13 Drops of Blood (6 page)

George squeezed his eyes together and pulled the smoke from behind his ear. He lifted the matches, lit the cigarette and inhaled the nicotine. It helped. Didn’t fix anything but it helped.

Detective Martin said, “What about the boy?”

“I don’t remember what he was wearing, if that’s what you’re asking me, but I remember the pain in his face. He was hurting, all right. He was in a lot of pain. The old man had a hunting knife in his free hand. It was long, like a machete. He had the boy in one hand and the knife in the other. The boy was screaming. His eyes looked like they were trying to jump out of his head and he was screaming like a baby. Now, at this point I’m thinking:
What the hell am I going to do?
I want to get off the train and help the kid out somehow, but every time I see the old man he’s halfway between stations. I’m not even sure which way I should go, ‘cause I know I’m going to see him again, and I know I just passed him.

“The train stops and I think about jumping off, but I don’t do it. I don’t know why. More people climb aboard, the car is getting full now… now that we’re close to Toronto. We start moving and five minutes later I see the old man a fifth time. The boy is there, lying at the old man’s feet with his throat slashed open. There’s a huge pool of blood around him, like every ounce of fluid has been drained from his body. And the old man is laughing. He loves it, I can tell. He’s laughing and smiling and he loves it. And that’s not the worst part. The worst of it is, the old man has another kid with him. This time it’s a little girl, and she’s screaming, just like the boy. He’s holding her up by her pigtail; her feet must be three inches from the ground. I don’t know how he did it. The girl was small but she must have been heavy, too heavy to hold up like that. But he’s doing it. Somehow the old man is doing it. Her feet are kicking and her hands are grabbing at his wrists. The old man is waving his knife in the air. He’s laughing and showing me who will die next, see? I get it, but what the hell should I do, huh? Can you tell me that? Should I call 911 and tell them I LOST MY FUCKING MIND?”

“Sir,” Detective Martin said, startled by the outburst. “Maybe you should calm down. Have a drink of water.”

George took another drag.

McKean bummed the smoke and snatched a drag too.

“The train kept rolling. We stop again. We start again. I’m not looking out the window now. I’ve had enough. I figure it’s me, you know? I tell myself that it’s just my imagination, but it’s not and I know it. After a while I look out the window. I have to. I can’t help it. And as soon as I look out I see him. The boy is at his feet and the girl is next to him. Both children are lying dead in a pool of blood that’s so big it looks like the pair has gone swimming, and he’s laughing, and smiling, and holding up another child. He’s holding up
my son
. MY SON!!!”

“Sir––”

“MY SON WILL BE THE NEXT TO DIE! GET IT? DO YOU
GET IT?
AND HE’S
JUST A BOY!”

“Sir you need to calm down.” McKean said, wondering if there was going to be a problem. He hoped not. He tried to avoid every problem he encountered.

“FINE,” George said, loudly. His eyes were the image of pain. “Now I’m
LOSING
it––and I don’t know what to do! I’m praying…
praying
I’ve gone insane, you know? And maybe I have, but I don’t think so. And I make a decision: I’m getting off the train and going back. I’m going to get my son because I
can’t
sit on the train any longer. I don’t want to see what happens next. I don’t! I can’t take it!”

“But then something happened,” McKean said. “Didn’t it?”

“Yeah. Something happened all right. I see them: three dead children, lying in a pile. My son David is near the tracks with his arms and legs bent out of shape. He looks like a broken swastika. His eyes are wide open and his throat is cut from ear to ear. My heart dies right there in my chest. I looked over my shoulder and I see the old man. He’s sitting next to me, inside the train! His eyes are sparkling and he’s smiling like a lunatic. He says, ‘
Did ya see something interesting there, George? Did ya? Did ya see somethin’?
’ And that’s it. I jump up from my seat and I start choking him. I choke him so hard that my knuckles turn white and my fingers get sore. And the whole train is screaming now, screaming at me! They’re trying to pull me off and some crazy bitch is laughing like a witch and I’m not letting up, because I know. I
know
!”

