I Can Barely Breathe (3 page)

The armed officer exited the shrubbery, his
face ghostly white. He turned to the uniforms. “Pack up this shit!
Bag the arm. You know the drill.” He pulled the gloves from his
hands. “This wasn’t a homicide.”

“What was it?” a young uniformed cop
asked.

“A feeding.”

Carver and Kattic walked briskly to the
cruiser, while Tom did his best to keep up. Once safely inside the
vehicle, they locked the doors, then quickly left the area.

October 13. The sun was down. It was dark.
Carver, with a flashlight in hand, opened the big red door to the
big red barn that sat behind his house. It was tidy inside. The
floor was dirt, and the area was empty except for a small dusty
workbench that sat in a corner. He used a match to light a lantern,
then hung the glowing light source on a rusty nail that stuck out
from one of the support beams.

Almost 80 percent of a moon sat in the night
sky; Carver could see it through the cracks in the roof. The
temperature was a bit lower than he was used to for the current
time of year, despite the fact that it was fall. The air that
exited his lungs was visible in the subtle flame’s light. Five
freshly dug graves lined the back wall. Carver picked up a shovel
and began to dig number six. As he chipped away at the hard ground,
he thought back to how good the blonde’s body had felt on his. She
was an easy target. If only all his kills were that simple.

After digging a shallow grave big enough for
the girl’s body, Carver stepped from the barn and immediately felt
a cold wind on his skin. He walked to the building’s darkest side.
The moon cast the barn’s shadow over the girl’s covered corpse. He
picked up the white and red sheet and carried her inside to her
final resting place. As he laid her down next to the hole, he
pulled the bloody sheet from her body. She was still beautiful. Her
face had lost a lot of color, but her natural good looks still
shone through.

Trying to be decent, he closed her eyes.
Then slid his hands under her shirt and over her breasts. He
squeezed them. An urge to masturbate rushed through him, and he
felt himself get hard. A beautiful girl, dead or alive, was one
thing Carver Thorton could not resist. His heart pounded in his
chest; it was the same sensation he always felt just before a kill.
Carver unbuttoned his pants and pulled himself out; he stroked his
dick just inches from her lifeless body. He focused on her breasts
and squeezed them with his free hand.

It didn’t take long before his DNA was all
over her face, lips and neck. He felt refreshed and was glad he got
more use out of her body before disposing of it. Not wanting to
waste any more time, the young killer stood up and forcefully
kicked her into the hole, then shoveled the fresh dirt back into
the grave.

When the job was finished, Carver took the
sheet he had used to cover her and threw it in an old metal trash
can just off his back patio. He poured some lighter fluid over it
and then dropped in a burning match. Everything was in its place.
He was ready for another victim.

***

Kattic climbed the old wooden staircase that
wrapped around the interior of Sorrow Sky’s clock tower. It was
dark inside and smelled of dust and cold.

He had been renting the tower from the city,
putting a little extra cash in the pockets of the city council
members, who, upon learning of the special investigator’s desire to
temporarily reside in the town’s historic landmark, jumped at the
opportunity. The terms were Kattic would pay one hundred dollars
every two weeks, report any mechanical glitches with the clock’s
oversized mechanisms and in his free time, repair the upper
section’s broken out windows—which he had finished the first week
he took up residency.

Once at the top, he could see the giant
gears and the clock face with its hands at 9:32. He had lit a few
candles, not only for light but for warmth as well. The good thing
about being in the top section of the tower was that what little
warm air was inside rose to that level.

His bed consisted of a small mattress that
lay directly on the floorboards and an assortment of large
blankets, complemented by a few puffy, white pillows. A wooden desk
with a matching chair took up about one- third of his small area.
Above the desk was a window that looked out over the town of
Sorrow’s Sky. He pulled out the chair and sat down, then reached in
one of the desk drawers and retrieved a fountain pen and a small
bottle of ink.

His fingers unraveled the small leather tie
that kept his black journal closed up. He opened it to the first of
about 150 empty pages and composed a letter.

