Painless (15 page)

Chapter 32

Following the movies, Carolyn slipped off to sleep, and Billy returned to the cottage. The second they were gone, Chuck wrapped Beth into his big arms. They hadn’t been alone in forever.

They kissed on the couch like two horny teenagers. They were back in that small apartment in Albany. There were no worries back then—no Carolyn—and definitely no Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis.

They rose up, knocking over an end table, hoping they didn’t wake Carolyn. Even though she was tucked away in her room, and her projected ETA to slip into their bed was still an hour from now, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d interrupted them at the wrong moment. They kept their voices down the best they could—waking her was not an option.

They rushed into the master bedroom. Even though the barn house was situated in the middle of the woods, Beth’s first move was to shut all the curtains. When she finished, Chuck playfully tossed her on the bed and climbed on top. Their bodies entangled as they kissed.

Chuck took the initiative of removing his own shirt. But Beth always liked her man to undress her. The first obstacle was her sweater, and then he started working on the bra.

That’s when he thought he heard a noise. He dismissed it, figuring it was just one of the squirrels nestled in the trees outside their bedroom windows. It came from outside, so it wasn’t Carolyn, although, they had caught her out on midnight excursions before, hunting fireflies.

Chuck’s momentary stoppage frustrated Beth. She looked at him with longing. Unless Carolyn was about to perform another swan dive off a steep staircase, she wasn’t going to lose her focus. She physically pulled Chuck back on top of her.

They worked as a team to remove her jeans. She maneuvered to give him the best leverage, and then swirled her hips in the other direction so he could get the other side down. They had already made it over her hips and down to her ankles, when they realized she hadn’t removed her shoes. Chuck hopped off the bed and yanked off her boots. The path had been cleared and the pants flew off. They couldn’t help but to smile at each other, but knew they were on the clock, so they quickly rolled back onto the bed into takeoff position.

That’s when Chuck heard the noise again, this time louder. It was coming from right outside the window closest to their bed. There was no denying it this time.

He made eye contact with Beth—she’d heard it too. She strained her neck up from her lying position to get a look at the window. After the last couple months, they were ready for anything, and it definitely wasn’t a squirrel.

Chuck’s arm shot up to the long drapes behind the headboard, and in one motion, ripped them open. He immediately jumped back.

Peering in the window were two bright white eyes that glowed in the dark. It was a man! His face was dark—either it was a black man or he had camouflaged his face. There was a silent moment as if the world had frozen. Then Beth broke it with a scream, causing the intruder to run.

Chuck ran shirtless out of the bedroom, into the room where he stored his hunting rifles. He opened the glass case and pulled out his high-powered M1 Carbine. He then searched for the keys for the desk drawer where the ammo was stored. Beth had made him secure it like Ft. Knox. Once found, he opened the drawer and pulled out a .30-06 cartridge, which he expertly loaded into the gun.

He ran through the living room area, toward a side door. Beth cut him off at the pass, pleading, “Please—no—Chuck.”

He wasn’t listening, so she cut her losses, begging him to be careful.

He nodded that he would as he bolted out of the house. It didn’t take him long to spot the intruder about halfway down the driveway, surrounded by nothing but a still night. He didn’t know the exact laws about shooting an intruder in the back, but he didn’t care. This man violated his family, and now he was going to violate a few of his vital organs.

He sized the intruder in the scope, and fired. Then fired again. He was sure he connected in his upper back or lower shoulder area. But the man kept running without a flinch, probably fueled by adrenaline. Within seconds he was gone.

Chapter 33

Morning came without resolution. The police had searched the Whitcombs’ property and combed the neighborhood with their scent-sniffing dogs, but found nothing. The Whitcombs were told there was a Peeping Tom reported in the area who matched the description of the intruder. Beth wasn’t buying it. She was convinced it was related to the warnings Dr. Jordan gave them, and the intruder was after Carolyn.

