The Empty (22 page)

“Tracy, No!” screeched Mindy, who was finally pulling Sasha off the planter and in the direction of safety.

There was no time to respond. Tracy didn’t know what the lunatic was doing to that man, but by the looks of it he might be killing him. Maybe he’d stabbed him in the back of the neck with an unseen weapon. Maybe he was strangling him. In any event, Tracy couldn’t just stand by and watch a murder. She was probably crazy for attempting this, but so be it.

“My wife!” screamed the man tending to the fallen woman; his hands and sleeves were now covered in her blood. “My wife! Someone call an ambulance!”

Tracy moved to her left. She heard Mindy’s hollered protests, but the voice was already distant. Circling to behind the naked lunatic, Tracy lifted the fingernail file high and drove it down into the man’s neck, just to the edge of his right shoulder. The file bent and broke. The first inch or so of it remaining embedded in the man’s flesh.

The lunatic whirled around, slamming into Tracy with his right fist and forearm. She was struck across the face, the force of the blow causing her to topple onto the sidewalk scraping her elbows and jarring her back.

Her attack, however feeble, had the desired effect. The freak was distracted, the victim free. He stumbled three or four steps forward, turned slightly to his left, as if to look back over his shoulder, and then dropped to all fours as he gasped and gagged, a yellow custard-like matter dribbling from his lips.

It seemed Tracy was now the target, as the lunatic moved toward her with small quivering steps. Blinking continually, he appeared disoriented, possibly having difficulty focusing. His arms flopped about, his legs jerked and kicked. Her heart pounded at a painful rate. Tracy scooted backward on the concrete, whimpering for the strange man to stay away from her. Wasn’t anyone going to help her? Would all of these people just watch her die? Somehow it didn’t occur to her to stand up and take flight.

With sudden coordination and speed, the naked freak bent, grabbed Tracy by the back of the neck, and pulled her toward him. Her face was crushed against the man’s chest. She could hear the thumping of his racing heart, smell an odd, almost onion-like perspiration, feel the thick rubbery texture of his skin. She squirmed and screeched, but his grip was as iron. Then there was penetration. At the back of her neck, something had pierced into her very spine. An electric chill raced through her form. She felt herself shudder, but had no control over her limbs. She was going to die, right here, right now, on the Vegas strip. This was it. The end.

Something dark and brown flew through the air. It smashed against the back of the freak’s head in a crash of amber and suds. Tracy felt the spray of beer on her face as the lunatic released her, rising to his feet with a wavering howl.

Tracy heard a familiar, “Wooo!” as another bottle found its mark.

Then there was another bottle, and another.

Still on her knees, Tracy glanced beyond the now-besieged freak. Mindy and Sasha—the latter appearing more pale than a bleached sheet—were grabbing impromptu missiles of all shapes and sizes—shoes, purses, beer bottles, cameras—and hurling them at the naked man. The rest of the crowd caught on and joined in.

With an inhuman roar, the lunatic bolted into the crowded street, sideswiped a car, but continued to move.

There was a shrill whistle. A bicycle cop racing toward the man. Wearing a bright yellow shirt and black shorts, he looked like a giant bumblebee as he weaved through the halting and honking traffic.

Instead of fleeing, the freak charged the cop, knocking him from his bike and onto the hood of a cab. The cop fumbled for something—his gun, a taser? Whatever it was, the officer never had a chance to utilize it, for the lunatic smacked him hard across the face, and then lifted him over his head. It wasn’t like some super baddie in a comic book movie. The crazy didn’t lift him in one easy sweep. Tracy saw the man strain, saw the muscles tense beneath the too-pale skin, saw the clench of the lunatic’s jaw and the perspiration on his brow. More than once he nearly dropped the dazed and incoherent cop. But somehow, with tremendous effort, he managed to lift the officer over his head and hurl him into the next lane where he struck the side of a metallic blue corvette. The sports car swerved, hit an adjacent cab, and stopped. The cop was now somewhere on the pavement between vehicles, and out of sight.

