the ground. His head struck the concrete like a dropped gourd. Everything flashed white for a second before dissolving away to mere sparkles, stars in the night of his mind. One of his teeth broke off at the gum line and as the cold air hit the exposed nerve it sent a wave of nauseous pain through him.
Before he could collect himself a fist connected with one eye, puffing it closed. His brain tried to tell him he was being mugged, but its signals were getting crossed from the trauma. Instinct told him to roll as the next blow missiled toward him. The attacker's hand punched cement as Dan struggled to his feet. He vaguely heard a grunt of pain, but the next sound was very clear: the click of a switchblade emerging from its sheath.
He shook his head, and the cold air helped in restoring some semblance of order to Dan. Reflexively, he flicked his tongue over his cut tooth and felt the slick blood on his lips. Another shot of pain bolted through him.
Dan tried to find his assailant. He crouched low, arms spread out in an arc in front of him, fingers outstretched. He looked like a basketball player on the defensive. Spinning around made him dizzy, but the need to survive was stronger.
He couldn't see anyone. Time seemed frozen, the street a pall of quiet. The thudding behind his temples told him this wasn't a dream, however.
Suddenly, his one good eye saw a glint of light on metal as the blade thrust at him. He dodged aside, sucking in his gut. For the first time Dan saw his attacker. He was a medium-sized man cloaked in a hooded sweatshirt and wearing jeans. He held his knife awkwardly, too far from his body, as though he was unaccustomed to it. Now that Dan's senses were returning to him, he was able to forecast the man's moves, avoiding the knife slicing through the air. But he was still sluggish, and once the blade cut across the knuckles on his left hand. Droplets of blood fell in the darkness. It only angered Dan.
"C'mon! Try it again, motherfucker!" he taunted.
The man seemed surprised by his dare, hesitating for an instant. Then his face twisted into a grimace and he thrust out angrily. More luck than anything, Dan swung an arm out and blocked the stab. Their wrists smacked together like jousting poles. The knife fell out of the man's hand and landed on a runoff drain in the street, rotating like a spinner on a game board before slipping through the grate and into the sewer.
Both men stared after it for a brief interval, taking in what had just happened. Then Dan turned slowly and faced his antagonist. He was bigger than the man was, and younger. Dan had a mad grin on his face. Smeared blood covered his mouth and nose. When he spoke, red spittle sprayed in a mist.
"Try it now, asshole," Dan said, fists clenched.
The man's eyes were wide. For a split second they darted to the side, betraying an urge to flee. Dan lunged forward during his attacker's indecision. Dan grabbed hold of his arm and swung him around, slamming him into a thick tree trunk. His cheekbone cracked like a plate.
The man yowled in pain, holding his swelling cheek. He turned to Dan and saw a heated fire in his eyes. Weaponless, he fled from the scene.
Dan staggered a few steps to follow, and then his head swam. During the fight he ran on adrenaline alone. Now that the threat was gone, his nerves reminded him of the damage done. His mouth and eye throbbed. He felt so lightheaded he feared his head would simply detach itself from his shoulders and float away. He hobbled over to the tree and slumped against it, sliding down, not mindful of the bark as it scratched and tore at his back. He drew his knees in and clasped them tight against his body.
5
Dan woke with a start. How long have I been here? He pawed for his watch. Only a few minutes.
He didn't remember falling asleep. More likely, he passed out. A sudden fear gripped him and he looked hurriedly around for his mugger. He didn't see anyone, and felt for his wallet. Still there.
He had to get back. He tottered to his feet and took a few tentative steps. Dizzy, but thought he would make it. He felt his mouth. The blood was beginning to dry, turning sticky. Thankful he was still alive, he embarked on the journey home.
I can't believe I was mugged, he thought. This is usually such a safe neighborhood. Then a cold icicle stabbed his belly. Waitaminnit! That guy never demanded money from me! I still have my watch... All he did was attack. What if---?
Suddenly the need to get back was very strong. Despite his dizziness, Dan picked up the pace to a brisk walk, then a jog, and finally an all-out sprint.
1
The day after Dan came into his office, Cameron sent two men to Reverend Stone's church. He thought Dan's story too involved and bizarre, but he would have neglected his duty if he did nothing.
When the detectives returned they had nothing out of the ordinary to report. In fact, Stone's politeness and courtesy struck them both. He appeared saddened by Janet's death, saying he had lost a faithful and vital member of his congregation. Outside of the church he claimed he knew nothing of her life. He called Dan's accusations the "rantings of a delirious and jealous boyfriend."
Cameron had seen promos on channel 4 for a series called "New Religions" beginning Sunday night at eleven. From what the ads showed, Reverend Stone looked to be featured prominently. Cameron decided he would make a point to watch the special reports.
He also decided to put in motion the paperwork that would allow him access to search the back of Stone's church. Being a religious organization, there would be many legal hurdles to clear before a warrant could be issued. He didn't even know if he would pursue it that far, but he wanted to get started because of the time involved.
But that idea got sidetracked when Mrs. Hardy appeared at his door, nervous and huddled over, clutching her purse.
2
That was two days ago. He had started down a new path since then, and things were slowly coming together.
When he returned from the bathroom after passing several cups of coffee he found a fresh fax in his incoming tray. He snatched up the flimsy paper and glanced over the copy quickly.
The note was short, to the point. It read:

From the Office of Dr. David Phillips, Psychiatrist:


Dear Sergeant Cameron:


I'm sorry I was out of the office when you called. I'm faxing you some information I hope will prove helpful.


In regard to your inquiry about my patient Dan Freeman, please understand that what we discussed in our sessions is private. To talk about them with you would be a breach of doctor/patient privilege. However, there are certain things on record that would not betray my trust if I shared them with you.


Mr. Freeman was sent to my office through his health plan at his place of employment. His insurance covered it, and after some initial reservations on his part, I saw him regularly over a period of two months.


His visits were caused by a traumatic experience he suffered while on the job. Mr. Freeman was shooting tape at a train accident when he came upon a scene of great violence. It was overwhelming to him. He was haunted by nightmares for a time until we worked through them together.


Our last appointment was dated March 12th. I haven't been in contact with him since, but I am confident he has learned to live with the ordeal he experienced in December of last year.


If you wish to talk more, I will of course cooperate to the best of my abilities. You can reach me by the number at the bottom of the page.


Sincerely,


Dr. David Phillips, Psychiatrist


555-2579

Cameron folded over the paper, looking off, speculating...
In therapy, huh? How severe was this "ordeal"? Could something have occurred to make him crack again?
3
Dan nursed a Diet Coke in the break room. The dentist had capped his tooth and drinking the cold beverage caused some discomfort, but thirst was thirst. He stared at a list of job openings offered by other stations in the same broadcast group, wondering if it was time for him to move on.
"There you are!"
He looked up as Melissa entered, looking a bit harried.
"I've been looking all over for you," she said in an almost whisper.
"What's up?" he asked as she walked toward him. She had really been supportive the last few days. When he stumbled back to his apartment after his beating, she was still there, sitting on the couch in the dark with her arms folded across her chest. As soon as she saw how hurt he was, she applied cold towels to his face and took him to the emergency room. She took time off from work to drive him to the dentist even though he was capable of doing it himself. He supposed she didn't want to be by herself. After his attack, neither did he.
She looked very concerned. "Laura told me the police called earlier, and wanted to talk with her. From what I could gather, I think they're starting to investigate you."
Dan's throat suddenly felt dry and constricted. He took a large gulp of pop, but it didn't help. "Shit..."
"What are you going to do?"
"Mel, one thing's for sure. They're going to want to talk to you soon."
"Me? What should I say? What should I do?"
"Just tell the truth. Only say what you know. Don't speculate. The less you're involved with this the better."
She bent down and hugged him from behind, full of questions. She was involved, and wasn't going to let him stand alone on the thin twig they were balancing precipitously on, threatening to snap.
"I'm scared," she said. "Are you?"
More than you know, he thought, but only reached back and patted her hand.
4
Stone tried to remain as calm and polite as possible.
"Am I to understand that you won't let me view the footage?"
"That's correct," said Laura.
"I don't see why not."
"You have to see it from our perspective. If we allowed every special interest group to screen our content before it aired, our coverage would become very compromised. I'm sorry, Reverend Stone, but it's a policy you'll find at every station in the country."
"But surely I'm not some politician trying to---"
Laura interrupted him, trying not to lose her patience. "If we bend the rules for you, we'll have to start bending them for everybody---a precedent will have been set."
Stone grit his teeth, absently twirling his crystal between his fingers. "I see."
"Once again, I apologize," Laura said.
"Don't apologize. I understand. Thank you for your time."
He hung up, fuming. He wanted to know what was in that piece. He knew he didn't say anything damning himself, but he was afraid of what Janet had told that photographer friend of hers.
You've no idea how dangerous he can be...forget you ever met him, for her sake as well as yours. Don't let her go back there.
Would some of that negativity show up in the report? He now realized it was a big mistake to allow any interview at all, but his ego had gotten the better of him in a moment of weakness brought on by an attractive girl. And what of some of the things Dan Freeman had said?
She's not satisfied with what she knows. She plans to keep coming back again and again as long as it takes for her to get some answers...You didn't teach her about the bodies brought in the back...I'm sure the police would be very interested to hear about the late night activities Stone's conducting over there.
The police had shown up. He was able to dismiss them with his charm, a self-preservation trait he had learned over time, but it still caused him some concern.
The bungled attempt on Dan's life didn't help matters. Since that fiasco, he reeled his people in a bit, regrouping, mapping out a new strategy.
Melissa and I know that there are things going on there...
How did he and that bitch reporter know so much? Would they expose him on TV?
Those questions gnawed at Stone like worms fattening themselves on the buried dead.
5
There was a knock at his door. Dan clicked off the TV and stood up, arching his back.
"Just a second!" he called out.
Quickly, he straightened up some magazines on his coffee table and closed the cardboard lid of his Chinese takeout. The room now presentable in a bachelor sort of way, Dan opened the door.
Sergeant Miles Cameron stood on the other side.
Dan gulped and said, "Come in."
Cameron thanked him and entered, glancing around the room. Dan saw him doing this and was glad he threw out all his horror memorabilia when he did. It would have made him uncomfortable to have the sergeant see all his ghoulish friends on the walls and bookshelves of his apartment.
"Did you see Stalker?"
For an instant Dan's legs felt like Jell-O. He thought Cameron knew all about his stalking activities. Afraid to speak, fearing his voice might quiver, he only nodded.
"So did I. My boy Ronny begged me to take him. He's only twelve, and I didn't think it was the most appropriate entertainment for him, but he said all his friends at school had seen it. Sometimes a father has moments of weakness. Do you have any children?"
Dan shook his head.
"I didn't think so. Just asking." Cameron made his way over to the poster, staring at its lustred finish. "I figured nowadays with DVDs and the Internet that he'd see it one way or another, so he might as well see it with his pop. It would give us something to talk about, and with a twelve-year-old boy, that's rare."
He spun around so suddenly Dan took a jerking step back. "A big mistake. Nothing redeemable about it whatsoever." He swallowed. "Of course my boy loved it."
Dan's Adam's apple clicked in his throat. He knew what was coming next.
"What did you think of it? This poster suggests to me you're a fan."
"I'm more a fan of the director. Stalker is good, but Phobia was better," Dan said, lying. That made him nervous, but he just didn't feel safe telling Cameron the truth about how he thought it was one of the scariest movies ever made. "But I think the art is eye catching."
Cameron frowned. "If you like that sort of thing, I suppose..."
Eager to change the subject, Dan offered Cameron a seat. "Could I get you something to drink?"
Cameron sat in an easy chair, taking off his overcoat and laying it across the arm. "No. I'm fine, thanks."
Dan stood in the middle of the room, rubbing his hands together. It was awkward. He wasn't sure what he should do next. Finally, he sat on the couch, his mind buzzing.
"I suppose you're wondering why I came over," Cameron inquired.
"Some kind of follow-up, I guess," he said, trying to sound naïve.
"That, and some other things," Cameron said, taking out a notepad. "Don't worry, though. This is routine in murder investigations."
Dan nodded his understanding. "Don't worry." Ha! Was he kidding?
Cameron went through a list of standard questions, like how long did Dan know Janet? How long did he date her? Why did they break up? Most of them were already asked when he went to the police. He thought some of it was a little too personal. But then:
"I talked to your boss, Laura Danvers, today."
"Why?"
"Just getting some background information," Cameron said calmly. "She told me that you had a hard time a while back. Care to tell me about it?"
The question made him fidgety, and he thought about contacting a lawyer, but he wanted to get this over with.
"There was a train wreck last December that I covered. It was awful. Blood everywhere."
"I remember that," Cameron said.
"I came upon it by accident. I don't know if it was because I wasn't in the frame of mind for work, or because it was so unexpected, or what, but it really bothered me."
"And you went into therapy too, didn't you?"
Dan was angry. "I really don't see the point of these questions. Yes, I did see a shrink. His name is Dr. David Phillips. Talk to him if you want to, but let's get back on track with something of use. What have you done to find the man who tried to kill me?"
"Ah," Cameron mused, shifting his weight, uncrossing one leg and crossing the other. "The supposed attacker."
"Look at what that bastard did to me!" Dan yelled, pointing at his face.
Cameron waved a hand. "Oh, I've no doubt that what you say is true. I question how you interpret it."
"God dammit, we've been through this before. Why didn't he want my money or my watch?"
"Perhaps he meant to take it after you were unconscious."
"Bullshit."
"Okay, then. Why would Reverend Stone send someone to take you out?"
"Maybe Melissa and I got too close to something and they want to threaten us to pull the reports."
"Have either of you gotten calls regarding that?"
"No," Dan answered quietly.
"So again you're making huge leaps in logic, jumping to conclusions."
"What makes you say that?"
"You're a creative man, Mr. Freeman. You need that to shoot your stories. I think you're drawing upon that to explain away the things that have happened to you."
"Do you have a better explanation?"
"I'm more interested to hear about the fight you had with Ms. Evans the afternoon she died. I also understand that a few months ago you came storming over there, pounding hard enough to bring the door down, demanding that she speak with you. This last time you actually threatened to smash it in."
Dan's eyes burned like two hot points into Cameron. He was so furious with the man that he wasn't very concerned about Mrs. Hardy going to the police. She had to be the one. He remembered she cracked her door open both times. The first time he even borrowed a pen and notepaper from her. He tried to think of what to say. Cameron seemed intent on accusing him. Not wanting to break down in front of the sergeant and babble in what he saw as false-truths, Dan focused his rage and continued staring. He didn't know what else to do.
The phone rang. After three rings, Cameron asked, "Aren't you going to answer that?"
Dan broke his glare and went over to the phone. As he walked over, Cameron reflected on what had transpired to this point. Freeman obviously had a temper. He didn't at all enjoy the sensation creeping down his spine when Dan stared at him. He wondered if Dan had a history of schizophrenia or delusions. The man seemed capable of making up all kinds of wild stories and believing them. He jotted notes to that affect next to Dr. Phillips's name.
Dan answered the phone with a gruff hello.
"Dan. I'm glad you're home." Melissa was on the other end. She sounded frightened.
"Melissa? Is something wrong?"
Cameron perked up. He went through the theatrics of ruffling through his notes, but he was really eavesdropping on their conversation.
"I feel stupid calling..."
"It's okay. Don't worry about it." He threw a concerned glance toward Cameron. "What's up?"
Melissa stood in the darkness of her apartment, parting the curtains delicately and looking out into the street. She had shut the lights off a few minutes ago.
"It's probably nothing, but I'm a little scared over some calls I've been getting tonight."
"What kind of calls?" Dan asked.
"Hang up calls. My machine picks them up, but nobody leaves a message. I've got the feeling someone's trying to see if I'm home. I've had four so far. They keep coming at regular intervals, like someone's doing it on a schedule."
"Stay there. I'll be right over." Dan cupped a hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to Cameron. "That is, if I'm excused."
"Is that Melissa Van Dyke?" Cameron asked.
"Yes."
"May I speak with her for a moment?"
Dan hesitated for a second, until he could hear Melissa's tinny voice asking if he was still there. He raised the phone back to his mouth. "Hold on a second, honey. There's someone here who wants to talk to you."
Melissa kept her vigilance, perplexed, wondering who was at Dan's. The longer she stayed on the line the more anxious she felt. She didn't want the caller to call back and get a busy signal. That would show she was home, and what that meant to him she didn't want to think about.
"Ms. Van Dyke?" a voice asked.
"Yes?"
"My name's Miles Cameron. I'm a sergeant on the police force. I'm investigating the homicide of Janet Evans."
"I know who you are," Melissa said, trying not to reveal any emotion in her voice.
"I was wondering if I'd be able to ask you some questions. I understand you met her while you were working on your series that's going to premiere this weekend."
"That's right," she said, her mouth dry. This prospect scared her more than the thought of someone in the shadows watching her from across the street. "When do you want to see me?"
"Anytime tomorrow, whenever it's convenient for you."
"Tomorrow's Saturday. It's the only day off I get this week since I have to be on the set Sunday night to introduce my piece. Can we make it Monday, or is it urgent?"
Cameron narrowed his eyes to slits and gazed thoughtfully at Dan. This wasn't a closed case yet.
"I think it can wait until then. I'm looking forward to meeting you. I'm a big fan. Enjoy your day off."
He handed the phone back to Dan. Dan took it and said a quick goodbye to Melissa. Then he turned to Cameron.
"How can you have the gall to tell her to enjoy her day off? She's scared out of her wits! Some creep's been calling her all night. She thinks it's one of Stone's people trying to find out if she's home."
"Have her contact the police if it keeps up."
"Look," Dan exploded, "I don't care if you believe me. Arrest me right now if you want, but make sure that girl has protection. If they came after me, they're likely to try for her too. And so help me, if something happens to her, I'll have your head!"
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Cameron said, smiling condescendingly. "You'd better get going. I've taken enough of your time."
Dan balled his hands into fists. It was all he could do to control his anger. Cameron had treated him like a child. No---more like the boy who cried wolf. He felt that the officer didn't believe a word he said, and he knew he was being scrutinized during their whole conversation. He realized that he could have come across better, but it was too late for that now. He showed Cameron the door.
A few minutes later he left for Melissa's, hoping he wasn't too late.
1
Dan arrived at Melissa's and the two of them sat in the dark. They didn't think they were being watched, otherwise Stone's people would have had the perfect chance to make some kind of move when Dan showed up. Still, they didn't dare turn on the TV for fear of someone seeing the blue glow from outside.
The calls kept coming every fifteen minutes until they finally stopped around 2 a.m. Dan asked how Stone might have gotten her number.
"They had me fill out some forms when I applied for membership, but I never put down my real number. But it still wouldn't be too hard for him to get it. He's got people from all walks of life in his group. One of them would have access to city directories."
The first call woke them sharply at eight the next morning. They had fallen asleep on her living room floor. Once again the machine picked up, only to record a hang up. By the time the second call came fifteen minutes later, Dan proclaimed enough was enough and pulled the phone cord out of the wall. He moved Melissa out of her apartment and into a Holiday Inn a few miles away.
2
Stone knew something was wrong when Bill Cambridge called and informed him that he wasn't getting the answering machine anymore---the phone only rang on and on. He had Cambridge stop calling Melissa's apartment soon after. That thrilled Cambridge because he was sick of driving to a different pay phone each time, even though he had a cellular phone, for fear of phone taps. He didn't know he had nothing to worry about since Dan didn't follow through on Cameron's suggestion to contact the police should the calls continue.
Stone pounded his fist on his desk in anger. Someone had been there to disconnect the answering machine, but where were they now? His plans were fouling up, and he felt more and more desperate: afraid of what that bitch Van Dyke might say on the air.
Although now he could only speculate and guess, one thing was sure: he had a date with his television set come Sunday night at 11 p.m.
3
Saturday concluded without incident.
Melissa stayed holed up in her room at the motel with Dan, not wanting to go outside lest she be recognized. They spent most of the time watching HBO and playing gin rummy. She tried to avoid the topic of Stone altogether. She resented him for driving her from her home. The longer she remained in the cramped space the angrier she became.
Of course it was impossible to avoid the topic completely, but each time it came up they reached the same conclusion: they really had no next move.
Stone, on the other hand, spent the remainder of the day planning all of his next moves.
Sunday, it all came to a head.
4
Melissa prepped in the newsroom, getting ready to go on the air. Dan stood by her side.
"What are you going to say?" he asked.
"I suppose I won't really know until the red light comes on."
Dan took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Don't say anything stupid."
She squeezed him back, smiled, and walked off to the set, nervous and sweaty.
Dan plopped down in a chair, amused to find that the desk he had gravitated to was Jerry's old one. In a way, it made sense. Time and again he came to Jerry when he had a problem.
This was the second time in recent days he had thought of Jerry. Just before he left to go to Melissa's apartment after his interrogation by Cameron, for some reason his gaze was drawn to the paperweight he had lifted from Jerry's desktop. It was hidden away on a shelf, barely in view, something he forgot he even had. As he stared at the church buried in snow, he felt comforted, but also sorrowful.
He wished Jerry were around to help him out.
5
Earlier in the day Jerry huddled under a blanket on the couch, grading papers. Occasionally he peered over a dull article to look out the window and watch the random flakes of snow drifting down.
