Prey of Desire (16 page)

19

By the
Dim

Grave
Light

Moonlight
lit Addison’s face and his grin shined thin and psychotic. His hands gripped a
wooden baseball bat. Three deep grooves had been cut out where
Gunz
Gonzales had autographed it. Looking down at it, then
back up at Kim, he shook his head as if struggling to knock away pesky voices
humming in his brain.

“Who does
this belong to?” he demanded.

Kim
stepped backwards, shaking. She straightened her back. Her bottom lip trembled.
“Addison.”

“I asked
you a question.” He was yelling now. He lifted up the bat, gripping it with two
hands, knuckles white. “Who does this belong to?”

“I think
you need to calm down.” Kim held out her hand, palm up. “You’re upset. You’re
emotional. You need to take a breath and…”

“Tell me,”
he screamed at her, then lowered his arm. His voice tapered off as if he was
holding back an uncontrollable rage. “Please.”

Kim
didn’t know what to say. Stepping back away from him, she kept her arm
extended, her hand up. His mood turning again, he grabbed her and threw her to
the bed. Kim rolled off it and fell to the floor. The candle fell from her
other hand and the lamp, jewelry and lotions on the nightstand tumbled to the
floor with her.

“Where is
he?” Addison screamed. He raised the bat again. “Is she with him?”

On the
floor, Kim noticed the box of paint guns lying under the bed. She reached for
them and dumped the fake artillery across the floor. She found the pink
Tippmann
X7
Phenum
Electro-pneumatic. It was the paint gun Mallory had shown her earlier. She
reached for it.

“I’m not
a fool,” he continued ranting. “You may think I don’t know what’s going on, but
I do.”

Kim stood
up, clutching the pink rifle in her hands. Addison paused, staring at it.

“Seriously?”
he asked.

“I think
you need to leave.” She steadied her arms, holding the gun. She aimed it at his
head. Addison stepped back, sighed, and lowered the baseball bat.

“Kimberly,
my intention is not to scare you,” he said slowly, calmly. Then anger rose in
his voice again. “But I get so god damned angry when YOU LITTLE SLUTS LIE TO ME!”

He swung
the bat in her direction, hitting the vanity and smashing the mirror. Kim
screamed and ducked as glass shattered. She ran to the opposite side of the
room, near the window, and stood in the corner, her back to the wall. She
raised the rifle again. Addison turned.

“I’m just
trying to understand.” He stepped in her direction. “I need to know…”

He took
another step toward her. Kim thrust the rifle toward him.

“Addison,
don’t make me shoot you.” Her voice trembled.

“I just
need to know…” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Did Mallory ever love me?”

He took
another step.

“I’m
warning you,” she said. Their eyes locked.

“I need
to know the truth” he said. “TELL ME!”

He
reached for her. She pulled the trigger. The gun popped and a torrent of red
paint struck his face, throwing him back. He yelled and stumbled, flailing his
arms. Kim watched him for a second, knowing she needed to move.
To run.
 

He shook
his head and wiped paint from his eyes. Splattered red branches marred his
forehead and cheeks and dribbled out the corner of his mouth and down his chin.
But his eyes were white angry balls of glass beneath a mask of war paint.

Kim threw
down the gun and ran past him to the spiral staircase. He turned watching her
and then wiped the paint from his wrinkled cheek with the back of his hand. She
raced down stairs. Carrying the baseball bat, Addison followed

“Don’t
run from me, Kimberly,” he screamed, grabbing her arm at the front door. He
swung her around. Facing her, he brought his face close to hers. “Is Mallory
with him right now?”

Kim’s
back pressed against the door. Her left hand slipped behind her, her fingers
wrapping around the door knob. 

He
squeezed her right arm. She struggled against him. His grip tightened.

“Let go
of me.” Panic rippled in her voice. His breath was hot on her cheek. She shut
her eyes, scrunching her face. “You're hurting me.”

* * * * *
* *

Mallory
knocked on the landlord's door. There was no answer. Knocking again, she felt
the door give and peered inside. 

“Hello?”
she called out. Fishing for the tiny flashlight on her keys, she stepped into
the
 
dark
townhome.
She followed the narrow beam around the living room. 