Traffic stopped. Cars honked. As Tracy eased herself back into a standing position, she saw the freak weaving between cars, scrambling over some of them, colliding with others. A double-decker bus came to rest in front of her, and by the time she’d moved around to get a better view, the freak was gone. After a moment of near-vertigo, she glanced back onto the sidewalk. Two men and a woman were now attending the bleeding woman. It seemed they might have applied a makeshift tourniquet. Two more men knelt beside the male victim, who was still on all fours, and trembling as if in the first stages of seizure. To her left, Mindy and Sasha were approaching, Mindy pumping her fist in the air. “Vegas, baby! Woooo!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Julia’s head throbbed, her mouth was dry, her vision blurry. She moved to sit up, but a wave of vertigo swept over her, nearly causing her to vomit. Laying her head back into the velvety pillow, she blinked. The room was unfamiliar. Very classy with its light golden wallpaper, fine art prints, and sleek silk sheets; but despite all these, it held the smell and feel of a hotel room. Where was she? Her thoughts, her memories were so fragmentary, so fleeting. It was as if she could almost grasp one and then it would turn to vapor, flitting away on some gentle mind breeze. Why was she here—wherever here was? Why was she so groggy? Why was it so difficult to form even the simplest of thoughts?

She lolled her head to the right. Red luminescent numerals read one o’clock. It was light outside. She could see that even through the drawn curtains. One in the afternoon, but of what day? Why couldn’t she think? Her eyes fluttered. She was sleepy still. Maybe she should just sleep it off. Maybe she’d be more coherent in another couple of hours. But, sleep what off? She wasn’t a heavy drinker, she didn’t do drugs. She certainly wasn’t the type to get blitzed and land in some strange guy’s hotel room. Where was she then, and why?

But, sleep. Sleep called to her. It would be so wonderful to sleep. This could all wait till later. Something floating on the fringes of her mind told her that just this scenario had already occurred several times. How often had she wakened disoriented and groggy and then fallen back into whatever haze she was experiencing?

No.

She was awake. She might be fuzzy around the edges; she might feel like emptying her stomach into the nearest toilet, but she was conscious now, and that meant she needed to act. She needed to find out where she was and why.

It was there, just at the corner of her muddled brain, she could sense it.

She blinked.

Had she just seen movement?

She blinked again, wishing she could focus. Her vision was just fuzz and shadows, nothing concrete.

Blink, blink.

Yes, there was a form, probably male, standing at the foot of her bed, just staring at her. How long had he been here? Who was he? Had she been drugged?
Had she been raped?
Julia’s heart raced. She tried to lift herself into a sitting position, but nearly lost the contents of her stomach for the effort. “Wh-who are you?” she stammered as her head flopped back onto the pillow.

The shadow stepped to her left, moving around the bed and closer to her face. “My name is Ric. We haven’t met yet—at least not while you’ve been conscious.”

Julia squinted. The image cleared some, but there was still enough blur to make the young man appear as fuzzy as a newly-hatched chick. “Ric? Who’s Ric?”

“I’m one of Dr. Baker’s students.”

Dr. Baker? Dr. Donald Baker. The name came clear as one she’d recently known, but there was no context. She couldn’t recall who the doctor was. “I don’t remember,” she said. “Why am I here?” She was very weak, and the effort to speak created new waves of vertigo. Still, she fought to keep her stomach under control. It wouldn’t help her situation to vomit on the young man’s shoes.

Ric stepped closer. “You’ll remember everything soon enough. Dr. Baker said you need to be brought around. I’ve set a pitcher of water and a glass on the nightstand. You’ll want to drink as much as you’re able, flush your system of the drug.”

“What drug?”

“Dr. Baker will explain everything once your mind has cleared.” With that he turned, strolled across the lush carpet, and let himself out. Julia heard the click of a lock turning after he’d closed the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Charles Chambers placed the phone in its cradle and then turned to the case file spread across his desk. It was tax litigation—his specialty—but it meant nothing to him at this moment. He’d file another brief, petition the IRS, agree to concessions. He knew the drill. The Feds knew the drill, except in the rare instance of some monumental fraud, both sides knew where the other would likely land before the first conversation occurred. In many ways the job of a tax attorney was robotic, just keep the system moving and rake in the money. It wasn’t that Charles disliked his profession, even in its monotony; it was just that he had other things on his mind.

