What Hides Within (20 page)

"Did she just kiss him? Did she just kiss him right in front of me?"

Relax, Clive. She loves you. She probably just got tired of waiting for you to come around. Not to mention the fact that you abandoned everyone the other night to spend some quality time with Judith . . . excuse me, I mean, Connie. You two were awfully close to each other at the bar. Morgan had to have noticed. So she probably just settled for that jerk Derek and slept with him to get back at you. Of course, that doesn't explain why they're still going at it, but I don't know. Maybe he's got something you don't. You know, better equipped below the belt.

"You're not helping."

Don't worry. Whatever it is, I'm sure you'd easily get Morgan back if Derek were out of the way.

"Then he needs to be out of the way, doesn't he?"

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Of course that's what I want!"

Say no more, Clive. We're on the same page. Things will be better tomorrow.

Clive spaced out momentarily, his imagination tormenting him with visions of a lost life with Morgan. He sighed, finally comprehending what Chester had said.

"I hope you're right, Chester. I don't want to lose her." Chester had been right about the coupling of Derek and Morgan. He'd seen it with his own eyes. It defeated him.

"Well, I guess you're entitled to say, 'I told you so.'"

Clive waited patiently for one of Chester's snide remarks. He received no response.

"Lay it on me, Chester. I deserve it. Chester?"

No response. Clive stared into space, out of focus. His eyes began to tear. Derek was gone. Morgan was gone. And now, something else was missing. Now, of all times, Chester, too, chose to abandon him.

"She'll be back," Clive reassured himself. He cried. A breakdown came swiftly, prompted by the fear of being alone. "Don't leave me now, Chester. I don't have anyone else."

A voice, faint but comprehensible, floated into his ear as if carried by an undetectable breeze.
Don't be so dramatic, Clive.

Clive giggled, choking back his tears. At once, he felt better. He wasn't alone. He was never alone.

"Why are you doing this? Please, I have a family . . . and money. Not a lot, but enough. I'll give you whatever you want."

Two hours ago, Robert Sousa left his office after another late night derived from real concern for his city and a desire to restore it to its former glory. He was a politician in politics for the right reasons, one of the few good apples among a mountainous pile of rotten ones.

Two hours ago, he walked into the Fall River Municipal Parking Garage toward his black Mercedes bought in his earlier days as a district attorney. He remembered his desire to see his wife and kids, even his dog. He remembered his longing to be home, to rest before the struggle began anew tomorrow. He remembered the stranger's scented cloth smothering his mouth and nose. Then he remembered nothing.

When he awoke, he found himself on the floor, handcuffed to a dilapidated bed. The room around him was equally worn down. Insects scurried about the dark, stained floor. A man stood in the open doorway.

"Just like all the rest of your kind. You think you can buy your way out of anything. You make me sick."

Robert turned away, defeated. His captor's scorn rattled him absolutely. What could he have done to warrant this stranger's malice?

"Do you recognize this place?"

Robert glanced around the room once more. The place was a shit hole, not worthy of the term "slum." What reason would he have to know it? What reason had now brought him there?

"Please, sir," Robert begged. He recognized his danger even though he couldn't understand the impetus for it. No political enemy would resort to these techniques. His personal life was generally free from strife. Yet, someone chose to kidnap him and bring him to that wretched place. Someone wanted something from him. That someone, his dark-haired, blue-eyed captor, stood unmasked before him. He was the only one standing between Robert and escape, if he could just remove the handcuffs from his wrist.

"Please, sir. Tell me what you want."

The man stepped forward from the doorway. His facial features were easily distinguishable as he entered the light of a street lamp shining through a nearby window. Robert faced his captor. He looked dead into the eyes of a killer.

"I asked you a question. Do you recognize this place?"

"No! Alright? No! Why should I recognize it?"

"In all fairness, I didn't think you would. Your type likes to live up in the highlands. Where's your big house with its four-car garage? Oh yeah. It's over on Lincoln Street. I've checked it out. That's one big German Shepherd you got there. What's her name? Molly?"

