Serial Novels

Site Navigation
Chapter 1

Part 3

by: Jim Jones

The cab of the squad car was almost silent with the exception of Larry Keys muttering to himself. It was hard for Stacy to make out the words with the wind howling through his window, but she could've swore he was saying something to the effect of. "First he tells me to kill him then he yells at me when I do, what the hell is wrong with that fat bastard." She wasn't sure if those where his words, or the fact that she was in the back of a police car has her in sock and her mind is deceiving her ears. She just wasn't sure. She kept the words to herself.

They didn't touch each other as they sat side by side in the back of the 1967 Oldsmobile. But they where able to gaze at each other as the cruiser sped through the stop lights, almost hitting a pedestrian at one light who had heard the news and was walking to the hospital to join in on the spectatorship. The cruiser was speeding and so was Stacy's heart.

"Are you ok?" A low whisper entered her ears. His voice noted that he was concerned with her. She was leaning towards him as if she wanted to be touched, Maybe petted. Like a faithful cat lapping you for attention. The tension was tight with the angry officer driving in the front and them two detained in the back. The side view was of plenty of houses standing guard on the sideline with the silhouette of the moon hiding behind the dogwood trees.

It was only four and a half miles to the precinct but Larry had taken a detour off the main road. Somewhere deep into a neighborhood and beyond. To the wooded city line that separated Lancaster from Detroit's suburbs. The road ended in a cul-de-sac with a single-story house, {the only one story house in the cul-de-sac} that had all the lights on and was sitting in front of the woods. Larry turned the engine and lights off and turned to his captives and said, "Now you two just stay put. I'll be back in just a few minutes. Don't be doing anything stupid like trying to escape." A gnarly laugh followed the order, as if to say that it would be impossible to escape. He stepped out of the door to walk up to the house.

There was this figure peering out of the front left window as the door opened. A tall thin man answered and Larry went inside.

"This is strange." Said a shocked nurse in a predicament that she could've very easily avoided if only she listened to the officer the first two times. "Why are we here and not at the station? He was supposed to go to the station and book us. Now why do you think we are here? Instead of at the station?"

The bizarre path that the officer took also stunned Horowitz. "I don't know!" Ideas about the mis-pathed journey filled his thoughts. "Maybe he's cheating on his wife." The thought brought a small piece of laughter to the couple. "No, that can't be it." Amused by the thought, Stacy said with confidence. "That can't be it. He wouldn't bring witnesses." Instructing the doctor that something strange was going on. "I don't know what it is but there is definitely something wrong here!"

Horowitz knew that she was a bright girl but at the moment, she was surpassing him with thought. It was probably the gapping gash on his forehead. Or the murderous headache that he was suffering from.

Back at the hospital, Mary Lawrence's lifeless body lay motionless on a freshly sheeted operating table; the linen was cold but unfelt by the corpse. Her legs where dangling through two saddles that forced her thighs apart, making easy access for the surgeon.

Kerr was more than ready for the surgery that was required to deliver the baby, standing over the pregnant body with his hands working on the pulped stomach. There was a scalpel in his right hand and his left hand guided the razor sharp tool. He asked Cathy to cover the incision with the gauze that he had given to her during preparation. But there wasn't much blood for the bandage to soak up; it was almost like it was only a scratch. Nothing serious. But that was just because of the deficiency of blood in her veins.

The cut was neat; even though he was working on a corpse, he took the same care as if she where alive. Carefully scoring a straight line. Making sure not to cut into any major organs. Or bruising any tender muscles. But speed was also on his agenda; Larry's slothful ordeal made time an enemy of this emergency. Cutting it close in the ways of another death.

The incision happened quickly. Too quick for Cathy! She couldn't keep up with the doctor that was more educated than she, in the area of medicine. The cut was long and deep, starting from the belly button, ending at the panty line. but the lack of blood kept it clear. It was easy for the doctor to see where the flesh was connected to the muscles. And the muscles glued to the womb a with the veins lying motionless. And the tissues had started to dry out the very instant the conditioned air touched it.

The sight was too gruesome for Cathy to go on with the helping hand that she was providing. It could've been the sight of the stiffening flesh that made her stomach turn in disgust, or more probably, the sound of the flesh ripping from the bones. It was the sound of the tearing flesh that added the feeling of sickness to her body, almost like she where a printer and the sickness was the paper, constantly being feed as the data reached her mind. The nausea was too much and she excused herself from her duties. "I will go to the lounge and get a glass of ice cold water to wash away the taste left in my mouth by death," she thought out loud as she walked towards the set of wide solid oak doors.

It's been a few years since the embodiment of a corpse had slithered through his fingers, since the days of his fraternity to be exact, almost two years ago. But it was all coming back to him. His final exam was the last time that he had to handle a corpse. His score was an average one, high enough to get him an internship at St Mary's. High enough to endure the stress that will impend on him tonight.

Have you ever played with a thick slice of smoothed, honey cured ham at room temperature before? That's what the flesh felt like when he examined the body. The skin was rubbery, yet it was stiff. It made him think of the time he had to graft a slice of flesh onto his exam corpse. It was vivid in his mind. Fresh like this morning's coffee. He remembered the stiffness of the corpse and how easy it was to shape the dead flesh to the area of the patch. It was pretty much cut and dry for him.

