The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (25 page)

He placed his free hand over hers and patted. “I am here to take you with me. I will not kill you. This is comforting, is it not?”

“Are you going to turn me into a vampire?”

“I believe one psychic vampire is enough, yes?”

“But you’re not a real psychic.”

She was clever and intuitive, and maddeningly sexy. Without a doubt, excellent vampire material, but she would leave him just like Alexandra. Even in the world of the undead, a man could not escape the limitations imposed by age. A thousand blue pills couldn’t make him the lover he once was. “You are correct. I am not a psychic and you will never be a vampire.”

“You pretend to be a psychic to fool the police.” She shook her head. “Cops are so stupid.”

“You met Detective Willard?”

“Oh yeah, my skin crawls at the mention of his name. I swear he’d screw a rabid dog if he knew he wouldn’t get bitten.”

“Ah, that explains why the scent of a canine was on his clothes the last time we met.” He patted her hand again. “Willard is not to be underestimated. What he lacks in morals, he makes up for in fortitude. The man cannot be easily tricked or manipulated. Willard is the shrewdest investigator I have ever known.”

She pulled her hand free, but made no attempt to flee. “There’s more.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t pretend to be a psychic only to mislead the cops.”

“Why would you say that?”

“You always lead them to the bodies of your victims.”

He massaged the hairs on his chin as he considered his response. There was no fooling this woman. She saw through his lies as fast as he spun them.

“It’s their ghosts, right?” Alicia asked. “You’re haunted by the spirits of your victims.”

“Do you see ghosts?”

Alicia nodded toward a far corner. “My dead mother is watching us now. She doesn’t approve of your behavior, but finds you kind of sexy.” Alicia rolled her eyes. “All right, Mom.” Her attention came back to him. “She’s not happy with me for telling you that last part.”

He stared into the corner. “I do not see anyone.”

“You’re not a psychic, remember?”

“I only can see the specters I am meant to see.”

“So, am I right about your ghosts?”

He took a deep breath, which squared his shoulders, then slowly released it. “Yes, the spirits of my victims haunt me until their bodies are reunited with their families. They torment me, night and day, popping up when I least expect it, whining and begging me to take them home.”

“You’re burdened with guilt for what you do.”

“Did you believe all vampires are mindless killers? I am no Dahmer or Chikatilo. I take no pleasure in causing pain or taking lives.”

She dipped her head to look at him through her eyelashes. “That’s not totally true, is it?”

“Of course it is.”

“Are you forgetting the poor man who had the misfortune of riding out in front of you on his bicycle or Ryan, who wanders the spirit world without his penis? Killing them came easily for you.”

Although he found Alicia’s psychic abilities admirable, he didn’t need her to remind him of his shortcomings. Yes, he had a temper, and yes, it sometimes got the better of him and drove him into a homicidal rage, but he could control it, most of the time. The people he killed for blood were not victims of rage or hate. They represented opportunities to satisfy his hunger, and maintain his life force. They deserved empathy. A crazy bicyclist and a wife-beater deserved what they got. Okay, maybe Harvey didn’t deserve to die for threatening to sue him, but Ryan got what was coming to him.

“Only God can sit in judgment and you are not God.”

“I might be, you never know,” she said.

“No offense, but if you are God, I am disappointed you let me walk so easily into your dreams.”

She raised a finger. “Ah, but as God, I made the decision to let you in.”

“No. Every decision made on this night has been mine. You no longer enjoy freewill. You are a little butterfly fluttering inside my jar. Your wings can pound in desperation, but you will never escape.”

“Then you do intend to kill me.”

He reached inside his coat for a tin box. Removing the lid, he pinched some of the blue powder inside. He placed the powder on his palm. “I already told you I will not take your life and yet you continue to doubt me.”

“You don’t have a great history for telling the truth.”

“I tell you the truth in the way I want you to understand it.” He gestured toward the powder. This was ground from a Peruvian mummy by a shaman. “It will make you sleep. When you awaken, you will belong to me.”

“That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear. Can’t you come up with something better?”

“Very well, this is all part of a bad dream and when you wake up, I will be gone forever and your life will go on as if I never existed.”

“You could make that lie the truth.”

“Unfortunately, lies are the truth of my life.” He leaned forward and blew the powder into her face.

