Shivers 7 (37 page)

As she got out of bed, she realized she had nothing on. It was the old woman again, her body with the sagging breasts, spotted skin, protruding hip bones. The baby’s whimpering stopped her self-examination. She found her dress on the floor and pulled it over her head, ignoring her undergarments.

He seemed blissfully asleep, pink, and healthy. The railing was half way down so she raised it. She’d had no idea she could ever love anything or anyone more than Joseph. What a handsome boy!

When she was pregnant, toward the end, she had to go off her medications, and a depression settled into her bones. She’d not wanted him during that time, felt unprepared and unworthy to be a mother. What did she know about mothering? She was an only child, with a mother who was put away months after she was born. Her father had done his best, adoring her, giving everything his postman’s salary allowed. But he was lonely. There were women in town who were attracted to her father. He was striking, with his dark auburn hair, clear blue eyes, and lean build. Many of them brought casseroles, took in his laundry, and sat next to him in church, but the only girl he fancied in his house, in his bed, was her. Her alone.

The night school course in secretarial skills saved her. She was good at shorthand and taking dictation and had the kind of personality her teacher said would be “Front office. Sparkling and warm.” A friend of her teacher got her a job in the city at one of James Prescott’s companies. It was the best time of her life; rooming with the girls in the hotel for employees, going out for drinks, meeting men, collecting their gifts that dotted her dresser like so many dew drops on a leaf. The quality of her clothes improved, as did her ability to afford the niceties such as manicures, and having her hair cut and styled. By the time she turned twenty-two, she was engaged to the CEO.

She’d fallen asleep again, this time on the carpet. The cry of the baby woke her. She rolled onto her side and glanced up at the door. The crib! Gone! Hadn’t she put the desk and crib there to stop the maids and nosy bellboys from coming in? She looked around and saw that it had moved, against the wall across from the bed. Someone had gotten in again. It wasn’t
him
. If it had been, Joseph would be gone.

It was raining. The sound against the window set her nerves on edge. She remembered her pills. Fumbling in her suitcase, she pulled the bottles from the lining and shook them. She was out of the mood stabilizers. She’d had a newly filled prescription when she left on her journey. That was only a few days ago! She took two each of the others into the bathroom. She avoided the mirror, went to the toilet. She sat there for a while, musing over her good fortune in finding Joseph at last. She shut her eyes, felt dizzy, opened them. She grabbed for the toilet roll dispenser beside her as she began to teeter off, fall. Her pills fell onto the marble floor. She needed a glass with water. She scooped up the pills, got herself up, let the bright bathroom settle from its wild orbit and went to the sink. She put the glass to her lips and sipped.

Every summer her father took her to her grandparents’ house near a lake. She couldn’t recall the name. The lake was large enough to take boats out and fish, but not so big that she couldn’t swim across. She was a good swimmer. The smell of her skin turning brown, the algae at the water’s edge, and the sweet taste of the lake water seemed so real. She expected to open her eyes and be there, under the sun, her father on the blanket beside her, watching her as she adjusted her swimsuit.

She turned out the light and hurried into the room. The crib remained as it had been. She sighed, relieved.

A sudden, fierce longing filled her. For the lake water? Her youth? Her innocence? She wobbled with her legs heavy and uncooperative. If she didn’t get into bed as the pills hit her, she’d end up on the carpet again. Carpet burns dotted her knees, elbows, and shoulders. She couldn’t remember how she got them.

She checked on Joseph. His eyes were open and his arms wide. She lifted him and took him to bed. Pulling the pillows into a tight circle ready to nestle him in, she embraced him, his tiny mouth going to her full breast to feed.

Just then, the door flung open, banging against the crib, waking her. She opened her eyes, dopey from her pills. Two men in uniforms stood beside a portly man in a suit. They filled the doorway, then spilled into the room. The man in the suit had a letter in his hand and waved it about as he instructed the men in uniforms to get her dressed.

In a shrill voice, he explained the hotel had put the crib in the room because she’d asked for one, as if one of the uniformed men had asked why the crib was there. They’d expected perhaps her granddaughter was coming to stay with her, but no one ever came. Three weeks! There was nothing left to do but call them.

The taller man in uniform began gathering up her clothes, shoving them into the battered, swanky suitcase while the other pulled a dress over her head, gently maneuvering her arms into the sleeves. Then he helped her to stand. She slid her feet into the low-heeled pumps at his insistence, and started pulling stray white hairs up into the flattened bunch of hair at the nape of her neck. He found her glasses on the night stand and slipped them onto her face. When he spoke, he had a deep, commanding voice, like her husband’s. For a moment, panic pushed at her stupor. He said he thought she appeared lost. He wondered who she belonged to. She wanted to shout, “Joseph!”, but all she managed was a grunt.

