The Jake Helman Files Personal Demons (24 page)

A long moment passed before Edgar answered.

“That’s impossible. I’m standing in Carl Schurz Park staring at her corpse. Her purse is here and so is her ID.”

Jake pictured the park, a few long blocks away. “I’ll get back to you, Edgar.”

“I’m on my way—”

Jake hung up and rose to his feet. Lightning flashed outside the windows as he approached the kitchen. Sheryl continued to whistle and his body shuddered. He stood at the kitchen’s edge as she turned from the stove, an open jar of spaghetti sauce in one hand. Thunder rumbled and cracked.

“Who was it?” she said, setting the jar down.

He studied her face. It looked perfect. “Edgar.”

“Oh. What did he want?”

“Never mind that. Did you go out while I was asleep?”

She hesitated, her mouth half-open. “Yes, I did. I needed to do some thinking.”

“Where did you go?”

“To the park. You know I like to go there.”

Jake grasped the edge of the archway, steadying himself. “In the rain?”

“It wasn’t raining yet when I left, and I came home as soon as it started. What’s the matter with you? Why are you giving me the third degree? I’m not one of your suspects.”

He stepped forward. “Who are you?”

She backed against the counter. “You’re scaring me.”

“What
are you?”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“We’ve
already established that.” He seized her wrist and an electric current jolted him.

Grunting, Sheryl arched her back as electricity passed from her body into his. Her eyes darted to his hand on her wrist, fear spreading over her features. Then she looked back into his eyes. Her lips quivered and she spoke in a weak voice. “He hurt me, Jake.”

Jake’s vision blurred, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.
Oh, God, no
. “Sheryl…”

“He took my soul!”

Facial muscles twitching, Jake shook his head. “Bastards …”

Beams of light shot from her eyes and mouth, dissolving her beautiful face into a horrible mask. Ashes fell from her eye sockets like teardrops. Through his own tears, Jake saw light shooting out of her fingertips. Multiple colors coalesced as her flesh and clothing merged into psychedelic slop, steam rising from her pores. The light intensified, and Jake drew her close to him, hoping to somehow hold her together. His hands passed through her as they would through warm water. Her voice trailed off as the light faded and nothing remained of her.

Jake gaped at his outstretched hands, then sank to his knees, his entire body tingling. His chest constricting, he pounded the floor and wiped snot from his nostrils. “Sheryl …” They had stolen her from him.

Forever.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

Stumbling into the bedroom, he pulled on his shoulder holster and snatched his jacket from the bed. He charged out of the apartment and fled down the stairs, weak in the knees. He would make them pay, but to do that, he needed to remain free, and Edgar would arrive any moment.

In the lobby, he threw open the vestibule door and jumped the steps to the landing. Rain pelted the front glass in a torrent, as if someone had aimed a fire hose at the building and turned the water pressure on full blast. He pulled the front door open and staggered outside, the wind blowing him sideways. As he fought his way into the street, headlights pinned him in their glare. He faced the oncoming vehicle like a trapped deer and the car screeched to a stop, knocking him to the wet pavement. Lying on his back, he stared at the black sky through the downpour. He heard doors open and close on both sides of the car, followed by two sets of footsteps rushing toward him.

Hands seized his arms and hauled him to his feet, and he stared in disbelief at Dread and Baldy as thunder cracked overhead. Baldy slugged him in his solar plexus, and he doubled over in pain.

Dread buried his left hand in Jake’s hair, jerked his head back, and snatched Jake’s Glock from its holster. Sneering, he waved the gun in Jake’s face. “Remember us, pig?”

Jake could barely stand, and they had to support him between them. “Didn’t I kill you once?”

“Someone wants to see you,” Baldy said, snarling. “Get into the car.”

Jake’s head rolled back on his neck, his mouth catching raindrops on his tongue, and he saw the closed blinds of his apartment. The dead thugs dragged him to the car and threw him into the ruptured front seat. The car reeked of gasoline and rust. Dread got in on the passenger side, the car sinking from his weight, and jammed the Glock against Jake’s ribs. Baldy slid behind the steering wheel and slammed his door. He shifted the car into gear and they surged forward through the driving rain.