***

She awoke with a start, her arms battling the ropes that secured her. After a few seconds, she calmed, her gaze traveling to him in his chair. “This is the place you held Stephanie.”

He stood and strolled to the record player. “Do you like Gorecki’s
Symphony No. 3
? His
Symphony of Sorrowful Songs
.”

Somber music filled the basement. He turned to face her. “The soprano is Zofia Kilanowics. She sings each of three movements in a different Polish text. The first, an old Polish lament of the Virgin Mary, followed by a message written on the wall of a Gestapo cell during the Second World War, and lastly, a Silesian folk song about a mother who is searching for her son killed in the Silesian uprising.”

He returned to his chair positioned a few feet in front of her and sat. “Some people say this piece represents the suffering of millions in World War Two. Perhaps, or perhaps Gorecki sought to represent sorrow and pain on a more universal level.”

“Like the sorrow and pain inflicted by a vampire.”

“I did not choose to be as I am, any more than you chose to be my guest. Fate has a way of making our decisions for us, yes?”

Her eyes betrayed pity, as if she found within herself, even at her moment of suffering, the capacity to forgive. He shuddered at the power she held over him. “One day,” she said, her voice firm, but lacking emotion, “you will die, and when that happens, I pray your soul can find peace.”

“I do not deserve peace.” He pushed out of his chair, holding her in his gaze, and started up the stairs, his footfalls heavy and slow. Pausing at the top, he stared back into her newfound prison. This was one of those moments when he filled with self-hate. He sighed and turned off the light.

Willard had three things on his mind as he drove toward his love shack—sex, Johnny Cash, and vampires. He imagined himself the Marquis de Sade, surrounded by naked women who were chained to beds, waiting eagerly for him to satisfy their desires. The voice of Johnny Cash singing “Ring of Fire” filled the chamber as he moved to the first woman. She arched her back, tongue flicking in and out of her mouth, lips working like a fish out of water. And he was ready to take her when Mr. Howard stepped before him, joined by Doris in her hospital gown, dragging along an IV stand. “What are you doing here?” he asked them. Doris turned to Mr. Howard and said, “I told you he was a rotten bastard,” to which Mr. Howard replied, “Yes, I know.” The image vanished from his mind and he slapped the steering wheel. Sharing his life with Doris and Mr. Howard was bad enough. To have them invade his fantasies was simply too much.

Johnny’s gravelly voice continued to fill the car as Willard turned into Kane Estates. Outside the trailer park sat a neighborhood of older middle-class homes. Most of the houses belonged to recent college graduates and retirees. His duplex sat in the middle of the block. At the time he bought it, the homes were maintained and neat. Now, most stood vacant with dust-covered windows and foreclosure signs. He parked in the drive and shut off the engine. A white pickup passed slowly by, but kept on going. He glanced at his watch. She would arrive in less than an hour.

Once inside, he went straight to the bedroom to check on his device. The idea for it came to him while watching Margo perform in a school production of
Peter Pan
. At first, his attention was drawn to the girl playing Tinker Bell, a cute blonde with a big toothy grin. When impure thoughts of plugging the green fairy in the ass filled his mind, he drove them out by concentrating on the boy playing Peter. As the boy flew over the stage suspended by a cable, it hit him. A pulley, some kind of rope, and a harness. When put together, he had his device. It would be perfect.

Shadows filled the bedroom. Even with the light turned on, the room appeared dim. This wouldn’t do. He wanted to see everything clearly. Willard opened the blinds. Slats of sunlight filtered inside. He glanced around the fenced backyard. “Fuck it,” he said, and raised the blinds several inches. Opening the blinds seemed stupid and daring, like having sex inside a crowded movie theater, but who was going to be watching? And even if someone happened upon them, who cared? He wasn’t ashamed of what he was about to do. Hell, whatever pride he had disappeared the first time he climbed upon Doris for another round of “is it in yet?”

He picked up the leather harness lying on the bed and smiled. It took him a week to put the device together. Doris kept interrupting his work, poking her cow face inside the garage to moo, “What are you working on?” After he told her it was none of her goddamn business, she continued to stare at him with a dumb expression. “Do you want to come inside and watch
American Idol
with me?” Hell no, he had said. I would rather pour gasoline over myself and swim in a lake of fire. She retreated with her lips pulled down in a pout as if learning the Ding Dong factory had blown up and she’d never get another one. Her sadness made him chuckle and motivated him to finish.