There was
something cold about the whole place. The couch had a blanket and pillow piled
together at one end. Stacks of paper were thrown on the floor in front of it.
The cushions were so covered with newspaper clippings and shredded paper it was
impossible to see the upholstery. At the opposite end of the room, she could
see into the kitchen. The countertops looked cluttered. Dishes and food were
scattered haphazardly in the sink. The refrigerator trays lay on the
floor. 

Mallory
stepped up the spiral staircase into the bedroom loft. A single cot with just a
mattress stood pressed against the far wall. The closet doors hung open, and
inside Mallory saw what must have been twelve pairs of blue jeans overalls
hanging neatly on a pole. Each looked as old and worn as the next, all were
identical. There was a small desk with a computer. The monitor was black.

She
glanced around the walls. It looked like a shrine. Sepia colored photographs,
all aged and crinkled around the edges, pinned to the walls. In them, a
teenager with flowing black hair and large eyes smiled at the camera. There
were pictures of this girl with a high school boy. Intermixed with the
photographs were handwritten poems. Mallory took a photograph from the wall and
stared at it in awe.

The girl
in the photo looked eerily similar to…

“Kimberly,”
she whispered. She read handwriting scribbled on the bottom edge of the
photograph:
My darling Bonnie - 1974

Downstairs,
the front door closed. The sound echoed in the darkness. There was a click,
then another click. Someone was locking the door. 

Mallory
held her breath. Turning around, she watched the swaying light of a lantern
rise up the steps and the shadow of a man rose on the opposite wall. With slow,
methodical footfalls, the landlord stepped into the bedroom loft. 

“You
shouldn't be in here,” he said in a deep, hushed tone.

Mallory
moved toward him. “Who is this girl in all these photos? Who is Bonnie?” 

He shook
his head mournfully, his eyes burning red just below the rim of the straw hat
sitting low on his head. With a single quick motion, he ripped the photograph
from her hands. Glancing at it a moment, he kissed it then carefully pinned it
back in its place on the wall. Once satisfied, he shuddered with grief, but
that gradually dissolved, only to be replaced with an eerie, unnatural calm –
as if his soul had just been ripped from his body and carried away with his
daughter’s. 

Mallory
took a step backwards, pressing against the little computer desk. She suddenly
understood.

“You
shouldn't be in here...” he repeated, focused on the wall. He turned around,
facing her. Shaking his head, he said it again. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

* * * * *
* *

“I loved
her.” Addison screamed at Kim. “I loved her and she made a fool of me with that
lumbering Neanderthal.” He raised the bat again for emphasis and shook it at
her. Surprisingly, he paused, as if a thought had occurred to him. Something he
hadn’t considered before.

“How many
other men have there been?” he asked. Kim didn’t answer. He let go of her arm
and aimed the bat at her.
“How many?
Tell me,
Kimberly.
How many!”

Kim
pushed him away and violently swung the front door open. Racing outside, she
rushed past the sidewalk to the parking lot toward Mallory’s Miata. Addison was
right behind her, the bat in his hands.

Making it
to the little sports car, she yanked open the door and scrambled into the
driver's seat. She slammed the door shut and locked it. Addison reached the
car, pounding on the windshield.

“How many?”
he yelled, beating on the glass. “How many men have there been?”

Kim
searched frantically for keys. She flipped down the visor. She opened the glove
box. She lifted the center console. There were none to be found.
       
Addison peered into the driver's side
window, his fingernails clawing the glass. Kim screamed. He slammed his fists
against the car door,
then
took a step back. Raising
the bat, he yelled as he slammed it into the window, shattering it.

Kim
screamed again as shards ignited around her. He reached into the car, grabbed
hold of her, pulled her arm out the window. She opened the car door, slamming
it into him, pushing him away. Crawling over the gearshift, she climbed out the
passenger side and ran away from the Miata. 

Rushing
to her front door, she fumbled for her house keys. They were in her pocket. As
she fished them out, she hesitated and turned her head.

Addison
lay on the ground. The baseball bat was beside his arm, rolling away. Sitting
up, he shook his head, stunned, and struggled to get to his feet. From behind
him, slipping out of the dark, Kim saw the familiar overalls and straw hat
belonging to her landlord. He was approaching Addison.

She
smiled, thanking God.