The man in the suit handed the letter to the taller man, noting it was the woman’s bill, as the other held her by a scuffed elbow. He shook his head and exhaled. What a sad case.

Where was the baby? She felt her legs go out from under her. She went onto her hands and knees and retched. Nothing came of it. She looked up at her captors. The man in the suit seemed woeful to her, as if he’d discovered she couldn’t pay. She’d never stiffed a hotel.
Never
.

She looked around to see if the baby was all right. But he was gone. One of them had taken Joseph. She was sure. But they underestimated her. She’d find him again. She always did.

Severance Package

Bev Vincent

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, it would have been much more difficult for Jerry to get what he needed. He would have had to venture into disreputable parts of town and associate with people who were assertive and shameless enough to expose—even flaunt—their predilections, as well as those who preyed on them.

Thanks to the internet, he didn’t have to leave his house. His requirements could be fulfilled via any one of dozens of websites. It was almost as easy as ordering take-out, no matter what his craving. And it was all free—and fast, which was important because time was of the essence. Like so many who frequented these sites, Jerry’s window of opportunity was narrow and his burning need had to be sated
now
.

With his browser in stealth mode, he refined his search by geography. He couldn’t wait for someone to drive across the city. He sent emails to several potential candidates and, within minutes, had three responses. Two had photographs attached. Faces blurred, but nothing else left to the imagination. Jerry responded to the closest contact with his Skype ID, requesting a face-to-face before proceeding. There were a lot of whack jobs out there. Who could forget
Fatal Attraction
?

Jerry wore a cap that cast a shadow on his face. He and his first choice hit it off right away. They quickly got down to logistics and ground rules. Jerry hoped his eagerness didn’t make
him
look like a whack job. However, Jerry’s new friend was as enthusiastic as he was and could be at Jerry’s place in less than fifteen minutes. Jerry said the front door would be unlocked. He’d be waiting in the bedroom at the top of the stairs.

He made a few last-minute preparations. Everything had to be absolutely perfect, and he had to be utterly discreet. As the vice president in charge of innovations (the VP of wacky ideas, some called him behind his back) for a major corporation, he had a reputation to consider.

Once everything was in place, he retreated to his bedroom and waited. The only light in the room came from a reading lamp beside the bed. His heart raced. Would this be his sole encounter with his visitor, or would they be seeing more of each other in the future? That was out of his hands. He had no way of knowing how things would turn out. He had everything mapped out in his head, but once another person entered the equation, all bets were off.

Ten minutes later, Jerry heard the distinctive sound of weather stripping gliding across the hardwood floor inside the front door. He grabbed his cell phone. After several seconds, the bottom stair creaked. His visitor was being drawn to the light at the top of the stairs like a moth to a flame. Just before the other person reached the upstairs landing, Jerry turned off the ringer and stowed the phone in his nightstand.

The bedroom door creaked open. “Hey?” the man said. He had a mustache and black hair, swept back. He was wearing a muscle shirt and tight jeans. “You said to just come in.”

“Yes,” Jerry said.

“Got a safe word?”

“Perfidy.”

The man frowned. “The fuck’s that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Will you recognize it if you hear it again?”

“Purr-fiddy,” the man said. “Like perfectly. Way you look, all sprawled out.”

“Aren’t you a flirt,” Jerry said. “There’s rope on the nightstand.”

“Brought these,” the man said, producing two sets of handcuffs from his pants pocket. “You’re still dressed.”

“Yes,” Jerry said. “I want you to tear my clothes off. After I’m cuffed.”

The man’s eyes gleamed. “I’m down with that. Get on your stomach.”

This was the point of no return. Either Jerry went with the fantasy or he called the whole thing off. He looked at the man—the stranger—and complied. What other choice did he have?

“Spread your arms.” The man’s voice was raspy. When Jerry was slow to respond, the man tugged his right arm into position. His grip was strong enough to leave marks. He clicked the cuff around Jerry’s wrist and connected the other end to a rung on the bedpost. Just like that, Jerry was a prisoner in his own home. Safe word or no safe word, he was at this man’s mercy.

His visitor repeated the process with Jerry’s left hand, then yanked Jerry’s legs straight before climbing on the bed and straddling him. His weight pressed Jerry’s hips into the mattress. Jerry smelled the man’s heavy cologne and felt his rough face abrade his ear. Then came a hoarse whisper. “Relax, you little girl. Enjoy it.”