Sorry it’s taken me so long to write
.
Though, for you
,
I suppose this message is
instantaneous
.
I’m in good health and have managed to
infiltrate the local police station, where I work daily as a
special investigator
.
It has been amazing to witness our
town’s history in the making
.
The chaotic incidences are
growing worse
.
No clear cause as to the origin of the
merger
.
More on that later
.

Wish me luck
,

Kattic

He closed up the book and stood from his
chair, jimmied loose a small board from the wall near his desk and
shoved the journal inside the hole. Carefully Kattic replaced the
board to his secret spot, hiding the book from anyone and
everyone.

October 16. Tom pulled the cruiser to the
curb and put it in Park. He, Carver and Kattic got out and walked
up the sidewalk to a large two-story white Queen Anne
Victorian-style home. Carver noticed Tom’s limp seemed worse. All
three men were wearing casual suits with ties, and Tom had his
shield on a chain around his neck. It swung around in front of his
chest, the result of his painful shuffle.

Making the transition from beat cop to
detective had been a process for Tom. He would turn in his squad
car once his paperwork had been finalized. Until then, he didn’t
want to put the miles on his personal car, not just yet. His CB
radio, weapons, supplies and first aid kit would have to be
transferred to the new vehicle as well. It was company policy.
Though it doubled as an excuse to stall, since Tom was a lifelong
procrastinator.

The house and surrounding property was
extravagant. Four large pillars extended from the front porch to
support a second-story balcony that was as long as the house
itself. The porch had a swing, and all the windows had white
curtains at them. Potted flowers graced the steps.

Tom had explained the case to the guys on
the drive over. As per usual, it wasn’t the typical series of
events. A longtime blind man awoke in the night to find that he
could see. Once the initial shock wore off, the man spent the rest
of the night on the front lawn, staring at the stars. It only took
a few hours before the news traveled through the townspeople and
into the police station, where Tom first heard the story.

The investigators trudged up the steps and
onto the hardwood porch. They rang the bell and, in no time, were
greeted by a beautiful young woman, blessed with a slender, yet
curvy figure. Carver could hardly contain his awe for her. She
stood about an inch shy of five foot, had long curly brown hair,
hazel eyes, the cutest little nose and shiny lip-glossed lips. Her
slightly pale skin looked softer than a baby’s, and, in that
moment, Carver would have given anything to feel it for
himself.

Carver glanced at her perfectly shaped
breasts that held up her strapless dress; he felt for a moment that
he was staring a bit too obviously, then figured the type of girl
who would wear a dress like that probably wanted to be admired, so
he held his gaze until he was sure she had noticed.

“Hi, I’m Carver Thorton,” he said, taking
her hand in his and giving her a delicate shake. “These are
Detectives Mallik and Kattic. We’re here to see your
grandfather.”

She smiled casually. Her teeth were so white
they may as well have belonged to a movie star. “I’m Julia Grace.
Grandfather and I have been expecting someone from the police
station to stop by. Right this way,” she directed them.

As Carver stared at her backside, and
scanned up and down her body, Julia led them into a small coatroom,
where a large set of stairs stretched up to the second story.
Pictures of family members smiling brightly hung on the walls.
Carver quickly picked Julia out in a few of them. She then guided
them into the living room where an older gentleman sat in a rocking
chair.

His hair was gray and white, slicked back
and in need of a cut. Wrinkles on his face gave away his age,
midseventies at least. He wore black slacks held up by suspenders,
a white button-up shirt, a wedding ring and an expensive watch. His
shoes were neatly placed next to his rocker.

“You must be from the station,” he said,
rising from his seat.

“No, please don’t get up,” Tom said, as he
shook the man’s hand.

After Julia seated herself next to her
grandfather, the three investigators each found a seat around a
large coffee table.

“My name’s Wilmer Grace. I run the
slaughterhouse out east, least I used to. Now I suppose I just sit
back and collect a paycheck from it.”

“Good money in those cows,” Kattic
agreed.

“You ain’t kiddin’.” Wilmer chuckled.