The
landlord came up behind him. Grabbing his neck, he tipped Addison’s head back
with one hand and raised his other. His fingers gripped the awl, its metal
spike glistening in the moonlight. Startled, Addison barked a partial 
What
the– a
s the landlord jabbed it into his
right eye.

It was
one, swift motion.

The
landlord stepped back as Addison’s body twitched violently, his hands flailing
toward the wood handle sticking out of his eye socket and pressing against his
nose. A second later, he crumbled to the pavement. The landlord stood there and
watched him die, then turned toward Kim. 

Kim
screamed. She struggled to unlock the door. She could hear Zeus behind it,
barking. The landlord approached. Kim turned a lock, then another. She looked
behind her shoulder again. He was on the sidewalk.

Kim
turned the last lock, pushed open the door and rushed inside. She slammed it
shut. Immediately she turned the dead bolts, all five of them. Her hands were
shaking so that she could barely maneuver her fingers.

Zeus
growled focused on the door.

Locked
tight, Kim leaned against it. She inhaled deeply, rested her head against it
and listened.
Was he on the other side?
It was quiet. She looked through
the peep hole. The porch was dark, empty. He wasn’t there.

Zeus
growled.

Grabbing
hold of her dog, she fell to the floor and hugged him, then rolled onto her
back. She wanted to cry, and ran her hands through her hair, forcing herself
calm again. Turning around, she lifted up on her hands and knees and crawled to
the couch. She reached for the phone, grabbed the receiver. Her fingers pressed
911.
Nothing.
She panicked, glancing at the door then
back at the phone. She pressed 911 again. No dial tone. The phone was dead. The
line cut.

Screaming,
she threw it on the floor.

There was
a noise at the door, the rattling of the locks. A key inserted, turning.
Unlocking.
Zeus erupted into a barking fit. Kim watched him,
then
stared at the door. Another lock turned, and then
another. Zeus jumped at the door and snapped at the handle.

The final
lock clicked. The door opened.

20

Love,
Daddy

The
landlord stood in the doorway, yellow street lights from the parking lot bright
behind him. Zeus lunged, leaping into the air, his jaws snapping toward the old
man’s throat.

In a
single motion, he grasped the dog by the neck with one hand and raised his
other to reveal the thin, needle sharp awl. Its pointed tip glistening red with
Addison’s blood and brain matter. He slashed the awl into Zeus’ back, piercing
him from his spine down to his stomach.

Zeus
yelped and dropped to the floor. Kim screamed as Zeus whimpered in pain. Then
he was silent. For a brief second, she wanted to run to her dog, but she held
herself back, slowly looking up at the old man.

“Your dog
doesn’t seem to like me, Missy.” He shot her a penetrating look. Like a ghostly
silhouette in the doorway, he watched her with red eyes barely visible below
the rim of his straw hat. “I’m still considering adding a no pet clause to your
lease.”

“What do
you want?” Icy fear twisted around her. “Why are you doing this?”

Stepping
inside, he removed his hat. His bald head glistened. A shrill wind rushed in
around him as he bent to pick-up the tool box lying on the threshold. Grasping
it, he entered the townhome and shut the door behind him.

“I want
to protect you, of course,” he said quietly. He set the tool box on the floor
at his feet so that he could lock the door. Deliberately, he turned each lock,
then
turned to her. He returned his straw hat atop his head.
“You should have worn your hair up.”

“What?”
Kim’s voice trembled. The whole thing was surreal.

“At the funeral.
It would
have been the proper thing to do.” He walked to the wall where the framed
photograph of Ross had fallen. Among the broken frame and shards of glass, the
poetry book lay angled in pieces. He picked it up and thumbed through the
pages.

“Pablo
Neruda,” he said. “This belonged to my daughter.”

He opened
the front flap, his eyes moving left to right as he read.  He
suddenly shut the book and stared directly at Kim. “If You Forget Me,” he said.
“Beautiful, isn't it?”

Kim's
stomach clenched tight. She thought of the inscription scribbled inside it.
For my Darling Bonnie.
You will always be my
angel.
Love, Daddy.
She didn't want to believe it.
“You're Daddy.”

He
stepped toward her. “I was wondering if you still had it. I slipped it into
your books when I was fixing your sink.”