He was reading the work of one of his more promising students when the phone rang. Irritated at being interrupted during the only good paper he had read all day, he tossed the blanket off and shuffled to the phone in his slippers.
"Hello?"
"Is this Jerry Stevens?"
The man's tone sounded serious. It was not a student as he had expected. A bit cautiously, he confirmed that he was.
"This is Sergeant Miles Cameron. I'm calling regarding a friend of yours: Dan Freeman."
They talked for the next fifteen minutes.
When Cameron hung up the phone a gratifying smile formed on his lips. Jerry Stevens had provided some interesting new information.
6
"In part two of my series we'll look deeper into some of the New Age practices, including some interesting revelations from Reverend Stone as my interview with him continues."
"That bitch!"
Kim didn't see what Stone was so paranoid about.
They were lying naked in his bed, the lights out except for the cool glow from the television. It was hard to see his face, but she could guess what it might look like: twisted and furrowed. When he finally did turn toward her, the dark cerulean splash from the TV filled his contours with a foreboding countenance.
"That cunt is history," he said under his breath.
Unknowingly, Kim crossed her legs and shrank her sex away from him. When he was mad she was afraid of him. He could be rough when he was mad. And violent.
She chose not to say anything.
7
Dan came up and gave Melissa a quick hug.
"You did a really good job. I'm proud of you," he whispered in her ear. He wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but this being the workplace, he didn't think that was a good idea.
"I held back, you know. Everyone's walking around saying what a great segment it was, and they don't know the half of it," Melissa said, looking around the newsroom, almost despairing. "If only they could have..."
"But you didn't. And it was the smart thing to do. No one would've believed you anyway without solid proof."
"Probably not, but maybe another Janet wouldn't have to die."
Dan held her close. "I have a feeling Janet knew what she was getting into. All Stone's people do."
"Soon I'm gonna nail that bastard," she said grimly.
Dan became concerned. For Melissa, this was becoming a crusade. He loved her for what she was doing, but he wanted to protect her from it. He knew he never could fully. She was too independent, too strong, like Sigourney Weaver in Aliens. Whatever he said, she would strike out on her own if she felt it was right. Now, he thought she needed rest.
"Let's go back to the motel," he suggested.
"That sounds great," she said. "I'm craving sleep."
They got their coats and headed toward the door. On the set, the meteorologist was describing a cold front coming in from Canada. In Michigan, record snowfall amounts had occurred. They ducked out of the station without anyone seeing them.
Melissa sharply inhaled air so cold it hurt.
"Did you see that?" she whispered.
"See what?"
Melissa squinted her eyes to mere slits. "I thought I saw someone watching us in that car." She pointed to a maroon Cadillac. "When I looked over, he ducked down in the seat."
Dan looked, but saw nothing.
"Are you sure?"
Melissa took a good hard look before answering. She didn't want to sound paranoid. Behind the windshield there were only two bucket seats. With the headrest, they looked like the shape of a person with wide shoulders. She supposed she could have been fooled. Still...
"It looked like it. Now I'm not so sure."
Dan gave her the keys to his car. "I'll go check it out. If something happens, get in the car, lock the doors, and drive away as fast as you can."
8
Stone reached over Kim and grabbed the phone from a bedside table. He didn't excuse himself, or ask her to hand it to him---it was as though she wasn't there. The cord draped across her breasts. She wriggled out from beneath it. In his mood, she didn't like being pinned by it. He was pissed. He pounded in Cambridge's cell phone number.
As the phone rang, he finally acknowledged Kim. She wasn't sure whether she liked that or not.
"You saw what she said about me. How could she get away with that?"
Kim shrugged her shoulders and wished that Bill would get off his butt and answer the damn phone. There was no answering Stone's question, because she thought Melissa's piece was harmless.
"She hinted at things," Stone continued, and Kim felt relieved when she realized his statement was rhetorical. He just liked to listen to the sound of his own voice, she concluded. "She didn't come right out and say anything, but she will. Oh, yes..."
Kim thought it best to just nod. It was because of her that Melissa first entered the hallowed halls of Reverend Stone's cathedral. Every time she went back there, she felt the eyes of the others on her back. She sometimes wondered if she would share Janet's fate. If things got fucked up enough, Kim knew she probably would. Seeing Melissa die would give her no remorse.
Bill answered his phone finally. Stone barked out the order.
"Kill them. Tonight."
It was as easy as that.
With the word out, Stone rolled over Kim and slammed down the phone. As he hovered over, she looked into his eyes. He breathed out his hot breath on her cheek. "It is done," he said, kicking her legs apart and descending upon her.
She screamed. She saw madness in his eyes.
9
Mel grabbed his arm.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm just going to circle around and look in the windows. If someone's hunched over, I'll see 'em."
"And then what are you going to do? What if they've got a knife or a gun?" She looked at his face and the still healing wounds. "Remember what happened to you before."
He rubbed his knuckles where the skin had been split open. There was no worrying that he would forget.
"Go to the car," he said sternly, and took a few tentative steps toward the Cadillac.
She watched him move cautiously, but made no movements of her own. The idea of retreating to the car while he faced possible danger out here alone was repugnant to her.
He looked over his shoulder and saw her still standing there. "Go to the car. Now," he repeated.
"No."
"What?"
"Look, Dan, I'm not going to stand aside while you perform some sort of macho bullshit. We're in this together."
"Melissa, this is stupid---"
"---Yes it is. And the longer we stand here arguing, if someone is in that car, gives them that much longer to do something. Let's just go."
She put on a brave front, but he could see the fear in her eyes and hear the slight quivering in her voice. Debating, he thought that maybe right now survival was the best thing. If something did happen to him, he didn't want to think about what might happen to her.
"Okay. Let's go."
They walked briskly to Dan's car, got in and locked the doors behind them. The whole time Dan kept one eye on the car, expecting it to fire up its engines and barrel toward them, squealing tires on the asphalt. While Dan turned the key Melissa feared that Dan's car would be out of gas or something equally stupid. But it started on the first try. There would be no comfort until they were safely back at the motel, tucked in bed. Even then, sleep would be a long way off.
They pulled out and left the station behind them.
10
Bill Cambridge popped up from his hiding place. He could hear their muted argument, and when the cell phone started ringing his heart almost stopped. He thought they'd hear it for sure, but he was too afraid of moving to answer it at first. It was the maddening ringing that finally got to him. They must not have heard it though, he concluded to his relief, because they left rather than investigate his car.
After allowing for sufficient time to pass, Cambridge fired up his own vehicle and followed them out.
11
They drove silently, wondering how much longer they could keep this up. Their lives were changed completely. Tension flavored everything they did. They were both tired of it.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you back there," Melissa said. "I just didn't want anything to happen to you."
"When we were arguing," Dan said, "that wasn't us. This whole thing has turned us into different people."
"I want things back the way they were," she said. Once her eyes held a certain spark, but that was snuffed out long ago. It made Dan sad, and he had no comforting answer.
The dashed lane markers blurred silently by for the next few minutes, Dan paying attention to the art of driving. Several times he checked his mirrors. Melissa noticed the worried crease forming on his brow.
"Dan, what's wrong?"
"I'm not sure, but I think someone might be following us."
Melissa felt a cold hand grab her heart. "Is it the car from the station?"
"I can't tell. It's dark out. Let me try something and see if he passes us."
Dan stepped on the brake, slowing the car slightly. They were on the highway, and instead of cruising at the posted 55 m.p.h., they had now dropped to 45 m.p.h. Several cars buzzed past, one man giving Dan a dirty look as he screamed by.
"Did he pass us?" Melissa asked.
"No," Dan said, frowning.
Melissa turned around in the seat. "Which one is it?"
"Don't do that!" Dan admonished. Melissa spun back, facing forward, almost immediately---not because she obeyed his order, but because she was so startled by his command. "I don't want to let on that we know he's there."
Melissa, a bit irritated, said, "Why don't you speed up then? Your tactic's a bit obvious."
Dan knew she was still frustrated from before, and also scared. He didn't take the barb personally, although he did step on the gas.
"Maybe you're right," he admitted. Soon the car was back up to sixty.
"What do we do now?"
"I don't want to go to the motel just yet. If someone is following us, I don't want to give away our hiding place."
"Let's drive to police headquarters and ask to talk to Cameron."
"Let's see if they follow us to my place first. We're close, and it's off the beaten path enough to prove if that car really is tailing us." He looked Mel in the eye. "I'd hate to go to him if all this is just coincidence."
"Okay," Melissa nodded. "I'll buy that."
12
Bill Cambridge checked his glove compartment for the fifth time. Inside, the gleaming steel of the gun confirmed that it hadn't gone anywhere since he last checked it two minutes ago.
His plan was simple, direct. As soon as they got out of the car he would walk up behind them and fire two bullets each into the back of their skulls, execution style. The range guarantied success, unlike his fiasco with the knife the other night. And if the situation demanded it, he was prepared to give the barrel a blowjob and fire a slug through the roof of his mouth, scattering his own brain. Reverend Stone demanded perfection, and he would not let him down.
13
Dan got off at his exit and wound through the twisting streets to his apartment. The other car followed at every turn.
14
Cambridge knew where Dan lived from his stakeouts. This time when he opened the glove compartment he took the gun out. It felt heavy in his palm. He welcomed the weight. It made him feel strong, assured.
They were only a few blocks away now.
Soon...very soon...
15
His building was in sight.
"He's still behind us," Dan said dryly, as if narrating a documentary.
This time Melissa did turn around. Dan frowned at her, but said nothing. Like Dan, she couldn't make out the car. All she could see was the glare of headlights.
"What now?" she asked.
"I'm going to pull into the driveway and see if that asshole has the guts to pull in behind me. I want to know what Stone wants from us."
"Please, Dan. Don't force a confrontation. Can't we go to Cameron instead?"
16
If they had reached police headquarters, it wouldn't have done them a bit of good. It was a Sunday night, late, with only a skeleton crew on shift. Cameron wasn't there, nor could he be reached.
Ever since he hung up the phone after speaking with Jerry Stevens he was a busy man. He had a long and private conversation with the District Attorney concerning his suspicions about Dan. He wanted the cooperation of the D.A.'s office and the bench before he made his move. His plan was to have Dan Freeman in custody before midnight.
17
Bill Cambridge pictured how pleased and proud Stone would be from their easy deaths. He loved imagining the surprise on their faces when he came up. They would begin to say something to him, shaking an angry finger in his face, and then he would produce the gun and pull the trigger. Dan would fall over in a bloody heap before he knew what happened to him. Before he killed the girl he would perhaps splash some blood on her so she would feel some of what she gave up. He envisioned her coming to a great understanding, begging to be spared, feeling a great strength. That was when he would place the gun against her temple and fire.
It would be a final mockery for one who dared to defy Reverend Stone and all the good he stood for. His calling was to gather the chosen and share with them the secrets of power, of life. If the police came before Cambridge could get away, he would kill himself rather than be taken. To die for such a man as Reverend Stone would make him a martyr. Either way Reverend Stone would embrace him, and it would all be so wonderful...
But suddenly his dream burst. Some oncoming headlights revealed the darkened red and blue bubbles of a police car parked on the side of the road. The law was already here! He'd never have a chance to carry it through now.
He felt as though all the opposing forces in the universe had ganged up against him. Reverend Stone had sometimes spoke of such things happening, but to Cambridge Reverend Stone meant only goodness, and he found it hard to accept the evil he talked about. He felt it was a test of his faith, but suddenly the gun didn't feel as heavy in his hand. He grasped his crystal, but only felt cold rock. Like Peter centuries ago in the garden, he denied his calling, and in anguish turned sharply down a side street.
He bawled like a child as he sped off.
18
"There he goes!" Dan exclaimed, surprised. "He just turned off."
Mel craned her neck to the side to try and catch a glimpse of the car before it was out of sight. As she did, she saw the same police car sitting in the dark that Cambridge had. The idea of talking with Cameron came back to her. She suggested it again.
"We'll call him," Dan agreed, "but for now let's leave out anything about Stone being a killer and concentrate on the harassing calls you were getting. Cameron will probably talk to us about those, and might even provide you with some protection, at least for tonight."
Melissa felt relief that Dan was finally talking to Cameron. Since they were at Dan's apartment, she suggested they call him from there. He pulled into the parking lot, shut off the engine, and the two of them got out.
19
Cameron picked up his radio and issued the order: "There they go. Let's move."
Cameron opened his door and stepped out, followed by the pair of officers in the other car he brought with him. Part of Cameron wished he had more than just the three of them to bring Dan in. Of course, if he had, he might be accused of overkill in bringing in the suspect. No doubt Melissa Van Dyke would use her influence on TV to accuse the police department of unnecessary bullying, and perhaps he might catch some flack. But that wasn't an issue now. A lack of manpower dictated the number on hand, thanks to a failed city levy.
He was dealing with a psychotic serial killer, and who could say what Dan might try? He was thankful just to have the other two men, but they were meager reassurances.
20
Reverend Jim Stone flew into a rage. When Cambridge returned to him with the news of his failure, Reverend Stone's eyes burned red, his lips pulling back to reveal pointed, elongated teeth. The cords on his neck bulged and he shrieked a guttural wail that resounded in the rafters high above, echoing horribly throughout the hall. Cambridge watched in horror as his mentor continued his awful metamorphosis: his hands and feet turned into razor-sharp talons, shredding his clothes; his arms stretched outward, wings sprouting from his back; his mouth became a snapping beak. He transformed into a harpy-like creature before Cambridge's stunned eyes.
Without warning, the monster took flight, swooping gracefully toward its prey, bearing in. Cambridge tried to run, but couldn't. The piercing din of the unholy squawks transfixed him. He shut his eyes and put his hands over his ears, trying to blot it out.
Cambridge cried in pain and fear as the talons tore into his back. He was knocked over, twisting as he fell. He landed on his back. He tried to get up, but the thing was on him in an instant. Its claws dug into his belly for purchase. Its weight was enormous. Cambridge couldn't breathe, his chest constricted.
Gleefully, the creature looked Cambridge in the eye before darting its beak down and gouging out part of his throat. Warm blood gushed forth, soaking both Cambridge and the bird. The creature shook the meat in its beak in front of Cambridge's face, as if taunting him, before stretching its neck up and gulping the muscle down its gullet like a pelican.
Before it took another bite it looked down at Cambridge and in Stone's voice clearly said, "You should have known better. You fucked up. I can't accept that." Then it lashed out, ripping out another bite. And another. And another. It laughed gutturally. Throughout it all, much as he tried, Cambridge couldn't die...
Cambridge started upright as a car honked at him. He swerved the wheel to avoid a collision. He was awake, but he was so involved in his fantasy that he'd drifted off.
Facing Reverend Stone was all he could think of since he turned off. The man would be furious. He was fanatical about obedience, and couldn't accept failure. Cambridge remembered what happened to Janet. He didn't want to be made the next example. Before, he was willing to die if need be. Why did he suddenly back off? The answer was easy: his fear of the police. It was easier to be bold and courageous about them if they weren't actually there. However, his fear of Stone was greater.
With a grimace, Cambridge pulled into a nearby driveway, backed out, and pointed the car back in the direction of Dan's apartment.
21
Kim lay curled in a heap, crying, thankful it was over. Her breath came between racked sobs. Her legs were pulled in tight against her body, like a fetus in a womb. Each time she moved or shifted her position her groin ached in protest. Her labia were bruised, and tomorrow would be purple with blotches. He had been far rougher than when he took her the night Janet was killed. It was as if he had forgotten there was a living person beneath him.
Stone himself wasn't mindful of the shifts in the waterbed as she moved---he just rode each wave staring ahead, thinking. In his mind he saw all his current troubles ending.
This wouldn't be like California. There things had gotten out of hand. He was still new to the game, still learning things along with his followers. If he hadn't been so green, he believed he could have kept on in the Golden State.
The girl had escaped while his back was turned. He still couldn't fathom how she shook off the effects of the drug, but she ran naked into the night like a cheetah. Thankfully, she had been rendered mute by an earlier slash across her vocal cords and couldn't remember much from her induced state---only vague impressions that terrified her. He felt that the police would come by with questions sooner or later, so he decided to pull up the stakes and move on before they could. He had killed close to ten people before he left.
He was approaching that number again now. There were others the police had no idea about. A grin formed on his thin lips. Soon it would be over. Soon he could get on with the act of salvaging believers.
He looked over at Kim, admiring the curve of her back and the round swell of her hips. His penis began to stir. He felt she needed more enlightenment.
Kim jumped when he placed his hand on her back. With trepidation she rolled over to face him. She was still shaking and sore. She didn't dare look at his face, afraid of what his eyes might reveal.
He put a hand behind her head and firmly guided it down to his waiting erection. She gagged as she fellated him, the muscles in her throat protesting, but he maintained the pressure, not letting her up. She tried to caress his thighs and buttocks lovingly, but couldn't, her hands were shaking so badly. A single tear ran down her cheek, but it wasn't a tear of pain. It was one of joy. She was his chosen one.
22
Dan inserted the key in his door, but that was as far as he got.
"Mr. Freeman?" a deep voice inquired.
Melissa clutched his arm tightly as he whirled to see who had called. She relaxed the pressure somewhat when she saw it was Sergeant Cameron, but she felt Dan's bicep tighten. The sight of the officer didn't put him at ease, especially when the two others rounded the corner behind him.
"Would you mind taking your hand away from the door?" Cameron said firmly.
Dan didn't move for a moment, dumbfounded by his command. Then, slowly, he let his arm slip down by his side where it rested against his thigh.
"What's this about?" Melissa asked, her voice rising in a growing understanding and panic. Once again she clutched his arm in a vice-like grip.
"Please step away, miss," Cameron said, approaching Dan. "This doesn't involve you."
Melissa looked up at Dan, her eyes questioning.
"Do what he says," he said softly. "I don't want you to get hurt."
Feeling detached, like she was watching herself move through a dream, she took a tentative step away, but she maintained contact with his arm. Dan reached up, gave her hand a squeeze, and removed it. Her arm was still outstretched as she backed away, not wanting to let go, her fingers like tendrils hanging in space. One of the officers came forward and led her farther from Dan, back down the hall from where he came. She stared in horror as the others advanced, their hands on the butts of their guns.
"Sir, you'd be better off if you went back to your room," Cameron said anxiously. All he needed was a spectator.
Reflexively, Dan turned his head, looking behind him, wondering which of his neighbors Cameron was talking to. He vaguely recognized the man, but not from living in his apartment building.
"Sir, please go back to your room," he heard Cameron firmly reiterate from the other side of the hall.
Suddenly Dan had to shut his eyes against a blinding pop of light, his ears ringing from a sudden loud sound. His vision sparkled as if the man had just taken a flash picture of him in the murky hallway. Melissa's scream made him turn around.
One cop was sprawled on the carpeted floor, staining the matted green fibers red. Shot in the stomach, he went down clutching his belly, the blood seeping out over his fingers. Before anyone could move, another report echoed loudly in the cramped hall, bouncing off the drab walls. Cameron was hit in the right eye and spun three hundred sixty degrees around from the impact. His remaining eye stared glassily at Dan as his body sank like a sack of wet concrete, his chin hitting the ground with a sickening smack.
Dan was in the middle. Maniacally, he grabbed the keys still dangling in his lock and twisted them, flinging open the door. He dove inside.
The officer who took Melissa shooed her down the hall with a wave from one hand while he took aim with his revolver in the other. He fired off a shot, but it was hasty, chipping away only plaster on the far wall.
Cambridge took a measured step closer.
Melissa had yet to move. She was frozen in terror.
"Get out!" the young policeman with a short crop of bright red hair yelled to her.
Inside his apartment, Dan frantically darted his eyes about, searching for some sort of weapon he could use on this lunatic. His thoughts never left Melissa, and he wished like hell that she were safe. And then his spirit was dashed as he heard her scream again.
The rookie made the error of turning his head just for an instant to see if Melissa had moved. It was a fatal instant. Cambridge homed in on his hair like a bull charging a red cloth. The bullet impacted his skull just below his ear. Fragments of bone and brain shot out the other side like so much shrapnel, some of it spraying into Melissa's open mouth. His corpse slumped over, knocking Melissa down and pinning her against the wall.
Cambridge advanced down the hall, pausing at the body of the wounded man. He felt lucky: he had taken down three cops with three bullets. He felt he could spare one more on this sorry piece of flesh. That would still leave him with two for Dan and Melissa.
Plenty.
The man lay trembling where he fell, one hand still clasped over his stomach. Weakly, he swung his other hand around in an arc, feeling the damp carpet for his weapon---it had fallen from his holster in the confusion. He left red palm prints in his wake like a child playing with finger paints.
He groaned when he made contact with Cambridge's leather shoes. He looked up to see his attacker looming over him. Torn between duty and survival as he continued to sweep for his gun, he begged with pleading eyes. "Puh-leeze...don't shoot..."
Cambridge stepped on his hand and said coldly, "I don't think so."
He fired between the man's eyes at pointblank range. The cop quivered once and was dead.
The hall, which moments ago was deafening with the sound of gunplay, was now strangely quiet, save for Melissa's racked sobs. She had wriggled out from under her dead protector and crab walked away from the advancing killer, her bottom dragging on the floor. In her hysteria she barely covered any distance. She kept banging into the wall, and half of her stinging tears were of frustration.
