Fook (44 page)

Plucking the knife from the bench, Derek
turned to see Jason now standing on the other side of the iron
bars.

“Sorry to chat and run but I’ve got a prom
to attend,” Jason smiled as he looked up at the ceiling overhead.
“But since I can’t have anybody interfering with my date,” he
returned his evil gaze to Derek and smiled just before vanishing
once again.

*****

“Ruth, did you get that notice from town hall?”
Michael asked as he entered the dispatch room where sixty two year
old Ruth Mater had spent the last thirty two years acting as the
police department’s dispatcher, 911 operator and front desk
receptionist.

The room wasn’t anything impressive. Though
there were two stations with matching equipment, Cannon being the
small town that it was, there had never been much need for more
than one dispatcher to be on duty at a time, so as usual, Ruth
manned the space alone.

“Ruth. The notice from town hall. Did Gerald
bring it by yet?” Michael repeated the question, this time looking
up from the papers in his hand and noticing the woman’s arm across
the desk, her head nestled in the crook of her elbow. “Another
headache?” he asked, knowing her history of migraines.

It wasn’t often that she got one at work so
debilitating that she couldn’t perform her duties, but it did
happen on occasion.

“Do you want me to give Abigail a call? I’m
sure she wouldn’t mind coming in a bit early,” Michael approached
the woman, placing his hand on her shoulder. The moment his hand
made contact with the grey haired woman’s spring colored sweater,
he knew that it wasn’t a headache that she was suffering from.

With the slight pressure of his touch and
the imbalanced weight of the slumped woman, the rolling chair on
which she sat began slowly moving away from the desk, revealing a
steady stream of blood, flowing over the edge of the desk and onto
the vinyl floor below.

“What the…?”

Stopping the rolling chair with his foot, he
grabbed both of the woman’s shoulders and pulled her upright in the
chair. The river of blood, pouring from her neck onto the desk, now
began turning the bright yellow sunflowers of her sweater a crimson
hue.

“Shit!” he exclaimed as he turned to call
for help from the other officers down the hall.

“Hello Officer…,” Jason greeted the panicked
cop as he buried the blade of the blood stained knife deep within
Michael’s belly. Reading the officer’s name tag, “…Lucern,” he
finished his greeting with a smile.

The shock of the unexpected attack causing
his body and vocal chords to seize, all Michael could do was stare
into the sadistic face of his attacker as he twisted the blade and
pushed it even further into his abdomen.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing this,”
Jason pulled the officer's hand away from his gun, which he’d
failed to fully withdraw from its holster.

“Who the—?”

Without hesitation, Jason pulled the gun
from Michael’s belt, turned and dropped the new arrival to the
scene, all while continuing to hold the hunting knife firmly in his
other hand.

The lights began to flicker and then dim as
unconsciousness approached and the unknown man, staring at the shot
officer, yanked the knife from his stomach. Dropping to his knees,
Michael finally managed to fight through the shock, and get a
signal to his hand, but as he reached toward his attacker, the room
went dark and he fell forward at the man’s feet.

Kicking the fallen officer’s hand off of his
shoe, Jason stepped out into the hall and without hesitation raised
the gun to his left firing three shots at the two officers charging
toward him just as a third, much older man in uniform rounded the
corner to his right.

Having heard the gunfire, the white haired
chief of police already had his gun drawn and spotting his officers
being fired upon, did not hesitate in raising his own weapon to
fire off two shots of his own. However, as the bullets erupted from
the gun, Jason vanished from the hall, allowing the two stray shots
to find their new targets. The first bullet struck a window at the
other end of the hall, sending glass erupting into the
interrogation room while the other bullet finished the job that
Jason had started by striking the second charging officer in the
head, dropping him onto his already fallen friend.

“Nice shot old man,” Jason whispered in the
man’s ear, startling the elderly chief who stood in shock at what
he’d just done, before pulling the trigger and splattering the wall
with blood, skull and strands of red stained, white hair.

