Authors: John Curtis
It wasn't something that Jay had seen when Frank was alive, but now that he thought about it, there had been the glances, the hugs, and the stray brushes of his fingertips on Jay's hand. It brought to his mind that maybe the death of Jack Hauser hadn't been so much an act of revenge for Frank's death, but for taking him away from the object of his affection. The others had been merely food.
In the light of this revelation, it was clear now that everything that Frank did was designed to draw Jay back to Haddonfield. What had seemed unreasoning was planned. Whether it would make a difference, Jay couldn't be sure until the time came when he and Frank were face to face once again.
"But," Jay said quietly to himself, "you can’t reach me when I’m awake. I’ve got you there." He kissed Meg on the top of her head and pulled her close.
CHAPTER 25
When they reached the station, Gary led them into the conference room. Jay and Meg sat close together. When he shut the door and turned to them, Jay asked, "What are the charges?"
Gary sat down and rubbed his hand along the line of his right jaw and then down to the back of his neck. It was tight and he could feel a tension headache coming on. He kneaded the muscle and gave it a tight pinch before he leaned forward to speak.
"No. I’m not charging you."
Jay began to rise from his chair and grabbed Meg’s hand.
"But that doesn’t mean you’re free to leave," Gary continued sternly.
Jay settled back into his chair. Meg gave him a worried look which he met with a slight shake of his head and a squeeze of her hand.
Gary went on,"I’ve heard some pretty nutty things in my time on this job, but your ideas about this case take the cake." He saw the muscles in Jay’s jaw twitch and his lips begin to part.
"Just keep your mouth shut. I think that this thing with Frank has been eating at you for a long time and that when you heard about the funeral, it put you around the bend. I think that all this writing you’ve been doing about bloodsuckers has gotten you all screwy." He turned to Meg and stared into her eyes. When he did, the stern look he’d given Jay softened perceptibly.
"And you. I always thought that you had a good head on your shoulders. How could you get dragged into this?"
Her eyes shifted toward Jay as her face flushed with a rosy tint. Gary’s look turned to a scowl. "Don’t tell me. I can guess. Now this is how it’s going to be. I’ve got a body." He picked up the book from its place in front of him on the table and raised it to eye level. "I’ve got a motive. It’s all I need. Now Gene and I are going to have a little talk and you all are going to go home and go to bed. I don’t want to hear any more about Frank."
He rose from his seat, opened the door, and motioned for them to leave. Jay stopped in the doorway and turned to him.
"Just once can’t you entertain the idea that you aren’t right? That maybe something is going on of which you don’t have control? We're going to keep working on this our way, because it's sure as hell clear to me that you don't have any idea what you're dealing with. It's real, man."
Gary glared at Jay and his hands fell to his sides. He began clenching and unclenching his fists in a staccato. He was squeezing them hard enough that his fingernails left impressions in his palms and the veins on the backs of his hands stood out in sharp relief.
When words finally came, he spit them out contemptuously. "Listen, author man. You may have written a book. Hell, it may even have done pretty good. But that doesn't make you shit around here, you understand? Your daddy ain't the mayor now." Gary glanced at Meg. "I don’t mind so much that you're ten kinds of stupid, but don’t you go dragging Meg along with you."
Meg grabbed Jay’s sleeve and tried to pull him through the door. He jerked loose and stood toe to toe with Gary.
"Oh," he said. "So now we know what this is really about. And I'm not stupid and my idea's not crazy. You’ve got dead people in this town. Killed in particularly hideous ways which have nothing to do with your satanic cult theory.
"A cult isn’t going to run around leaving their victims out in the open. They’re not going to rip the hearts of their victims out bare-handed. You tell me. You think that Gene is even strong enough to do that?"
Gary’s eyes closed to slits and his knuckles cracked as his hands balled up into tight fists. His right arm bent slightly at the elbow, the muscles tightening like a spring in anticipation of an explosive release.
Meg knew Gary's moods well from when they had dated in the past. He had once beaten a man into unconsciousness who had gone after him with a board. She pulled on Jay's sleeve again, harder this time. "Come on, Jay. Let’s go. He’s not going to listen and it’s not worth getting into a fight."
He broke eye contact with Gary and stepped back. Gary’s eyes widened and his arm went back to safety. He frowned and his eyes followed them as they walked away, hand in hand.