Cambridge cautiously approached the open door to Dan's apartment, keeping one eye on Melissa. As long as the gun was trained on her she wasn't moving fast---there was nowhere to go. He spared a moment and peered inside the hovel. Dan was nowhere in sight. Cambridge imagined he was probably cowering in the bathroom behind a locked door. Well, he would save him for last.
He returned his attention to Melissa and advanced on her. He enjoyed the fear he saw in her eyes, yet he felt a twinge of pity.
"Bill! Please...why are you doing this?"
"Betrayal. Why else?"
"But you don't have to."
He nodded slowly. "You know Reverend Stone. You know I have to." He increased the tension on the trigger. "It's too late for you to come back, you realize."
Somewhere Melissa had read that the more personalized the crime became, the more difficult it was for the perpetrator to go through with it. She tried to maintain a dialogue.
"What if we went back to the church together, you and me? We could talk to him, perhaps convince him to take me back?"
"The prodigal daughter returning to the fold? No. His orders were very specific." He swallowed hard. Dan would still be easy, but he was having problems with her. He wanted it over with. "I'm sorry."
As he pulled the trigger, he felt a sudden pain in the back of his head. The world filled with brilliance before washing black. He fell over and landed less than a foot away from where his bullet dug into the carpet a second before.
Dan dropped the cracked glass paperweight. His hands suddenly couldn't hold on anymore. It landed with a thud and started leaking water out onto the floor, the snowflakes swirling in turmoil from falling.
He had stalked up silently behind Cambridge, using the skill he had honed to perfection during the late summer and early fall. He had to fight the urge to dive ahead: once when Cambridge paused outside his apartment and he was pressed against the door, and again while Cambridge was talking to Melissa. If he was sloppy, Cambridge might have heard him and blown Melissa away. Stealth was his only chance, but it was painfully slow. Now it was over, and he felt like he could barely stand.
He crumpled to his knees and scooped Melissa into his arms.
"Are you all right?" he whispered into her ear.
"Oh my God, Dan...Oh my God..."
It was all she could say, but it summed up both of their feelings. In a matter of seconds, their lives erupted in an orgy of violence. Fallen bodies surrounded them, blood still flowing from the cooling corpses. For a moment they tried to forget that as they latched onto each other in the dark hall.
Dan knew they had to move on, get out of there before heads started poking out into the corridor, wondering what on earth just happened. They wouldn't pop out yet, but as the quiet sunk in, his neighbors would begin to snoop.
He let go of Melissa and put one hand on each of her cheeks, turning her face to his. When he let go, she whimpered, clutching him tighter.
"Shhhh...it's over now. I'm right here," he said, looking into her eyes, trying to reassure her. "Can you travel?"
With an effort, she nodded.
"That's not going to do it," he said. "If we're going to get out of here, I need you with me, able to speak." He felt cruel while he spoke, allowing no time for personal grief save for their brief embrace. But time was crucial. "I can't do it if you're delirious."
"I---I think so." She sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes with a sleeve. She was coming around.
"You're sure?"
This time she spoke with conviction. "Yes. I am."
"Good."
Melissa stood up, not wanting to be on the floor, not wanting to be a victim anymore. "What do we do? Should we call the police or an ambulance?"
"No. There's no time. Besides, with all the noise, someone's already called them if I know my neighbors."
"Then what?" she asked.
Dan ran a blood soaked hand through his hair, and recoiled at the stickiness. He made a shrill, nervous laugh.
"For one thing, we've got to get cleaned up. We're not going very far looking like this."
The absurdity of it all struck Melissa as funny as well. She couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing. It was a laughter of celebration, a reminder that they were still alive. Never had breathing air felt so good.
Dan and Melissa stumbled down the hall, away from the carnage. Dan tried not to look down as he went. He kept himself intent on watching for others to strike, possibly an accomplice.
Suddenly Melissa broke away from him and ran back to the scene. Dan's belly turned cold, wondering what she was doing, half expecting the psycho to lurch up off the floor and charge after her, like they always did in the horror movies. She stood in his doorway, her back to him. He couldn't see what she was doing. The moment felt like an eternity. She then turned to him with a smile on her face.
"We're going to need these," she said, holding up his keys and jingling them. She had pulled them from the lock.
She headed back, making her way over the fallen bodies. If the killer were going to reawaken, now would be the time. Dan gasped as she stepped over him, certain a clawed hand would grasp her ankle. But nothing happened. This was real life, not a celluloid nightmare. She rejoined him, and together the two of them headed out into the uncertain night.
23
When Melissa stepped over him, Miles Cameron stirred ever so slightly. He whispered a single word that was barely audible. Melissa certainly couldn't hear it.
Cameron had looked up with his one good eye and saw a shadowy female form moving around him. He thought it was his wife puttering around.
"Betty..." he managed, before slipping into unconsciousness.
1
"How much more?" asked Mel.
They had been on the road for hours. The last two were extremely slow moving as the storm from Canada blew in, obscuring the road. Traffic was down to one lane. Outside the window, Melissa had to squint to see the cars stranded in the ditch. Each time she passed one she recited a small prayer of thanks that they weren't off the road.
"Twenty miles," Dan answered. "Give or take. In this stuff, I'd say about another hour, at least."
"That's what I thought," she said quietly.
She curled up against the door, using her coat as a pillow. Initially she couldn't bring herself to place her face so close to the bloody gore from the dead rookie matted to the cloth. But now, she was so exhausted the need for sleep outweighed her revulsion, and the soft down felt good against her cheek, despite the scratches from the dried blood.
Dan spared a glance over and saw her drifting off. He sighed discouragingly.
"I wish you had never got involved in any of this."
He thought back to the shootout in the hall. Never had he felt so empty, so cold, as when he was in his apartment, waiting for a chance to strike, knowing that Melissa was out there alone, fending for herself. Each time he heard the gun crack the air he pictured bullets ripping into her frame. She had gone through so much for him.
He took one hand from the wheel and stroked Mel's hair. She murmured soft approval. It was a wonder she wasn't stark raving mad.
"No matter how this turns out, I want you to know that I love you," he whispered.
The incessant droning on the radio about the early blizzard made the only reply. He risked another look over and saw her curled like a comma, her knees drawn in. Her eyes were closed. She was sound asleep.
He turned his attention back to the road, swirling with snow squalls, squinting against the brightness. Headlight beams reflected off the falling snow provided the dazzling, dreamlike illumination. In another time, another situation, it might be considered pretty.
He hoped he would have another chance to tell her how he felt.
2
When they reached East Lansing they pulled into a gas station. Dan went inside to pay for the gas, get directions to Hidden Oaks, and to buy Twinkies and juice while Melissa cleaned up in the bathroom.
Trails of mascara streaked from her eyes through her heavy makeup. She never had a chance to take it off after appearing on the air, figuring she'd just do it when they got back to the motel room. Now it felt like a thick crust. She cupped a hand under the faucet and splashed water on her cheeks. Then she scrubbed, using her hands and nails, rubbing until the flesh turned red. She blotted dry using some toilet paper.
"You've seen better days," she said dryly to her haggard reflection.
When she returned to the car she scarfed down the food. Her body was famished. A few hours ago the idea of eating would have made her stomach turn.
"Are we going to Jerry's next?"
Dan nodded, taking a big swig of orange juice.
"You'll like him," he said, suddenly realizing Melissa had never met Jerry. "He's really nice, although I bet he gives you a hard time about being his replacement. He always had a swelled head about those kinds of things, thinking he was irreplaceable."
She placed a hand on Dan's thigh. "I'm sure I'll like him. He's your best friend."
"Aren't you a little nervous?"
"Well it's not like I'm meeting your parents. That's a day I dread, let me tell you."
"Someday you'll get to meet them too," Dan said, and smiled at her.
Feeling better than he had in a long time, Dan started up the car and swerved back onto the snow-covered roads.
3
Jerry grumbled, pulling on his robe as the doorbell rang again. He didn't want to leave his warm bed. He had so many blankets on he felt entombed---and he loved every second of it. Besides, it was fucking cold and snowy out.
"This had better be good," he snarled.
It was too early for any package delivery and Girl Scout Cookies were months away. Maybe it was a desperate student seeking advice on how to change a grade? He opened the door, about to find out. No matter who it was, he was going to rip them a new asshole...
"Oh my God!" Jerry cried out, eyes wide open in surprise. "Dan!"
4
A few hours earlier the Reverend Jim Stone seethed in his office. Everything was so close. Melissa and her poor fool of a lover were inches from the precipitous edge when the police showed up. Bill Cambridge (Himself a fool, Stone thought with renewed bitterness) jumped the gun, panicking at the sight of uniforms and shot at the whole lot of them like they were targets in a shooting gallery. The outcome? A hallway full of dead policemen while the prey slipped through. He had to get matters under control again, and quickly, or he was going to have another California to deal with.
He put out the call to his people and had them assemble. Kim poked her head in his door and told him they were all there, ready for him. He came out and joined them. They searched his face for any clues as to why they were summoned in the night yet again, but couldn't read anything on his face.
Stone raised his right hand high in a meaningless gesture to quiet them down before speaking himself. He exuded total authority. All eyes were on him, and he loved it.
"My sheep, I thank you for coming at this early hour." As he spoke, he surveyed his audience of followers. He had called more than the usual group to this meeting. If everyone had come---and pity the heretic who chose not to---thirty-one warm-blooded thralls stood before him, each in his bondage. He paused for a moment to sniff the air, searching for the vaguely coppery scent of blood. Yes, he found It. At least two of the women, he was positive, were having their periods. He gathered strength from the smell of their menstruation.
"I often call you my sheep. It is a colloquial term of endearment. However, as the situation demands, I...you...we...have to adopt another term. To continue the metaphor, we must become wolves to single out and hunt the one in our midst who was a wolf in sheep's clothing among us. Quid pro quo. 'An eye for an eye...' to quote scripture." He surveyed his white robed flock. "My friends, it is time for retribution!"
A hearty cheer accompanied his voice, their devotion sincere. Many reached for their crystals and began to rub furiously, as if driven.
"When Melissa Van Dyke walked among us we welcomed her with open arms and smiles. We offered her every hospitality imaginable. We chose to show her a way of life that has brought us great joy, as well as innumerable strength. No problem is too tough for us now, no hurdle too high. We could have kept the secret of crystals to ourselves, but we chose to share. Now, by sharing, we have been betrayed."
The mention of Melissa's name stirred them up. Stone hadn't even said what she had done; yet already people wanted her head.
"Tell us what's expected!" one man exclaimed.
"Not expected," Stone corrected. "Required. Early on you were all warned of sacrifices that would be asked. I am calling upon you to fulfill those promises."
"You've shown us so much," said the same man. "Show us what to do now. We'll do anything."
"I needn't have worried," Stone said, smiling upon them. "I tried to convince myself of that in my office before coming out here, but I still had doubts. Even Jesus wandered into the desert for forty days to be absolutely sure of himself. Could you expect any less of me?"
Stone's mood suddenly changed, from one of beloved father to jilted lover. "Things are clear to me now. Our first and most important objective is to find, commandeer, and then kill Melissa Van Dyke and her companion, Dan Freeman. They are all that stand in our way to ultimate salvation! Once they are eliminated, we can get on with our work here."
"Where are they now?" someone cried. The audience frothed like a posse looking for someone to lynch.
"That is the question," Stone said, slipping in a glance toward Bill Cambridge, who cringed as he felt the lethal gaze upon him. "Where are they now?"
5
Melissa showered as Dan and Jerry caught up, drinking cocoa. Jerry listened intently as the story unfolded, finding it hard to believe. Yet seeing Dan and Melissa in the shape they were in pulled a lot of weight.
"We had to leave in such a hurry. This was the first place I thought to come. I didn't know where else to go."
"Are you sure they're after you?" Jerry asked.
"I think so. By the time more details were coming in we had gone too far and couldn't pick up the radio station anymore."
Jerry nodded, but didn't reply. He looked down at his fuzzy slippers and took another sip of cocoa. He hadn't said much as Dan told the story, and Dan thought he was just tired. Now, he looked like he might be sick. It didn't escape Dan's notice.
"I'm sorry we came here. It was a bad decision," Dan said. "We'll leave as soon as we can."
"That's not what I meant," Jerry said. "I'm glad you came here. Despite everything, it's good to see you again."
His friend seemed to mean the words, but his actions hinted at something else.
Jerry finally met Dan's eyes.
"Dan, I want to apologize for something."
"Apologize? We should be the ones who apologize to you, barging in like this."
Jerry dismissed him, waving his hand. "You don't understand. I'm being serious here. I think some of your problems are my fault because of what I said to Sergeant Cameron over the phone."
"Cameron called you? When? Why didn't you say something?"
"I tried calling you right after it happened, but you weren't there. You were probably at the Holiday Inn by then. I felt sick afterwards. I still do. I feel like I've betrayed a great confidence."
Dan grew quiet. "What did you say?"
Jerry thought back to yesterday, and how he was interrupted grading papers. "I don't know how he got it out of me, but the man's got a way with words. He twists them, leading you through a maze of obstacles until you're hopelessly lost, and the only way out is to spill your guts..." He looked at the ceiling, trying to avoid Dan's eager eyes again. This wasn't easy. He finally decided to just be blunt. "Dan, I told him about your stalking."
Dan didn't throw a fit like he expected. In fact, he seemed almost calm.
"I figured you'd say that. It's the only thing that explains why he came to my door last night."
"No, no! It's much more." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple clicking in his throat. "I also told him about how you almost raped Janet."
"What?!" Dan exclaimed, incredulous.
"What's going on in here?" Melissa said, towel drying her hair as she entered the room. "You boys seem excited about something." She turned to Jerry. "The shower felt wonderful. Thank you. And thanks for letting me borrow your robe."
Jerry stole a quick glance her way, damning her timing. He hoped to get this all covered before she returned. Dan was so knocked for a loop that her presence didn't seem to matter.
"I did what?" Dan repeated.
Melissa's brow furrowed in puzzlement. Unsure, she inched closer to Dan for comfort.
"What's going on?" she asked, looking back and forth between the two men.
"Are you sure you want me to continue with Melissa in the room?" Jerry asked.
Dan put an arm around her waist and said, "You can talk in front of Mel."
Jerry looked uncomfortable, wishing Melissa wasn't there to hear this, but carried on. "Remember the day I left town I had lunch with Janet? While we were eating, she told me you tried to rape her once."
Melissa instinctively recoiled from Dan, shocked. Dan's ears glowed red with anger.
"And you believed her?"
"No...Well, maybe a bit at first. You had just seen Stalker and were acting kind of weird then. She said it was during your last dinner date."
Dan couldn't believe this was happening. To his recollection, it was she who mauled him before leaving in a huff. He turned to Melissa and spoke earnestly.
"This didn't happen. Believe me."
"I do," she said softly, but not completely convincingly.
"Why didn't you mention this before?" he asked Jerry.
"I almost did, when I first got into East Lansing. Her statements floored me so much it took some effort to call you, but I finally did."
"I remember."
"And after talking to you, I was sure that she was the one who was screwed up, not you. At the time I thought she was vindictive, but now I know her whole life was a mess." He looked over at Mel, sensing her doubt and not wanting more guilt on his hands. "Believe him, Melissa. Her story was just that: a story. Like I said: Cameron has a way. It just came out. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean for any of it to."
"I know you didn't," Dan said, his tone finally softening. "And in the long run that probably wasn't a big factor in Cameron coming to arrest me. Attempted rape is a serious crime, but the stalking is what did it. I don't blame you for telling him that. I knew from the night I showed you that you were uncomfortable with it."
"Well anyway, I'm still sorry."
"That's okay," Dan said, forgiving his friend.
Jerry found peace watching Melissa return to Dan's side, nuzzling. It was clear to him that they were in love and he knew Dan had accepted his apology fully.
Maybe things weren't going to turn out so bad after all.
6
When Dan returned from the shower Jerry brought up the idea of hiding the two of them at his cabin.
"No. Impossible."
"Why not?"
"We've involved you far too much already," Dan continued.
"That's not a problem," Jerry said. "I'm happy to help."
Dan slumped and looked at Mel. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. He relented. "How do we get there?"
"I'll do better than give you directions. I'll show you myself."
"That's not necessary---" Dan began.
"Are we going to go through this every time I offer to help?" Jerry asked. "Because it's pointless to resist, and frankly, I'm getting tired of it."
"What about your classes? Who'll teach them?" Melissa asked, shrinking back and wishing she hadn't when Jerry whirled around on her, almost glaring.
"Please! Forget about me!" he declared. "My next few classes are already prepared. My teaching assistant can teach them if I'm not back. All she has to do is read from my notes."
"What if---?"
"Look, I'll call in and use some of my sick days. I'll get you settled in. I can be back before my sick time runs out. Problem solved, okay?"
Melissa and Dan had nothing more to say. They both faced Jerry, their mouths slacked open, as if searching for the perfect argument, but falling far short of it.
Jerry took their expressions for victory.
"Good. It's settled then. Get your stuff together, go to the bathroom if you have to, do whatever it takes, but this bus is leaving in ten minutes."
With that, there was really no point in arguing further. Melissa realized they'd made a wise choice in coming here. Jerry and Dan shared a strong, solid bond. They would clearly do anything for each other. She only hoped that by involving himself Jerry wouldn't get dragged into their nightmare any more than he already was.
1
Kim ran up to a pay phone she found across the street from Jerry Stevens's apartment building and frantically pounded Stone's number into the keypad. She heard the phone ring through the earpiece and willed him to answer it.
Pick up. Pick it up!
A momentary fear gripped her as she envisioned a scenario where Stone went off in another direction, misled by one of his followers, leaving his office empty and the phone unattended.
He had sent his people forth after last night's meeting to look for Melissa and Dan. Most stayed in town, perusing hotel lobbies and trying to fetch a peek at the guest book. Stone's select few were offered meatier assignments, looking up family and friends. And that was precisely why she was sent to East Lansing. Jerry Stevens dedicated his final piece to Dan, and Jerry now worked as an instructor at Michigan State.
Answer the phone, God dammit!
She wished Melissa and Dan had been there when she knocked on the door. Then she could have given Reverend Stone the news he truly wanted: that they were dead. Jerry Stevens too. He'd be dead from guilt by association. Reverend Stone said there'd be hard choices to make, sacrifices to be endured, but she was willing to go through with them for him.
"Hello?"
"Reverend Stone. Thank God! I didn't think you were there."
"And you are?" His voice sounded curt, annoyed.
"It's me. Kim. I've found them."
Suddenly he was anxious and excited. "Where are they?"
Disappointed, she had to backtrack. "Actually, I've found Dan Freeman's car. It's parked at Jerry Stevens's apartment. They took the license plates off, trying to hide it, but I recognized it."
"Have you seen them?"
"I knocked on the apartment door, but no one answered. Also, Jerry Stevens didn't teach his class today. I went there first to check on him."
"Do you suppose they've gone somewhere together?"
"That would be my guess."
He was silent. Kim wondered what was going through his mind. She tingled with nervous anticipation. She felt as she did the night Stone first came to her in her bed.
"Kim, I'm very proud of you," he finally said. "How did you find all this out so quickly?"
She looked down at the crumpled paper in her hand with the WKBC logo in the corner, Jerry's address scrawled in Dan's handwriting on it. They'd recovered it out of Janet's pocket on the night they killed her.
"I went to the Communications Office and flirted with a student aide until he showed me the class schedule and where Professor Steven's class was taught. When I saw he wasn't there, it was just a matter of finding his apartment."
"Excellent work, Kim. I want you to wait for us back on the campus, at the Student Union. That should be easy for us all to find. I'm coming up there!"
"Yes, Reverend. See you soon," she said. Her hand trembled as she hung up the phone, but not from fear---instead it was an overflowing joy at the prospect of his coming.
2
Jerry shot his car up one of the main veins north, U.S. 27, a road that split the Lower Peninsula of Michigan almost exactly in half. It was slow going at first as the snowstorm continued to bluster in and around Lansing. Once they reached Mount Pleasant the snow began to thin as much as the population. Driving became easier.
Melissa and Dan were in the back seat, leaning against each other, sleeping. Jerry felt like a chauffeur on prom night. Every few miles he checked his rearview mirror to make sure they were okay.
On his next look he saw Melissa start to stir.
"Where are we?" she managed.
"About sixty-five miles north of Lansing."
"We've only been asleep that long?"
"Oh, no. You've been asleep three hours. It's just the driving that's taking so long."
She sat farther up in her seat and looked out the window, breathing steam on the glass.
"I remember leaving Lansing, but not much after that. Thank you for driving through all this crap. With all the snow I'm sure it wasn't easy."
"You guys were tired. You needed some sleep. Don't worry about it."
"One of us can trade with you, if you want. We came awfully early this morning."
Dan stirred from the sound of their voices, opening his eyes slowly against the brightness outside.
Melissa turned to him. "How're you doing, sleepyhead?"
"Okay, I guess." He yawned, his mouth opening like a chasm. "Wow! I guess I needed that!"
"No surprise there," Jerry said. "Are you hungry?"
"Yeah. Food sounds good."
"I know a good place to eat. I sometimes stop there on the way to my cabin. It's a greasy spoon, but it's tasty. It's just up the road."
3
"Another coffee?" the waitress asked. "You look like you could use it."
Jerry held up his cup. "Thanks, Caris. It's murder driving out there."