*****

“Shit!” Derek exclaimed as gunshots erupted
overhead.

Reaching between the bars he jammed the tip
of Jason’s knife into the lock on the cell door, wiggling and
twisting it back and forth in hope of somehow getting free and
stopping what was taking place upstairs. With each shot however,
his panic increased as did his aggression with the lock until
finally, the tip of the blade snapped off, causing him to drop the
knife to the floor, his only hope for freedom sliding out of
reach.

“Ahhmm,” the sleeping man on the bench
suddenly moaned and shifted, the sound of the gunfire apparently
more startling to his inebriated brain than the tip of Jason’s
knife, delicately balanced upon his throat.

As the man turned onto his side, a tiny,
metallic noise joined in the commotion as something fell from
beneath the man, striking the concrete floor and bouncing under the
bench. Moving toward him, Derek scanned for the source of the odd
sound, but didn’t see anything until he was kneeling beside the
unconscious drunk. In the shadows, against the wall, was a single
key.

“Son of a bitch,” Derek huffed as he grabbed
the key.

Somehow he knew that it didn’t belong to the
unconscious man sleeping off his day of indulgence. The key didn’t
go to the man’s car. It didn’t open his house, nor did it open a
locker at a fitness club, by the looks of the overweight bench
warmer. Jason had placed the key beneath the man during his little
visit. As much as he’d enjoyed setting him up for the murder of
those people, he apparently didn’t want his best friend to miss out
on the action that remained, especially now that he was furious
about the attempt on the much younger version of himself. He wanted
Derek there when he went after Sarah’s sister and more importantly,
when he went after Sarah herself.

Returning to the lock, Derek again reached
through the bars and rubbing the key against the lock managed to
extract the remainder of the broken blade before inserting the key,
disengaging the lock and pushing the door open to freedom.

FORTY-EIGHT

She didn’t know what she was going to say to her
father. She knew he was home. A cruiser was parked in the driveway.
Typically, he and Michael rode in together, since Michael lived
only a few blocks over, but as she’d learned from her visit earlier
to the station, he’d apparently left early in hopes of having a few
words about the unusual and alarming situation in which she was
currently involved.

Turning the doorknob, Sarah took a breath
and entered the house.

“Where the hell have you been?”

The anticipated question struck her ears
even before her other foot could cross the threshold.

“Daddy, we need to talk,” Sarah ignored the
question.

“You're goddamn right we need to talk,” Phil
respond in the same angry tone. “What the hell are you involved in?
Do you know that your boyfriend is suspected of not one but three
murders now.”

“Daddy, I can explain everything, but right
now we need to get Katie and get out of here.”

“Get out of here? What are you talking
about?”

“We don’t have time. I can explain in the
car but we have to go now. Get some things together. I’ll grab
Katie.”

“Wait!” Phil barked, stopping Sarah mid
stride on the stairs.

“I know it sounds crazy and you have no idea
what’s going on, but you need to trust me,” Sarah pleaded.

Something in her voice and panicked eyes
told him that he should listen. As confused as he was, his daughter
had never been one to exaggerate or stir up drama. If she was this
worked up over whatever she was talking about, he should probably
put aside his current anger and listen.

“I need to get Katie, Dad,” Sarah repeated
as she started to take another step.

“Your sister’s not up there.”

“Where is she then, the kitchen?” she
reversed her direction and rejoined him in the living room.

“I sent her to the dance,” Phil answered,
confused by the sudden look of panic on his daughter’s face.

“You what?”

“That Mark kid showed up and I realized that
I shouldn’t be so protective. After all, the doctor did say she was
fine,” he finally acknowledged his stubborn disregard for the
doctor’s actual opinion. “So she got ready and went to the dance.
They left about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Shit!” Sarah exclaimed.

“What the hell is going on?” Phil asked.

“We need to get to the dance,” Sarah
declared, turning toward the front door.

“Mr. Bishop. Officer Bishop,” a staticky
voice called from the kitchen.

“Who was…?” Phil turned and headed for the
source of the voice.