George took another drag. McKean stole a drag too.

“It doesn’t occur to me until later that this thing isn’t human. How can it be? It has to be something else, get it? It has to be something from a different world!”

McKean nodded, thinking the guy was a nut-job. He had seen his fair share of them. They came in all shapes and sizes.

“Do you really think that, Mr. Lewis?” Martin said, almost mockingly. “Do you really think that you saw somebody from another planet?”

George ignored the question, lost in his own storytelling. “I saw the sparkle fade out of the old man’s eyes and I knew that he was gone. I knew it was over. Then somebody kicked me and somebody else dragged me outside. I didn’t try to fight them. I killed the bastard that murdered my boy and that was good enough for me.”

“You killed a forty six year old man,” McKean said. “A high school history teacher.”

George wondered if they had been listening. “But it was him… it was the old man.”

“No,” Martin said. “It was a man named Dean Peavey. He had a wife. He had children.”

“Oh no! This guy’s eyes were sparkling, like he had little firecrackers inside of them or something. It was the old man. Trust me.”

Detective Martin looked at his partner. He said, “Do you mind giving us a moment, Lieutenant?”

McKean nodded, stood up, and knocked on the window. The door opened and the officer left the room.

For a few seconds there was silence.

Then George, with his eyes facing the floor, said, “I don’t care if you don’t believe me. My boy is dead. I have more important things to think about.”

Martin grinned.

“Oh, I believe you, George. I believe you. But you strangled the wrong guy. I wasn’t inside the schoolteacher when you killed him. I moved on. I was inside that crazy bitch you heard, having a good laugh.”

Martin put a wrinkled hand on George’s lap and smiled. And when George looked up he saw that the cop had aged a thousand years. His eyes were glistening. Worst of all, his smile was all wrong.

He had a smile that looked like a scream.

* * *

MONSTERS:

BABY

“Wait!” Jennifer said, somewhat urgently. She was standing in the doorway with a white coffee mug in her hand, looking excited and worried and absolutely beautiful. The cute little hearts on her silk pajamas were shiny and red, complementing the cherry polish on her fingers and toes. Her dark hair was cut boldly short. If her face wasn’t so stunningly gorgeous the cut may have looked terrible because she had a boy’s haircut, really. It was brave and it worked, but somehow it seemed best suited for a nine-year-old brat with ice-cream stains on his t-shirt and the knees knocked out of his blue jeans.

Richard, standing on the driveway next to his car, turned towards his wife. Complementing his bright green eyes and his slender nose was a smile that seemed more dimple than lip. With a smirk, he said, “What is it?”

“Just come here for a minute.”

“But––” Richard had a travel bag in his left hand and his car keys in his right. He lifted them up and flaunted them, as if doing so was a statement onto itself.

“I know, honey,” Jennifer said, using her ‘baby-needs-some-loving’ voice. “I know, but I have to tell you something. It’s important.”

Richard unloaded a hearty laugh. “Now? You need to tell me something important, now? The clock is ticking and I’ve got to go! Steve is probably wondering where I am already.”

“Please, hon. I thought it could wait but now I don’t think it can.” She tilted her head to one side, scrunched up her expression and stood on her tippy-toes. Coffee splashed inside the mug.

Richard placed his luggage on the driveway and dragged his feet towards his wife. With his shoulders slumped, his eyes sad, and his face long, he looked like he was visiting his mother on death row. Should have been a stage actor. “What is it?”

Jennifer wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him on the lips. Once the kiss was planted she nuzzled into him, and said, “I love you.”

Richard laughed. “Well that’s fantastic. I love you, too.”

“No, I want you to
really
hear me. I love you, Richard Beach. I love you with all my heart. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m unconditionally yours.”