They did have some clues to go on. From her awkward, upside down position on the bed, Beth registered a good description of the intruder. He was a black male, probably in his early twenties, and wore a tank top with jeans. And even more importantly, she noticed a tattoo on his upper left arm, a red rose with a prickly green stem.

The second piece of evidence was the blood splattered on the bark of a tree. Chuck explained the blood as residue from shooting the intruder in the back. This seemed to interest the police, but until they found the man there was no victim, so Chuck was safe from any charges. Not that he cared. His only concern was keeping his family safe.

The police were convinced that if he’d been shot, as Chuck suggested, the intruder couldn’t have gotten far. All local hospitals were checked, but no match. Nor were there any further sightings of the alleged Peeping Tom.

Chuck met with authorities all night, leafing through heavy binders filled with photos of possible suspects. He was going to hunt down the terrorist on the terrorist’s turf. Beth was about defense and patrolling the borders. She wanted a police guard outside, and to build the Great Wall of China around their home.

The night’s only saving grace was that Carolyn, as usual, was out like Rip Van Winkle. She awoke on an overcast Monday morning, ready for school, with no idea what had happened the night before. Billy brought her to school, and when he explained the situation to the principal, including Dr. Jordan’s warnings about zealots and cults, they increased security at Little Brook.

School went by without incident, except for a group of boys who performed a science experiment on Carolyn to see if she could really feel pain, by shoving her to the ground. But being kids, they were best friends by the end of the day. Billy picked her up after school and they drove into New Canaan town center, needing to drop off a couple of articles at the
Shoreline Times
. With the “Abandoned No More” and “Painless Child” articles, not to mention the popular “Girl Quarterback” series, Billy was now the star of the local media. Which admittedly, wasn’t saying much.

When they passed the firehouse this time, the firemen gave Carolyn a standing ovation. The article had given her local celebrity status. The chief joked that he wished his whole staff had CIPA so they wouldn’t feel the intense heat when they ran into a building. But quickly grasped that heat was an important warning system for his men and retracted the comment.

A few more people came up to Carolyn on the street and called her by name. Then when they walked by a newspaper stand, Carolyn reached into the pile and picked up a lingering copy of Sunday’s
Shoreline Times
. She handed it to Billy and said, “Read it to me.”

“Carolyn, we’ve read the article over and over.”

“But it never gets old.”

“C’mon—let’s go to Molly’s and I’ll get you an ice cream.”

“How about if you just read my favorite part?”

“Since you know it by heart, why don’t you just tell it to me.”

Despite being unable to read, she recited lines of the article she had memorized like she were the lead in a school play. “Unaffected by the overwhelming circumstances of her life, the adorable four-year-old runs fearlessly at recess and charms all she touches…”

Billy smiled. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to pat yourself on your back.”
She tried unsuccessfully to pat herself on the back. “I got CIPA—I can’t get hurt, silly.”

“Actually, you can get hurt, you just can’t feel it.”

She silently pondered his words. Billy knew she was stubborn and hated to lose an argument, so she let it go when she realized he was right. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

For some reason, New Canaan appeared more populated late Monday afternoon. After-school teenagers drove Elm Street with radios blaring in their expensive Jeeps, and the gabby chants of power-shopping housewives filled the air. Billy and Carolyn arrived in front of the movie theater called the New Canaan Playhouse and a clique of high-schoolers noticed her. “Hey, you’re the girl who can’t feel!”

Carolyn was not one to shy away from the spotlight. “That’s what they tell me!”

As Carolyn played to her adoring fans, Billy noticed an older man walk by. He stood out from the normal demographics of downtown New Canaan that was mostly made up of women and teenagers.

“Yeah-yeah, I get that all the time,” Carolyn continued talking to her fans with a dismissive wave.

But Billy wasn’t listening, focused on the man.
Where had he seen him before?
Then it clicked—it was the man from the train who claimed Beth was purposely sent to Mrs. B.