The man grabbed Jerry’s shirt by the neck and pulled. A few buttons tore loose, but the material proved too strong. Before Jerry could say anything, the man grabbed something off the nightstand. The knife he had left with the coil of rope.

The cold metal blade brushed along Jerry’s cheek. His heart seized. The room grew deadly quiet. Had he underestimated the man? Would he feel the point of the knife push between his ribs, or its razor-sharp edge slice into his vulnerable throat?

The man chuckled before grabbing Jerry’s shirt by the neck and slashing it to shreds so he could tear it off. The ruined garment whispered to the floor. Cool air rushed across Jerry’s back, chilling the sweat that had formed on his shoulders and pooled in the small of his back. The man ran his hands across Jerry’s bare skin. His touch was warm, his palms rough and calloused, his fingernails untrimmed. “Make you my bitch,” the man said. “That what you want? Be my bitch?”

“Yes,” Jerry said. “Make me your bitch.”

“Minute I saw you I thought—this candy ass needs a real man to show him what’s what.” He pushed his hands under Jerry’s waist and caressed him. “Hmm,” he muttered. “Soon fix that.”

He grabbed the coil of rope, cut a couple of lengths, and affixed Jerry’s ankles to the corner posts at the foot of the bed. Then he forced his hands under Jerry’s waist and fumbled with his belt. Trussed up like a turkey, Jerry’s arms and shoulders stretched uncomfortably, but he couldn’t complain. He had ceded all control.

Once the belt was undone and pulled free of its loops. Jerry felt the man’s weight shift. A second later, the belt whipped across his bare shoulders with a resounding crack. It stung, but only a little. He cried out, though, playing along. Three more thrashes guaranteed to leave angry welts on Jerry’s back, and the man dropped the belt.

The stranger fumbled with the top button on Jerry’s pants, then with his zipper. He reached in and caressed Jerry intimately and seemed satisfied by the response. He grabbed Jerry’s pants by the waist and tugged. Jerry’s shoulders felt like they were about to pop from the sockets, but then his pants slid down over his hips as far as they could go with his legs spread and bound as they were. His briefs followed a second later, and he was exposed.

His breath came in short, rapid pants. He was close to hyperventilating. This was where things got dicey. He could utter his safe word and hope the man would be as cooperative as he’d seemed before Jerry was restrained and helpless. However, if he got the timing wrong, everything would be ruined. He had to grin and bear whatever was about to happen.

Another whisper of material as the man’s shirt fell to the floor atop Jerry’s. Another rattle of a belt buckle. The mattress rose and fell like a ship on rough waters when the man got off the bed. Jerry watched him shuck his shoes, jeans and underwear. The man noticed Jerry watching, but said nothing. He merely grinned and stroked himself. His girth was impressive. Fearsome. Jerry’s stomach clenched. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for several seconds.

The mattress shifted again as the man crawled back on and positioned himself between Jerry’s legs. Jerry cringed at the intimate contact. The man’s naked body radiated heat like an oven broiler. He picked up the knife again and started working on one leg of Jerry’s pants.

Jerry heard a creak. A male voice rumbled up the staircase like thunder. “Hello? Anyone here?”

“Who’s that?” the man hissed.

Jerry’s shackles prevented him from looking at the man. He twisted his head as far as he could and said. “I thought you might like some company.” His heart was pounding. Would the stranger go along?

The man slapped Jerry’s buttock with his free hand. “Threesome, eh? You naughty bitch. Gonna have fun with you. You gonna walk funny for days.”

“This guy…”

“What?”

“He likes to dress up. Might be a fireman or a clown.”

“Ha!” The man’s hand was between Jerry’s legs, exploring, stroking. “I can roll with that.”

“Sir? Mr. Wallace? Are you here? We received a call.”

A man in a cop’s uniform appeared at the door. He had a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other.

“Play along, okay?” Jerry whispered.

The man snorted. “Come in, officer,” he said in a jaunty voice. “Get out of that uniform and join me.”

The other man’s eyes widened. The gun wavered in his hand as he glanced over his shoulder. “Drop the weapon, sir.”

“Just interrogating a naughty witness,” the man said. “Wanna be bad cop?”

“Sir. I said, drop the weapon. Kramer, get over here.”

“Help,” Jerry cried in a weak, strangled voice. “He’s going to kill me.”

“Shut your face, pussy,” the man said, poking his shoulder with the tip of the knife. “You got the right to remain silent.”

“Help,” Jerry croaked again. His body trembled.

“I’m not going to tell you again. Drop the knife.”