“Mr. Bishop, this is Derek. Please
answer.”

“Derek?” Sarah rushed to join her father who
grabbed his radio from the counter.

“What the hell are you doing on the radio?”
Phil snapped. “Where’s Officer Lucern?”

“He’s right here. He’s hurt badly
though.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Phil,” a faint, whisper came over the
radio.

“Mike,” Phil responded, hearing the weakness
in his partner’s voice. “Mike what happened?”

“The kid was right, Phil. He was right.”

“Mike! Mike!” Phil panicked, yelled into the
radio.

“He’s dead sir,” Derek returned to the
radio.

“I’m going to hunt you down and I’m going
to—“

“—Daddy. It wasn’t him. Didn’t you hear
Mike,” Sarah fought through her own tears. “It was Jason. Katie’s
next.”

Phil turned to his daughter in shock. “What
has that boy told you?”

“You have to get to the dance. I’m on my way
there now,” Derek squawked across the radio again.

“Derek didn’t do anything Daddy, but right
now we need to get to Katie before Jason does,” she pleaded.

Having never been more confused than he was
at that moment, Phil stared into his daughter’s tear filled eyes
and realized that what she was telling him was probably true. His
youngest was in danger and he needed to be there to protect
her.

FORTY-NINE

“Alright, slide in a bit closer. There. Hold that
pose and say cheese.”

The flash of the photographer’s camera
bounced off of the ornate, glass chandelier hanging over the
function hall lobby behind the young, well dressed couple.

“Next,” the man behind the camera summoned
his next subjects as the current couple bounced away smiling and
kissing their way into the ballroom.

Serving as Cannon Town Hall, as well as the
local community center, function hall and even playhouse to the
local theatre group, the oldest and largest building in town was
usually the focal point of any and all activities. As soon as Katie
had set foot on the polished marble floors of the lobby, she had
fallen in love with the place.

Squeezing Mark’s arm, the two exchanged a
smile as they stepped in front of the camera and positioned
themselves on the two white "X’s" taped to the floor.

“Alright, slide in a bit closer,” the
photographer repeated the directions he’d likely say a few hundred
times more before the night’s end.

Pushing in closer, Mark placed his arm
behind his date, placing his hand on the small of her back.

Feeling his hand ever so gently pressed
against her, she became overwhelmed by a feeling that she hadn’t
felt since her mother had touched her in the very same way. It was
a comforting touch; a touch that sent a warm tingle throughout her
body and told her that the owner of that touch would do everything
in their power to lookout for her and care for her no matter what
the situation.

Looking up at Mark, the smile on her face
changed ever so slightly from that of excitement to that of
happiness as Mark, apparently feeling the same way, offered the
same expression.

“The camera’s over here guys,” the
photographer interrupted the moment, drawing their momentarily
distracted glances just as the flash erupted. “Next!”

“Ready,” Mark turned to Katie once
again.

Nodding, she took his hand as they entered
the ballroom.

*****

Siren blaring, Phil skidded the Crown Vic. to a stop
behind a photography truck parked in front of the function
hall.

“Stay here while I find your sister,” Phil
ordered as he reached for the door.

“No,” Sarah barked defiantly, opening her
door and stepping out onto the curb.

Leaping from the vehicle, “Get back in the
car and let me handle this. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Ignoring her father’s demands, Sarah turned
and ran toward the front door.

“Sarah!” Phil rounded the car, passing
behind the photo truck and stopping in his tracks as something
caught the corner of his eye.

Backing up a few steps, he glanced inside
the back windows of the van, spotting the body of what he assumed
was the photographer, sprawled across the floor, covered in
blood.

*****

The ballroom was amazing. The Junior Prom Committee
had voted on a 1930’s swing theme. The entire room was decorated in
black and white and a live swing band and professional dancers
filled the stage. Hundreds of students filled the dance floor, some
attempting to mimic the acrobatic moves of the dancers on stage
while others just did their best not to embarrass themselves.