The thought of this man going near his home, threatening his family, brought out the defiance in Robert. "If you hurt my family in any way, I'll--"

"You'll what?" The man laughed. "Relax, Mayor. My beef isn't with your family. It's with you."

"What do you think I've done?"

"It's not what you've done, Mayor. It's what you
haven't
done. Look at this place. Are you surprised to learn that your constituents live all around it?"

"Is that what this is about? Fall River's economy? Look, pal, Fall River's woes existed long before I came into office. I've been doing my best to clean up the city. There's just so much corruption and filth that it's going to take time to undo the years of damage done to it."

"Yes, years of corruption. Years of filth like you taking and taking and never giving back. The world has gone to shit, and people in power, people like you, have done nothing to change it."

"So run for mayor, asshole."

"Ha! I like that. I see why people voted you back in. But me? Mayor? Nah. I don't know anything about politics. Besides, I'm way too honest."

"Cut the shit. What do you want from me? To change the city? Even if you don't believe me that I'm trying, you must know that my death will do nothing to help your cause. What makes you think my replacement won't be a million times worse? I happen to share your opinion on the 'quality' of most local politicians, enemies and benefactors alike. You'll only be replacing someone who cares for the city with someone who only cares about fattening his own pockets."

"Oh, Mr. Mayor, I'm afraid I misled you. You misunderstand my intentions. You're right. Your death will accomplish nothing for Fall River. So what? I gave up on Fall River a long time ago. Probably around the same time it gave up on me. So, I confess. My motives are as selfish as your compatriots'. I just want what's best for me."

"Which would be?"

"Fame. Immortality."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Everything. Nothing. Who knows? But this sure is a lot of fun, isn't it?"

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, that's what the newspapers said when I blew up the school. Why is it that every time someone makes a statement, tries to change things, the press immediately labels him a lunatic? I swear to God, fascist conformists rule our country. But if I can effect change, then they'll label me a visionary. Not that it matters. I'm sick of operating under the radar. The college wasn't my peak. True, I haven't been able to top that since, but I'm going to keep on climbing."

"College? UMass? You're
him
?" The revelation came with a sting. Robert now understood the extent of his peril. "You won't get away with this."

"Why do people always say that? I
have
been getting away with it. There's no justice in this world. No right and wrong. Just those who take what they want and those who don't."

"You killed so many innocent people."

"Truth be told, I didn't expect to be so successful so quickly. It left me with little room for improvement. So I tweaked my goals somewhat. I switched to higher profile, human targets. That should give me more favorable press. How do you think I'm doing so far?"

"Me? High profile? I am the mayor of an economically and socially depressed city. I won't be missed, except by my family. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Don't you have a family?"

"Not really."

Robert sensed the futility of his argument. In his line of work, there were two types of people whom Robert knew he could never win a debate against, the ignorant and the insane. As far as he could tell, his captor was both. His fear left him. His wits failed him. His fate seemed certain.

"So you're just going to kill me?"

"Not necessarily. I'm sure this little stunt has already caused quite a ruckus. And it's nothing personal, Mayor. Your not-so-stellar police force should find you within a couple of hours. Your car is parked out front, in clear view. Although in this neighborhood, I wouldn't be surprised if it gets stolen. So, my suggestion to you is, wait here until the cops show up, then go home to your family. Be sure to tell everyone what happened here, unless you want me to revisit you at your home next time.
Ciao
, Mayor."

The man turned to leave. Robert watched him exit. His kidnapper never looked back. Robert was left alone, dumbfounded.

He can't be serious. Why would he let me live? I've seen his face.

Robert couldn't believe his captor had truly left. Likely, he went to get his contraptions. When he came back, Robert would be blown to pieces.

He examined the handcuff around his wrist. The other cuff was secured tightly around a post in an ancient, cast iron bed frame. There was no telling how long the bed had been there. How long had it passed through the ages in its state of misuse? To whom had it once belonged? Why had it been left there, forgotten? Robert knew only one certainty about it: no one had slept in the bed for many years. Likewise, no one had been in that room for many years. Help wouldn't find him so easily.