"I should think so!" She looked away from his cup as she poured, squinting her eyes against the glare, sizing up the storm. Melissa feared she would dribble steaming hot coffee down Jerry's hand. "Thank heavens you had the good sense to stop. If you ask me, anyone who's out there now is a bloomin' idiot! And that's comin' from someone who's lived here all her life with a stern constitution!"
"So you're used to it," Melissa said, watching Jerry set his full cup back down, thankful to have his hand.
"Damn straight! I had to drive through it this mornin' when I came in. Some truckers said it's still pretty bad south of here. Up north it's all over the place already. It's treachery out there...treachery!
"By the way," she said, turning her attention to Jerry, "Caris rhymes with Paris. It's not like a car. But thanks for takin' the time to read it off my nametag and tryin' to be social. Strangers don't usually do that here."
"I'm sorry, Caris," Jerry said, pausing a moment to make sure he pronounced it correctly. Melissa couldn't help but let out a little snicker. She buried her head in Dan's chest so the sound wouldn't let out.
Caris heard anyway, and disregarded her with a huff. "I'll go check on your orders now."
She turned on her heel and marched off as the three of them sat watching. "She's colorful," Dan commented.
Jerry nodded. "I've never seen her before. Very talkative. I would've remembered her."
Melissa smiled, but didn't really feel like discussing the waitress for the next five minutes. The sooner they were out of the restaurant and back on the road the better. "What's our next move?" she asked.
"Really nothing until we get to the cabin," Jerry replied. "We're just traveling fools now."
"What about supplies?"
"There's a small five and dime I can go to once we get you two settled in."
"What about---" Dan began, but cut himself off upon Caris's arrival with plates of food running up her arm. She shot him an apologetic look, knowing she intruded into something that wasn't meant for her ears and kicked herself, wondering what her blunder would do to her tip.
"Food's here! Get it while it's hot!"
They didn't reply, so Caris passed out the food quickly and efficiently, but still took enough time to notice Melissa snuggling closer to Dan.
"Love birds?" she asked, smiling down upon them like an angel from heaven.
"Yeah," Dan said, "I suppose we are."
She gave Melissa a knowing look, a look that said I know what you're goin' through, my dear. Love him anyway, even though he doesn't sound so confident. Men are just that way. Matters of the heart trip their tongues every time...
Melissa nodded back, and Dan picked up on the communication between the two women, although he had no idea what is was about. He reasoned it must be a skill gleaned after all those visits to the ladies room in droves.
"Good for you," Caris said, and winked before walking off back to the counter, whistling and moving with a slightly lighter step.
Dan blushed like a schoolboy at Caris's behavior. Melissa noticed and kissed his cheek, whispering, "I love you, too" before turning her attention to her food.
Twenty minutes later they were back on the road.
4
They looked an odd lot: five adults grouped together among hundreds of young students.
Kim retold the story to Reverend Stone, who listened intently even though he'd heard it before. To Stone's left was Bill Cambridge, eager to right the wrong he suffered in Dan's apartment hallway. Stone brought along two others: his men from California, Jeff Goodall and Paul Rogers.
When she finished, Stone said, "They've gone to Stevens's cabin."
Kim turned to him, her face puzzled. He ignored her confusion.
"It's north, by Traverse City somewhere. He bought it only recently."
"We could head up there, make some calls to real estate companies..." Goodall offered.
"Yes. That's a start," Stone said. He paused to look at his watch. It was a few minutes after six. "But at this late hour businesses will be closed. They won't be answering any questions for us today. Besides, the roads are still terrible. Let's get hotel rooms and rest for tomorrow's mission. We'll leave in the morning."
"Should we ride up together or separately?" Cambridge asked.
"We'll go up in two cars. You three ride together. I'll go with Kim."
The men ran off to Cambridge's car. Stone walked slowly with Kim, a man confident.
"Which way to your car?" he asked.
"It's right over there," she pointed, "just beyond Bill's." She held up her keys. "Do you want to drive?"
Stone smiled. "You made it up here fine by yourself. I'm sure you can manage."
Kim felt self-conscious as she slipped the keys back in her pocket. She felt foolish, small, like she had irked him by asking. She was afraid asking him her next question would irk him more, but she was confused, and wanted an answer.
"How did you know about Professor Stevens's cabin? Did you know they were here all along?"
Stone stopped and turned to her, a big grin on his lips. "No. The crystals aren't prophetic. They only provide strength. I can't know everything. That's why everyone was sent forth unto the land, to seek them out."
His smile comforted her. Impulsively, she stroked her crystal. She felt better almost immediately. "Then how---?"
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Simple coincidence. A matter I only now remembered. I overheard that cocksucker Dan Freeman talking about it once in a hallway. Now that we know they're in Michigan, it only makes sense they would go there."
1
Laura Danvers paced the newsroom, fretting. The shootout in Dan's apartment hallway led WKBC's morning news, just like it did on all the other stations. WKBC could not claim any exclusivity on this one, even though it involved one of its employees.
What the press knew was very limited: an apparent confrontation in a hallway, leading to a shootout; Sergeant Miles Cameron lay in a coma at the hospital; two officers were dead. The door to Dan's apartment was ajar, leading to speculation that he was involved. But he was missing, so he could also be dead for all anyone knew.
It was a perfect story for sweeps, and the other stations played up the sordid angles. Laura felt sick to her stomach. They did all the right things---the lives at noon, the follow-ups, the interviews---but her heart wasn't in any of it. When Melissa didn't show up for work she really began to get concerned. She found it hard to develop a plan of coverage, so she left most of that to Fred, the assignment editor.
While talking to Fred she had an idea. Suddenly she felt useful again.
"What about this, Fred. Melissa's missing. We know that. The local papers and police know that. But no one outside our viewing area knows that."
Fred shrugged his shoulders, not really following.
"We need to get one of Melissa's stories on the network feed. Get her face plastered on as many TV screens as we can. Hell, it works for America's Most Wanted, why not us?" She clapped her hands together in triumph. "I've got a friend who owes me a favor at the Midwest satellite uplink. I bet he can get it on."
"What will you give him?" Fred asked.
"One of her features. Most of those are timeless. Stations can play them as their kickers."
"What about the cat one from last week? That was touching."
Laura nodded. "Yes. That's perfect. Her standup is a little too local, but if stations tag out with the fact she's missing, I think they'll still air it."
She started to make some phone calls.
2
"Well, here it is."
Jerry said the words as he drove up to a small wooden cabin tucked into the woods, isolated a mile or so away from the road. A gravel service road provided access, buried beneath a thick blanket of snow. If there was a foot in East Lansing, there were two feet here.
The tires cut a fresh path through the powder and to Dan and Melissa everything looked pristine. The sun was just starting to go down, casting magenta and orange shades over the trees that were tall and thick, wonderfully ancient, positioned on steep rolling hills. Heavy clumps of fresh snow weighed down their branches, causing them to sag and hunch like a group of old women. A chimney made of brick jutted out of the roof, and Melissa had warm thoughts about sitting by a fire. Dan wondered if Jerry stole his second home off of a bottle of Log Cabin syrup.
"It's beautiful," Melissa finally said.
"How did you afford it?" Dan asked more bluntly, knowing full well Melissa was dying to know.
"I got very lucky. This went up as part of an estate sale. I hate to say it, but I took advantage of a grieving widow. Once you get inside, you'll see that it needs a lot of work. That kept the price down too."
Jerry pulled up to the front door and cut the engine. Dan got a better view of the wood and thought that maybe it was the Log Cabin cabin. It was small and quaint, made from real logs---nothing fabricated---and very welcoming.
"I didn't get a chance to winterize it," Jerry continued. "I was going to come up during Christmas break and hopefully do some skiing. I didn't expect to be here sooner, or I would have stocked it up."
"Don't worry about that," Melissa said. "We appreciate everything you're doing for us."
Jerry smiled. "I know. Now, let's get inside and out of this cold, shall we?"
They stepped into the rustic cabin. Modern appliances had their place---there was a refrigerator, a microwave, and a gas stove. Electric lights illuminated the room. A rotary telephone was mounted on the wall by the kitchen. In one corner a 13" black and white TV set perched, rabbit ears pointing crookedly skyward. The living room had a worn couch. It was Spartan, but certainly functional. Despite the freezing temperature, Melissa felt it had charm.
"We'll have to get the supplies tomorrow. It's too late to go to the store now," Jerry said. "In a way I'm kind of glad. My eyes are drooping."
Dan walked over to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards. "Do you have anything to eat here?"
"Maybe some soup. Not much else."
"That would be okay," Dan said, finding some Campbell's Chunky Chicken Soup and blowing a thick layer of dust off its lid. "But you're right: we will have to go shopping tomorrow. There's nothing else in here."
"That soup probably dates back to the previous owner."
"It will be fine," Melissa said, moving into the kitchen and taking the can out of Dan's hand. "Why don't you boys get us some wood for the fireplace and I'll start cooking dinner."
3
One can of soup didn't stretch very far, but if it didn't satisfy their hunger it still felt good to have something warm in their bellies. The heat from the fireplace warmed their skin, so they were comfortable both inside and out.
Melissa let out a huge yawn. Jerry, picking up on her cue, stood away from the table and began gathering blankets and pillows from a closet. He walked among them and distributed his booty. "There's only one bed. You two can take it."
"If it's all right with everyone else, I'd like to just sleep here on the floor by the fire," Dan said. "I don't think I have the strength to move to the bedroom."
Melissa agreed. "Here is fine. The fire's nice and warm."
Jerry shrugged. "Well, if that's how you feel..." He walked off towards the doorway a few feet off, but turned back under the doorjamb. "Are you sure?"
They both nodded, yawning. He saw there was no arguing with them---and selfishly realized he wouldn't mind the bed for the night. He said his goodnights and turned and entered the bedroom.
Melissa and Dan, alone for the first time since arriving at Jerry's apartment, looked at each other and simultaneously let out long sighs. They leaned forward, took each other in their arms, and pressed their foreheads together.
"It's been such a long day..." Dan said.
"We've been up for hours..." Melissa offered.
Each sentence trailed off as they spoke, as if they were either too tired or too confused to go any further.
After a moment, Dan said, "Can you believe everything that's happened to us in the last twenty-four hours?"
Melissa looked at her watch and realized what he was saying. Twenty-four hours ago she hadn't even gone on the air and broadcast part one of her "New Religions" series yet. At this time yesterday they were leery, but with no concept of what lay ahead for them.
"If only we could turn back the clock..." she said, sinking her chin against her chest.
Dan felt for her more at that moment than he ever had before. He hugged her to him, trying his damnedest to protect her from the evils of the world. It was a hopeless effort, but Melissa knew he meant well, and she hugged him back with all her might. They stayed that way for a long time, not speaking and barely moving, just gently rocking back and forth in a loving embrace.
Five minutes later they were both asleep, entwined in each other's arms, her head on his chest as the fire dwindled down, the only sounds in the cabin their long, serene breaths and the crackling of wood...
4
The Reverend Stone was not in a good mood as he stomped off the slush caked on his shoes and pulled open the door to the café. His need to find Dan and Melissa was urgent, yet the going was slow. It was almost as bad as yesterday. One reason was the weather; the other was keeping tethered to Bill Cambridge's car. He had stroked his crystal several times as he rode and asked Kim to do the same. The journey was so laborious. He wondered why he was being punished.
"I'm glad we stopped," Goodall said, entering the restaurant. "I'm starving."
"A long drive will do that," Rogers responded, "and we've still got a long way to go."
"This is the first restaurant I've seen in a while," Cambridge said.
Stone frowned, irritated by their insipid banter. At times he looked upon his followers with contempt even while professing his love for them.
"Find us a table, Kim," he barked, and marched off to the men's room.
When he returned his demeanor didn't improve. He complained about being too close to the smoking section, he complained about the drone of the TV behind the counter, and he complained about the poor quality of the food. The men ignored him and kept plucking away. It had been a long time since they last ate. They arose at the crack of dawn expecting to get an early jump, but had to dig their cars out using a shovel that was leaning against the hotel before they could leave. While they worked Stone paced idly back and forth, imploring them to hurry.
All day Stone felt haunted by inner demons. Now, listening to the men chew their food, he found himself haunted by Melissa's voice.
My prey is in my head, taunting me, Stone thought, accepting it as another of his demons to deal with. But as he continued to hear her, he put his hands to his ears, trying to ward her off. Where is she coming from? Am I that weak to give into her? He felt nauseous.
"A hunter?"
Stone looked up, not really aware of what the waitress just said.
"Are you a hunter? I came over to offer you more coffee and saw the knife."
Stone followed her gaze and saw that his coat was open, revealing the knife strapped to his belt in its sheath. He was careless to have it out in the open. What would she say if she saw the gun in the trunk of the car? He thought he was going mad, and then to have to try and explain to the gum-popping waitress was just too much. He lifted his head to crucify her, to give her the worst thrashing of her sorry life, when suddenly all of the hatred directed at the waitress diminished and found itself a new target. Over the waitress's shoulder Stone could see the TV behind the counter that regulars saddled up to like a bar and ate their ham and eggs.
"Turn that up!" he shouted, pointing at the screen. "Turn that up!"
The flustered waitress waffled for a moment. But looking down into Stone's eyes and seeing how serious he was, she quickly regained her composure and yelled for the guy behind the counter to turn it up.
With this the men at the table stopped eating so heartily as their forks fell into their eggs and syrup. The volume on the TV set rose several decibels and could be plainly heard throughout the diner. The voice coming from it was unmistakable. And when Kim, her back to the set, whispered a stunned "Melissa...", her identity was confirmed.
On screen two kittens were wrapped around each other, battling for the best position to paw at a ball of yarn. Melissa's narrative informed the viewers that these tough little kitties survived the fire due to their mother's heroic action of rushing into the building while it was still ablaze and pulling her brood out before the roof caved in. A soundbite from a firefighter claimed the mother cat performed the most heroic act of bravery he had ever seen in his twenty years in the department. A picture of the acclaimed heroine came up next, her face red with burns. She was perched in the arms of a woman, and as the camera pulled back blue eyes filled with concern and compassion urged viewers to adopt the kittens by calling the Humane Society.
As Melissa's face appeared on screen Stone felt Kim's nails dig into his forearm, but he ignored the pain.
The story ended then, and the local anchor from WWTV in Cadillac, Michigan came on, tagging the story. A graphic of Melissa Van Dyke was over one of her shoulders with the cutline "Missing" beneath her picture.
"One postscript to the tale of the brave cats is the story involving the reporter who brought you their story. WKBC reporter Melissa Van Dyke has been missing from work for two days now. It is feared a man wanted for a double murder in Ohio might have abducted her. If you've seen her, police are asking you to contact them."
A full screen graphic with a toll free number popped up as the anchor read the information. When she reappeared on screen she turned to her weatherman, raised an eyebrow provocatively and quipped, "I wouldn't want to be lost in this storm..."
The weatherman started to answer her with witty banter of his own, but Stone turned away, having seen enough.
"That's odd," Caris commented, still hovering by their table. "I swear I saw that woman just yesterday."
Of course you did, Stone thought. You and a dozen other viewers... "I'd like the check please."
He looked up at her with a forced smile, trying to egg her on, but she would have none of that. "No! Seriously!" she said, her eyes pleading with Reverend Stone to believe her. "She was in here with two men. She didn't look like she was in any danger or afraid of them."
Caris's mention of two men perked up Stone's ears. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well, she was gettin' kind of cozy with one of them, and I asked her if they were lovebirds." She lowered her eyes, as if she were ashamed. "I know it's not my place to be askin' folks all about their business, but we was simply just havin' fun, makin' conversation. The man said yes while the girl looked at me kinda dewy-eyed. For a time they reminded me of how things were with my first husband, before he became a fat-assed skirt chaser."
Stone's inner demons had completely shut up with this news, yelping and hiding like scared puppies. It was too good to be true. They had been this way, confirming his theory of where they were going. Still, he wanted a little more corroboration.
"Can you describe who she was with?"
Caris looked at Stone with a questioning look of her own, as if wondering why he was so curious. "Are you the law or somethin'?"
"You could say that," Stone replied.
Caris took that as being good enough. She was more interested in gossiping than anything else, really. This would give her enough ammunition to finish out her shift with ease.
"Well the guy she was with was pretty good lookin', although he was a bit bruised around the edges. He was young, late twenties." She put a finger to her lips and looked upward, as if trying to access the information directly. "The other guy was a bit older, but not much. He was very polite. I remember he made an effort to pronounce my name right."
Sounds like Dan Freeman and Jerry Stevens. The inner demons had gone from yelping and hiding behind his leg to crawling deep down into their home, scratching at the walls, trying to recede farther.
"That's amazing," Stone said, smiling at Caris, this time with real feeling instead of a performance. "Are you going to call that number and tell the police you saw her?"
"That one that was on the screen? I didn't write it down. Besides, those are never up long enough to write 'em down even if you wanted to. No, I'll let the lovebirds be. I'll bet you they came up here to elope."
"I hope so," Stone lied.
Caris placed their check in front of Stone. "That would be so romantic," she sighed. Then, composing herself and coming down from her cloud: "Thank you and have a good day."
"Oh, we will. We will have a good day indeed."
5
The trio at Jerry's wilderness cabin woke up much later than Stone and his team. In fact in was past noon when Melissa first stirred and blinked her eyes against the incoming sunlight. Exhaustion had simply taken its toll on all of them---in Jerry's case the adrenaline rush---and their bodies needed the chance to recuperate.
"What time is it?" Melissa asked rhetorically as she arose, snapping her mouth open and closed like a sea turtle, tasting her morning breath and wincing.
No one was awake to answer her, so she wrestled with her left sleeve and looked at her watch. She was surprised to see 12:07, but not shocked.
She gently pulled her blanket aside, not wanting to wake Dan. She stood up, stretched, and then padded around the hardwood floors in her socks, going to the kitchen to find something to eat. She was bummed to find that what Jerry had said was true: the soup was all he had. Dismayed, she spun away from the cupboard and gazed about the room, wondering what she should do next. She wasn't alone for long.
Jerry stumbled in wrapped up in a checkered quilt pulled up to his chin. It scratched against his morning stubble as he moved. He yawned and rubbed his eyes.
"I didn't wake you, did I?" asked Mel.
He shook his head no.
"I was puttering around the kitchen, looking for some food. I'm afraid there isn't any."
"That's okay. I'm going to head into town soon and get supplies. Is there anything that you want or need?"
Melissa tasted her chops again and said, "I wouldn't mind a toothbrush, some deodorant...stuff like that. If we're going to be here some time I could use...uh...some underwear..."
Jerry was tickled as she blushed. "What do you want to eat?"
She rattled off a list of canned goods. Dan stirred as they talked. It didn't take long for him to join them.
"Can we do some chores while you're gone?" he asked.
Jerry scratched his head and thought a bit. "Well, we'll probably need some more wood..."
"Done!" Dan chimed in.
"And I can tidy up in here while Dan's doing that," Melissa added.
Jerry smiled. "Okay then. That's settled." He started to shuffle back to his bedroom, then turned. "Gee, I should have brought you two out here weeks ago. You make great hired help."
"That's right," Dan deadpanned. "We work for food."
6
Dan came back to the cabin carrying an armful of firewood, stomping his feet at the doorway to knock off the snow. He entered and crossed to the fireplace stand where he unloaded his stockpile, taking a brief moment to stack it neatly. The flames from yesterday's wood were dying, so he selected a few logs from his pile and placed them in with the others, where the fire licked and lapped at the new additions, setting them ablaze.
Melissa was in a corner of the room, her back to him, dusting a bookshelf. He came up and hugged her from behind. She leapt about a thousand miles into the air.
"Get those ice cubes off me!" she protested, slapping his hands away from her stomach. She spun around and glared at him, but couldn't get angry. He was laughing boyishly, ashamed by what he had done---but also finding it very amusing.
She was charmed.
"I'm sorry," Dan managed between giggles. "I didn't think they'd be so cold."
"Didn't think they'd be cold? What have you been doing for the last fifteen minutes?"
"Working like a troll out there cutting firewood, freezing my ass off. Meanwhile, you and Jerry get the cushy jobs: driving into town in a heated car, and staying inside, tidying up." He was poking his fingers into her ribcage playfully as he said this, egging her on.
"Cushy job?" she asked incredulously. "You should have seen this place. The dust had dust!"
"Jerry always was a slob..." he said, and laughed again. It felt so good to be laughing.
He looked at Melissa, herself guffawing, but not as intensely as he, and saw that she had a twinkle back in her eye. He was so happy to see its return.
He reached out and touched her cheek. She shivered a little at the coolness of his touch, but let it remain. He cupped her cheek in his hand and drew little circles around her cheekbone with his thumb. She closed her eyes and pressed against his hand. It was warming up since coming inside.
Dan drew her to him. She tilted her face to meet his and their lips met. It was soft and full at first, but she hungrily opened her mouth wider, inviting him in to explore. He didn't resist. They kissed like this for what seemed like an eternity, taking pleasure in the moment, enjoying the chance they had.
When the embrace ended, Dan sat down on the floor on the blankets from last night. He reached out to Melissa who took his hand and knelt down, joining him on the rumpled blankets. The fire was hot on their skin, yet neither moved away from the burning wood.