Jake looked out the right side window and felt Dread shove the Glock harder against his ribs. “Don’t try anything, piggy.”

Jake sat still—then shot both hands out, seizing Baldy’s right wrist and Dread’s left wrist. He squeezed their flesh and waited for them to evaporate.

Nothing happened.

Baldy guffawed. Dread raised the Glock and brought it down on Jake’s head, sending him spiraling into darkness.

S
oaking wet, Marc felt like himself again as he entered his apartment and locked the door behind him. He slid the backpack from his shoulders and hung his motorcycle jacket in the closet. Climbing into the bathtub, he peeled off Ryan’s wet clothes and hung them to dry on a towel rod; the rain had already washed the blood from them back at the park. He stepped before the sink and examined the scratches on his cheek.

Bitch got me good, he thought, fingering the five pink furrows in his face. None of his victims had managed to harm him before. He got back into the tub and ran the shower. Hot water stung the scratches, and he wished that he’d killed Sheryl before she’d had the chance to hurt him.

She’d been good, all right, just as he’d hoped. He hadn’t been sure how to proceed when her husband had entered the building, and he’d debated snatching her from the vestibule when she arrived minutes later. He could have dragged her into the basement and sacrificed her there, but that would have been risky. He’d gone this far without getting caught or being seen by adhering to the letter of his plans once he’d selected his victims. He had slain Shannon Reynolds on impulse, without taking his usual preparations, and look at all the trouble that had caused him. Despite her reassurances, he knew the Widow had lost faith in him.

He had stood in the doorway of the building across the street, his black umbrella out, staring at his target’s apartment window until the husband closed the blinds. He did not wish to invade the apartment with both of them there. The Widow had warned him to avoid the man, and she’d be furious if he screwed up again.

So he waited.

He could not believe his luck when Sheryl exited the building alone a short while later. He followed her to the park from a distance, watching as she passed beneath the streetlights, then closed in on her. She’d stood at the railing facing the river for nearly twenty minutes, even after the rain had started falling, while he observed her unseen from the empty dog run behind the trees. She opened an umbrella but the wind battered and twisted it, and she discarded it on the ground. She started back, but then the downpour drove her beneath the viaduct.

She hadn’t expected anyone to follow her. Boy, had she looked surprised when Ryan appeared behind her. Then he blinded her with the camera flash and made his move. He didn’t think she even saw the knife. A pity; he’d spent so much time searching for just the right one. She reached into her purse as he forced her to the ground, his body on top of her, crushing her scream beneath his weight as rain spattered the ground on either side of the viaduct. A dislodged can of pepper spray rolled from her hand and she clawed at his face. He guessed that she’d thought he intended to rape her, but he’d never do anything like that. Then he drew the knife across her throat twice, and her eyes opened wide and stayed that way as blood fountained out of the wounds. She had beautiful eyes.

He forced the oxygen mask over her face but she didn’t even react to it. What a disappointment. Then he chanted as he’d been instructed, reciting the ancient verse in time with the inflation and deflation of the Soul Bag until she stopped breathing. He sealed the bag, stood, and slipped it into his backpack as her blood ran over the pavement. His erection pressed against the zipper of his jeans and he wanted to release himself right there, but waiting was a necessary part of the game. He looked around to ensure he hadn’t left any evidence lying around, then took out his umbrella and made his way through the park.

Now, standing in the hot spray of his shower, he jerked on his penis until he ejaculated. His excitement sated, he put on his bathrobe, went to the telephone, and entered a number.

“I need to arrange a pickup,” he said, eyeing the backpack.

J
ake faded in and out of consciousness as Baldy steered the vehicle down the FDR Drive and onto Fifty-ninth Street. The
rat-a-tat-tatting
of the rain on the roof frazzled his nerves. The windshield wipers did little to improve visibility, and he barely saw the red taillights of the car ahead as it braked on the slippery surface. They took the Fifth-ninth Street Bridge into Queens, and he saw no way to catch the attention of the drivers around them. He considered seizing the steering wheel and crashing the car, but what purpose would that serve? He had already killed his captors once and that had not stopped them. Besides, he needed to stay alive to avenge Sheryl’s murder.

