The Resurrectionist (23 page)

“Do we even have any NoDoz?” Sarah asked.

“We do. We’ve also got coffee. But let’s not talk about it once we get in the house, in case he’s in there somewhere.”

“Why don’t we just grab our guns and search the house before we go to sleep? If we find him in there somewhere we just blast his ass right then and there.”

“I really like that idea. But even if we don’t find him in there that doesn’t mean he ain’t there. We should still follow through with the rest of the plan.”

“Agreed.”

Josh pulled the car into the driveway and this time they both turned to look at the house across the street. The lights were on in the windows but other than that the house was still.

“I really hope he’s in here. I can’t wait to say hello.”

“Josh, if nothing happens tonight, can I go to work with you in the morning? Or could you take a couple days off? I don’t want to be in this house alone. I can’t be.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

Sarah took the gun out of her purse and cocked it while Josh opened the door and reached a hand inside to turn on the light. Sarah felt her heart thunder in her chest. Her hands trembled and the gun shook as she aimed it into the darkness. The light came on and the glare blinded Sarah for one panicky second during which she almost squeezed the trigger.

“Okay, it’s all clear. I’ll go upstairs and get the nine. Then we can check the house together.”

“I’m going with you.”

Sarah and Josh crossed the floor slowly, looking suspiciously at every dark corner of the room and turning on lights as they went. Sarah jerked open the closet door as they passed it on the way to the stairs. The light in the closet was on but it was empty inside with the exception of a few boxes filled with old clothes, books, and Christmas decorations. Sarah relaxed for a moment; then her heart began to pound again as she and Josh walked slowly up the stairs.

The hallway at the top of the stairs was dark. There was a light switch on the wall beside the stairs and Josh began to speed up to reach it. Sarah could feel his pulse pounding as she held his big, sweaty hand. He was just as scared as she was. They reached the light switch and illuminated the hallway; then they walked over to the
master bedroom with Sarah still pointing the gun ahead of them. Josh pushed open the bedroom door and Sarah stuck the pistol into the dark room. She imagined Dale lunging at her out of the darkness and her squeezing the trigger again and again until his chest was filled with a profusion of bullet holes and he fell to the floor bleeding and convulsing. She found the image exhilarating and felt a moment of disappointment when Josh turned on the light and the bedroom was empty.

“Let me check the closet. My gun is in there,” Josh said, and they both moved slowly toward the walkin closet. Sarah doubted Dale would be hiding in there. It was too obvious and the chance of him being accidently discovered was too great. Still, her heartbeat began to ratchet up again as they crept across the carpet to the master closet. This time Josh opened the door and walked right in with Sarah aiming the gun at his back. If Dale had been in there, there would have been no way for her to get a shot off at him without hitting her husband.

Josh reached beneath the sweaters on one of the top shelves and pulled out the nine-millimeter that Sarah hadn’t known he’d had until just over a week ago. He pulled out his car keys and used a tiny key that she’d never noticed before to unlock the trigger guard.

“How long have you had that gun anyway?”

“Since college. My apartment wasn’t in the best neighborhood back then, if you recall.”

“How come you never told me you had it and why did I have to buy a gun if you already had one?”

“You should have your own. I can’t always be around and sometimes I have this one with me.”

“You bring it to work with you?”

“Sometimes. People get attacked in the parking garage more frequently than they ever report on the news. And I have a permit. I got my CCW when we first moved here.”

“And where the fuck was I?”

“Does it matter? Now we have two guns. Let’s go ahead and check the house.”

They looked under the bed first, Josh pointing the Smith and Wesson nine-millimeter under the bed from one side while Sarah stood on the other side pointing the Sig Sauer. It was only when Sarah saw the barrel of Josh’s gun pointing at her face that she became aware of the very real possibility of a crossfire.

“Whoa! Don’t point that thing over here! You could have killed me.”

“Sorry. Why don’t you stay behind me. I’ll look first and you just watch my back. That way we don’t kill each other.”

