Flutter (17 page)

Frankie turned off the TV. Abigail kept a straight face, grabbed a towel and turned into the bathroom to shower, shutting the door behind her. 

Frankie looked at Roger with the utmost sincerity and said, “I’m not the one you guys should be hiding things from. You know that more than anything. I don’t keep secrets from you; but if you can’t tell me, I’m sure there is a good reason why. Go clean up and come down when you’re done. Get some clean sweats out my closet.” Frankie tapped Roger on the back of his head and went down into the bar.

Another sleepless night passed for Finch. “Why are you doing this to me?” was the last thing she remembered saying before Anthony’s presence left the room. He was always there reminding her of the most painful memory of her life– losing him. He knew just when to show up. It was like he sensed the hole she carried in her heart was filling up with love for someone else, and he refused to allow it. Anthony was no longer a person she dearly missed, but a being she despised and began to hate. Was he really haunting her, or was she hallucinating? She couldn’t tell what brought him to her, but she was sick of it. 

There is no acceptable therapy for these things,
 she thought to herself.
People will laugh or think I am mentally unstable. I can’t have that.
She was very concerned about what others would think, knowing she was borderline schizophrenic and walking around town with a gun. She decided that going for early morning runs and marijuana would be her medication for now.

Finch put on her Adidas crops and a pink tank top. She headed out the house and took on a three mile run, finishing just after the sun came up. When she arrived at home she showered and dressed. She plopped herself on the couch and watched the morning news. She also checked email. 

For breakfast, she had a GNC vanilla protein shake. As she sucked it down she received a text from Brown saying, “GET DOWN HERE ASAP! FOUR JOHNS IN AN ALLEY.” Finch spilled the shake on her chin as she read the text. She wiped it from her face and rushed into her room. She changed, grabbed her things, and headed out to the police station. 

Brown and Finch arrived on the scene where Abigail had killed the four men in the alleyway. Both sides of the alley were taped off with caution tape. Officers parked their cars on the other side of the tape to prevent the media and onlookers from getting too close to the scene. Once, an on looker dropped a straw from a fountain soda, which was then carried by the wind into the crime scene. The straw was taken in as evidence where his fingerprints were identified. It took two weeks to resolve the matter.

Reporters, including Samantha Callahan, were on the other side of the police cars. Lead Forensics Detective Tammy and Coroner Michelle Cox were already on the scene when Brown and Finch came on. Brown had a thermos full of coffee. Finch took out her phone, ready to take notes.

Brown greeted her first, “Good morning, Alicia.”

“Good morning,” she replied. “I want you to take a look at this.” She walked them closer to one of the displaced limbs. She used a pointer to point. “Now check this out.” They move to another section of the scene. “Anything look familiar to you guys? Look at how this head was severed from the body. As if it was torn. Same tear patterns, same scratches…” They walk to another piece, “Look at this guy, torn limb from limb…”

Finch interjected, “Like the Robert Benson arm!” Her eyes lit up as she took notes into her document.

Tammy said, “I wouldn’t put that connection on the shared drive yet, but make a personal note. It’s
exactly
like his arm, except this victim was beheaded too. Actually, maybe Benson was beheaded and it’s sitting on a window sill in Puerto Rico for all we know.”

“Or on a building around the corner.” Finch added.

Tammy asked, “You guys have any luck speaking with his wife or with the new CEO? Did anything come up from the check of hospitals in the area?”

Finch answered, “Nothing from the hospitals. No reports of amputees that fit the description. They are all lawyered up the ass and refuse to speak but are currently preparing a statement. We should get it soon they said, but I’m sure it will be very general and elusive.”

Brown strayed away for a moment. He took a personal tour of the alley before he returned to Finch and Tammy. He commented, “This alley is a DNA buffet. There has gotta be piss, hair and blood from about a thousand John Does out here.”

Tammy responded, “And the rain last night... This is really frustrating. We’ll still swab and dust what we can and see what we can find, but we’re looking for a needle in a haystack. There weren’t any cameras directly facing this area but Chris is working on some footage from another angle we can look at later.”