Saying nothing, Melissa looked deep into Dan's eyes and ran a hand slowly across his chest, down his stomach, and ran it over his thigh, the fingers plucking it as if it were a harp. His breathing picked up, and she could see the stirring of desire begin to well up within him.
He didn't want to break the mood, but at the same time he needed to know, so he asked, "When do you think Jerry will be back?"
Nodding, she said, "We've got time."
She pulled away from him and again locked her eyes with his. She reached down and removed Jerry's bulky sweatshirt from her body, letting it fall to the floor, unconcerned where it landed. Dan sat, mesmerized. With one hand Melissa reached behind her back and undid the clasp on her bra, while the other hand slowly reached up and looped the straps off her shoulders. The cotton undergarment landed on top of her sweatshirt.
Dan broke his gaze with her and took in this new sight. Her breasts were full and firm, the nipples erect and calling for his attention. Melissa reached out and put her hand under his chin, raising his eyes so he could see her face again. She smiled, and that pleased Dan. She was naked in front of him, not embarrassed or ashamed, ready to share herself.
"I wanted to do this last night," he said.
"Me too."
"But I was too tired..." he whispered.
"I know."
She smiled again and sat unmoving, watching him. He paused for a moment, unsure what to do. Then he realized she was topless while he was still fully clothed. Hurriedly he threw off his borrowed sweatshirt. Melissa giggled at his haste.
He gestured for her to come forward again and she did so willingly. This time when she was in his arms she could truly feel the heat radiating from him, and didn't just imagine it. Their skin touched---his tiny locks of hair tickling her smooth bare chest. He could feel the soft points of her nipples trace odd patterns on his skin.
He couldn't stand it anymore and bent his head to attend to her breasts. He cupped them in his hand while his tongue danced a circle around one areola, spiraling in tighter and tighter like a figure skater in a pirouette until he found the nipple. He kissed it lightly, playfully, while he felt the weight of her bosom in his hands.
Melissa's head swam from this new event. She caressed his shoulders and back, hands flowing over tired muscles, showing ample love and affection. As he continued his treatment, her hands continued down his body until they found the waistband of his jeans. She tucked one finger under the denim and followed the pattern of circumference around to his front, until she hit something hard. His snap. Awkwardly, she fussed with it before getting it to release. She started pulling down the material. Dan raised his bottom off the floor to aid her. As she removed his pants, her arm brushed against his growing member pressing against his shorts along one thigh. She heard him groan his approval.
"I love you, Melissa. I have since we started working together."
"I love you, too," she said. "I think I always have. When I met you I knew you were the one."
"It's not fair that it's taken something like what we've been through to realize how we feel."
"We would have, in time."
They kissed again, lightly, briefly.
"I want you to know I'll never let anything happen to you...as long as I can help it."
She stroked his cheek. "I know."
He kissed her again, deeply, passionately, reclining against her, lowering her to the floor. She laid back, her back arching, as he kissed his way down her stomach with soft, gentle touches. This time it was his turn to struggle with a snap, and even though it was a man's fastener from Jerry's borrowed pants, he still had difficulty, and his clumsiness made her love and want him more.
All that was remaining was their underwear, and in due course that too was removed, mingling with the other discarded items. They were both completely naked, baring themselves to the other in total trust and total commitment.
As he entered her softly and drove himself deeply into her warmth, she rocked her hips to join in his dance. It was a dance that she never wanted to end. For that moment she forgot about Jerry's eminent return, Reverend Jim Stone, the questions they'd have to eventually answer...all that was wrong with the world. For now, for them, all that existed were each other, two bodies merged as one. As she felt the heat from the fire compete with the heat she felt from Dan between her legs, she realized she was in heaven. This was one paradise she didn't want to get cast out of.
1
Jerry worried about his time in the store. He only meant to get a few supplies and jump back into the car. Socializing was not on the menu. Granted, it was only small talk, but enough to perhaps make him recognizable later on if a situation arose. He pictured the police walking into the five and dime, asking the clerk a few questions, flashing an old publicity photo of him, and setting off to find him moments later.
He cursed himself and hit the steering wheel hard with his fist, looking first in his rearview mirror and then over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. When he looked back out at the road his heart skipped and he had to swerve the car hard to the left to avoid a collision. For a second his tires locked into a skid and he thought the ice was going to carry him straight into the trunk of the car off to the side of the road with its ass end still in the street. But he was able to turn into the skid and stop himself by pumping the brakes.
For a second he just sat there, staring numbly and reliving his life before a stinging bead of sweat dripped into his eye and reminded him of the urgency to get back into hiding. He turned the key to restart the engine.
And that's when he saw her. She came out from around the front of the car, waving her hands and shivering in the cold. Her eyes immediately drew him in: dark, exotic, sexy...
How can I drive off and leave this woman stranded? he thought. He was raised to open doors for women. That kind of behavior might be passé now---even frowned upon by some---but it's what he believed.
She ran up to his window and he couldn't help himself. He briskly rolled it down and asked, "What's wrong?"
She brushed the hair out of her eyes and said, "I've got a flat. I was about to start changing it myself but I'm not sure I can operate the jack. It's kind of tricky." She saw him squirm in his seat and added, "My husband showed me how it works once, saying someday I'd need to know, but I guess I didn't pay attention." She offered an "aw-shucks" smirk. As a final nail in the coffin she said, "The kids will be wondering where I am. I hate to have them worrying about me."
This will only take a minute, he thought, and got out of the car. Dan and Melissa will be fine...
2
"That was wonderful," Melissa said, beaming from ear to ear. Dan leaned over and softly kissed the tip of her nose.
The two of them snuggled under the covers by the fire, reduced to crackling embers that popped and hissed. Body heat kept them warm, but Dan knew another log had to be added soon. He stroked her body with caresses to keep her warm. She did the same.
The cabin seemed so peaceful. Outside, it was quiet. The snow fell gently in front of the window and there wasn't a sound to be heard save for the fire. The moment they shared felt very private, very privileged. Dan wanted to save that slice of time for his own personal scrapbook in his mind.
Finally, reluctantly, he got out from the covers and placed another log on the fire. He was very aware of Melissa's gaze on his naked body, but he didn't feel ashamed. When he returned to their nest, Melissa raised the covers to let him in, allowing him another glance at her bare flesh. It all seemed so natural and perfect. They nuzzled and hugged for a few minutes.
After a time, Melissa asked, "Where do you suppose Jerry is?"
"I don't know, but I imagine he'll be coming back soon."
"One of us should get up and get in the shower, I suppose," she said with a frown. Bringing her spinning head back to reality was not what Melissa wanted, but it was what needed to be done.
Dan didn't move right away, so she lifted the blankets and rolled out. As she walked the few steps to the bathroom, Dan got out and approached her.
"I've got an idea," he said.
"What?"
"We can save water and time---"
"---by taking a shower together!" she finished. Reaching down, grasping his penis gently, she led him into the bathroom, like a dog on a leash. "I like your thinking, young man!"
Smiling, Dan kind of liked his thinking too.
3
Jerry tightened the last lug nut while the woman stood next to him, fidgeting. She marched in place, hugging herself, trying to keep moving to stay warm. His fingertips were all but useless as he fumbled with the tools, but still he pressed on. He felt good about helping somebody in need.
The woman was truly thankful for Jerry's help. His timing couldn't have been better. Her flat happened just a minute or two before he pulled around the corner and saw her. Her companion had screamed bloody murder at her for what seemed like forever before he excused himself and stepped into the woods to relieve himself, muttering derogatory epitaphs as he went. She hadn't seen him since. Kim wondered secretly whether this kind of manual labor was below the good Reverend Stone.
Kim thought about killing Jerry as soon as she recognized him. Instead, she quickly fashioned a fiction of a worried husband and kids to lure him into helping her. She planned on killing him after he was through. Or maybe she would let him finish and drive off, and then simply allow Jerry to lead them to his cabin hideaway. What information they got from a local Realtor was sketchy at best. At a fork in the road a mile or two back Cambridge and the others took the left path, while she and Stone continued to the right. They were lost, but their blood crystals smiled and brought Jerry to them instead.
"All finished!" Jerry announced, standing and brushing the snow and dirt off his pants.
"Great. Thank you," she said, smiling.
He handed her the lug wrench. She felt its weight in her hand and approved, imagining crushing his skull with it. She scanned the lining of trees for Stone, seeking a clue as to how to proceed. She couldn't see him.
"You should be fine now," Jerry said. "But when you drive home, make sure you watch out for the ice. It's really slippery in spots. I almost hit you back there."
"Sure. Great. I will."
As she stood, bobbing her weight from one foot to the other, Jerry got the impression that something was wrong. Her conversation, which earlier flowed freely, was now all staccato bursts of one-syllable words, spaced apart. She seemed awkward, like she was stalling. For a fleeting instant, he wondered if she was trying to start something with him, but he brushed it aside, realizing that she was married. That was probably his own attraction toward her talking, he figured.
"Are we through here? Do you need anymore help?" he asked, trying now to get away. Dan and Melissa must be wondering what was taking so long.
"No. I'm fine. Thanks again."
"All ri---"
A guttural primal scream cut Jerry off. Stone charged out of the thick brush, wielding his knife raised high to strike. Jerry froze with alarm from the sound. To his surprise, the woman didn't seem paralyzed with fear, but more relieved. Her eyes betrayed happiness. Then he felt the blow to his back.
Fighting for breath, he turned to face his attacker. His punch had knocked the wind out of him. He was wheezing, but otherwise felt fine---until he saw the blood slathered on Stone's knife. It dawned on him that he wasn't punched. He was stabbed.
He reached back and put his hand where the fist struck him. With a sickening awareness, he realized that the knife must have gone in up to its hilt for him to feel the man's fist. The back of his jacket felt slick, wet. When he looked back at his fingers they were red like he knew they would be.
Stone raised his knife for another blow. Jerry's knees buckled, and he stumbled to the ground. His sudden collapse threw Stone's aim off. The blade sunk into his shoulder instead of his heart. As he fell, the knife slipped out of Stone's grip from all the blood on the handle. Jerry went facedown into the snow.
Stone started to move in to retrieve his blade, but Kim restrained him. A car was coming down the road. Urgently, she was moving the two of them to block the view of Jerry's body from the road when she recognized the other car as Bill Cambridge's. They waited for him to pull up.
"What's going on?" Bill asked, rolling down his window.
"Long story," Stone replied. "Suffice it to say this is the road Stevens's cabin is on."
"That's what we thought. The other one turned into a dead end about three miles into it."
Paul Rogers rolled down his window and looked at Jerry's body. "Who's that?"
"That was Jerry Stevens. The first to be struck down, but not the last." Stone licked Jerry's blood from his fingers, feeling it refuel him. "Paul, get out of the car. I want you to drive Stevens's car."
Rogers obeyed without question and looked into Jerry's car.
"The keys are in the ignition!" he called.
"Good. Then we don't have to waste time rummaging over the corpse."
"What do we do with him?" Kim asked, pointing at Jerry's still form.
"Drag the pariah into the woods. He should remain out of sight long enough for us to finish our business."
Rogers and Kim each grabbed an arm and quickly did as Reverend Stone requested. Some trenches were left behind from the dragging, but Jeff Goodall quickly swept at the surrounding snow and passably filled them in. The falling snow would do the rest over time.
"Paul, I want you to lead," Stone asked when they returned. "That way they will get the message that their friend is dead when they see his car returning with others."
"Are you sure this is the way?"
"Oh, yes." Stone walked over to Kim's car, grabbed the door handle and opened it. "It won't be long now."
1
Melissa put her dirty shoes and socks back on and wandered into the living room. She couldn't wait for Jerry to pull in with the supplies. Hopefully, he wouldn't forget the underwear.
Dan leaned against the windowpane, his breath smoking up the glass. She came up from behind and put her arms around him. He kept gazing out the window, watching the driveway. She didn't like it.
"What's wrong?"
"Don't you think Jerry should be back by now?" he asked. "We've had time to cut firewood, clean and dust, make love---" she kissed his ear when he said that, "---shower and get dressed, and still no Jerry."
"You're worried."
"Yes. I'm worried. Stone's group of psychopaths is much larger than we thought. How many of them do you think are looking for us now?"
Melissa frowned, and held him tighter. "Don't talk like that."
"Well, you know they are. Some of them probably have no idea why they're looking for us, and some of them are completely innocent at this point, but they are looking. Remember what it was like to belong?"
He felt her shivering against his back. "Yes," she said. "He can be very persuasive. That's what makes him so dangerous."
He nodded and pounded a fist against the pane. All he saw were flakes of snow drifting down, not the sight of Jerry's vehicle pulling in that he so desperately wanted to see.
2
"This might be the right road, but Rogers is as lost as the unconverted," Stone grumbled as he watched the car in front of him plod down the road. Twice Kim had to quickly brake to avoid hitting Rogers's car when he slowed and tried to read the addresses on the mailboxes.
"It can't be much farther Reverend Stone," Kim offered, trying to soothe him.
Ignoring her, Stone reached for one of the walkie-talkies they picked up at a Radio Shack back in town. "Rogers!" he shouted into it. "What the hell's taking so long?"
Rogers's voice came back laced with static. "Half of these mailboxes don't have any postal addresses on them. Or if they do, they're so faded I can't make them out."
"But are we close?" Stone demanded to know.
"The only way to know for sure is to go down these driveways and check the numbers on the cabins."
"Then maybe that's what you should do."
"Okay. I'll go down the next drive we come to."
3
Melissa caught Dan looking at the telephone for the second time and asked, "Are you thinking of calling the police?"
"If I called them they'll be all over this cabin before I can get the phone back in its cradle. Believe me, a hallway full of dead cops raises plenty of questions that need answering."
"Did we leave too soon? What would've happened if we went to the police?"
"Nothing good, I can tell you that," Dan spat. "Remember all the stuff Jerry told Sergeant Cameron?"
Melissa got the shivers. Her life was falling apart. It didn't make any sense. "Sitting in a prison cell doesn't sound so bad right now. At least we'd be away from Stone."
Melissa's mention of Stone's name put Dan's nerves on edge. It was intolerable being holed away in this cabin, no matter how nice, while all around them the game continued to play. The solution was outside their grasp, hopelessly eluding them, and the game clock kept on ticking. They had used the last of their timeouts.
Dan stood up, grabbed one of Jerry's duffel bags, and started back to Jerry's bedroom. Melissa quickly followed.
"What are you doing?"
He pulled open a dresser drawer and started filling the bag with anything that vaguely resembled winter clothes. The pickings were slim, but he found one sweatshirt, a few pairs of socks, and a blanket.
"Sorry, honey. No clean underwear," he deadpanned. When she didn't smile, he said, "We've got to get out of here. Stone's coming. I can feel it. If we don't leave now, we won't be able to."
"And go where?"
"Our best chance is to reach another cabin."
"On foot? What about Jerry's car?"
"Jerry hasn't come back. Jerry's not going to come back. He's been gone way too long. Either the police or Stone got him."
"Why can't we just watch the road from here, and if Stone comes, then leave?"
"Because by then it will be too late. We'd never move fast enough through the snow."
Melissa put her chin against her chest, the weight of Dan's words giving her a sinking feeling.
He held up the duffel bag. "This isn't the greatest, but it will help us with where we're going. Do you want to put any of this on now?"
"Give me a pair of socks."
Dan threw her a bundled up pair and she sat on the bed, curling them onto her feet as she did with her own just a moment before. She put her shoes back on, stood up, and stomped her feet, breaking in her shoes with the double layer of socks.
"Ready as I'll ever get, I guess."
Dan came over and hugged her. She returned it strongly.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
Dan smiled. "Let's go before we change our minds."
She nodded.
They walked to the door, took one last look around the cabin and the glowing fire, and opened it, greeted with cold, blowing wind. With a sigh of resignation mixed with desperation, Dan stepped out. A moment later Melissa did too, pulling the door closed behind her.
4
The raccoon approached the still figure for the third time, sniffing the air to be sure. Nervously, it quickly scampered up and bit Jerry's ear. He muffled a pained cry and swatted at it with his one good arm, sitting up, terrified. The raccoon panicked, and ran back into the underbrush.
Jerry's eyes darted about, afraid of discovery. If the raccoon hadn't bit him he would've stayed put for another five to ten minutes, playing dead.
He felt dead. There wasn't that much play-acting involved. Once he sat up, his head started to spin.
Too abrupt, he thought. I did that way too fast. Then another thought hit him: The lack of blood...that's what's making me faint. I'm bleeding all over, and I don't have any blood left! I'm going to die here...
Tentatively, he put his hand up and felt his shoulder. There was a bolt of pain, and his jacket was slick with blood, but from what he could feel, he thought it was a deep puncture to his shoulder---painful, but not fatal. His back gave him greater concern. He wondered if his lungs were hit. He tried to feel around and find the entrance wound, but it was just out of reach of his flaying fingers. The snow around him was splattered a rich red, so he knew a lot of blood had flowed.
What do I do now? There won't be any cars coming, not in weather like this. How am I going to find any help?
Questions like these were rhetorical. He knew he had to get to his feet, make his way to the road, and do everything in his power to get to his cabin and warn Dan and Melissa. So, with an effort, Jerry took his first step.
He stumbled and wheezed with a rasp almost immediately. His mouth tasted like copper, and when he coughed into his hand there were specks of blood on his glove, confirming that a lung had been stabbed. Now the question was: how badly? Just a prick? Or a serious puncture?
He feared as he trekked onward that the answer would become painfully apparent.
5
It took winding down two driveways, searching for street numbers, but Stone and the others finally reached what they thought was Jerry's cabin. The cars descended on the property like a caravan: Rogers leading in Jerry's car, Cambridge and Goodall next, followed by Kim and Stone bringing up the rear.
"Reverend Stone, they'll see us coming as a group, won't they?" Kim asked, wishing that their car were first. That way Reverend Stone could have the entrance he deserved.
He reached over and patted her thigh like a patronizing father. "It won't matter at this point. Whether it's one car or a whole army, they'll have nowhere to go, nowhere to run..." He smiled broadly. "We have them now."
"They're probably too scared to move."
"Yes, Kim, cowering down, praying to their false gods. It won't help them."
Kim pulled the car next to the other two and killed the engine. The men sat in their seats, looking to Stone, waiting for some sign to move. When Reverend Stone finally opened his door, they followed his lead and jumped out too.
Cambridge cupped his hands to the window and looked in. "I don't see them, but there are blankets on the floor and a fire going. They're definitely here."
"They must be hiding," Rogers concurred.
At this point the three men looked to Reverend Stone again, as if to ask What do we do now? He answered their unspoken question by simply reaching out and trying the doorknob. It was locked, as he expected it would be. He took one of the walkie-talkies they had with them and smashed it against a windowpane. Shards of glass littered the floor as Stone reached through and fiddled with the lock.
A moment later, they were inside.
Like three S.W.A.T. commandos, Cambridge and Rogers ran into the cabin, going down the hallway to the bedroom while Goodall stayed in the living room, opening closet doors and searching behind furniture. Stone calmly walked over to the fire and stoked its dying embers.
"There's no one here," Cambridge said, returning from the hallway.
Stone nodded his understanding, gently twirling the prod into the wood, enjoying the crackling sound it made. Kim came up behind him and rubbed his back and arms, trying to comfort him in his disappointment. She thought he hid it well.
"What do we do now?" asked Goodall.
They stood around him like a flock of sheep.
Stone stopped his stoking and turned to them, not seeing the problem as they did. His calm demeanor threw them.
"We don't do anything. You and Bill and Paul go out and search for them. They can't have gone far. They are around this cabin somewhere. Kim and I will remain behind. Take the walkie-talkies and keep in touch."
"And if we find them?"
Through clenched teeth Stone managed, "When, not if. When."
The three men looked at each other, afraid of him despite their superior size. "When we find them?"
Stone smiled, and jammed the poker deep into the embers. The flames hissed.
"Kill them."
1
The going was slow. Each step buried their legs in thick, wet snow. Their pants clung to their calves like vines to a tree. Pulling each heavy foot out required a certain fortitude. Every time one of them slipped, the other was there to catch them, support them, or, at the very least, help them out of the snow.
After one such fall Melissa looked back at the huge depression she just made and froze---not from the temperature, but from a terrible realization.
"Oh my God, Dan! The footprints!"
Dan nodded knowingly as he pulled her up, staring at the marked trail they'd made through the woods. "I know. I realized it a few minutes after we left."
"What are we going to do about them?"
He shrugged. "Our best hope is for the drifting snow to blow them away. Until then, we better travel as far as we can."
"Even if the snow does drift over them, we still have big pits where one of us fell. Those won't go away."
"No. They won't."
Melissa saw that he was getting grim. And standing there talking didn't help matters. If they were in trouble, it was time to move on again. Walking at least made her feel better, like she was doing something.
She was about to take another step when a thought suddenly occurred to her...
2
Jerry drudgingly plodded on his own trek. Physically, his way was easier, except his wounds made it more difficult. Each breath was a mammoth wheeze that came painfully, causing Jerry to wonder if it was his last. Still, he kept moving forward, and wasn't about to stop.
Damp blood caked his sweater. Every so often he thought the bleeding had stopped, but then he would stumble over something in the road and feel the seeping warmth on his back again. The jostling wasn't conducive to clotting.