“Aww…” Richard felt his belly flip as an unexpected batch of tears threatened to break free from their hiding place. She had said that very thing on their wedding day; it was part of her vows. Hearing it again was wonderful, and––
my Lord
, he treasured this woman. She was everything he wanted and more. She was artistic and beautiful; she knew how to make him feel like the luckiest man alive. Every hour they spent together seemed better than the one before it. And sure, his friends might argue that they were still in that honeymoon stage; they might even point out that things were bound to change, but still––if Jennifer wasn’t the perfect woman he wasn’t sure such a thing existed. With his eyebrows raised and his arms around her, he granted her a soft and loving squeeze. “You’re so sweet.”

“Tell me that you love me.”

A smile blossomed. “I love you.”

“No… really
tell
me. Make me understand.”

Richard kissed his wife with as much passion as he could muster. He ran one hand along the center of her back while caressing her neck with the other. He whispered, “I love you Jennifer Samantha Beach. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I’d die for you in a heartbeat, because you are the very best part of me. You are my everything; my center; my one. I’m so lucky to have you in my life, Jenn. I know it and I’ll never forget it. I love you, baby-doll. I love you; I love you; I love you.” He kissed her again.

Exploiting his emotions felt liberating and fabulous. He wanted the moment to last forever. It didn’t. Jennifer pulled away while their lips were connected. She took him by the hand and looked him in the eye.

All business, she said, “I’m pregnant.”

Richard flinched. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m pregnant and I want to keep the baby.” Her eyes stayed with his, and when he tried to look away she gave his arm a yank. “How do you feel about that?”

Feeling manipulated, which wasn’t a feeling his wife evoked very often, Richard allowed a moment of undisciplined honesty. “Shocked.”

“That’s a far cry from being overwhelmed with joy.”

“Yeah, but…” A fumbling of words led to: “I thought the doctor said you’d never have children? What happened to that?”

Jennifer huffed, offended. “This is good news, right? You love me more than I’ll ever know, correct?”

“I’m just––”

“You’re not happy.”

“I’m surprised, is all… of course I’m happy.”

“You don’t look happy. You don’t
sound
happy either.”

Richard turned towards his car, ignoring the fact that his wife was perturbed. He needed get behind the wheel and drive, because continuing this conversation was dangerous and disturbing and an assessment of his thoughts wasn’t going to help anything. He
wasn’t
happy; that was the truth of the matter. He wasn’t the slightest bit pleased. If anything, he felt scared. And maybe a little sick.

He said, “I’m going to get going.”

“Just like that? You’re leaving me?”

Richard swallowed back whatever emotions were bubbling to the surface. He could feel a cold shiver sashaying up his spine as his stomach churned into concrete. “Look,” he said, faking a smile. “I’m happy. This is great. We’re going to start a family and I think that’s excellent, but I have to go… Steve’s waiting. Let’s talk about it later.”

Jennifer’s eyes morphed into slits. She wasn’t thrilled but she didn’t want to fight. “Will you call me?”

“I’ll try, but you know how work gets. If I don’t get a chance to call you tonight I’ll see you in three days.”

“Are you mad?”

“Mad?” Richard smiled, and this time he didn’t fake it. “I’m not mad. This is great news, honey… really. Like I said, I’m just surprised. I thought we were going to adopt.” He kissed her then. It was uncomfortable and clunky and the opposite of affectionate. And although he wanted to restate the fact that he loved her, somehow he couldn’t find the words.

He turned away with a sigh, made for the car, and tossed his travel bag into the trunk. After he jumped behind the wheel he gave his wife a little nod and hit the road. Lips pursed, dimples lost, he didn’t look back. He didn’t even wave. Five minutes later he parked against the curb so he could cry his eyes out without driving into a tree.

* * *

They’d been sitting next to each other for thirty-five long minutes and Steven Wendelle knew damn-well that something was bothering Richard from the moment he sat down in the car. He could see it in Richard’s eyes and hear in his voice, which wasn’t exactly non-stop with discussion. The pain appeared to be rooted directly into the lines of his face, chewing at him like a virus, turning him into an old man before his time. But Steven was a good friend, his
best
friend, and sometimes a best friend must bite his tongue. He figured this was one of those times. Besides, the conversation would happen sooner or later. It always did, once Richard was ready. He wasn’t the type of guy to bottle things up forever.