“The second I’m done here. We all on the same page, ain’t we precious?” He slashed Jerry’s pants.

A single gunshot emptied the room of air and replaced it with an echoing percussion. The man gurgled and spasmed. The knife scraped against Jerry’s hip as it dropped to the mattress. The man swayed and toppled off the bed on the side farthest from the door.

By now, another cop had appeared. Both men aimed their weapons into the room. The first officer flicked on the light switch and made a beeline for the bed. He grabbed the knife and tossed it in the corner, then circled the foot of the bed. He knelt and extended his arm. A few seconds later, he shook his head. “Call it in,” he told his partner. Then he looked at Jerry. “It’s all right, sir. He’s not going to hurt you any more. Let’s get you out of those cuffs.”

* * *

After that, things got busy, especially when the cops found the body in the living room.

Jerry spent the rest of the night repeating his story, first in the kitchen with a blanket around his shoulders while crime scene investigators collected evidence. A technician photographed the marks on his arms and back. Then they let him get dressed and transported him to a tiny, grim room at the police station.

No, he’d never seen the killer before. No, he didn’t know why his attacker had targeted his house. Maybe because the lights were on in the living room? Yes, he might have forgotten to lock the front door after Todd arrived with pizza and beer to watch a ball game. The man had burst in without knocking, waving a knife and demanding money. He looked like a lunatic. Jerry had wanted to give the guy whatever he wanted but Todd went after him. Knocked him to the floor. They struggled. Jerry’s cell phone was in his bedroom, so he ran upstairs to call 911. Maybe he should have stayed to help, but the other guy was so big and acting crazy. And that knife. They both might have ended up dead.

No, he didn’t mind if they searched his house. No, he didn’t want to consult a lawyer. He was just so thankful that the police arrived when they did. Another couple of minutes and there was no telling what that maniac would have done to him. He shuddered at the thought.

Sometimes he told the whole story from beginning to end. Other times they asked him questions out of order, as if they were trying to trip him up. It was a simple story, though, and he stuck to it. Most of it was true. Todd
had
come over that night with beer and pizza. They
had
watched part of a ball game before it happened. He didn’t even have to pretend to be devastated that Todd was dead—they’d been friends for years.

However, the baseball game had been a pretext, and the pizza and beer was a peace offering. Things were getting tight at work, Todd had told him. They had to cut expenses, so he had decided to eliminate Jerry’s division. Nothing personal, but they could no longer afford to finance projects that weren’t going anywhere. It had been a while since any of Jerry’s ideas had turned into something profitable, hadn’t it? He understood, didn’t he?

“You’ll get a generous severance package, of course,” Todd said. “And a glowing recommendation.” He shrugged. “It won’t be a golden parachute, but you’ll land on your feet, I’m sure.”

The more Todd talked, the louder the buzzing in Jerry’s head grew. His vision clouded and, before he knew what he was doing, he had plunged a knife—used to divide the last piece of pizza in half—into his friend’s chest. It felt so satisfying that he did it again.

The buzzing stopped. His vision cleared. Sanity returned. He went straight into crisis prevention mode. If he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison, he had to think—and fast. They might call him the VP of wacky ideas, but every now and then he came up with a good one. This one, spawned under tremendous pressure, was among his best.

He couldn’t dispose of the body. Too risky. Todd probably told someone where he was going, which would lead the police to Jerry’s door once he was reported missing. No matter how careful he was, he was bound to leave behind evidence. Besides, there were cameras everywhere these days and too much of a chance that someone would report suspicious activity.

The best solution was to
bring
the police here, but make it seem like someone else had killed Todd. Even better, he would turn himself into a victim, too. The best case scenario had the cops killing his patsy, though there was a strong possibility they would end up merely arresting the guy if he didn’t play along according to Jerry’s plan. It was a gamble, but it would be the stranger’s word against Jerry’s if that happened. Given the circumstances, Jerry knew who the police would believe. It would be a mess, but a manageable one.

Prepping the scene had been absurdly easy. There had been very little blood, and Jerry was sure that none of it had gotten on him or his clothes. There was nothing else damning for the investigators to turn up. It had been a crime of passion, so there was no trail to cover. The handcuffs—an unexpected bonus-- belonged to his attacker. His prints would be all over them, and Jerry hadn’t touched them. Besides, he couldn’t have cuffed and roped himself to the bed. The knife was a stray, not part of a set. Jerry had wiped it on Todd’s shirt, leaving only traces of blood the stranger wouldn’t notice in the dimly lit bedroom. The man’s prints were all over it, too, and the cops had seen it in his hand. Had seen him threatening Jerry with it.