He grabbed Carolyn’s hand and began chasing after him. But he quickly found Carolyn to be more hindrance than help. He asked the high school students if they would watch her for a moment or two, but they declined, not wanting to be late for the three o’clock movie. Fans are fickle. Out of options, Billy pointed at Carolyn and instructed, “Don’t move—I’ll be right back.”
He knew he shouldn’t have left her, but they had developed a certain trust. For all of her whimsical endeavors, whenever he had instructed her to stay, she would freeze up like a statue and not even move if a bus was coming directly at her.

Carolyn again listened, turning herself into another lamppost along the New Canaan sidewalk.

The man took a left off of Elm, looping onto Main. Billy scurried around the corner, almost plowing into a pair of Stepford wives carrying oversized shopping bags. Then he got lucky. He spotted the man getting into a silver Jaguar. Billy always had his reporter’s notebook handy and took down the plate number of the Connecticut tags. Then he hurried back to Carolyn.

Chapter 34

Carolyn stood by her lonesome on the curb in front of the Playhouse. The only muscle she moved was an occasional glance in the direction where Billy disappeared around the corner. Besides that, she was a rock.

A man with a red bandana draped over his head pulled up beside her on a motorcycle. He wore a tank top and jeans, his eyes hidden behind a pair of wraparound sunglasses. He had a tattoo of a red rose on the dark skin of his upper arm.

“Hello Carolyn,” he said. His voice was mechanical, reminding her of her toy robot.

“I’m waiting for Billy,” she informed him.

“Do you like my motorcycle?” he asked.

She fought the urge, but could only hold back so long. “I like motorcycles.”

“Then what do you say you get on the back and we’ll go for a ride?

“Billy told me to stay.”

“I talked to Billy—he said it was okay. He wants to surprise you, Carolyn.”

He twisted the handle bar and it made a
va-voom
sound.

“I like surprises.”

“C’mon, Carolyn, hurry.”

Her face scrunched. She was in the dilemma of all dilemmas. “I don’t know, but it would be fun!” she do-ra-mi’d.

“Then get on.”

“I told Billy I’d stay. I don’t want him to be mad—he’s my friend.”

“A friend would want you to have fun.”

Carolyn became overwhelmed, losing the battle in her mind. “We’re gonna haff fun!”

The man stuck out his hand and helped her onto the back of the bike.

***                                             

Billy retreated his steps back onto Elm. His thoughts were still stuck on the man from the train, which was why he needed a second look for it to register.

Carolyn was getting on a motorcycle with a man!

He ran as fast as he could. “Carolyn!”

He got close enough to see the rose tattoo on the man’s arm. It was the intruder from last night! In a desperate lunge, he tackled Carolyn off the bike and skidded onto Elm Street, his back scraping across the asphalt. A large SUV slammed on its breaks and pretentiously honked.

Billy scrambled to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the intruder in pursuit, now on foot. He slung Carolyn over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could toward the Cherokee.

He jerked open the back door so hard it almost came off the hinges. He flung Carolyn in, and then slammed the door shut. She bounced to a stop on her injured shoulder.

“Just because I can’t feel pain doesn’t mean I wanna be thrown around like a doll,” she complained.

Billy didn’t have time for her whining. The intruder was now too close, making it impossible to slip into the driver’s seat and speed off, as was his plan. He turned without thinking, and headed directly toward their pursuer. The intruder was running full speed, transfixed on Carolyn, and never saw Billy change course.

Running full force, the intruder provided all the needed leverage. He ran into Billy’s punch and dropped to the ground like an anvil. Billy scrambled back to the Cherokee and took off like a rocket, tearing down Elm Street. It was now his personal version of
Nightmare on Elm Street.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled at Carolyn.

Her face slumped. “He said you said it was okay.”

“For future use, it’s never okay to get on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle. Are we clear?”

She said nothing. Statue.

Billy zoomed onto Main, heading as fast as he could out of New Canaan center.

“Get in your car seat!” he demanded.

“I’m trying—I can’t,” she said in a frustrated whine.

“Then use a grownup seat belt and hold on.”

She actually seemed excited by such a possibility. “Really?”

“Hurry up, Carolyn!”