Willard tossed the harness down and ventured into the kitchen. The refrigerator stood empty except for three bottles of beer. Inside the family room, he sank into the big leather recliner he bought on Craigslist and drank his beer. Eyes closed, he pictured Doris lying inside the hospital.
I’d love to see her fat ass on a treadmill. Wait, what am I saying? No one in their right mind would want to see her fat ass on a treadmill.
He yawned. The mess with Doris and the Coldstone investigation had worn him down.

Rapping on the front door stirred him awake. He took in the room, his mind clouded until remembering the reason he was there, and then a big grin settled on his face. “She’s here. Hot damn.”

He opened the front door. Bright sunlight made him wince and he blinked several times. His gaze traveled down to the woman standing before him. The top of her head came to his waist. Flaming red hair framed a pale, freckled face. Dark brown eyes looked up at him. Her small lips, garishly painted bright red, pursed into a bow as she considered him. “Are you Swinging Dick?”

It took him a moment to remember his user name on the website. “Are you Ride Me Like a Shetland Pony?”

“That’d be me.” She leaned to peer around him. “So, do you plan on inviting me in or what?”

“Oh, sorry.” He stepped aside for her to pass, his gaze fixed on her tiny ass.

“Nice place,” she said, while looking around.

He closed and locked the door. His heart quaked. Sweat appeared on his brow. “Care for a drink? I’ve got beer.”

“Nah, I’m here for fucking not drinking.”

His heart beat faster. “Reckon so.”

She glanced over her shoulder, eyelids drawn down. “You still want to do this, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She shrugged. “Some guys fantasize about sex with a dwarf but when presented with the real thing, retreat faster than a dickless man in a pissing contest.”

Retreat? Hell no
.

“No, I want to do this,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Let me show you the bedroom.” He gestured toward the room on his right.

“Now we’re talking,” she said, tottering past him. She entered the room and paused at the end of the bed. Her gaze moved from the pulley and rope hanging overhead to the leather harness on the mattress. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

He swallowed hard. Pushing past her, he picked up the harness. “It’ll be great.”

“Yeah, right. You expect me to wear that thing?”

“I made it myself.”

She looked back at the pulley. “Attached to that?”

He stroked the soft harness leather. “The harness won’t be uncomfortable.”

“And you’re going to—”

“Lift you with the pulley.” He flexed to show off a bulging bicep. “I’ve been working out.”

“Hey, I ain’t putting on no goddamn freak show.”

She didn’t realize she was born a freak show, just like The Human Snake he’d seen in the carnival tent as a boy. A midget woman without arms or legs, she wiggled around in a cage wearing only a diaper. He remembered finding her attractive. He longed to touch her, to hold her in his arms and feel her settle against him. Over the years, his fantasy of having The Human Snake grew. One day, he would have a woman like her.

“It won’t be like that,” he said. “Trust me, this will be fun.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “I can pay you.”

She snarled and her face screwed up into a ball of fine wrinkles. “I ain’t no whore.” She turned to leave.

He grabbed her arm. “Please don’t go. I wasn’t trying to pick at you. I’m sorry, I meant nothing by it. I want to be with you, that’s all.”

She yanked her arm free, her gaze returning to the harness. “If I don’t like it, you’ll—”

“Stop right away. I swear.”

A deep sigh rose from her chest. “I must be out of mind.” She snatched the harness from him. “Tell me what to do.”

“You’ll have to get naked.”

“What a shock.”

His face burned as if he were an inexperienced teenager having sex for the first time. She went to work on her clothes, stubby fingers unfastening buttons on her blouse. When she was down to her bra and panties, his throat went dry. She had a sack-of-potatoes body, little pockets of fat appearing in places he never imagined possible. He figured he was an expert on body fat after having the misfortune of seeing Doris naked, but this was something different. Something alien to his eyes. The bra came off and tiny breasts sagged toward her stomach. Her panties slid down her cottage cheese thighs revealing her clean-shaven vagina. A tattoo on her hip said,
top, bottom, behind, just give it to me
.