House Infernal by Edward Lee (38 page)

"It'd really help if she knew what road," Berns said in
the interim. "There're convenience stores everywhere.
Super-7s, Qwik-Marts, 7-Elevens."

"All I know is it was right off the highway from Concord," Venetia told him. "It was on our way to the prior
house."

"We'll find it," the captain said.

Her mother came back on the line. "The Qwik-Mart on
Brewer Road, he thinks."

"Thanks, Mom," Venetia said and relayed the info to
Berns.

"But ... why do you want to go to a convenience store,
dear?" her mother asked.

"Oh, we're just driving around," she said and then was surprised by how easily she'd lied. I can't tell her I'm helping the police with the murder investigation.... "For sodas."

"Oh, well ... are you feeling all right? Had any more
spells?"

"Just a little one, last night, but it's no big deal."

Alarm tensed Maxine's voice. "You should've called me
immediately! I don't like this. You're not sleeping well,
you're having these spells, and now this awful murder
business. I still am your mother, you know. I've a mind to
come there right now and take you out, get you to a doctor
for a checkup."

Another can of worms. "Mom, please," Venetia groaned.
"I'm all right. It's just the heat, plus I'm still burned out
from finals. I'll be home soon anyway."

"Well..." Her mother stewed. "I'm just worried."

"Don't be. Everything's fine. But I have to go now. Tell
Dad I said hi."

"Of course, honey."

"Love you, Mom-"

"Call tomorrow!"

"I will, I will." Eventually she managed to end the conversation. "Worried mother," she said to Berns.

"Can't say I'd want my kid working in a place where
there'd been murders, either," " Berns offered from behind
the wheel.

Venetia saw his point but she also felt that this new discovery was somehow exciting-that bizarre drawing of
Freddie Johnson's, the spiral in the rectangle.

She had immediately remembered seeing the same
thing scrawled in the bathroom of the convenience store,
just before she'd passed out that day.

And now we're checking it out.

She could see his gun butt in the shoulder holster as he
turned onto a wooded road. This was a thrill, especially
for a college student who'd been buried in libraries for
two years.

"What exactly do we do when we get there?"

"First, see if the design is still there, then ask the em ployees if they have any idea who drew it. I've got pictures of Johnson and Maitland to show them. Any connection is something to go on." Suddenly the cop seemed
fatigued. "The person who drew it might know the perpetrators or even be one."

"And might live close by."

"Right. It's all I've got right now. With Johnson and
Maitland dead, we've got no direct information sources.
Sometimes it's the little things that solve big crimes."

"It could be someone who works there, too," Venetia
said.

"That would be even better, which is why I'll try to get a
list of all the employees over the last year or so and run
checks," Berns said, as he dragged his eyes off her legs.

He's something.... She didn't feel at all threatened,
though, or even offended. It makes me feel good, she admitted to herself, especially for a girl who's probably going to be
celibate all her life. But the topic suddenly soured in her
head. For whatever reason, the dream-snippet resurfaced,
with the image-someone greedily performing oral sex
on her as she lay naked and unconscious at the bottom of
the stairs.

Ugh...

"Here's the place." Berns' voice severed the awful recollection.

QWIK-MART, the sign buzzed. Only a few cars sat in the lot.

As Venetia followed Berns in, she asked, "At Father
Driscoll's office, you said that Freddie had a name for the
diagram-"

"Right. He called it the 'Involution.' The spiral. It's a
geometry term."

Venetia felt hesitant. Will he think I'm stupid if I say this?
She shrugged. "I'll tell you something nutty-I think I
heard the same word in a dream."

"Really?"

"Last night."

"And that's too much of a coincidence, right? You
dream the word last night and then I walk in today and
use the same word." He offered a lenient smile. "You must only think you heard the word before, like dEja vu
and all that."

"I hope," she muttered.

The cool air inside sucked them in. Behind the counter
stood a tall, muscular black man with a shaved head. He
looked like a wrestler or one of those extreme fighters.
"We're going to the bathroom," Berns bumbled, and
flashed his badge. "Uh, police business."

"In the bathroom?" the black man questioned.

Venetia led the way. "There it is," she said. "I knew it
wasn't my imagination." She pointed to the bathroom
wall where the design had been penned.

"The Involution," Berns whispered, squinting. He produced a small digital camera and took a few pictures.

"What's going on in here?"

They both turned to find the black man filling the
doorway.

"It's confidential pursuant to an ongoing homicide investigation," Berns said. "I'd appreciate your cooperation.
Is the manager in?"

"That's me," the guy said.

"Any idea who drew that?" Berns pointed to the diagram.

The manager peered at it. "No, in fact I never noticed it,
but then I'm not at this store a lot. I'm the district manager. I check each store every day, very briefly."

-As the two men talked, Venetia found herself staring at
the Involution; after several moments, the spiral seemed
to be moving, and the arrows pointing in from the three
corners looked as though they were lengthening toward
the center.

Venetia blinked. I'm just tired, that's all.

They all went back out to the register area. Berns asked,
"Would it be all right if you showed me employee records
over the last year?"

The manager crossed massive arms. "I'd have to call
the boss about that. Isn't that a Privacy Act thing?"

"Only if you want it to be," Berns egged. "With or without a warrant, I'm going to have to question everybody
anyway."

The manager's voice was articulate and reserved, not
the tough-guy rasp Venetia would've expected, given his
size. "What do you want to question them about?"

"Any nutball customers they might remember," Berns
replied. "Weirdos, Satanic tattoos. Oh, and I'm particularly interested in someone named Dougie, or Douglas-"

"bougie, you say?" the managed asked, lowering his
voice. "You're not gonna believe this, but the guy working the next shift is named Dougie Jones, and he's in the
office right now, clocking in."