“You’re
insane.”

“It’s
such a lovely book. Did I tell you it belonged to my
daughter.
She loved poetry.”

“But why?
Did
you…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “Did you kill Ross?”

“I did
what any father would do.” He was emotionless, with no inner light in his eyes,
no reflection of empathy.

“You
killed him, didn't you? Didn't you?”

“He had
your ring.” He briefly looked away, toward the slashed photo among the broken
frame. Then he turned back to Kim. “He had your ring. You kept searching for
it, longing for it. I returned it to you.”

“Why
though? Why would you kill him?”

“Because I want to protect you.”
He knelt down, seemingly focused on his tool box. His hands
gripped the wood handle of the awl, his fingers tightened around it.
“Because I couldn’t protect Bonnie.”

“Protect
her from what?”

“From losing her innocence.
It’s a father’s job.” He looked at the book in his hand.
“But I failed. I couldn’t save
Bonnie’s
innocence. I
tried. I told her to be good. But I failed.” Dropping the book, he focused on
Kim. His other hand gripped the sharp awl. “But I didn’t fail you, Missy. I
protected you. I did what any father would do.”

“The Congressman?”

“He was
touching you. He should’ve known better as should’ve that boy from your class.
The one who made you cry at the funeral.”

“Michael.”
The thought tore at her insides. A thousand horrid images raced through her
mind at once, and she wanted to run. She wanted to fall to her knees and cry.
But something inside her told her to stay calm. Struggling to steady her voice,
she whispered, “What have you done to Mallory?”

“Why
Missy, you’re shivering,” he said. “Are you cold?”

Her pulse
beat erratically at the threatening gentleness in his words. He stepped closer.

“Are you
afraid?” he asked.
 

Anxiety
spurted through her. She could take it no more and Kim charged forward,
then
shuffled past him to the door. Frantically, she pulled
the knob then realized the deadbolts were locked. She reached for the first
bolt. Her hands were shaking. She couldn't move her fingers. She couldn't turn
the locks. She grasped the door knob again, desperately trying to pull it open.
She was crying now, and her fists pounded on the door. Without turning her
head, her eyes moved and she could see him from her peripheral.

Like a
motionless scarecrow, he watched her.

Part of
her said run.
Part of her said break a window.
She
screamed and pulled harder on the door knob. She twisted it,
then
beat her fists on the wood panels. 

He was
behind her now. She could feel his heavy presence and he softly touched her
arm, his raw, cracked fingers grazing her skin. She froze, her back turned to
him.

There was
a long, brittle silence.

Finally
he inched closer, his breath like ice on the back of her neck. He spoke in her
ear. “That boy came running out of the forest with my naked daughter in his
arms. They had been doing things in the lake.
Things that
scared fishes.”

Kim
stopped moving. She looked down at her feet. She felt the nauseating sinking of
despair. His thin arms surrounded her.

“I came
out of my farm house to find that boy had drowned my little girl,” he said. “I
forbid her to see him. But she snuck out of the house in the middle of the
night. She snuck into the woods with that boy, shuck her clothes and Lord knows
what they did before His almighty mercy
ripped
her
soul from this earth.”

Slowly,
Kim turned. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze straight on. Their eyes
locked. Her heart
pounded,
her legs about to collapse.

“I
couldn’t protect her,” he said again, quietly, softly touching her hair,
patting her head.

She
crouched back against the door. “What do you want?”

“To protect you.”
He
enveloped her. He stood with his body against hers, his face near her face, his
breath moistening the soft skin above her ear. 

“You're
insane.” She turned her head.

He inched
closer. “I'm a father.”  

She
closed her eyes, drew a breath.

He lunged
for her, grasping her by the neck with one hand and pulling her away from the
door. She struggled with him, trying to break his grip from her throat. His
hands tightened. His thumb pressed her larynx. His right hand raised the awl.

“But I'm
getting old and tired, my dear, sweet Missy, to truly protect you.” He spat
through his teeth, as if it caused him pain. “My days are growing short. And, I
have to save your soul before it's too late.”

“No...”

“I
couldn't save
Bonnie's
, but I can save yours.”

“Please...”
She grabbed his arm with her hands, struggled to hold back the glistening
spike. “I love you,” she suddenly cried. “I love you, Daddy.”