Gary turned away as they exited the building and caught the deputy on duty eye-balling him. He glared at him as he said, "Swanson, what are you looking at? Get your ass down to the cellblock and bring Gene up here to the conference room."
Jay and Meg stood together on the sidewalk in front of the station, her hand still with a death grip on his coat sleeve. He looked down and saw her white knuckles and thought about how lucky he was that she was there. He would have decked Gary. Or more likely, ended up on the floor in a pile with a bloody nose.
He placed his hand on hers and rubbed it. "Thanks for taking care of me back there. It was a stupid thing."
She smiled. "No problem."
He gave her a look.
"No, really," she said. She pursed her lips. "This whole time… I guess I had a choice to make ever since you got into town and this forced me to make it." She wrapped her arm tightly around his and laid her head on his shoulder.
They stood for a moment in silence and then Jay said, "Well, I guess that settles that. The other thing, I mean."
"You know better than that, Jay. Even if they got Gene to confess, it’s not going to stop. If it really is Frank, he’s got a reason for what he’s doing and I think it involves you. You’re the key."
Jay's face stayed blank. He wasn't ready to reveal his suspicions about Frank's reasons.
"Come on. We’re out of it. You heard what he said. He thinks I’m crazy. And you. He doesn’t know what to think about you."
She squeezed his hand as she asked, "And what do you think of me?"
Jay slipped his arm round her waist and held her up close as he bent down and gave her a soft kiss on her lips. When the moment had passed, he nodded his head in the direction of her place and said, "We’d better get going."
CHAPTER 26
Tommy Lazaro lived in a plain ranch house just off Main Street. It was the kind of well-built brick beauty in a middle class neighborhood that one would expect the top salesman at an automobile dealership to own.
They were watching a movie with the lights off. The horror film video that he and Charlotte were watching caused their huge projection television to cast grotesque shadows on the living room walls.
The projection television filled a large space along one wall. Charlotte had been vexed about what to do with that part of the room ever since they moved in and had tried everything; including hanging her collection of porcelain state birds on it.
It just hadn’t looked right, though. Too much empty space in that flock of birds, so she bought a painting done by a local "artist" at a swap meet. It was a huge picture of a pair of kittens that went almost from floor to ceiling.
Tommy had real issues with it. The renderings of the kittens were poorly done and when he was sitting on the sofa trying to relax with his feet up, the eyes, which in a painting that size seemed like saucers, followed him around the room in a way which gave him the creeps.
He was the one who came up with the idea of the big-screen television. In that slick way that some salesmen have, he was able to convince her that it would be the best thing for her. She would be able to watch all of her favorite soaps and that stupid women’s cable channel that she liked so much. She had always been a pushover for his line of bullshit. That’s how he had convinced her to marry him, even though at the time he had no prospects. Her parents had even kicked him out of their house about a half dozen times.
Charlotte hadn’t been putting out much lately. Tommy’s usual scheme of buying her something expensive hadn’t worked, so tonight they were going to watch a horror flick in gory full-screen color. She was always all over him when they were watching scary movies. He would at least get to cop a feel before she came to her senses. Their marriage was "troubled", as his mother would have said.
As the credits came up and the music swelled on the expensive surround sound setup, Tommy heaved his bulk up from the sofa and headed for the kitchen to get another big bowl of popcorn. Charlotte had eaten halfway through the first bowl and a box of chocolates by the time he had gotten the video into the DVD player and set the sound up in a way that was acceptable to him.
As Tommy stepped through the doorway into the kitchen, he heard a female shriek spill from the tower speakers that stood to either side of the television.
Charlotte called out to him, "Honey! Can you get me a pop while you’re in there?"
Tommy answered, as he put another bag of popcorn into the microwave oven, "Sure, Char. I’ll be back in a minute." Her answer was drowned out by another loud scream.
He was glad that she had asked for a pop. It gave him an excuse to take an inventory of the refrigerator. She was always on his back about losing weight. He had promised her he wouldn’t get into the icebox between meals. She couldn’t very well blame him if it was her idea, though, could she?
He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the head of lettuce, a tomato, mayonnaise, lunch meat, a loaf of that healthy twelve grain bread, and a package of pepper jack cheese. Not that processed stuff that sits on a stand in a supermarket for months at a time, but the real thing. He salivated at the thought of making one of his mile-high specials.