Brown was excited, “Awesome! Tammy, hold this down for me. Can we get a full report in an hour? I have to follow up on something.”

“Yes. I got it. You guys are dirtying up my scene anyway.”

He smiled, “Ok, We’ll meet you in the lab.”

Sydney and Meghan got into Sydney’s Wrangler. Sydney pulled off. Meghan didn’t understand why he wanted to leave so hastily. “Where are we going?”

Brown sipped his coffee one more time before putting it into the cup holder in the center console. He said, “I’m not satisfied with a few things about that Benson case. We have a murderer on the loose and these fools at Chapel and Case refuse to speak. The wife of a missing armless man won’t comment, and everyone else around is oblivious? I don’t like it.”

“I agree. Someone is covering things up.”

“That’s clear to me, but why?” Brown asked.

“Oh, I’m sure there are a myriad of reasons …investors, stock prices, secrets, children, insurance. I’m sure they are shuffling their feet behind closed door trying to prepare for the worst.”

“But the connection between Benson, Chapel and Case and these random killings eludes me and the fact that people are not talking is burning me up.” Brown sipped his coffee.

“Well, people don’t talk out of fear of intimidation by someone else or if they are personally involved.” Meghan looked out the window again and asked, “So where are we going?”

Frankie made home fries, grits, turkey sausage, and omelets with chicken, tomato, onion, chives and cheese. He placed the food on three plates and entered the main floor. He placed a plate in front of Roger, one at an empty seat, and the last plate he took for himself. Roger devoured the food immediately. Frankie inspected Roger’s face as he ate the food from his plate. Roger knew Frankie was looking and thus kept his eyes locked to food on the table. He was ashamed that he was keeping such a huge secret from Frankie. Roger kept his head low. They did not speak. They could hear Abigail descend from the upper level. She came down quickly. When she turned around the corner, their mouths dropped. 

Abigail cut her hair into a sexy Mohawk style with the sides low. She added dark makeup around her eyes and a dark brown pigment to her lips. The top level of her hair swooped across her face. The sides of her hair were shaved down, exposing more tattoos in her scalp. She found an old pair of sun glasses and a black leather jacket in a box in her room, so she put them on. She walked over to the men and slapped $1000 on the table in front of them. It was money she saved from tip money and wages at the pub.

Abigail said, “For the jacket and … for everything else. It’s not much but it’s all I have.”

Frankie received the gesture as an insult. He slid the money back over the table and said, “I don’t want your money.” 

She didn’t argue. She took the money back and walked towards the door with all her things stuffed into a backpack. She didn’t say goodbye. She turned her back without hesitation.

Frankie asked her, “Where are you going?”

She didn’t respond.

Her hand pressed against the cold metal bar on the door. Frankie stood up and yelled at her with a stern voice, one reminiscent of a father reprimanding a stubborn child, “Where the hell are you going?!”

She stopped in her tracks and she turned around.

Abigail respectfully responded to Frankie, who she knew cared about her, “If I tell you, it will only make things worse. I have to get outta here. Frankie, thanks for everything. I really appreciate you. You too, Roger.”

Frankie calmed down, “Come sit down for a minute. Please.”

Abigail gave in. She walked back and sat at the table where breakfast had been waiting for her.

Frankie continued, “If something is wrong, this is the place to talk about it. You’re family, Abigail.”

She responded, “I just don’t want to bring trouble to you, Roger or the pub. You guys don’t understand. I wasn’t shot in Boston. I was shot about 50 miles from here. I was chased… and ran here– the entire way on foot. There are things about me that are not natural. It’s not just the people looking for me. It’s me. I could hurt you too. You’re a big guy, Frankie but you can’t comprehend the strength… There are still some things I don’t remember. I can’t explain so much of what is happening. It’s not fair to involve you guys. And the things I
do
remember...” she stirred her fork around on the plate.

Roger looked guilty, dropped his head and said, “I can help you, Abigail.”

She first thought that Roger’s suggestion to help was a simple and kind gesture. Then she looked deeper into his expression and realized there was more to the comment than she initially thought. She tilted her head, looking curiously into Roger’s eyes as he lifted his head to further explain. She sensed there was a certain level of truth in his voice that made her believe he had something worth listening to on his mind. She nibbled on her split lip and exhaled.