How much farther do I have to go? he thought, looking around, trying to spot something familiar. The trouble was he hadn't been up enough to know any landmarks yet. He feared he would die before his dream cabin became commonplace to him.
With that bleak thought in his mind, he concentrated, and placed one foot in front of the other for the thousandth time. One way or another, he was going to make it back to warn his friends.
3
"One of them fell again," Jeff Goodall said, pointing at a large depression in the snow.
"How far ahead can they be?" Bill Cambridge asked.
Paul Rogers looked at his watch. "We've only been doing this for twenty minutes. They'll come up soon enough." He reached for his walkie-talkie again. "Reverend Stone, can you hear me?"
The line crackled with static, and then Stone's voice came through. "Barely."
The Reverend sounded thin, hardly audible to Rogers. He signaled the others to stop. They gathered around him, thankful for the warmth of the group huddle.
"I think we're nearing the end of our range on these things," Rogers said, looking over the hills and deep valleys. "The hills could be blocking the signal."
"Cheap ass walkie-talkies!" Stone fumed, and then collected himself, and spoke slowly and clearly into the faceplate. "Paul, you're going to have to remain there and repeat my instructions to the others as they keep going. In other words, I broadcast it to you, and then you broadcast it to them. In the meantime, I'll leave the cabin and catch up to you. Then together we can rejoin the others."
"Like a relay," Rogers said.
"Yes. You got it."
Rogers turned to the men. "Well, you heard him. Get moving and continue to check in. If the signal from you guys starts to get weak, one of you will have to stop so we can keep piggybacking the info."
"Got it," they replied, and moved off through the woods.
As he watched them recede, Paul Rogers clapped his hands and stomped his feet, hoping that Reverend Stone would hurry up and get to him.
4
"I'll go with you," Kim said.
"No. I want you to stay here."
"Why? What will I do?"
"I want you to stay behind just in case something happens: a phone call...a friend showing up at the door to help...Dan and Melissa doubling back..."
"You don't want me out there. You think I'm useless."
Stone grabbed her shoulders and looked deep in her eyes. "Not at all. You'll know exactly what to do if something does arise. I wouldn't keep you at home base if I thought otherwise." He gave her a quick kiss, donned his coat, grabbed his gun, and left the cabin.
Kim watched him go with tears in her eyes and a burning resolve to prove herself.
5
Not a single car came along while Jerry fought his way home. It was too late for the summer people and too early for the winter folks. Trying another cabin was pointless. There simply wasn't anyone here.
He looked down, staring at the sea of white passing in front of his eyes, becoming a blur. Holding his head up took too much strength. It was an exercise in frustration as much as a physical workout. If his driveway didn't come soon, he didn't know how much longer he could continue.
6
Jeff Goodall blinked against the blustery wind and kept his head down, shielding his bare cheeks from the onslaught of cold.
His walkie-talkie crackled. With stiff fingers he operated it. "Yeah?"
"Just checking in," Cambridge said. "How ya doing?"
"Freezing my ass off."
Cambridge snickered as he stood his ground, slapping his hands against his legs. "I hear ya, but barely. Is the signal still strong on your end? You're starting to break up here, but I don't know...it could be the batteries."
"The signal's still audible, but it's starting to fade." He banged on the device three times, slapping it in his palm. "At least the Reverend ought to be catching up to Rogers pretty soon, and then they'll start moving again, instead of stretching this 'rubber band' past its breaking point."
"It doesn't help when people go down into the deep valleys either. This area is awfully hilly."
"Tell me about it. My legs are sore from climbing. Have you looked down some of these precipices? Some of them are pretty steep. I---hold on..." He stopped short.
"Jeff?" Cambridge asked.
But Jeff Goodall didn't hear it. He had clicked off his walkie-talkie to maintain radio silence. He didn't want his prey to be alerted to his presence by some pointless crackle or hiss.
He saw Melissa up ahead.
She was alone, her back to him.
That left the question: Where was Dan?
The answer came to Goodall in a wide variety of choices, ranging from the simple to the sublime. He could be off the trail, pissing behind a tree; maybe they split up, thinking they had a better chance of making it out alive that way; or another possibility: Melissa came to her senses, renounced Dan, and was heading out on her own. Granted, that last choice didn't seem very likely, but he was starting to feel confident enough to ask---before he twisted her neck one hundred eighty degrees and tasted the blood that flowed from her eyes and ears.
He looked back at the tracks she left behind. His ran parallel, and it was hard to tell, but she did seem to leave a single pair of tracks. Dan's must have branched off somewhere. He wondered why he had missed it before. Probably because I was so fucking cold that I wasn't even looking at them anymore, rather simply trudging onward...
He started to approach, keeping in the shadows in case she looked back. As he drew closer, he started to walk more out in the open, finally walking boldly down the middle of the path, with a gang member's cocky strut through home turf.
"Melissa!" he called out.
She spun around, and gasped.
He loved the wide-eyed terror shown in her baby blues. Her lips pulled back, revealing her teeth, like a child bracing for a parent's slap as punishment for a wrongdoing. There was nothing vicious in the expression---it was one of total fear.
"Jeff..." she managed finally, composing herself somewhat as she continued to stagger backwards.
"Don't run from me," he said. "It will only take longer that way."
"What are you going to do?"
Goodall grinned as he moved in, not answering, delighting in the fear he felt certain welled up within her. She stopped staggering, obviously too paralyzed to even move now. She looked at him, cowering, simply awaiting her fate.
But her face didn't project complete horror anymore. It was almost...calm. He spun around, but it was too late to stop Dan's blow, his forearm smacking into Goodall's nose bridge, splintering it.
Goodall fell to his knees, howling, shielding his face, as thick blood ran between his fingers to drip in the snow. While he was down, Dan wound back and kicked him in the face, driving slivers of bone deep into Goodall's brain. He crumpled to the ground, silent.
After a moment, when it appeared safe, Melissa came forward.
"Is he dead? Did you kill him?"
Dan wiped his brow. "I don't know. I think so."
Melissa ran a wide arc around the body, keeping as far away from it as possible, and gave Dan a hug. "It's okay. Try not to think about it. You saved my life."
"I shouldn't have used you as bait like that. What would have happened if I didn't double back in time?"
"It was a good idea to backtrack using my footprints to confuse them. I could tell he had no idea where you were...until it was too late."
"That may be true, but we were lucky this time. Next time might not go so well."
She smiled bravely. "I have faith in your stalking."
"I'm glad one of us does. When you suggested it, I wasn't sure." He gulped. "I heard my heart pounding so loud I had no idea how much noise I was making."
Melissa looked at Goodall's dead body. "Not much, I'm thinking."
"Even so, I'd feel better if you were somewhere safer, not on the open path. The next one might have a gun."
Melissa gave in and nodded.
"Where should I go?"
7
Reverend Stone finally caught up to Paul Rogers. He walked uphill the whole way and once Rogers saw him he waved his hands and shouted. Stone huffed and sweated, annoyed. He gave him the smallest of acknowledgements, allowing Rogers only the comfort of a brief nod from ten paces.
"What's going on?" Stone asked upon catching up.
"They started to get out of range, so Cambridge stayed behind. He's been piggybacking Goodall's progress to me. He hasn't checked in for a few minutes."
Stone frowned. "I could pick up some of that as I got closer. Raise Cambridge again."
Rogers gripped his walkie-talkie and nervously spoke into it. The Reverend was obviously steaming mad. The silence that came from his device did nothing to curtail his fear. His anxiety rose and his voice cracked as he made another attempt at contact. With nothing but the hiss and crackle of dead air, he was afraid to meet Stone's eyes.
"Give me that!" Stone snapped, reaching for the walkie-talkie. Rogers felt it best not to remind Reverend Stone that he had his own walkie-talkie. "Those assholes have wandered out of range."
Rogers didn't think so---he felt they knew what they were doing---but again he thought it was in his best interest to remain silent. To his relief, Stone didn't have any better luck than he did raising them.
"Those two are pissing me off!" Stone spat as he handed the walkie-talkie back to Rogers. He started walking along the trail, starting to get hidden by more falling snow. "At least Kim can obey orders. Let's go catch up with them."
8
Kim looked from the clock on the wall to the watch on her wrist and back again. Stone had only been gone for twenty minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Despite what Reverend Stone said, she thought she could be much more useful outside. His logic of her running a "home base" made sense to her, but without a walkie-talkie for communication to the field, she didn't really see the point. However, since this was what Reverend Stone wanted, this was what he was going to get.
So far the phone hadn't rung, and no unexpected guests appeared at the door. That would soon change.
9
Cambridge lost Jeff Goodall's signal. Acting on his own, he went a few steps down the trail to see if he could re-establish contact. Once that was set, he was going to backtrack and re-establish the link with Rogers. But as he continued down the trail he got farther away from Rogers, and wasn't having any luck raising Goodall either. He was the hapless middleman. Before he knew it, he had gone nearly a half-mile.
He knew it was silly to keep trekking on. Goodall probably just had a dead battery. The range on the walkie-talkies wasn't very far, and he knew the longer he stayed silent with Reverend Stone, the deeper the grave he dug for himself. He knew that. Yet it didn't stop him.
He wanted to solve this mystery, but he also wanted a chance at redemption ever since his cowardice while trailing Dan and Melissa two nights ago. Perhaps more so, he was afraid---afraid of Reverend Stone's wrath and the ease with which Stone killed him with impunity in his daydream. He again thought of the razor-sharp talons, the outstretched wings, the snapping beak...
With further resolve, he walked on.
Above him, high up in a tree, Melissa breathed a sigh of relief.
10
Dan's blood was pumping. In his head he heard the score from Stalker---the violins and cellos full of menace---sounding as pristine as the soundtrack CD he bought from Wal-Mart days after seeing the film. He strode along to the beat of the music, its atonal strings encouraging him on. He walked like a machine, transformed into a unit of destruction. He would do whatever it took to free him and Melissa from their current nightmare.
He ran ahead, leaving a trail in the snow. At a rocky area where the snow was patchy he left the trail and circled back. He employed the same kind of strategies the Stalker did in the finale of the film at the farmhouse, sucking his targets in with false clues and red herrings, until it was too late. As the Stalker descended upon them, killing them brutally---so too would Dan when the time came.
11
Bill Cambridge followed the tracks, thinking about the course of his life. He was in the harsh Michigan winter, a long way from his law practice, giving his all for Reverend Jim Stone. How had they met? Why did he follow him so? He found he could barely remember; it was so long ago. With a wistful smirk, he concluded it was a good thing he didn't have to give a deposition concerning the origin of his relationship with his leader. But Stone's way was better than the bitter existence he endured before meeting him.
He stopped to catch his breath, vainly attempting to use his out of range walkie-talkie again. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow, his heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he cursed himself for not being fit enough for this terrain. One more way to let Reverend Stone down... he thought sourly.
With resolve he looked ahead down the path of prints, and gasped when he saw them vanish in fifty feet.
"What's going on here?" he asked himself.
Must be a whiteout up ahead, that's all, he answered, trying to sound reassuring. They'll pick up again on the other side...
12
Dan saw Cambridge's shoulders hunch as he stared ahead, confused. He realized the man would figure out what was going on fairly soon. It was time to act. The blood boiled in his brain. He recognized this man as the one who shot all the cops at his apartment. This man was violent, dangerous, and probably armed again. All he could hope for was that the man would be confused for a few more moments.
Taking a step, Dan froze when he heard the snow crunch. The man only wheezed and panted, short of breath. He dared another step. Still no reaction.
By now he knew he had to be within earshot, and wondered how much further he should push his luck inching forward before springing out, like a runner out of starting blocks, rushing the man. He tried to think like the Stalker, to become the Stalker. That's what he did the night this whole nightmare began...
(heel to toe, heel to toe...keep a light, rolling motion...)
That method may have worked fine on concrete surfaces, but this was snow he was crossing. It dampened the sound somewhat, but he still felt like he was trying to secretly open foil candy in a church pew while the priest was deep in prayer. And it was taking so long!
(Patience is a virtue)
He had heard that in church once or twice. Probably when he was unwrapping the candy amidst the disapproving stares of the elderly. He had to concentrate on what he was trying to do.
(What would the Stalker do?)
He had to get back in the frame of mind where he was during the summer. The Stalker didn't debate what he was doing. He didn't judge the implications of his acts, or fear the outcome. He was cold, focused, grim in the execution of his trade. That's what Dan needed to become again.
And as he fought to control himself, he realized that the earth had moved beneath his feet. Next thing he knew, he was right at Cambridge's back.
13
Bill Cambridge gave up trying to figure out the pattern of the footprints and if the weather could have wiped them clean. In frustration he turned, about to head back toward the cabin to report his failure. He knew pain and anguish awaited him. He didn't know it would come so soon in the form of Dan's gloved hand, balled into a fist, making contact with his face.
Reverberations channeled up Dan's arm, feeling like he dislodged his elbow somehow. On the receiving end, Cambridge's world spun. His left eye socket took the brunt of the blow, but because Dan wore gloves, the padding softened the impact. Still, his vision blurred, and stinging tears flowed freely. He blinked them away, trying to focus on which attacker was the real one.
Enraged, Dan took another swing, but met only defenseless air as Cambridge had the sense to duck down. Spinning like a top, Dan toppled off balance.
Cambridge brought his knee up and caught Dan falling down, poking him in the soft area between the stomach and the ribcage. Dan exhaled his wind in a steamy cloud and instinctively cowered to protect his stomach from future assault. His whole insides felt hot.
Smartly, he moved away from Cambridge, giving him some space to recuperate. Every time Cambridge approached him, Dan backed away. He did this until his breathing returned.
"See this?" Cambridge asked, pointing to a swollen and yellowish cheek, fading from black and blue. "You did this to me a while back. But it's nothing compared to what I'm gonna do to you."
Dan noticed the man's eyes. They were under a dark hood before, but he recognized them as belonging to the man who attacked him when he thought he was getting mugged. So this man had gone after him not once, but twice!
"You trying to take me down again?" Dan taunted.
"Whatever it takes."
They continued circling. Dan's breathing started to return. The cold no longer bothered him. His insides still burned and anger flushed his cheeks.
"So where's your gun now, asshole?"
"Reverend Stone has it."
In retrospect Dan thought it wasn't really a good idea to ask the man where his weapon might be---in case he forgot about it---but he was in character of a killer with an attitude, and the question seemed to fit. On the other hand, it was comforting to know that he wouldn't have to be dealing with a firearm now.
They sparred and jabbed a few times, but nothing really amounted to anything. They were both getting angry; apparently each had much to gain or lose from the outcome of this fight.
Bill Cambridge threw a punch at Dan's stomach. Dan surprised himself by catching it. The force of the thrust made him stumble back a step, but he didn't let go of the hand and he didn't fall over. In one quick motion he grabbed the gloved fingers and bent them back until they were perpendicular to Cambridge's wrist---and beyond. The howling wind covered the pops of bones snapping.
Cambridge screamed, piercing Dan's eardrums. Months of hell and torment came to a head in that moment. Dan found he liked the sound he heard. It was like the anguished screams of the damned. He twisted Cambridge's now dangling hand like a joystick, taking an almost sadistic pleasure out of watching the man fall to his knees before him, kneeling like a cowering worshiper. As if passing judgment, Dan brought up his own knee and smashed it into his attacker's face. It connected with the same eye socket Dan targeted earlier. This time he felt a little liquid squish through his jeans. Whether it was blood or ocular fluid Dan didn't know, or care. Cambridge fell before him, not understanding the final irony of his slumping pose as he slipped into deep unconsciousness.
But Dan understood the power Stone craved all too well. In that inkling of a moment, he understood what it was like to be...a God.
14
Jerry finally found the right driveway. By this point he crawled on his hands and knees, struggling like an infant. Two pints of his blood streaked the snow behind him, and his heart beat weakly. He knew he had little blood to spare---when his thinking wasn't delirious.
But his head was clear as he turned down his driveway. Facing the end, he found a little bit of momentum to propel him, hanging his chin down against his chest and pawing forward.
As he drew closer he lost some of his drive. He saw the extra cars that he hadn't really noticed before---or didn't trust his eyes were real. When he finally placed his hand against one of the fenders, he knew they were here, and not some nightmarish vision. He paused for a moment, listening, looking for a sign. Were they held captive, or dead? He tired to think of a plan, but his reasoning was clouded. Adding two plus two would have wiped him out at this point. Seeing very little choice, he decided to continue forward, into the cabin.
Inside, Kim paced, wearing a trail in the throw rug on the floor. She had resolved with all her might that she was going to stay behind, do what the Reverend asked, but for the second time that afternoon she debated going out and joining in the hunt. She knew it would be suicide. She knew Reverend Stone would never forgive her. But it was something she was almost willing to sacrifice herself for---the greater good.
Then she saw a sight that proved to her why Reverend Stone was the chosen prophet, and she only a follower: Jerry Stevens struggling up the walkway steps, holding onto his side.
She smiled.
15
"These tracks make no sense to me," Stone commented, walking through them and kicking up puffs of snow. "Was there a struggle? What?"
Rogers knelt next to them, trying to get a reading. "I've done some deer hunting, so I've looked at tracks before."
"What? Now you're some kind of Indian guide?"
Rogers looked down, avoiding his gaze, ashamed. "I was only trying to help."
"And?"
"You're right. There seems to be less people walking. See how they look kind of single file again? There's not even a sign of one of our men anymore."
"You don't think they're walking in the same footprints, do you? That would take forever, wouldn't it?"
Rogers nodded. "The going would be slow. They could pull it off for a short time, but not for long. But I think those cocksuckers are doing something. Cambridge and Goodall aren't answering their radios. I think they're out."
Stone's eyes narrowed grimly and he nodded. He walked slowly around in a circle, his hands on his hips. He took long breaths, steam streaming out his nostrils like cigarette smoke.
"What if they're not together anymore? Where would the other go?" he asked.
Rogers thought. "Double back? Try to return to the cabin?"
Stone shook his head. "No. If that were the case we would have seen the tracks bend off by now. Something else is going on."
Rogers looked around three hundred sixty degrees, scanning the steep landscape for any hint of a body hiding behind a tree or bush. The sun was starting to sink in the sky, and he had to squint when he looked west into it. But the setting sun threw long expansive shadows from behind every tree it hit, making the ground look black and white, like a piano keyboard. Someone could be hiding in nearly every one of them.
He turned back to Reverend Stone and shrugged his shoulders. "I can't see anyone, but that doesn't mean they're not there. I don't know what else to say..."
But Stone had a smile on his face, which was the last expression Rogers expected to see. He threw Stone a quizzical look.
Reverend Stone continued to smile, and drew one hand off his hip, extending a gloved finger, pointing upward. Rogers frowned for a moment, not comprehending. The Reverend prodded him, thrusting his finger upward again with more authority, saying nothing.
Rogers followed his direction up and gazed into the trees above them. High in the snow-covered branches he saw Melissa cowering against a tree trunk.
Stone said, "Bring her down to me."
16
Jerry clawed his way up the stairs on his hands and knees. His side hurt so much, and no matter how hard he tried to push the pain away, it was almost as stubborn as he---relentless in its agony. But the pain was good. The pain stopped him from wanting to lie down and go to sleep. Even though a thousand spinning stars blanketed his vision, he welcomed them.
He reached for the doorknob. It slipped away in his grasp. His fingers tried again, flailing for purchase. It was silly how something so mundane, so routine, had become so bothersome. This time a couple fingers connected, and managed to stay. Jerry pulled himself to a sitting position, murmured a quick "thank you" to the man upstairs, and stopped to recoup his breath.
He stole a quick glance around the area. He saw the broken window and knew trouble lurked ahead. He prayed that his sudden entry into the cabin would cause a distraction, allowing his friends the chance to regain control of the situation.
If not, they were probably dead already. His stumbling in would only accelerate his own death. Thinking about it, he preferred the quick end Stone would probably unleash upon him compared to watching his life leak out of him one thick drop at a time in the cold desolation.
He turned the knob and tumbled into the living room, yelling as loud as his wounded lungs would let him to cause confusion.
The silence inside was eerie. As he lay on the floor it appeared as though people had been here---things had been moved, couch pillows tossed around---but now it was empty.
Empty except for Kim, who hid behind the door, waiting for his grand entrance. He had been lying on the floor for only a second or two before she leapt.
She was upon him.
17
Rogers made good time once he found a branch to start his climb. All he had to do was follow the impressions left in the snow on the branches from when Melissa went up the tree.
Above him, Melissa scampered higher, sending small clouds of white cascading down on him that built in size after passing each branch and gathering a little more.
"Don't make this difficult, Melissa," Rogers called up. "Just come on down."
"Who do you think you are? Bob Barker?" she asked incredulously. "You think I'm coming down to you? To Stone?"
"Who else?" He smiled, but he hadn't been doing it for as long as Reverend Stone. His deception showed through.
"Fuck you!" she spat back.
"Just get the bitch," Stone called up, "and quit wasting time."
Rogers's smile vanished and was replaced by a grim straight line. His eyes turned icy cold as he resumed his climb. Melissa didn't like the look of it at all---she would have preferred his used car salesman look.
She looked up. Her options were limited. She could climb a little higher, but the branches sagged more and more under her weight. The circumference of them wasn't much bigger than her wrists.
She climbed higher anyway. Reaching out for purchase, she caught a nail, snapping it back like a cobra preparing to strike. The pain was enormous, and for a moment she instinctively reached out to soothe it with her other hand. This caused her to lose her balance.