Julia, in particular.

He’d screwed up. The woman was amazing, vibrant, exciting. She was in love with him. Or had been. Still, for some inexplicable reason, he’d strayed from her. He couldn’t say why he’d done it, couldn’t even reconcile it to himself. He’d simply acted without thinking, maybe naively believing there’d be no consequences, or that everything would work out the way things always had. He’d never been unfaithful—not once. Never entertained the thought. It amazed him how quickly he’d allowed himself to slide toward the thing.

He really hadn’t thought that the girl, Rachel—the other woman—would ever come into his life. Rachel was an administrative assistant for another attorney who rented space in the same office complex as Charles. He and she had crossed paths enough times to have established a comfortable, though seemingly harmless, casual relationship. Though, Charles now wondered if he’d simply been unwilling to acknowledge it for its true nature, for its underlying danger.

On the occasion in question, they had come upon each other in the parking lot. As usual, Julia was working beyond her scheduled shift and so Charles had decided to dine out. He hated dirtying all of those pots and pans to feed one person. As such, he’d found himself eating out more and more frequently. Rachel’s car was parked next to Charles’ motorcycle. She’d commented on his bike, said she’d never been on one, and hinted that she’d like to take a ride. Charles had Julia’s helmet attached to his bike, and so nervously offered to take her for a quick spin.

He’d enjoyed the feel of her body as she’d hugged up against his back, as she’d wrapped her arms around his mid section, and leaned her helmeted head against his shoulder blades. He enjoyed the attention, the excitement. His body tingled with stimulation, with anticipation, and even with an electrified fear. How long had it been since Julia had really noticed him, much less desired him?

They ate at a steakhouse that night, a little hole-in-the-wall place off Maryland Parkway that Charles had frequented back when his office had been the next block over. Dinner was over quickly. They’d both ordered only salads. Perhaps both were nervous, and therefore not hungry. Perhaps they were anxious for something else, something looming on the eve’s horizon. Afterward, once he’d returned her to her car, Rachel had suggested he follow her to her apartment, only a few blocks distant. They could have a couple of drinks, she said. Charles gazed down into her pale green eyes, feeling an unmistakable surge race through his body. She was beautiful, this one. Young, vivacious, witty. She and he had definitely clicked. Their conversation over dinner had flowed naturally. They shared many of the same interests, enjoyed the same music, had even, apparently, attended two of the same concerts.

Unlike Julia, this woman clearly desired Charles. There was no career between them, no other “love” competing for his space.

He’d stepped closer, extended his arm, gently brushed the side of her face with his fingers, and then slipped his hand to the back of her head, running his fingers through her golden hair, before drawing her to him. Wrapping his arms around her, he cradled her. He could feel his heart thumping against her, could feel her drawing closer, even closer. He leaned toward her upturned face, watched as her lips parted in anticipation of a kiss. God, this woman was beautiful. Sliding his hands to her arms, just below each shoulder, he pulled back to arm’s distance. “Thank you for a wonderful time,” he’d said. “I’ll see you in the office.”

Charles felt terrible after his infidelity, nauseous even. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. He spent most of the next day pacing back and forth, slamming his palm against whatever wall happened to avail itself. He’d nearly done it, nearly slept with that woman. And why? Because he was tired of going to bed alone? Tired of sharing Julia’s affections with her all-important work? Tired of waiting for Julia to decide she was ready to start a family? He couldn’t remember the last time they’d taken a weekend getaway together—or even gone to a movie. He realized that there was no relationship left to damage, and he’d told Julia as much when she’d arrived home late that evening. Told her everything. Charles wasn’t one to sneak around. He respected Julia too much for that. If he was that tempted, if he’d come that close, well, it would be better to make a clean break before his resolve weakened further and he did something unforgivable.

But now, just days later, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. True, Julia was too involved with her work. If the marriage were to survive, something would have to give. But, even in these short few days he’d realized just how special Julia truly was. If he had to share her with her patients, then he would need to learn to be less selfish. She was his true life-mate, none other. How could he have ever thought otherwise? He only prayed the relationship wasn’t damaged beyond repair.