Roger said, “We should talk. I need to be honest with you about something. We should probably head back to my house and talk.”

Abigail nodded. They quickly finished eating and rose up from their chairs, heading towards the door. Roger grabbed his things and followed her. Frankie picked up his keys and tossed them to Roger. He trusted Roger more than he wanted to. Frankie said, “Take the truck.” Frankie didn’t get the whole story from Roger, but at that table, while waiting for Abigail to come down for breakfast, Roger had told Frankie a few things that were almost unbelievable. He told Frankie about the incident in the alley and that Abigail had saved them. He didn’t give a complete description of her rage, but Frankie knew something sacred had happened in that alley. And lastly, Roger had explained to Frankie what he was about to tell Abigail on the ride back to his house.

About two hours after Abigail had slipped back into the bed from her late night fit, Roger woke up to a text from his mother, “CALL ME NOW!!” 

The phone sounded like a woodpecker, buzzing against the wooden floor. He left the room and called his mother. With a sleepy voice he asked, “Hey Mom. It’s late! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Ms. Atkins sounded serious as ever, “Bring your ass home, Roger.”

She never usually bothered Roger about staying out late or coming home by a certain time. Roger knew that something was bothering her, but the sense of urgency in her tone was one he hadn’t heard in a very long time. The last time he remembered her being overly nervous about things was when they first moved from Connecticut to Boston.

Terry Atkins, a disabled mother of one, would hear voices at night and would run into Roger’s room to make sure he was okay. She would lay in the bed with him and cuddle next to him as if they were in danger during a thunderstorm, hurricane or even a mild wind that moved a few plants around on the porch. Before bed time, she double locked all the windows and doors. She closed the shades and blinds and always kept the TV going at night. She slept with a knife under her pillow and gave Roger a knife to keep in the night stand. Her paranoia lasted for about three years after the move to Boston. It took her many years to explain to Roger why she panicked so often. This reminded him of those days.

She repeated herself, “Roger, please… come home now!”

Roger was still waking up, “What… Why?”

She explained, “Your friend Elvis is in a heap of shit. I saw some pictures on your bed…” She took a deep breath before she continued, “I haven’t seen those marks in years, but I will never forget them. Never!”

Terry Atkins continued to tell him a few things before she decided that speaking on the phone was a bad idea.
I’m forgetting basic no no’s of discretion. Phones are not secure.
She reemphasized to Roger how important it was for him to make his way home as soon as possible. Then she hung up the phone. She scratched the back of her neck and paced through the kitchen. Ms. Atkins spied through the window curtains. Her state of paranoia had returned with full force. She was perspiring and mumbling. Terry walked back and forth in the house as her anxiety increased.

Roger couldn’t wait to get home to get more answers and he couldn’t wait to tell Abigail that maybe his mother held the key to finding long overdue answers to her questions. 

The night was seasonably warm, with a cool tickling breeze. Overhead, the faint cry of a crow echoed over the hills of grass and trodden earth. Silence and mist fell upon clearing on the other side of a forest, which opened to a 100
–
acre farm. There was a small house and large barn with cracking sides which hadn’t been painted in years, but the updated tractor in it suggested that the farm wasn’t abandoned. It was off season until spring when plowing and planting would resume. All lights were off in the house. A small stream of smoke ascended from the chimney.

The former corn rows were still visible after a season of a few winter storms and heavy rain. Suddenly, coming out of the forest edge, bare feet splashed through the muddy old cornfield. The feet belonged to a woman. She stopped. She looked around and listened carefully. It was Abigail. Her eyes were blazing blue and her muscles were tightly flexed. Her mouth bled as she breathed heavily. Then, she held her breath and listened. She could hear her enemy near. She bent her knees and slipped one foot back. She growled and burst into a sprint. Within three or four leaps she was taken off her feet by a man also with glowing blue eyes. He pounced upon her, ripping at her body. They fought like wild cats scratching, punching and hissing at one another. They tossed one another to and fro.