Flailing for the nearest branch, arms pinwheeling like a trapeze artist in a tangled free-fall, she knew she was in trouble. The closest limb was just out of reach. But if she didn't make the attempt she'd fall to her death. That much was sure.
She leapt for the branch, her foot slipping in the snow as she did, and came up short. Still, one hand found pay dirt, and she clasped to it like a lifeline. The branch reminded her of her four-year-old nephew's wrist now---thin and skinny---and it bent low above her.
Rogers watched this last effort with glee. Van Dyke was liable to kill herself before he got there, making his job that much easier. The sway and groan of the old oak made him uncomfortable enough. Although she was dangling by one hand, she still wasn't down yet, and he didn't need to glance down at Reverend Stone to know that he was still expected to retrieve her.
She looked down and saw Rogers still making headway on his climb toward her, and that inspired her. She pulled herself up and wrestled with the branch until she swung one leg over the thin branch and straddled it, wondering where to go next.
Rogers watched this last act with resignation. She didn't fall after all. However, all Melissa was doing was going up. He knew as long as he stayed between her and the ground, she really didn't have anywhere to go.
But Melissa looked at the tree in more dimensions than Rogers had. While he saw it as a straight line going from the ground to the sky, she saw it as branching out from side to side too. Some branches from nearby trees were close, almost intermingling with hers. Yet the points where they met were little more than twigs---still, if she could just get close enough she might be able to jump and do a mid-air transfer.
"Melissa, stop this running!"
Rogers's voice startled her. While she was calculating her jump, mapping the way in her head, he had drawn dangerously close, arriving at the limb from where she made her nail breaking jump. He had her by a hundred pounds and was a foot taller. She was no match for him, and with his height, leaping for the branch wouldn't be much of a problem either.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked.
"Because Reverend Stone wants it. And what he says, his followers do. I should think you'd at least remember that."
"But blind devotion, without questioning, is unhealthy. Look at all the bloodshed religious crusades has wrought."
"Look at all the bloodshed caused by religious persecutions. We're not that different, you and me."
She bit her lip as her eyes darted about, looking for an exit. While she did a strong wind whipped through the air. The tree creaked again as it swayed, louder.
"Yet you'll still kill me and cause more bloodshed."
"Yes. Without hesitation."
Her brow furrowed and she quickly stood up.
"Then I'll see you in Hell!"
She scampered up to the next level of branches and started to kick at the limbs below her. Most were thin enough to snap in half or at least splinter. She wanted to make it impossible for Rogers to get up to her, even if it meant she had no way of getting down.
Below, Rogers leapt for her perch. It cracked as he pulled himself up like a clumsy gymnast. He reached for her legs and for an instant caught his fingers in the cuff of her jeans. He tugged on them and Melissa felt them slide down to her pelvis, where they snagged. Rogers's constant tugging almost caused her to lose balance, but somehow she kept it, gripping onto the boughs around her. For once she was thankful of the snow as Rogers lost his grip on her pants in the icy slush caked there.
Realizing there was little else to do, she set off on her madcap course for the next tree. She slid her feet along the branch, inching out ever so slowly. Above her she used another limb for a railing, but that branch took a sharp turn upward a few feet farther down her path---that would leave her on her own for the last couple of steps. And as the one branch swept upward, the one she was on sloped downward the more she got from the base of the trunk.
It took Rogers a few moments to figure out a way to get to her. The damage she did to the tree was substantial, but not impassable. Even though the limbs were broken, little stubs measuring three to five inches still remained attached to the trunk, leaving him with small handholds to climb with.
Melissa heard a crack and felt the branch sag. She looked back and saw Rogers was on it with her.
He must be insane! she thought, but looking at his eyes she could tell he felt perfectly rational. He thinks he's untouchable...
Rogers began to inch out. His weight made the limb they were on sink even more, and the other branch she was using as a railing slipped out of her hands as she sank. She started to lose her balance and looked at the branch in the other tree she was aiming for.
I can't make it! It's too far!
The wood split again, with an awful bone breaking sound. There was no time to debate the issue; she had to jump now.
She did.
For a few lofty seconds she felt free: free of her troubles, free of Stone, free of every danger. She always assumed she'd be a quivering ball of goo if put in a situation like this, but she felt no fear. She was calm and coolheaded as she moved through the air.
Then she hit the next tree. Reality zinged back to slap her as her hands missed latching onto the snow-covered limb. She fell through the branches, causing a cascade of snow that made seeing difficult. Her arms and hands went out every which way, seeking a purchase. Ten feet down from her intended target she found a branch and clung to it for dear life. A huge pile of wet snow fell this time as she knocked it off.
In the tree next to her Rogers squatted his legs for his jump over the gulf. But the action of Melissa's jump, paired with his extra weight, was too much for the thin branch. With a loud crackle, it split and separated itself from its mother tree. He wasn't prepared for it at all. Melissa could see it in his eyes as he dropped past her. He flailed about, but it was no use.
Melissa shrieked as he went falling down, his bones snapping like kindling when he made contact with the hard earth.
18
Kim leapt through the air like a panther descending on a rodent, teeth barred and hands hooked like claws. In one hand she held a knife that she grabbed from a drawer before scurrying to her hiding place, and the glean of light reflecting off of it was all Jerry was concentrating on. He rolled to avoid it.
Even though the blade missed, her body still landed on him, her weight---even from her slight frame---agony to his punctured torso. He coughed and saw a fine spray of blood mist the air before him. He guessed that she just reopened his wounds, but there wasn't much time to dwell on that---he had to watch for the knife. He had already been stabbed twice too often today.
Jerry found the strength to kick Kim off of him and rolled farther away until he hit the couch and was stopped. A sense of deep panic crept in, and he knew if he didn't get it under control he was a goner. In the road he kept his head together long enough to play dead. He wasn't going to be done in by the bitch whose looks got him into this current state in the first place.
Kim got up from the floor. Her long hair flew free, matted and out of control, tangled from running her fingers through it while she paced waiting to hear from Reverend Stone. The face that Jerry found so attractive before was twisted into a mask of madness, her eyes gleaming like the possessed. Her white cheeks were covered with speckles of Jerry's blood that he coughed up on her, looking like crimson freckles.
She took one hand and rubbed her cheek, as though she were applying rouge, until her cheeks were an obscene red, the final product looking like something a three-year-old would do if she found Mommy's makeup kit. She then put her fingers in front of her face, staring at them, as if hypnotized. She brought them closer to her mouth, and flicking out with her tongue, licked the blood off them. As she moved from finger to finger Kim glared at Jerry, her mouth cracking a smile, but her eyes vacuous. She drew strength from his spilled fluid. Jerry had heard Dan describe what the cult did with blood, but he had no idea it was so awe-inspiring to them. She was like a vampire.
She now looked nothing like the woman with the flat tire. She was now pure animal. With a guttural cry, she lunged at him, knife raised.
Jerry reached back, grabbing one of the cushions off the couch. He swung it around in front of him, holding it out like a gladiator's shield. The blade bit through it easily, but it was enough to stop the thrust. Kim brought her arm down again and again, each time causing dust clouds to rise from the long unused cushion. Little balls of foam filling spilled onto Jerry's face. He blinked them away.
Finally her fist came all the way through the padding. When she tried to retrieve the knife, it got twisted and stuck perpendicularly on the other side, like a hollow wall mounting screw.
Jerry saw this as his chance, and raising his neck, bit her hand. She howled in pain. But she didn't drop the knife.
Jesus Christ, let go, you stupid bitch! Jerry's mind cried out as he crunched down on her knuckles again.
She bit her lip, making one last effort to pull the knife through. The foam cushion bent inward, but would not release its hold. With a scream composed of equal parts pain and frustration, she dropped the knife. It fell to the floor with a clang.
Jerry pushed Kim and the cushion away from him, then reached out with his better arm and swept the knife under the couch. He briefly thought of picking it up himself, but didn't think he had the strength to wield it properly---better to just get it off the playing field.
"Damn it! God damn you!" Kim lashed at him.
"God?" replied Jerry. "You don't believe in God. You believe in that crazed Reverend Stone."
His twist on her words enraged her even further. She got off the floor, strode quickly to his fallen form, and kicked him in the stomach, holding nothing back. He balled up in anguish, his hands crossed in front of his belly, trying to protect himself. She kicked again, breaking one of his fingers with the heavy winter boots she wore.
Jerry felt his life slipping away from him. He didn't know how much more of her assault he could take.
Kim backed away from him, lining up one final blow, like a field goal kicker coming back from a two-point deficit with three seconds on the clock and fifty yards to go. She put her all into it.
Jerry knew it was now or never. Desperately, he reached out with his hands and caught her foot, stopping it. Upon latching onto it, he raised it up several feet, putting his all into it. He threw her back.
Kim was caught totally off balance. Her weight was distributed all wrong, and her one foot on the ground couldn't support it. She went over backwards, gasping in surprise. Her back landed on the cushion from the knife fight. But her head was beyond the edge of the padding, and her neck continued downward, hyper-extending. Her skull cracked when it hit the hardwood floor, like a dropped egg. She lost consciousness immediately.
Jerry joined her in the blissful sleep a moment afterwards, collapsing onto the floor by her feet.
19
Reverend Stone never stopped looking at Melissa, even after Paul Rogers fell right before him. It unnerved Melissa as she took inventory of her new situation: same problem, different tree. At least the limbs of this tree were slightly thicker than the ones from the other, although a lot of them were dead. She would have to be careful of those.
Melissa quickly scooted along the branch to get more support from the thicker base. When she finally got her arms around the trunk, she hugged it like a lover, dreamily aware that she was breathing again. She didn't think she had been for a least a minute, maybe two.
Stone finally wandered over to his fallen soldier and was surprised to find a faint heartbeat. Rogers's head was bent at a ghastly angle; surely his neck was broken. Color faded from his face as it came closer to matching the snow around him. His lips trembled, trying to form words.
Stone leaned in closer to hear them.
"Get...that cunt..."
There was a final passage of air, and then Rogers's eyes rolled back. If he had delayed a moment longer before coming over, Stone might not have been able to comply with Rogers's final request.
"Oh, don't you worry about that, Paul. She's dead."
He stood, and pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants. He hadn't used one before. Knives were his weapons of choice. They were sleek, easier to conceal, and made such an exquisite sound when entering flesh and nicking bones. Guns were all noise and violence, and he was a man of more refined tastes. However, in this case, he would make do.
She didn't see him crouch into a stance, lining her up in his sight. She was still thankfully hugging the tree. Carefully he hooked his finger into the trigger, held his breath, and pulled back. The kick from the gun surprised him. He almost dropped it.
Dan was returning down the path, looking for Melissa, when he heard the shot ring out. A moment before he thought he'd heard Melissa's high-pitched scream, and his heart was already racing from that. He fought with the snow, trying to increase his pace.
Shards of wood and bark rained down on Melissa, getting tangled in her hair. She looked up and saw a large bite taken out of the tree a few inches from her head. Looking down, she saw Stone pointing a gun in her direction and it was only then when she realized what had just happened.
She scrambled to the other side, putting the trunk between her and Stone. To find thick enough footholds she had to drop a few feet. It made her nervous to come closer into his range. He wasn't very far off in his first attempt.
Stone circled around the tree to get a clearer shot, but she rotated with him. Frustrated, Stone circled back the other way. Every time he moved she countered, keeping one hundred eighty degrees between them. In a way, it was synchronized like some queer waltz. If he were a better shot he might have been able to get her, but he knew he wasn't. Then he thought that maybe a shot to one of her hands might be enough. She would lose her grip and surely fall. He started to crouch into his stance.
Stone's back was to the trail, placing Melissa in a position to see what Stone could not: Dan coming out of nowhere, running up the path and diving at him, viciously, out of breath.
Dan tackled him before he could fire again. Stone fell with a grunt, but to Dan's dismay, managed to hold onto the gun. Dan quickly punched him, trying to make short work of it. The quarters were too close for Stone to actually use the gun the way it was intended. Wailing with a primal scream Stone struck Dan across the cheek with it, leaving a welt. It hurt, but Dan wouldn't back away.
"Why won't you die?" Stone yelled, hammering Dan over and over.
"I'm not a helpless victim like the others you've killed."
"I didn't kill them. I set them free."
"Likely story. I'm sure it sounds great in your press releases."
"Sarcasm is a bitter pill, Mr. Freeman. In my flock, my people are happy. Are you?"
That made Dan angry, and he foolishly withdrew a bit to cock a punch toward Stone's face. Given his chance, Stone raised the handgun, and pointed it directly at Dan's chest. He had him.
"No!" cried Melissa from above.
It caught them both off guard. In their violent struggle they momentarily forgot her. Dan recovered first, using it to his advantage. He swung his fist, now aimed at a new target. It connected with Stone's outstretched hand and sent the gun sailing out, into the snow.
In Dan's mind, he now had a chance.
Melissa watched the gun sink into the white powder. She knew that Dan and Stone were disorientated. If they got turned around it might be a while before either of them could find the gun again. But she knew where it was. She marked it with a rock along the path, lining it up like a property surveyor. If she could get down there fast enough...
She felt as helpless as Dan had when he'd heard her scream and came running. There was no way to make this quick. Even so, she made the effort, hanging on for dear life each time her foot slipped, sending a flurry of snow from tussled branches over the edge of the steep embankment where the two men fought.
Dan and Reverend Stone were oblivious to her snow showers. They were concentrating on each other, and where the gun went.
Stone held up his hands, balled into fists, in front of him now. He started to circle Dan, like a boxer at the beginning of a match, analyzing, calculating, judging. He did a little thrust and parry to keep Dan on his toes, all the while looking about frantically. Dan used Stone's distraction to attack. He thrust a fist into Stone's stomach, and followed up with an uppercut. Both were good blows, but not knockouts. Stone staggered and coughed, spitting aside some blood from a split lip, but that was all.
"This is all well and good, Mr. Freeman, but you can't win." He then unzipped his coat and removed the crystal from around his neck. He gripped it tightly in his clenched hands, holding it out for Dan to see. "You don't have this."
Dan would have smirked if he had the inclination. Stone held the crystal so tightly all Dan could see were his interlaced fingers. "I don't need any magic stones."
"And it's that attitude that will make you fail."
Stone leapt forward, grabbing Dan by the shoulders. Catching him off guard, he pushed him back, and Dan realized he was trying to shove him over the edge of the hill. It was cut at a fairly steep angle, and appeared to slope down for a good couple hundred feet. Dan decided he didn't want to go over this brink.
They were locked arm in arm, face to face. Stone pushed hard, but Dan's legs still had some fight left in them, even after sloshing through the deep snow. Either that, or the pure adrenaline rush. He dug in. Stone had the weight, but Dan had the youth. He wasn't going over the hill that easily.
Dan saw directly into Stone's eyes. They were absolutely consumed with hatred. This man wasn't thinking anymore, but was acting and reacting like some kind of Pavlov's dog on acid. Worse yet, he had Bill Rogers's dead body to draw vengeance from. Dan looked up and saw Melissa, trying to climb down the tree, but slowed by slipping and sliding. He thought of Jerry, and what had probably happened to him by now. The image of his friend dead in the snow drew Dan into the same emotional pit as Stone, and made him fetid with rage, overwhelming hate, and total anger. He wasn't thinking anymore---only reacting on automatic pilot. With a quick rotation of his shoulders he was free.
Stone stared at the gap in his hands, picturing what they'd just held. He was shocked that Dan escaped so rapidly. When he turned back around he was still staring through his outstretched hands. To Dan he looked like a director surveying a shot, "shooting" it through his hands to get an idea what it would look like on film. To Stone, it was what was called the "Money Shot." For within the framing of his hands he saw the spot in the snow the gun fell into.
He rushed over to it. Dan was confused, wondering what the heck Stone was doing playing director. By the time he realized what Stone was after, it was too late. Stone reached into the blanket of snow and came up with his prize. Dan was within its sight a moment later with nowhere to run. He gulped hard and thought quickly.
Stone smiled, his thin lips pressed tightly together.
"I've got you both, right where I want you. The only thing now is deciding who gets shot first."
"Why are you doing this? What are you trying to prove?" Dan asked, trying to buy some time.
"I don't take dissent in my ranks well. Loyalty means everything to me."
"And that's why you killed Janet?"
"Janet was on the verge of spilling everything. She couldn't be trusted."
"You can trust us," Dan tried weakly.
"Trust the media? Don't make me laugh! You'd eat your own for ratings."
"You took the life of one of your own."
"My people needed to be taught a lesson!"
"You seem like such a strong man to have such a hold over these people. Why didn't you use your skills for something good?"
"This is good! This is right!" he said, waving his arms around. "Do you think when Jesus was first around he was greeted with warm smiles and open arms? His own people killed him! It's the same story over and over: birth hurts. Every new religion has its moments when people don't understand it. It's new, therefore people fear it. In time, I would have been accepted, cherished, loved."
"Now's not your time, you bastard."
Stone laughed. "I realize that. But it's not really your time either, and it's fast running out." He held the gun level again. "Now, which to kill first?"
He waved the gun back and forth between them, aiming carefully. On one hand there was Dan, a fairly easy target, standing mere yards in front of him. Since he wasn't a good shot that might be the choice to take. On the other hand, shooting Melissa would mean so much more. She had celebrity. Her death would be remembered. She was the traitor. It would taste sweet. On top of that, he would get to watch Dan's face as she plunged from the tree, shot through the chest. Finishing Freeman off would be easy at that point---child's play.
He raised the gun and fired three shots. The air clapped loudly from the explosions within the weapon's chamber. Melissa shrieked and hung onto the base for dear life. Tree branches popped and cracked as lead bit into them. The bullets dislodged the dead branches, and they came crashing down. As they hit other branches, the combined weight collapsed those as well, until a roaring ball of wood and snow was hurtling toward the earth.
Dan managed to jump aside, while Stone backed up, mouth agape, tying to comprehend the cacophony his violence caused. He raised his arms to protect his face as the branches hit the ground at the base of Stone's feet, which were at the edge of the steep slope. The impact cracked the snow and caused the lip to buckle. Stone teetered for a moment as the snow began to slide away under his feet. Dan saw the fear in his eyes as Stone flashed him a look of desperation, knowing what was coming, before he was sucked down over the edge, caught in the swirl.
Stone shut his eyes and balled himself up in a fetal position as his downward ride began. His only hope was to ride out the free-fall. He tumbled head over heels as he was mixed with the branches and the snow and the dirt, stirred like cement in a mixer.
As the avalanche gained more ground, Stone tumbled less. Now the sensation was of being pulled, dragged along. He hit several trees on his way, bending and snapping them. The snow slide widened as it gained momentum, and now some of the smaller trees broke off and mixed with the jumble of earth and snow. His head was covered with abrasions and contusions. His nose broke as it collided with one of the trees. His ribcage felt like a tackle dummy used by professional football teams in practice. One snapped rib poked out through his coat, driving into the snow like a spoke on a gear. Stone didn't even feel it.
A large rock loomed in the path. Stone was dead from his head injuries before he slammed into it. Blood shot out of his mouth and excrement filled his pants. Then he was dragged like a limp doll farther on, arms and legs akimbo, the roar growing louder as half the hillside crumbled off.
After a distance of 250 vertical feet, Stone's body stopped its fall. It was pinned against a wide tree, one too large to snap off from the onrushing carnage. Rocks, dirt, and snow continued to pummel him in the back for the few moments it took for the onslaught to end. He was partially buried under the mountain of snow, his crystal torn from his neck and lost among the ruins.
Then all was quiet.
When the avalanche was at full tilt the sound was deafening. Stone's screams of pain were carried off down the hill, drowned out by the roar of cascading snow. In contrast, the setting was eerie.
Melissa joined Dan on the ground. It took him a moment to realize who she was and where she came from. And then he was on his feet and scooping her into his arms as fast as possible. He hugged her tightly, kissing her cheek and lips desperately. She responded in kind. He held her face before his, looking into her eyes, scarcely believing they were hers; scarcely believing she was here before him.
"Is Stone dead?" she asked.
"I don't see how he could have lived."
Nonetheless, they both required confirmation. It was the journalist in them that needed to know. Holding hands, they started to inch toward the edge.
This was behavior the avalanche experts would not encourage. The ground at the top seemed sturdy enough, but it didn't take a whole lot to start the snow slide in the first place: just the stress from the wet snow exceeding the strength of the bonds of the snow cover triggered by the falling branches.
Looking over the edge, the damage was breathtaking. Huge blocks of snow and ice were strewn about like boulders. The path the avalanche took was cut into the hillside as if God had taken a shovel and scooped out the earth Himself. At the bottom was an immense wall of snow that started to ride up the opposite side of the gulch, exceeding twenty feet in some places and clearing ten feet most everywhere else.
After some awe-inspiring glances, Dan finally set to work on finding Reverend Stone's body. He had to go over the pile three or four times before he finally saw a dark shape pressed against a tree trunk. Squinting, he made out an arm and part of a shoulder. The head was covered in snow. He waited for it to rise up, gasping for breath, but it didn't move. The church was buried under the snow---just like Jerry's snow globe...
Jerry! That reminded him. What happened to Jerry?
"We have to get back."
Melissa saw the fear in his eyes. She gave Dan's hand a squeeze, and smiled her best smile, even though it was an effort. He returned her squeeze, took a deep breath, and started back down the trail, leading her to an uncertain future.