Billy then did what he hated to do—he looked in his rear-view mirror. The motorcycle was gaining on them.

“Shit!” he said, and turned right onto Route 123.

“That’s not a nice word.”

“I don’t have time now, Carolyn.”

Billy was still fairly new to the area, but he did know that this was the way he and Chuck went to Durazzo’s in Norwalk. He figured he was better off sticking with familiarity.

The motorcycle was practically riding his back bumper. A couple of times the intruder swerved into the oncoming lane and drove side-by-side. He pointed a gun at Billy and shouted for them to pull to the side of the road. But Billy knew pulling over was a death sentence, and instead made a sharp turn onto the on-ramp of Interstate 95.

 But he couldn’t shake him.

“Are we going to the Maritime Center?” Carolyn asked, recognizing the surroundings.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a place where they got lots of fishies.”

“Oh, the aquarium.”

“Are we going?”

Billy glanced into the dreaded rear-view and saw the intruder on their tail. “Not today.”

Carolyn pouted. “If this is the surprise, then it’s not a very good surprise.”

“What surprise?”

“The man on the motorcycle said you had a surprise for me.”

“What exactly did he say?”

She sighed, and then using her generic “grownup voice,” she repeated the intruder’s words verbatim, “I talked to Billy, he said it was okay. He wants to surprise you, Carolyn.”

“He knew your name?”

“Yes.”

“Shit!” he said and slammed the steering wheel. It was a planned attack. Beth was right—they were after Carolyn.

Billy’s gas was dangerously low, so he didn’t want to leave the area. He just wanted to lose the guy and call the police. He searched for his cell phone, but remembered he’d left it back at the cottage, and pounded the steering wheel again in anger.

Billy maneuvered into the far left lane of the northbound I-95. The motorcycle was still glued to his ass like a magnet to a refrigerator. Billy had an idea, but not enough time to determine if it was bold or stupid. He cut the wheel sharply to the right, and his vehicle spun a one-eighty. They skidded across all lanes like a derailed train—facing the wrong way!

Cars rushed at him like a video game, with horns honking and tires squealing. Billy regained his bearings and insanely headed south in the northbound lane. A tractor-trailer skidded a symphony of air-brakes, trying to avoid the wrong-way Cherokee, but it was too late. Billy knew it was a collision he wouldn’t win. The choice was beat the truck to the exit ramp or their next stop would be Sesame Street.

Billy shut his eyes, hoping Chuck and Beth would someday forgive his memory, and hit the accelerator.

The Cherokee shot horizontally across the highway, and swerved off the exit ramp they had just passed going the other way, almost tipping. Billy literally felt the Cherokee shake when eighteen-wheeler whizzed by, but was too shaken to let out a sigh of relief.

With the smell of burning rubber still fresh, the Cherokee came to a stop at the end of the exit ramp. He looked back, expecting Carolyn to be terrified. But received a refresher course on her genetic fearlessness. “That was fun!” she exclaimed.

“If you say so,” Billy said, voice shaking, and patting himself to make sure he was still alive.

“This is the way to Stew Leonard’s. Are we going there? Is that the surprise?” she asked with excitement.

“There is no surprise, Carolyn.”

“They got a petting zoo and strawberry milk at Stew Leonard’s!”

“Please be quiet and let me think,” he said, pondering his next move.

“Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”

“Carolyn!”

“You’re no fun today.”

Billy turned around to voice his displeasure with her attitude. But when he did, his eyes leaked out the back window and saw the motorcycle speeding down the exit ramp, coming at them like a missile.

“Hold on,” Billy said, veering the car onto East Avenue. Carolyn had nothing to hold on to, but took him literally, extending her arms straight out to grip an imaginary bar.

The motorcycle followed. Their speed built. Billy ran a stoplight, hoping to be stopped by the cops. No such luck. He ran another, and a six-car pile-up almost occurred. The screeching tires and honking horns faded into the background as Billy fled the scene, but they couldn’t shake the robotic motorcycle that continued to relentlessly pursue.