“Would anyone like some tea or coffee?”
Julia asked.

“No, thank you. We don’t plan to take up
much of your day.” Carver smiled at her. He glanced down at the
black boots she wore and could see that the skin of her legs, just
above her knees, was rudely cut off by her bright blue dress.

“Can you tell us what happened, Wilmer?”
Kattic inquired.

“Not much to tell. I been blind since I was
thirty-two years old. Last night I woke up in bed and saw the
ceiling fan sittin’ still as an owl in a tree. It liked to scare me
to death.”

Carver nodded. “I bet that was quite the
shock.”

“It was. Strangest damn moment of my
life.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what caused
your blindness all those years ago?” Tom asked.

“Hot motor oil. A lift chain, one with a big
hook on it, got away from a fella. It splashed into that drum of
hot oil and doused my face. My eyes were scalded. Doc said I’d
never see again.”

“How is your vision? Is it cloudy or blurry
at all?” Kattic asked.

“No, it’s very clear. I don’t need to squint
to see things far away, if that’s what you mean.”

“Have you done anything differently over the
past few days?” Tom said, fishing.

“Like what?” Julia asked.

“Anything out of the ordinary—taking new
meds or vitamins, burning incense or any differences in your
diet.”

“No, none of that,” Wilmer answered.

Carver decided to join Tom on the fishing
expedition. “What about any unusual headaches or sneezing
fits?”

“No, I’ve felt great for the past few
months. I’m sorry, fellas. I just don’t have the answers for you.”
He had a gruff way about him.

“Don’t apologize. These are routine
questions,” Kattic lied. “Do you have any theories on
why
you can suddenly see?”

Wilmer thought for a moment. “Well, I never
been a religious man, but I think God wants me to see. I been in
the dark for so long.” He smiled at his granddaughter.

“It really is a miracle,” Julia chimed
in.

For a split second Carver imagined her
spreading open her legs and running her hands up her thighs. “A
miracle. Well, we’ll just leave it at that,” he responded with a
smile, while rising from his seat. “I think we’ve got everything we
need. Thank you for your time and enjoy those eyes!”

Julia walked the three men to the front
door, and Carver let Tom and Kattic exit first. He turned to her
and handed her his business card. “This may be forward, but, if you
need anything, give me a call or text. I’d love to see more of you.
You’re a very breathtaking young woman.” He was a master
manipulator. He knew the trick was to put himself out there and
make himself seem vulnerable. Most women found it impossible to
resist his charms and that Cheshire smile of his.

She smiled, as he touched her upper arm.

“OK, I’ll see you,” Carver said.

“Bye.”

Carver stepped out the door and smelled the
autumn air, full of strong scents of wildflowers and wheat. He met
Tom and Kattic at the car, and they climbed inside.

On the way back to the station, Carver
impressively lit three cigarettes at once and handed them out to
his partners.

“What do you two make of this one?” Carver
asked between puffs.

“It’s similar to the cases we’ve worked
before. Could be caused by the same thing,” Tom said. “Though what
the fuck that
thing
is, I haven’t the slightest.”

“I think you’re right, Tom. It is similar.”
Kattic knew exactly what was happening. It killed him to have to
sit back and wait for his partners to catch up. Over the past seven
months he’d been slowly guiding them, pushing them to get to where
he was. But he knew it wasn’t the time; he’d have to wait, just a
little while longer, until things really picked up.

Jonathan, a young gifted college student,
who studied primarily out of Denver, stepped onto an elevator and
pushed the 5 button. He brushed his dark hair from his forehead and
waited for the old machine to gear up.

The young man did his best to dress
professionally, and it showed. His light gray button-up shirt
brought out the blue in his necktie. His slacks were a bit long and
had to be rolled up over his ankles. The shoes he wore were a shiny
black, the toes and sides reflecting a bit of the burgundy carpet
he stood on. He checked his face in the shiny metal that acted as a
border to the button control panel. Seeing his bright blue eyes
staring back at him, he smiled awkwardly.