As he assembled the ingredients, another loud scream came from the living room, this time male. Then, "Please, Tommy, hurry up! You know how these movies scare me!"
He grinned as he smeared mayonnaise on a slice of bread. Nice and thick, just the way he liked it. He was going to get lucky tonight.
Back in the living room, Charlotte was munching away furiously on a mouthful of popcorn. Little bits of the kernels stuck to her ruby red lipstick, which appeared to have been applied with a trowel.
As she watched the video, she was oblivious to a shadow creeping slowly up the wall behind her. The circular aperture absorbed the light from the television and reflected nothing back.
Thousands of points of light began to appear in the velvety blackness, twinkling like brilliant diamonds. They formed into a ball which emitted a soft glow that merged with the cool fire radiating from the television.
The ball rotated slowly, spinning off thin, fibrous, rope-like tendrils. At their tips, they branched into terminal buds. As they swelled, they became recognizable as arms and legs. The center of the orb elongated and grew thick, settling on the lower set of limbs, and took on the form of a human torso. A lava lamp bubble emerged from the top of the torso which sprouted a nose and ears. The shimmering light dimmed and winked out. There stood Frank. His eyes opened; he took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall. His skin was pale, almost the color of ivory, and when light hit his eyes, they glinted black and dead like a shark's. He kneeled behind Charlotte and the void through which he had entered the house slithered down onto the floor and formed a thick, oily shadow.
He remained behind her, motionless, with a grin on his face, watching the movie, which ironically was one of those slasher pictures where everyone ended up dead by some grotesque means except for the girl with large breasts and short shorts who is able to improbably overcome the evil, machete-wielding killer by the end of the last reel.
Frank’s arm slithered up over her shoulder and down to grab a fistful of popcorn from the bowl. Charlotte assumed he was Tommy, making a pig of himself again, and said, "Now stop that. This is mine."
He reached over her shoulder one more time and stuffed some popcorn into his mouth. "I said stop! You’ve probably got a sandwich and who knows what else. And where’s my pop?"
Frank began kissing her on the back of the neck and flicking her earlobes with his tongue, which sent a pleasant, sexy shiver down her spine. "Oh, Tommy, stop it. I’m not in the mood."
They had never met, but he knew what she liked, kissing her neck and enjoying the trick and the knowledge of the treat to come. "Oh, Tommy."
She turned to face her silent lover and before her expectant look could change to horror, Frank grabbed her by the back of the neck. He covered her mouth with his own. She struggled, the great flabby batwings hanging from her arms flailing in the air. Charlotte beat on his shoulders as the popcorn fell from her lap and spilled out in a silent cascade onto the floor.
All Tommy could hear in the kitchen as he put away the sandwich fixings was the death rattle, amplified, of yet another B-movie victim. He set the sandwich on top of the new bowl of popcorn and just as he was about to switch off the light, he realized that he had forgotten Charlotte’s pop.
He returned to the refrigerator, opened it with his free hand and grabbed a can from one of the shelves in the door. He stuffed it into his pocket and switched off the light. The sandwich headed for his mouth the moment he was through the doorway. He was still munching on it as he flopped down on the sofa next to Charlotte. He reached across to hand her the can of soda.
"Honey, here’s your pop."
Charlotte sat, slack-jawed and unresponsive.
"Come on. Don’t play games. Charlotte?"
Tommy laid the sandwich and the can on the end table next to him and turned to take a close look at her. It was then that he noticed the popcorn, spilled all over the carpet. He took a closer look at her face, but from the side, all he could see was a blank expression that could have been her best look on a normal day.
Tommy rested his hand on her shoulder and shook her. Still no reaction. He was really worried now. What if she’d choked or had a heart attack? Who would take care of him?
"Charlotte. Charlotte!"
He grasped her shoulder tightly and shook her more vigorously. Her body slumped over and fell sideways, her head in his lap. He lifted her up in a panic. Blood flowed over her lips and a red, sticky stain began to spread across the front of his pants. Tommy shoved her inert body back to the other side of the sofa and leaped up.
"Oh, God! Oh, Jesus!"
He ran his hands all over his body as if he were trying to wipe away something invisible and unclean. Frank stepped silently from a dark corner of the room and picked up Tommy's sandwich. He took a bite and chewed it slowly.