1
Sergeant Miles Cameron woke from his coma. His first word was the same one he spoke when he first slipped into it: "Betty." When his wife heard it, she gasped and threw her Reader's Digest into the air from shock and nearly made it out the door to summon a doctor before it hit the ground.
Forty-five minutes later Cameron was sipping orange juice with Betty by his side, holding his hand, while a team of doctors took readings and asked him questions. They were pleased he had recovered so quickly, all things considered. They owed it to the fact that he wanted to return.
After the doctors came Officer McKay. Ordinarily it would have been too soon for a parade of visitors, but Cameron seemed like he had something to say.
McKay jumped right to the point. He held up a fax of Dan's mug shot from Traverse City. "Did Dan Freeman do this to you?"
Cameron shook his head no.
A little surprised, McKay then showed him a mug shot of Melissa. "Did Melissa Van Dyke do it?"
"No," Cameron said weakly. "It wasn't either of them. It was a man, though."
McKay reached into a manila folder and pulled out some more faxes that came in that morning. The police in Traverse City had taken photographs of everyone at the scene and passed them along.
When Cameron saw Bill Cambridge a light of recognition went off, and he shivered. Seeing the response, McKay handed him the fax. "Take your time. Look it over carefully."
Cameron squinted and furrowed his brow. He wasn't used to seeing with only one eye. The man in the photo looked almost as bad as Cameron, with a pulpy left eye. Cameron smiled inwardly upon seeing it.
"It's him."
He returned the fax and leaned back, rubbing his head. This caused some concern for McKay, who debated summoning a doctor.
"How are you doing, sergeant?"
"Feels like a pickaxe has been slammed into my head, but I'm okay, I guess. The doctors say the bullet entered my eye but then scraped along the inside rim of my skull, exiting out the back. Not much brain damage was done. At least," he swallowed hard with a limp smile, "I hope."
"You were lucky," McKay agreed, "but you seem to be your old self."
"And since you know my 'old self' you know that I want to hear the full story. What did Traverse City tell you?"
Twenty minutes later McKay finished his story. Cameron had listened intently, asking questions along the way for clarification of certain points.
"But the whole scenario makes sense to me," he said, digesting the information. "It sounds a little strange, but it does clear up a lot of mysteries too."
"The woman found on the floor of the cabin next to Jerry Stevens has been talking. She's in hysterics, but she corroborates the story. She's going on and on about how Reverend Stone is such a great man, and that he'll be coming back, 'just wait and see!'"
Cameron nodded. "She's so convinced Stone is the answer to everything that she doesn't have a problem confessing. She's probably under the delusion that Stone will come down from the heavens on a shaft of light and lift her right out of her prison cell."
"Basic nut job."
"But can she be trusted?"
"The psych boys up there have given her a brief once over. From what I understand they think she's reliable, if maybe a little flaky. I guess the catchphrase would be that there's a 'ring of truth' to what Kim's saying. Traverse City wants to hear our version of what happened."
Cameron scratched at the patch over his eye. "Well, I was a witness in Freeman's apartment shooting; this Kim is part of Stone's group, and she's not denying anything; and if Jerry Stevens recovers from surgery there'll be another witness. It seems to me there's little point in holding Freeman or Van Dyke anymore. I feel sorry I ever doubted his story. Maybe some of this could have been averted."
McKay smiled. "Looks like this case is closed."
Cameron scowled. "Hardly. There's still a lot of legwork to do, determining if there are other members of this cult that could be dangerous. In a nutshell, we'll want to shut it down as quickly as possible. That won't be an easy task. Plus there'll be the mayor and city council to deal with. They'll have a thousand questions. They always do."
"Then there's the media..."
"Well shit, those vultures never go away."
They both had a brief chuckle over that, Cameron thinking back to his press conference. To Miles it felt good to laugh. He was on all sorts of painkillers, but he still felt a dull throb in his skull, and thinking about it made him angry. It felt better to laugh, to think about his wife Betty, his kids, and how retirement sounded enticing. Perhaps they would do some of the traveling they always talked about, but never got around to.
"Well, I better call Traverse City and let them know what we've got," McKay said, standing. But as he made his way to the door, he stopped, turning back. "There is one thing that still bothers me."
"What's that?"
"The avalanche. I've done some mountain climbing in college and used to go climbing on vacation when I was younger, but that's not the point. The point is: an avalanche can't occur in Michigan."
"Why not?"
"For starters, avalanches are rare in the east. About the only place that has them is the Presidential Range in New Hampshire. There are a few exceptions, but that's pretty much the rule."
"Could this one have been an exception?"
"Well, the hills of northern Lower Michigan are high enough, but not steep enough. About ninety-percent of all avalanches start on slopes of 30-45 degrees."
"Maybe it was an unusually steep slope."
"That could be. I mean, we're not standing there measuring it with a protractor. It just seems odd."
"Then what do you think caused it?"
McKay shrugged. "I don't know. Do you suppose it's possible it was an act of God?"
"Literally? Being vengeful?"
"I know it sounds kind of Old Testament, but yeah."
Cameron pointed to his eye. "Why not? I should be dead."
McKay thought about it for a moment, and then turned back toward the door. "Well, I should let you get some sleep. Good night, sergeant."
"Good night."
Cameron closed his eyes and heard the door shut behind McKay. A minute later he drifted into a peaceful sleep, the first he'd had in a long time.
2
Melissa didn't know what to do with her phone call. She hoped maybe the station had a lawyer she could use. She hated imposing on WKBC, but didn't know where else to turn. The holding room was cold; they were keeping her and Dan apart to question separately; and she just wanted out of there. She felt like vomiting.
As soon as Laura Danvers got the call she brushed the snow off her windshield, threw an extra blanket in the back seat, and drove to Traverse City. She could have flown, but there weren't many flights offered, and the ones that were arrived at about the same time Laura figured she'd get there anyway. Being a woman of action, driving gave her more satisfaction.
She went straight to the courthouse to post bail and was pleasantly surprised to find that she didn't have to---her employees were being released! She hurried to the police station where a few minutes later Melissa came out, looking haggard and worn.
"How are you holding up?" Laura asked after a long embrace.
Melissa stared at the door, waiting for it to open, waiting for Dan to come through. "Okay, I guess."
"How'd you sleep?"
"Not a wink. I paced all night long."
"Worried?"
She nodded. "And scared. Since we turned ourselves in we haven't seen each other. Jerry was whisked off to the hospital so fast and they haven't told us a thing about his condition. There was nothing to do but worry."
"I'll go see if I can find anything out," Laura said, hurrying off.
Melissa stood alone, still wearing the same beat up clothes she came in with, wrinkling her nose at the slight damp odor to them. Her back was turned as the door behind her opened.
Dan cleared his throat. She turned at the sound. Her eyes lit up from their droopy state, a sparkle replacing the cloudy film. She ran over to Dan, hugging him, gripping him tightly.
"I love you," Dan whispered.
"I love you, too."
Laura watched from a discrete distance, not wanting to spoil the mood. But when the desk sergeant on duty told her the news, she knew they'd want to hear and hurried back over.
"Good to see you out, Dan," Laura said. "How are you doing?"
"I'll live. How's Jerry? I haven't heard a thing and I've been going crazy."
Laura beamed. "He's waking up from surgery and starting to talk. He feels like crap, but they're taking him off the critical list."
Dan's knees buckled at the welcome news. "Thank God. If he had died after all he did to help us..."
Thankfully that was a statement for a rhetorical debate. Dan still balled his fists in anger, seething from what Stone did to his best friend. While he'd paid Stone back, he was mad he didn't get to do it with interest.
"So are we free to go?" Melissa asked, looking around the station house suspiciously for some final hoop to jump through.
"I think so," Laura said.
"Then let's get the hell out of here."
3
Dan woke up a few miles outside of East Lansing. Laura shared with him details she just got from WKBC on her cell phone.
"So Cameron wasn't killed?" he asked.
Laura shook her head. "No, but he was in terrible shape. He came out of his coma this morning and talked. He I.D.ed Bill Cambridge as the man who shot him, and the rest of his story jibed with what you two said."
Dan felt another huge weight float off his shoulders. It was all falling into place. Everything was going to be fine...
He gave directions to Jerry's apartment, speaking softly so not to wake Melissa. He felt like he was seeing an old friend as Laura pulled in next to his Chevy. He pounced out of her car and ran to his.
A sudden chill gripped him as he saw marks in the snow around it. They were a day or two old, but they looked like indentations of footprints. It was too hard to tell with the wind of the last several days. He wondered whose they were and why they were there.
Melissa woke up from the frantic action around her. Dan opened and closed doors, lifted up the trunk and hood, peering into all the crevices.
"What's he doing?" she asked, wiping her eyes.
Laura smiled. "You know how boys are with their cars."
"He's probably looking for the license plate. I bet he forgot where he put it."
A moment later Dan was attaching said plate. As he worked, Melissa explained how they were trying to hide the car. When he finished the women got out of Laura's car.
"It's ready," he announced.
Melissa took Laura's hands. "We can't thank you enough for coming up and getting us."
"No problem."
"It sure is making it easier to get my car back home," Dan said. "We'll still have to get Jerry's here somehow."
"We can see him when the weather clears up and help him."
Dan hugged her. "That's why I love you."
Laura began to feel out of place with the lovebirds. "I guess I should be heading back. Don't worry about coming into work for the rest of the week. We'll live without you."
Dan and Mel exchanged shocked glances. "You mean you don't want to air our story?"
Laura gave a knowing smile. "I'll send a crew to your apartment tomorrow, Melissa. That should give you time to talk to lawyers and get your affairs in order. We'll interview you, but you don't need to cover the story yourself." She got in her car and rolled down the window. "Just don't say too much to the competition!" she yelled, waving as she drove off.
"She's a newshound," Melissa said.
"Some things never change about this business."
4
Melissa wandered through Dan's apartment wearing his moth-eaten bathrobe tied loosely around her waist. She was naked underneath, fresh from the hot shower she finally took after their exhaustive drive back. Hearing the sound of water against the glass, Melissa realized Dan was in the shower longer than she was, but she understood the need. Never had pounding hot water felt so good against sore, aching muscles. And unlike Lady Macbeth, Melissa felt clean and totally refreshed after stepping out, purged of her agonies and demons. She hoped Dan would feel the same.
She heard the water shut off and Dan came out, wearing a towel. He curled his arms around her and hugged her from behind. "Hi, beautiful."
She smiled and returned his embrace. He felt so good and warm.
"I've been thinking," he said. "How do you feel about moving in with me?"
"Oh, Dan, do you mean it?"
He kissed her. "Of course I do. I love you."
She got excited and started roaming his apartment like a robin going through nesting. "Is this big enough for two?"
"I don't think I can live here anymore. Too many memories. Who wants to see that corridor outside every time we come home?"
"Where will we live then?"
Dan shrugged and had to laugh. "I don't know. Someplace with two or three bedroom units."
"Can we afford something like that?"
"I think so. Jerry's old building was nice and had some apartments that size. They'd be affordable. A good place to start looking anyway."
She grew serious. "How do you think he's doing?"
"If I know him he's lying on the bed flirting with the nurses."
She frowned.
"He's going to be all right. You heard what Laura said. We'll visit him as soon as we have a chance. We'll probably have to go back to Michigan anyway at some point to testify---unless they extradite Kim and Cambridge here."
"I don't know," Melissa said. "Both places were a bloody mess because of Stone. Who knows which state gets to clean up after him?"
"That's really not our problem," Dan said, drawing Mel back to him. "Right now we have to think about ourselves." He ran his hands along her smooth shoulders and arms.
"What do you have in mind?"
He loosened the robe from around her waist and let it fall to the ground. Then he undid the knot in his towel and let that fall as well.
"I think we should say goodbye to this place with a bang," he said, winking.
She grinned a devilish smile. "You know, we never have done this in a proper bedroom setting."
He took her hand and led her back to his bedroom, and she willingly complied. "We can fix that."
"Oh?"
"Easy as pie."
When it was over, she placed her head on his chest, dancing her fingers lightly in his chest hair. She could hear his heartbeat and didn't want to ever dance without that beat. It was wonderful music to her ears.
Dan's eyes drooped shut. He smiled as he smelled the intoxicating scent of her clean hair and felt the weight of her head on his body. It was one of life's simple pleasures.
5
Dan got up to use the bathroom. When he was through he strolled the layout of his dark apartment and pondered the events of the past few months. In his solitude he was able to lose himself in his thoughts. So much had changed; so much was still the same.
The moon shone on his Stalker poster just right, lighting it in an ethereal glow. That was really the start to all of this. His life seemed to have taken off as soon as he saw that movie, taking many unexpected twists.
As if in a trance he approached the smooth one-sheet. He ran his hand over it, careful not to leave smudges. It took him back to a different state of mind---a fantasy world that he enjoyed.
Lost in thought, he wandered away from the poster and made his way to his hall closet. There he knelt and started riffling through his box of keepsakes. Jerry's snow globe would have eventually ended up here, if not for its use in knocking out Bill Cambridge.
Several hours ago, while Melissa was taking her shower, he ran out to his car and retrieved an object, placing it here. It had been hidden in his spare tire compartment. He was glad he had the forethought to hide it there, especially after the police rummaged through his apartment following the shootings. He now plucked it out of the locked metal box. It was a knife. He handled it like a lover.
The police had it all wrong. Cameron and his men assumed Reverend Stone and his cult had killed all the Dumpster victims that had cropped up over the summer and fall. In that way Dan was clever, like the Stalker. He got the first seed of the idea after the police interviewed him for Jennifer Cook's death. He was seen with her in a photo at The Norseman's Bar. After he was cleared of her murder, he knew he'd be off the hook for the one murder he did perform.
He still remembered the look of absolute horror in her eyes as he thrust the knife into her. Amy Whittenberg was her name. He'd heard it for the first time at the press conference Cameron held. Until then, she had just been an unfortunate nobody.
He had gotten bored and frustrated after he followed Janet to Stone's church. He was bored because nothing was going on and frustrated because he couldn't tell what she was doing...and he so wanted to know! His frustration became anger, and it needed to vent. His body went on autopilot.
After buying a knife at a Home Depot, he took to the streets, barely aware of what he was doing, as the guise of the Stalker took control. Row upon row of houses streaked by him, their different colors blending together like a Monet painting. Everything was a blur, except what he was focused on: finding a victim.
It didn't take too long. He sometimes wondered if it had taken longer would he still have had the balls to go through with it? A moot point, now. He just felt untouchable at the time, like a cocky college athlete on a full ride.
Amy Whittenberg stepped out of her car after just getting home. The night air was inviting, so she decided to take a quick walk around the block to burn off her cheeseburger dinner. The sky threatened rain, but she figured she could make it back before it did. Dan clung to the shadows of the trees as he watched her.
Following her was easy. She didn't suspect a thing, even with all the warnings in the news to stay off the streets. For every step she took, Dan closed in two. It was textbook Stalker.
Soon he was close. He was disappointed when he couldn't catch a whiff of her perfume in the air. In his fantasies that was always one of the elements: an intoxicating perfume, a sweet naiveté, and luxurious flowing hair...
He saw opportunity ahead. Two vacant neighboring houses were for sale. The lots were dark, and no one was around to see him act.
Snapping like a cobra, he reached around, cupping his hand over her mouth. She froze and tensed up, caught totally unaware. He started dragging her body down one of the gravel driveways to the backyard. At the chimney she started to kick.
One foot wrapped around his legs and they both went down in a tangle. Dan landed on top of her. They tussled over and over, grinding into the stones. Throughout it all Dan kept an iron grip. After much squirming he finally gained the upper hand. He sat on her stomach, maintaining his hand over her mouth while he fumbled for the knife with the other.
Amy's eyes darted about, desperately seeking an escape. Dan leaned over, taking them in. He was within inches of her now. A passerby might think they were about to kiss. Even though she couldn't make a sound, he knew she was scared to death. He drank in the powerful feeling of absolute control. It was like how he felt when he took Cambridge out.
His hand found the blade and gripped it. It was now or never. In hindsight he always thought there'd be some kind of delay...some kind of warning to stop what he was about to do. Isn't that what conscience is? An inner voice of reason to speak out about questionable acts? However, the Stalker was stronger. He could block it out. He was powerful, in control.
He thrust in the knife. Amy gasped, and became still again. Her eyes were confused, lost in utter amazement and horror. Surely this wasn't happening... Looking for more reaction, Dan stabbed her again. This time Amy's eyes glared over in anger, hot warrior breath flaring out her nostrils over his clamped hand. Sensing the rage, Dan knew he only had moments before she would become a fighting tiger.
He cut her again and again, swiftly, maniacally, losing control. In his frenzy, his hand slipped off her mouth, but she didn't make a sound as blood rained down on her. Her eyes rolled back, her lids flittered, and life escaped her. Dan was amazed how fast it went. She was there; then she was gone.
After a moment he stood up, surveying the corpse at his feet. He barely had a recollection of doing it, yet he knew he was the one that had slaughtered this girl.
What am I supposed to do now?
Alone, in the dark, the Stalker was suddenly quiet. He didn't know how long he had been standing there, but rain on his face snapped him out of his stupor. It intensified, the drops stinging his face like pellets from a gun. The air simmered and crackled with electricity as the storm clouds moved in. Soon it was pounding rain. Confused and scared, he ran the few blocks back to his car.
He sat behind the wheel, about to take off, when he realized the girl's body was still there, in the darkness, waiting to be discovered. His heart pounded like a jackhammer as beads of sweat formed on his brow.
He had to get the girl into his car, out of sight, and quickly. He got back out, opened the trunk, and looked inside. It wasn't cluttered with tools or golf clubs---just a spare tire and some blankets. There would be room. He opened the spare compartment and tucked his knife behind the tire. Then he gathered up the blankets, went back to Amy's body, and wrapped her inside them. Her intestines were spilling out of her body, and he gingerly pushed them back in, careful not to touch anything with his hands. He used the corners of the blankets to do the work.
The blood was the next problem: what to do about that? He fidgeted with nervous confusion when he realized that maybe the hard rain was solving the problem for him. Pools of blood washed away into the grass, soaking into the soil. Within a few minutes, most of it was gone.
While he was celebrating, the enormity of what he had just done began to hit him. In the next few seconds he felt more terror than he had in a lifetime of horror movies.
What have I done? Why did I do it?
Clumsily he put her body in the trunk and slammed the lid. At this rate, he would be caught within moments. He was acting like a stupid character in one of his horror movies---always going off and doing the wrong thing. Even though he didn't want to, sick as he now felt, he had to summon the Stalker one more time to guide him through this crisis. A calm washed over him and he was able to disassociate from his body, like a spirit on a vision quest.
He soon found himself back on the road, looking for a Dumpster to dispose of the body. He had a vague recollection of stealing a license plate from a car before leaving, but the where and how were beyond him.
As he pulled into McAlester Park he extinguished his lights and rolled through the gravel streets using as little gas as possible. He had the Stalker's clear mindset, focusing on the problem at hand. As he unloaded the body he had the killer's smooth efficiency.
That all stopped as he heard a sudden noise, a man yelling into the park, and the two boys starting to scream. Reality came crashing back like waves against the surf. He panicked, peeled out of there, and never looked back.
Until now.
He heard footsteps shuffling down the hall and turned to look. Melissa puttered toward him, tying his robe closed around her.
"What are you doing up, hon?" she asked.
Dan found himself without words. She came at him like a spectre out of the dark, catching him doing something she never should have seen. His hands froze, half on the knife and half out in the open. If he acted quickly, he might still be able to shut the box and hide his treasure. Damn her for getting up! If only she'd stayed away; but she kept coming, relentlessly. There would be no time now.
"It's cold in there," she beckoned. "Come back to bed."
She was almost upon him, no doubt to rub his shoulders and kiss his ear, summoning him back to a lover's retreat.
Dan instinctively gripped the knife until his knuckles turned white. He felt like a cheating husband caught with his pants down, but found the effect of contact with the blade soothing. It took him back to the streets and the dark shadows of the neighborhood.
He had only a second or two to choose his course of action. As before, there was little debate in his head. Obviously, there was really only one way to act:
What would the Stalker do?
This novel is dedicated to those whom encouraged me to finish it. Writing a novel has always been my dream---and without the help of the following people I'm not sure I would have ever completed it:
Kathleen Phipps and Lynnette Werning
Two co-workers and friends that read early sample chapters and pushed me to give them more to read.
Jim Ellis
Another co-worker who's written a novel or two of his own. We'd meet for lunch, pass our work back and forth, and critique each other. Without Jim, this book would be a few megabytes heavier. Thanks for the editing help!
Caris Dykema
My wife, without whom I know I wouldn't have finished it. I started handing her chapters when I picked up writing it yet again. I only had about a chapter and a half to go, so each time she finished one and asked for the next she fueled my fire. She gave me kind words and talked about what she thought would happen next. Her excitement for the project pressed me to finally finish it. I want her to know that I love her and appreciate her expressions of support. This is for all of you, but mainly for you, Caris...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dave Dykema grew up in Michigan and now resides in Ohio. He's the father of three children. He tries to write when he's not running around putting out little fires at home. Oh, he also works at a TV station.
His next thriller, Wrong Number, will be coming to the Kindle store in June 2009.

