Preta's Realm (12 page)

“Just over my shoulder you can see the yellow tape surrounding the remains of the latest murder at the Crooked Tail River. Like Vivian Cabmel last week, this victim appears to have been battered and mutilated before being dumped on the riverbank.”

“Another woman, Nan?”

“No, Melanie. This victim is a man and it’s not clear at the moment whether or not the two deaths are related. Several kids playing in the woods noticed a messenger bag strewn in the snow bank and called the police. The man has not been identified, but investigators have told me that he appears to be white, middle aged, and unmarried.”

“Did the victim have a wallet or any identification on him?”

“Like the last crime scene on the banks of this river, the authorities are not releasing much to the media. If he did have identification, they are not divulging this, probably out of respect for the family of the victim.”

“Thanks, Nan. Has anyone on the scene given you any indication that the two deaths are related?”

“No, that hasn’t happened, Melanie. Police are going through their normal investigative procedures and do not want to jump to conclusions at this time. An officer told me that they do not want to unnecessarily alarm the citizens should this turn out to be an accident.”

“That sounds like quite a coincidence, Nan.”

“That’s the general feeling here as well. We’ll be on the scene through the night and be sure to keep you updated on the investigation.”

“Thanks, Nan. And now we take you to an interview with Dr. Sharon Slider, author of
The Mind of the Serial Killer
. She’s here to help us develop a profile of the suspect. . . . ”

Ravna hit the remote again, ending the interview with Dr. Slider, knowing exactly where that conversation was headed. He decided it was time and stood. The whiskey had rubberized his knees and he collapsed back into the recliner. He glanced at the car keys hanging on the rack next to his coat.

“I guess it can wait until tomorrow.”

Ravna closed his eyes and turned sideways in the chair, too drunk and too tired to make it to his bed.

***

He woke to the tinkling sound of freezing rain landing on the window. It clinked and rattled like the sound of broken glass on a tiled floor. Ravna’s mouth felt dry and his head rang with phantom chimes. He stood and immediately sat back down to regain his equilibrium. The calendar next to the phone stared at him, the date circled with “deadline” scribbled in the box beneath it.

“Shit.”

The shower helped to rinse the hangover from his body and the sports drink replenished the lost fluids. Ravna dressed, combed his hair, and finished with the morning ritual. With a towel around his head, he shuffled into the kitchen and opened the cabinet containing his French press and coffee beans. He knew as soon as he lifted the brown paper bag that it was empty. Ravna shook his head, uncertain he could even make it to the coffee shop in this condition.

***

Each carpeted step felt like a mile, the kind of steps carved by the ancient Maya that lead to the sacrificial Chac-Mool at the top. Drew struggled to lift each foot but was powerless to stop. He was going upstairs whether he wanted to or not. The squeaking of the bed continued at an erratic rate without pattern or consistency. When he made it to the landing, Drew pushed a finger through the blind on the window and looked at his neighbor’s empty driveway.

He turned and looked at the five remaining stairs. His legs pushed upward as his arms grabbed the railings until he stood at the top, heaving.

He paused. A slight moan came from the master bedroom at the end of the hallway, through the six-inch gap where the door was pulled but not shut. He knew it was Molly. He recognized that moan, the one she used when they played on Saturday mornings. The game was always the same. He’d do things to her, pleasure her in ways that forced her to stifle it so the kids would not hear the moan over the cartoons and crinkly cereal boxes. By the time she came, he was so close it didn’t take much more than her breath on his erection.

It’s that moan
, he thought.

Drew placed one foot before the other, capturing every detail, every sense pulsing on overload. He could see the wispy spider webs in the corners of the hallway and the lay of the carpet fibers in shapes of feet. He smelled the scent of Molly’s body lotion as a delivery truck roared down the street, its payload battering the inside of the cab. A coppery taste flooded Drew’s mouth, his lower lip pinched between his teeth.

He passed Billy’s room, complete with hockey cards and dirty socks on the floor. He passed Sara’s room with naked Barbie and Ken dolls embraced in asexual, plastic sex. He stopped two feet from the master bedroom. Drew could see the comforter moving. He sniffed the air and smelled her, an aroma that aroused a burgeoning erection in his pants. Another short moan, followed by a longer, drawn out sound muffled in a pillow. Drew placed his hand on the outside of the door and felt the coolness of the painted wood. Pushing with an even, steady motion, he stood in the threshold.

Drew saw Molly’s foot jut out from under the comforter and then withdraw quickly. He stood, transfixed, aroused, and angered. The moans escalated in volume and frequency. He looked down to see one hand in his pants, reaching for a throbbing erection that pleaded to be released.

The phone in the kitchen came alive with its shrill ring. Molly’s moans lessened, but continued. Drew lost his erection, the phone making him furious. After the third ring, he turned and pulled the door back to the position it had been in before he arrived. He walked down the steps until he stood in front of the phone. With one motion, he ripped the handset from the wall and left a dangling cord swaying in the air. Drew walked into the bathroom and slammed the door as hard as he could. The creaking bed upstairs stopped.

***

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” Drew mimicked.