"Great sandwich, fat boy," he said. Then, raising his other arm and waving Charlotte’s bloody tongue, torn from its roots, he continued, smiling, "Could use a little tongue, though."
Tommy’s look of repulsion slipped to recognition and then a rictus of fear as he realized what had happened. His jaw dropped and opened wide, but no sound would come. His thoughts were voiced by a scream from the soundtrack of the movie.
Tommy's little pig eyes moved from side to side, looking for a route of escape as beads of perspiration formed at his temples and ran down to pool at the tops of his cheeks before they made their end run down to his double chins.
Frank took another bite of the sandwich as he said, "Bet you never thought that you’d see me again, did you?"
He dropped the hand with the sandwich to his side and brought the tongue to his lips, which parted slightly, allowing his own tongue to slither out of his mouth and run lightly along the tip of it. He took a step closer to Tommy, who mirrored him with his own step backward.
"I saw you die," said Tommy as he rubbed his eyes in disbelief. His first thought was that this was a figment of his imagination. He had a bad piece of meat or something and fallen asleep during the movie. Any minute now, Charlotte would be waking him up. He rubbed his eyes so hard that when he opened them again, red and blue spots swam across his field of vision. Droplets of perspiration ran down his forehead, stinging his eyes and clouding his vision.
The two of them did their little dance until Frank had Tommy backed up against the television. Behind him, blood spattered across the camera lense and ran down from the corners of the screen toward the center of the picture, where Tommy stood, breathing hard and wobbly-kneed.
"And who do I have to thank for that," Frank asked. "Huh? A tub of lard who couldn’t find his own dick unless he used a mirror. If you weren’t so fat, we wouldn’t be having this little chat." He smashed the sandwich into Tommy’s face. Bits of tomato sticky with mayonnaise clung to his cheeks and lunch meat fell to the floor at his feet. Tommy began to blubber and jerked away just as Frank’s pale, cold fingers reached to poke his stomach. He ran for the kitchen and Frank followed him, laughing.
Tommy was breathing hard when he reached the kitchen. He flipped the switch for the ceiling light and grabbed the handset of the princess phone mounted on the wall next to the refrigerator.
As he dialed the number for the sheriff’s office, Frank entered and ripped the phone from the wall. Tommy backed away, still clutching the handset and dragging the rest of the phone across the floor in his wake.
Frank grinned, his lips curling to show off more of his bloodstained teeth, and asked, "Now how could you call the police on an old friend? That’s not very nice."
When Tommy bumped up against the counter, the phone dropped from his hand and hit the tile floor with a clickety-clatter of plastic. Suddenly, he remembered the carving knife he’d left on the counter behind him. Tommy began slowly moving down the counter, feeling for it with his hand behind his back, always keeping Frank in view. Frank came on, slowly, inexorably.
"Especially when all I want to do is to talk about old times," continued Frank.
Tommy noticed an odor beginning to permeate the room. It was like the smell of one of those old raccoons that had been run over by a truck and left in the road under the hot summer sun. Sickly sweet and foul. It radiated from Frank and seemed to fill every crack and crevice of the room. He was almost overcome by the stench by the time he found the knife and clenched it in his fist.
Frank was standing directly in front of Tommy now and ran his hand through Tommy's hair. The short hairs on the back of his neck bristled and his scalp tingled as if he had grabbed hold of a live wire.
"You did me a favor and I just want to repay you, that’s all," Frank went on.
When Frank’s hand had reached the back of Tommy’s head, he grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his head back, exposing his neck, all flabby and with a sickly pallor in the fluorescent light.
Tommy thought to himself that it was now or never. As Frank opened his mouth wide, exposing his blackened gums, he swung the hand holding the knife around and plunged the blade deep into Frank’s side. There was a hiss, as if gas were being released, and Frank’s mouth snapped shut. He gave Tommy a look of surprise and fell to the floor. His eyes were closed and he lay motionless. Tommy collapsed to his knees and kneeled over Frank's body.
"I got you. I got you good." He settled back on his heels and wiped the back of his hand across his brow.
Then, Frank's eyes snapped open and his sarcastic laughter filled the air. "Oh, gosh, that hurts. You got me good. I guess this is the end." He laughed louder as he clutched his hands over his heart.
Tommy laughed hysterically through the tears rolling down his rosy cheeks. "Die, you bastard!"