They searched the other two rooms upstairs, looking in closets and under beds before they walked back downstairs to check the garage. Josh ran and checked the kitchen pantry while Sarah waited with her weapon aimed just over his shoulder. The pantry was empty as well. They peeked into the laundry room as they passed it on their way to the garage. There were clothes piled up on the floor and the laundry faucet had a slow drip but the room was empty. That just left the garage.

There were so many boxes of junk that Dale could have been hiding anywhere. Sarah paused outside the garage door. She squeezed Josh’s hand and tried to think of all the places big enough to conceal a human being. There were too many. An old mattress leaning against the wall, broken furniture, an old foosball table with
one broken leg, two barely used mountain bikes, stacks of old records and CDs. Sarah had a terrible feeling that she was about to walk into a death trap.

Josh opened the door and Sarah tried to squeeze through the door beside him in her eagerness to protect him. There was even more stuff in there than she had remembered. In addition to the king-size mattress on one side of the garage there were two old bookcases on the other side, three big moving boxes marked
WINTER
C
OLOTHES
winter clothes that stood four feet high were lined up in the center of the garage, the old foosball table was sitting alongside a broken air-hockey table. It was a junkyard maze with a dozen places for an intruder to hide. Sarah swallowed hard and gave Josh’s hand a tight squeeze; then they began to search the garage.

They made their way over to the mattress and Josh peeked behind it while Sarah pointed her gun at it, terrified by the knowledge that she had her back turned to the rest of the room, leaving them completely exposed to an attack from the rear.

“Hurry up, Josh,” Sarah said, looking around the room and bouncing from one foot to the other.

“No one there.”

They checked the boxes next. Josh looked behind them and Sarah looked inside them. There was a large crash behind her. And Sarah felt something slam into her lower back and knock her forward. Sarah whirled around with her gun pointed in front of her and dropped down to one knee in a shooting stance, just like she’d seen the police do on TV. She squeezed the trigger and a shot went over Josh’s head and penetrated the drywall. She heard it ricochet somewhere in the house.

“Shit!”

“Sorry, honey.”

“You almost blew my head off!”

“I said I was sorry. I thought I was being attacked. Why are you over there knocking shit over anyway?”

Josh had accidently knocked over one of the boxes filled with clothes. Several pairs of winter boots spilled out, including a pair of black high-heeled patentleather hip boots that Sarah hadn’t seen since her clubhopping days.

“I tripped. We really need to clean this place out.”

“Let’s check behind the bookcases and then call it a night.”

They hurried through the rest of the garage. Pointing the gun into dusty, cobwebbed shadows, pulse rate rising and falling again and again each time they searched behind or inside some aged and weathered keepsake only to find nothing.

There was no one in the garage.

“Let’s fine those NoDoz. I’m exhausted.”

Sarah and Josh walked back into the house and put their guns down on the coffee table. Just then the doorbell rang and someone knocked on the door so hard it rattled against the jamb. Sarah looked at her watch. It was two o’clock in the morning. Simultaneously, Sarah and her husband reached for their pistols.

“Mrs. Lincoln?”

Her hand paused. She looked at Josh and then back down at the guns.

“It might be the police. They probably heard the gunshot.”

The doorbell rang again. A fist pounded on the door, this time even louder and more insistent.

“Mrs. Lincoln? It’s Detective Malcovich from the police department. Are you okay? We had a report of shots fired at this address.”

Sarah relaxed.

“Just a minute.”

She handed both guns to her husband, who carried them into the kitchen and shoved them in a drawer. Sarah walked to the door and peeked through the peephole. She saw a big, grizzled middle-aged man with salt- and-pepper hair pulled back into a ponytail. He had an unkempt goatee with stray hairs of different lengths spiraling off in different directions. He was taller than Josh, well over six feet, though not as wide or as muscular. Even with his sports jacket buttoned his belly was still visible, bulging over his belt. He looked like an old hippie in a wrinkled brown business suit he’d picked up from the Salvation Army.

“Let me see your badge.”