Before the manager's words sunk in, Venetia screamed
as a hand grabbed her hair from behind and dragged her
backward. A split second later, there was a knife at her
throat and a tense forearm around her waist.

"Don't be stupid, Dougie," Berns said. As fast as she'd
been snagged, Berns had his pistol out, aimed right at the
face behind Venetia's shoulder. "Drop the knife and let's
talk."

"Bullshit, man!" spat the hot voice next to her ear.

Venetia's heart was thundering. In the front window's
reflection, she could see herself wide-eyed and on tiptoes,
and she could see the man behind her holding the knife.

Lean, wiry, midtwenties, black mop haircut. That's the
guy who was working the counter when I came in with Mom and
Dad. He even wore the same black HIGHWAY To HELL T-shirt.

The forearm around her waist tightened; she tensed up
even more when the knife point tickled her throat.

A stray prayer slipped through her mind: Please, God.
Don't let me get killed today...

"Your goose is cooked, Dougie," Berns said behind his gun. "You're done. Freddie and Sue shit all over youblamed you for everything."

"You're full of shit, man!" came the jagged voice. Spittle
from Dougie's lips fell onto Venetia bare throat. "I heard
your whole conversation from the office!"

"All right, fine." Berns' free hand opened outward.
'Just ... be cool. Let the girl go, and we'll talk this out."

Dougie laughed. "Freddie always said, 'When the
party's over, it's over.' But you know? I've still got a little
more partying to do first."

Every muscle in Venetia's body twisted when her captor's hand slid up and kneaded a breast.

"Cut that shit out, Dougie," Berns warned.

"Why? It's fun. Did the same thing to the nun, after we
drained her blood."

Don't faint, don't faint! Venetia told herself. A moment
later, she was grinding her teeth when Dougie's free hand
jacked up her skirt and pawed her crotch through her
panties.

"Don't be a scumbag, Dougie. And don't make me do
something you'll regret a hell of a lot more than me."

"The only thing you're gonna do is drop the gun and
kick it over here, or else I'm gonna peel this bitch like a
banana." Dougie paused, as if in consideration. "Or better yet, I'll cut her throat just like we did the nun and
that skinny old bat." Then he positioned the knife so
that its tip was pointing right into the side of Venetia's
neck.

Please, God, she prayed.

Venetia's next scream resounded simultaneously with
the ear-splitting bam! that cracked through the store. A
muzzle flash blinded her as the bullet incredibly shot the
knife out of Dougie's hand.

Dougie flew backward, then-

THWACK!

The manager's croquet ball-sized fist smacked
Dougie's temple. Dougie crumpled to the floor, out cold.

Venetia nearly fainted when it was over. She braced her self against a stack of soda cases. Thanks, God, she thought.
I owe you one.

Berns waved gun smoke out of his face, then chuckled
when he looked down at Dougie. "Looks like that asshole's party ended a little sooner than he planned."

A dozen county cops responded within minutes. EMTs
checked Dougie-aka Douglas B. Jones-and cleared him
for transport. Berns' unlikely shot hadn't even nicked
Dougie's hand; it had struck the knife and ricocheted. A
miraculous shot, Venetia thought in the strange aftermath
of radio squawk and blank-faced police.

"Keep him in our holding cell for processing," Berns ordered his uniforms. "We're keeping this case-to hell
with the state." Berns glanced at a dismal Dougie, who
was handcuffed and propped up by two more police. "I
want a cop watching him at all times. No bullshit. This
guy's a potential suicide."

The pair of officers exchanged odd glances.

"Just do it," Berns emphasized.

"Whatever you say, Captain," one of them replied.

"And ... wait." Berns was suddenly animated in the
post-shooting lull. "Hold him." He was reaching for
Dougie's belt.

"Fuckin' pervert," Dougie snapped as Berns' hands unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans. "This is harassment." The black-haired punk glared at one of the cops
holding him. "This guy's molesting me, man!"

"Just shut up, Dougie." Berns seemed uncomfortable
but resolved just the same. "I gotta make sure."

What's he doing? Venetia wondered.

Berns lowered Dougie's jeans to just above the pubis.
"There. I knew it."

Venetia's eyes widened. At once, she recognized the
creepy diagram tattooed on Dougie's lower abdomen.

"The Involution, huh, Dougie?" Berns said, then rebuckled the prisoner's pants.

Dougie grinned defiantly. "Don't know what you're
talkin' about."

"What is it? Exactly?"

"Kiss my ass."

"You're an ... Eosphorian, too, Dougie?"

Dougie stalled, then blinked. "Fuck off."

Berns nodded. "Take him to the hospital for a full
checkup, then lock his ass up in our holding cell."

"Yes, sir," a cop said.

Dougie was hauled outside to a patrol car.

"Coffee and doughnuts on the house," the immense
manager said. Venetia noticed her hand trembling when
she took a cup.

"Thanks for cleaning that guy's clock," Berns said.

The manager laughed. "f always thought he was a
weirdo but, you know, he never called in sick and was
never late."

Berns bit into a jelly-filled doughnut. "You can hire him
back five hundred years from now when he gets out of
prison."

Venetia steadied herself in the aftershock. "It just occurred to me, Captain, but you saved my life."

"Probably not," came Berns' modest reply. "A few more
minutes and Dougie would've probably calmed down
and given up."

Probably, Venetia thought with a shudder. But God did
answer my prayer ... "Thank you just the same. That was
some shot, though."

Berns chuckled. "I never would've taken it if I wasn't a
hundred-percent sure. I got no wife, no kids, nothing else
going on, so in my spare time I practice at the range. It's
second nature."

Venetia admired his confidence. But her heart was still
beating weird after the adrenaline dump.

"You look a little wobbly. I better get you back," he said.