His wrist had some wriggle room, and he tried to pull it free. He pulled and pulled, shredding off the outer layers of his flesh as he attempted to force his hand through the metal ring. But he couldn't slip his wrist free beyond his knuckles. His minimal success made him feel that much closer to freedom, encouraging his efforts at flight.

An idea came to mind, and Robert tested a new strategy. Wrapping his free hand around his cuffed wrist, he yanked himself away from the bedpost in hope to break the metal chain connecting the cuffs. The cuffs were made to withstand the force. They refused to bend to Robert's will. But something else gave way.

Robert tugged harder, listening as he strained. He heard the creak of rusted metal, the post straining under the force. Robert's hope for freedom intensified. He knew he could break the post free with a little more effort. And then, he could use it as a weapon when his captor returned.

He pulled with all his might, and the post snapped free. He rose to his feet, gleaming with a sense of accomplishment and ready for a fight, if necessary. He gripped the cold, iron rod in his hand and turned to leave, when he noticed the length of thin piano wire tied around its bottom. Then he heard the ticking.

Lunging at the bed, he slid it aside. Underneath it was a massive device, all wires and plastic. Connected to it was a timer. Its numbers were counting downward. Four seconds remained. He turned to run.

Her many legs pitter-pattered across the hardwood floor. She moved with purpose, surveying each obstacle in her path. Each stride was light but deliberate, inaudible to the human ear, her eventual target.

Outside the bedroom door, a tabby cat lay twitching, not quite dead. Chester used a minimal dose of her liquid death on the feline, conserving the bulk of it for her much larger target. Dispatching the kitty wasn't necessary. She probably could have avoided the cat's detection with ease. But she hadn't lived as long as she did by taking unnecessary risks. With most of her kind dead and gone, she felt it her obligation to survive and carry on what they had started so many years ago. She would do so at all costs.

Her venomous glands were nearly full again, pumping poison toward the hollowed tips of her fangs. She felt them gush with energy as she trotted toward the leg of Derek's bed. Like a surge of adrenaline, the venom made her feel alive.

With her oily but tensile feet, scaling the polished wood was as easy as gliding across ice. Chester needed no webbing to aid her, no strength to compel her forward. Her instinct and conviction had served her well enough for millennia.

When she reached the top of the bedpost, Chester paused. She perched lightly atop the convex frame, using her dual rows of eyes to canvas her surroundings. Unlike most widow spiders, Chester relied on her eyes to see, and with them, she could see all. Her feelers could sense vibrations caused by the slightest movement. Her venom seethed with instant death. She was the perfect weapon, deadly and unseen.

Certainly, Chester was an extraordinary creature, resembling the widow only in form. She was no mere spider, if even a spider at all. To be remembered as such left a taste in her mouth worse than that of the digestive juices welling up from her stomach. She detested her physical form, though it had its advantages.

From high atop the bedpost, Chester viewed the entire room. What she saw disgusted her. Dirty laundry covered the floor. Bureau drawers and closet doors were overstuffed and drawn half-open. A poster of Pamela Anderson promoting her film,
Barbed
Wire
, hung thumb-tacked to a wall. A ceiling fan turned slowly and stopped, only to spin again with the coming and going of a late-autumn breeze through an open window. Everything appeared unkempt but safe. No pets, no people, no problems--ideal conditions for her dishonorable affairs. Below Chester lay Derek. He was alone and asleep.

The sound of bone hitting wood vanquished Chester's serenity. Derek's hand crashed against the headboard. The impact was too slight to arouse Derek, but thunderous to one of Chester's proportions. It sent her coursing through the air. She ricocheted off the far wall and fell to the ground, back first and pissed off. Her nearly see-through but sturdy exoskeleton was sufficient to protect her from harm but not from aggravation. Chester flipped onto her feet, more humiliated than injured. The streaks on her bulbous abdomen flared bright red. Her venom glands threatened to boil over. Chester was livid.
Fucking restless sleepers
, she cursed.