The man pulled out a gold shield and held it up to the peephole. Sarah had no idea how to determine if it was real or not. She didn’t open the door.

“What do you want?”

“We had a report of some gunshots coming from your home. I stopped by to check on you.”

“We’re okay.”

“I’m afraid I need to see for myself. I’m going to need you to open the door.”

Josh was standing beside her now. Sarah unlocked the door but she let Josh step forward to speak to the detective.

“Can I come in?”

“Let me see your badge,” Josh said.

The detective handed it to him along with his LVPD
identification. Josh studied the ID and then the man’s face. He nodded his head and handed the badge and ID back to the detective.

“Harold Malcovich. You can call me Harry,” the detective said, holding out his hand.

Josh shook his hand.

“My name is Josh and this is my wife Sarah.”

“Can I come in now? It will only take a moment.”

Josh stepped aside and Sarah stepped back, allowing the detective to enter.

“What can I do for you?”

“First, what were those gunshots?”

“Gunshot. It was just one. I startled Sarah when she was carrying her gun.”

“Do you have a permit for it?”

“It’s registered in my name and I have a license to conceal. Why would they send a police detective to investigate gunshots? They’re supposed to have a patrol car checking on the house.”

“I was on my way to your house when the call came in. Since I was already headed here I told the dispatcher that I would respond.”

Josh narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“By yourself? What if there really was something going on?”

The detective raised an eyebrow and shoved both hands into his pockets to pull his pants up.

“Well, I may look like Willie Nelson but I’m an old gunslinger. I can handle myself pretty well.”

Harry winked at Sarah and scratched his scraggly facial hair. He nodded at them and then gestured to the couch in the living room.

“Do you mind if we sit? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Sarah looked at Josh and then back at Harry. Josh shrugged his shoulders as he always did and began walking into the living room, followed by the detective. The detective unbuttoned his sports jacket and sat down next to Josh on the sofa. His weight created a depression in the cushions that made Josh lean toward him. Josh scooted over, looking more than a little uncomfortable. Sarah joined them both on the sofa. Just a few weeks ago she would have found the image of Josh sitting on the couch looking painfully uncomfortable next to a big long-haired hippie in a wrinkled business suit hilarious. Now she had little humor left.

“So what’s this about?” Sarah asked.

The detective looked Sarah directly in the eyes for an uncomfortably long time. He lowered his head and wrung out his hands; then he licked his chapped lips and brushed a long strand of gray hair back behind his ear.

“I saw the tape.”

“It’s not a fake,” Sarah said before he could continue. The veins in her neck and forehead bulged and her hands clenched into fists.

The detective held up his hands palms out as if preparing to ward off a blow.

“I didn’t say it was. I didn’t think it was. In fact, what happened to you and your husband, I’ve seen it before. I mean, I heard about it. Once.”

Sarah touched her forehead with her fingertips and closed her eyes. She was trembling. She opened her eyes and looked over at Josh. Josh’s mouth hung open and his eyes had widened in surprise.

“You-you-you’ve seen this before?”

“Where?” Josh asked.

“Not on video. I heard an audiotape made by a
woman named Dorothy Madigan who was convinced that she was being raped and murdered every night by her coworker. She was having terrible dreams about the guy in the next cubicle breaking into her house at night and attacking her. She had hidden a cassette recorder under her bed the night before and it had recorded everything. I heard her crying and begging and pleading for her life. Then I heard that bastard laugh. It was the most evil sound I’d ever heard. You could hear the bed squeaking while he raped her. She was weeping and praying and then I heard her scream and that scream seemed to go on forever, getting louder and more agonized. It really sounded like someone being murdered. But there she was, standing in front of me without a mark on her. We ran a rape kit on her. We checked her for cuts and bruises. There was nothing. There was no sign, no evidence, that she had been attacked except for that tape.”

Sarah frowned.

“So let me guess. You didn’t believe her?”

“She couldn’t even remember what had happened. She had gone to sleep and when she woke up she played the tape and that’s what was on it. But she couldn’t remember anything. What could I do?”