Molly faced Drew, her hair tousled and a terry cloth robe wrapped around her waist. She shook her head and flipped the switch on the coffee maker. The electric coil came to life followed by the short, dark drips of the store-bought dirt she called coffee.

“How can you drink that shit?” Drew asked.

“Fuck off, Drew. I’m not a coffee snob like you.”

He sat at the kitchen table with his hands folded and head lowered to his chest. “I felt like shit, so I came home. I do still live here, don’t I? I can still come through that door whenever I want to, right?”

Molly let her mouth fall open with a short gasp. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought someone was in the house.”

“Was there?” Drew asked.

She slammed a mug on the counter and turned her back on him, the mug swaying back and forth next to the filling coffee pot. “What the hell are you talking about, Drew?”

Drew balled his fists and clenched his teeth. “I heard you two. I could smell you.”

She slammed the kitchen cabinets looking for a sugar packet. Unsuccessful in the search, Molly tied her hair back and walked over to Drew until she was inches from his face. “I was masturbating, you asshole.”

“Your coffee is done,” he replied.

Molly grabbed the handle of the coffee pot. The liquid swirled back and forth as her shaking hand filled the mug.

“Does he drive a Jeep?” Drew asked.

Molly turned her back on Drew and walked upstairs. He heard the bedroom door slam shut followed by the metallic ring of the bar bolt sliding into place.

He walked to the counter and turned off the coffee machine. Drew grabbed the pot by the handle and poured the rest of it down the drain. He smiled like a child watching a firefly die in a jar.

***

Drew pulled into the driveway at a quarter to eleven. A single lamp shone through the living room window but the rest of the house was dark. He struggled to get the key out of the ignition. The alcohol created three ignitions, and remembering the old joke, he aimed for the middle one.

The kids’ toys lay scattered on the floor. A plate covered in aluminum foil sat on the kitchen counter like a miniature alien spacecraft. He peeled the corner up and saw the yellowed noodles of a macaroni and cheese dinner. Drew picked it up and slid the contents into the garbage can. He dropped the plate in the sink and tossed his keys on the counter, along with his phone and wallet. He grabbed a pillow from the floor and a blanket that served as the roof on a couch cushion fort. Drew curled up on the floor next to the register blowing, hot, dry heat. The warmth and the alcohol lulled him to sleep within moments.

Drew opened his eyes within the dream. He stood in the middle of a concrete room. There were no windows and a single file of fluorescent shop lights stretched the length of the room. Pipes and ductwork wove across the ceiling, occasionally spiraling down a wall and disappearing through a hole cut in the cinder block. Puddles on the floor reflected the light in shimmering waves. The air felt moist and cold, like that in the most sinister of caves. A single bulb dangled on the left wall over a folding chair. Chains lay coiled like snakes underneath it. A metallic taste touched his tongue, carried on a stale breeze pulled through the room by a spinning exhaust fan at the end. Drew heard a faint rumble that shook the puddles on the floor for several seconds before fading out again.

“Eater.”

Drew turned to his right. A voice came from the dark corner where the light from the fluorescents overhead would not extend.

“What?” he asked.

“Eater. You’re now an eater.”

Drew shook his head, disgusted at the words and the slithering voice that spoke them. “I’m dreaming.” A gargled cough. “This is a nightmare.”

The creature stepped from the darkness far enough for Drew to see its profile. The smell made him gag, reminding him of the pungent stench that floated across Highway 286 from the water treatment plant. That foul odor forced folks to roll up their windows for two or three miles until it passed. Drew often wondered how the people that lived in that town could do it.

“Redux.”

Drew shook his head, unsure if the word was a comment or a question. Before he could reply, the thing came completely into view.

The gray skin of the creature appeared thin, almost translucent. He saw bones and ribs protruding like a finger pushed through a child’s balloon. Its skull sat like a chiseled rock atop a dead tree trunk, limbs like leafless branches. It was the monster’s face that made Drew shiver. Its eyes sat deep in the skull, two black points of eternal nothingness. A black slit sat below what might be considered a nose. Its tongue slithered, thin and serpentine. Drew knew the source of the stench when he saw the brown smears on its face and the dripping, steaming piles of feces in its hands. The creature lifted a hand and shoved it towards the slit. Sludge squirted from between the thin fingers and across its sallow cheeks. The creature moaned; the harder it pushed the less of the fetid substance got inside. Drew watched it stamp and holler with the sound of a wild animal.

“Gaki.”

The creature stopped and dropped its hands to its sides. “You know me.”

Drew nodded. It was as if the creature had always existed in his head, but naming it gave the monster incredible power.

“Need to show you,” it gargled.

“Show me what?” Drew asked, fearful of the answer.

“What eaters do. The consumption. Your consumption.”

Drew shook his head in the dream, his actual head shaking on the pillow in perfect synchronicity. “I don’t want to see what you have to show me.”

The creature laughed. The wet, gurgling sound pushed a new wave of stench into the air and it made Drew vomit. He wiped a swinging strand of saliva from the corner of his mouth.

“You must. You Gaki now.”

“I am not, you fucking piece of walking garbage. I am not Gaki.”

The creature shook its head, all the while trying to wrangle more feces into its mouth. “Spirit released. He gave it to you.”