He moved
his arm, lowering the awl.

“Daddy, I
love you.” She fought to control the spasmodic trembling within her, and the
tension dissolved from her face. “I love you and I’ve missed you.”
    

He
studied her, his red eyes piercing hers.

“I know I
hurt you, but you were right.” She spoke slowly, her hands wrapping around the
arm gripping her neck. The grip loosened. A glazed look of despair spread over
his face.

“You were
right,” she continued. Her hand moved to grip the thin straps of his overalls,
then
her fingers reached down toward the clasp. “I should’ve
never been out that night at the lake, sneaking off with that boy. You told me
and I disobeyed you. I won’t ever do that again.”

This
seemed to confuse him.

“Are you
playing games with me?” He hesitated as if momentarily considering her
sincerity.

“No.” She
forced remote firmness in her voice. “No more boys.”

He let go
of her neck; his eyes filled with tears. “You love me? After everything I’ve
done.”

“You were
protecting me,” she said. “Like a father.”

He
stepped closer and touched her cheek. “Then give me your hand,” he said, and
took her hand in his.

She
looked into his wrinkled face, his tattered straw hat. His eyes were lowered,
focused on her outstretched palm. He raised his hand that gripped the sharp
awl. She began to shake as fearful images built in her mind.

The
needle-like tip sliced into her open palm, across the deep love lines from her
thumb to her pinky. Kim cried out, struggling to free her arm.

“You had
to be punished,” he said to her.

Now
instinct took over. Kim lifted her knee to his groin and pushed him away. The
old man screamed in pain and flung the awl at her head. She ducked. The awl hit
the wall above her and splintered the wood casing.

He lunged
forward in the confusion, the straw hat flying off his head, but Kim was ready.
She stumbled over him and ran. She leapt up the stairs.

Panic
like she’d never known before welled in her throat as Kim rushed into the loft
and headed to the window along the northern wall. Her hands hit the glass,
forcing it open. She looked out, searched for an escape route. But there was no
access to the roof and it was a straight drop to the ground below.

She
turned away from the window toward her small closet.
There had to be
something inside it to use as a weapon.
She was only halfway to it when she
heard approaching footsteps. The heavy, urgent tread vibrated the wrought iron
of the staircase.

Kim threw
open the closet doors, shoved through the cramped clutter of jackets and
blouses, pushed boots and pumps aside.
Nothing.
She didn’t even have a wire hanger – they were all solid plastic.

Frustrated,
she dropped to her knees. Crouched in the corner of the small closet, she was
barely hidden. But she was out of options. It was all she could do.

At the
top of the staircase, the footsteps stopped.

Kim
listened. Her back in the corner, she wriggled as deep as she possibly could
among the assorted shoes and hanging shirts. A belt hung down over her shoulder
like a slithering, black snake. She swatted it away when she noticed a
shimmering sparkle on the floor a few feet away. It was her diamond engagement
ring, twinkling in the light falling from the skylight above. The diamond
looked like a star that had fallen to the earth and landed in her bedroom loft,
where deep shadows filled the room and hid the corners in blackness.
  

The floor
squeaked.

Kim
couldn’t see him, but she knew the landlord now stood just inside the
threshold. He wasn’t moving, evidently surveying the room. He would see an
unmade bed with frilly pillows arranged against the headboard. There was a
vanity cluttered with make-up and hair products.
And of
course the closet.

A shadowy
mass moved to her left deeper into the room, and Kim’s eyes widened to follow
him. He stepped to the bed.
Hesitated.

“Missy,
I'm old. Death stalks me.” His voice was almost an affront to the silence.
His words piercing.
 
“I won't be able to protect you, so you understand this is the only
way…”

He walked
around to the other side of the bed. From the spiked awl in his right hand, a
fat red droplet fell to the carpet.
Plop
.
Then
another, and another.
Plop. Plop.
Blood.
Her blood.
She looked at the cut on her hand. She
didn't have time to think about that now.

Kim
turned her head, slightly straining her neck, to keep track of him.

“Don't be
frightened,” he said. She didn't fail to catch a note of empathy. He spoke
slowly, spacing his words evenly. “Death is a natural part
of
 
life
. In death, you will always be
young and beautiful.”