Gripping the steering wheel in both hands, Baldy glanced at Jake. “Motherfucker,” he said in a disgusted tone.

Dread leaned closer to Jake, who thought he smelled lighter fluid on the dead man’s breath. “Man, I’d love to snuff your ass right now.”

Jake stared straight ahead. “So why don’t you?”

Baldy shook his head. “Motherfucker!”

“We have orders to bring you in alive.” Dread clenched his teeth. “If we disobey, he’ll send us back. And we ain’t ready for that.”

Jake said nothing. Who would send them back? And back to where? Edgar was at his apartment by now, and he wondered what would have happened if his ex-partner had arrived as Dread and Baldy abducted him.

“Motherfucker!”
Baldy drove his right elbow back into Jake’s chest. Jake groaned and shut his eyes, rocking back and forth in the seat. He wanted to vomit.

Dread sniffed the air. “You stink of booze, man. You drunk? You high? You were lit when you took us out, weren’t you? Pretty quick on that draw.”

“It was self-defense,” Jake said, opening his eyes again. “If you two hadn’t been so fucked up, or if either one of you had been a better shot, things might have turned out differently. Maybe I’d be haunting your asses right now.”

Baldy pounded on the steering wheel with both hands, frothing at the mouth.
“MOTHERFUCKER!”

Jake flinched at the sound of the scream in the confined space but Dread just grinned. “Is that what you think we are? Ghosts? We ain’t ghosts, man. We won’t melt in your hands or in your mouth. Ghosts can’t hurt the living, and believe me, we’re gonna do a number on you.”

Turning down a narrow Long Island City street, the car passed several abandoned brick buildings with shattered windows. Baldy parked along the deserted industrial stretch, and he and Dread yanked Jake out of the car. Rain spattered the pothole-strewn pavement, and somewhere behind them an elevated train rumbled on its tracks. Jake stumbled but his abductors held him upright and dragged him toward a deserted factory across the street. Bally kicked the steel door open and Jake guessed that the two dead men had been there before. They dragged him inside the cold, dark interior and slammed the door shut. The crash reverberated through the empty space, which reeked of printing ink and dead rats. Jake realized that he could disappear here and no one would ever find him. Dread and Baldy dragged him toward an open doorway thirty feet ahead, illuminated by flickering orange light.

Fire
, Jake thought.
Maybe they’re taking me to hell
.

They forced him through the doorway, and he scraped one hand on the rusty door. Halfway down a flight of metal steps, he looked over a thick railing at the dark, clammy space below. A gigantic, rusted-out water heater dominated the boiler room. When they reached the cracked cement floor, he saw a heavyset man with a greasy black comb-over and round spectacles sitting at a dilapidated rolltop desk. The man appeared to be in his late forties, and wore a drab green outfit and a miserable expression. He looked as if he belonged in the cellar.

Who the hell is this?
Jake wondered.

The man did not react to their arrival, and Dread and Baldy ignored his presence. The flickering orange light came from the furnace, its steel door open so that flames licked out. Shivering, Jake appreciated the heat. Dread and Baldy threw him to the damp floor, covered with discolored mineral deposits. His face only inches from a corroded metal drain, he felt cold raindrops splashing the back of his neck.

Jake recognized the dark, faded splotches before him on the floor: bloodstains. Looking up, he saw more splotches on the dank walls, and heavy black chains with manacles dangled six feet above him. His eyes followed the chains up a shaft ten feet wide and twenty-five feet high, its crumbling brick walls patched with cement. The chains hung from pulleys fastened to a wooden beam in the shaft’s ceiling, where rain fell between the blades of an industrial fan. Lightning flashed, illuminating the bloodstains, and Jake imagined he heard the echoes of tortured screams beneath the accompanying thunder. He had been brought to a human slaughterhouse.