In the average dead body, Riga Mortis will start setting in less than twenty-four hours, but Mary's body was different. She suffered from low blood pressure for most of her life, it was almost as if she where half dead when she became pregnant with Mitch. (David and Mary had already named the baby if it were a boy, but they didn't know what to call it if it wound up to be a girl, although David had Mary Beth in mind. 'Mary Beth Lawrence; now that has a ring to it," he had always thought. Maybe he never got over Mary Beth Parker.) When the bad news came to David, (The news that Horowitz gave them when they first learned of the pregnancy), about how the baby might not receive enough nutrients during her nine month feeding period, and that there might be complications during the prenatal stage, he went crazy with worry. It was hard for him to relax. But time went on and every thing went ok. Her last check up confirmed the probability of a safe delivery!

Getting to the struggling baby was a bit difficult with one nurse abandoning her duties, and one injured. But he still had a chance of giving the poor soul a life. The blood that separated him and the naval cavity had a darker than normal hue to it. It was almost like it had started to clot. He shifted the motionless organ to gain view of the birthing. There it was. Lying still, underneath all the gore that was left by her body. He thought that the baby was going to die, or even worse, already dead. When he reached his hands into the opening that he cut, but his hands where too big.

It was definite that everything was against this birth. Maybe it was an unwanted one. Like the irritating scratchies at the back of your throat. It was evident that there was definitely something that contained great power opposing this birth. Maybe like a puppet master was pulling the strings and he had some evil contentions with the new born.

Larry was inside for a good spell before he came back to the cruiser. His face told Stacy that the meeting, whatever kind of meeting it was, didn't go so well. In fact, he was almost furious with his expression, but that soon changed when the taller, thinner man came from inside. Stacy could see his wobbling attempt at walking towards the cruiser. His strides where that of a monkey as his rather large hands teetered as he walked. If it where a daylight hour, she would be able to make out his brown busty eyes as he stared her down.

A deep voice protruded from the dark yard. "Is that the one?" It was a sincere question directed towards Larry Keys. It was like some unofficial doctrine creeping out from underneath the pile of paper work left on his desk. Deserving an answer? Yes. Of course, if he wanted to make the sale complete! (It was extra Sale, One that was unexpected. One that wouldn't have happened if David Lawrence would've done the speed limit.)

"Yeah, that's the one." His head was slumped to the tablet of paper that he was holding in his hand.

Stacy could feel the stranger's eyes one her. It was like her skin was being covered with the creepies and crawlies of the dark. Slithering across her smooth surface. Looking for some celestial garden to lay their bones for the evening. And the shivers that her spine was enduring were the shivers of fright. The eyes that were laid harshly onto her flesh were still there. There was no magic pill to take care of those creepies. They just lay on her flesh. Almost eating her.

With one last look he confirmed his order with Keys. "She'll be ready tomorrow?"

Never taking his eyes off of the yellow tablet he replied, "Yeah, sure thing. We're going to get her ready tonight." And with that the man turned towards the house and walked slowly keeping his eyes on Stacy. But as he descended into the house, the stare stayed with Stacy, not letting go of her. Leaving her with the stale feeling.

The ignition wound as Larry turned the key. And with the low hum of the motor as he put the car into reverse, she could hear under his breath. "Damn fucking perves, first they want something and when you give it to them, they want a discount, what the fuck is the matter with these people."

The tires where squealing when he threw the car into drive to speed off and the smell of burnt rubber filled the compartment of the car, leaving Horowitz (who was still dazed by the blow on his forehead) feeling nauseas.

It was only a few blocks to Main Street. The time was early, but the traffic on the road made 1:00 a.m. seem like rush hour. The traffic light was slow to let him take the left turn that was needed to return to the station with his prisoners.

Gordon had ordered two of his policemen to stand sentry duty outside the O.R., "Wait until the baby is born and come let me know, make sure that the baby is in good health before you get me." And with that Michael Scorn and Thomas Phillips had stationed themselves outside the O.R. doors. They waited and watched as the nurses obeyed the doctor, and they where causally talking amongst themselves. One made a shrewd remark about Kerr Standing over the dead body. "Look at that sick bastard, It looks like he's trying to fuck her." It was Michael that shied way from his partner's remark. It was Michael that had a touch of necrophilia in him.

Gordon could see Peggy staring out the glass window as he as he dictated his orders to his men. Nothing new to him, just another bystander that was curious about a policeman's work. He didn't let that stop him from taking the pictures that he needed for the court hearing. Or stop him from outlining David's Body with Chalk. No, in fact, it was almost like he needed her to watch him. Like he would do something different, something wrong if she wasn't watching. Like she was his leash, yanking him into behavioral self-consciousness.

"We need crowd control out here, now." The shout was heard by the reporters that where standing on the other side of the Blue Monte Carlo. Back behind the yellow tape that was put up the moment his men arrived. The shouts didn't seem to affect the journalists. As the crime scene was examined, they took their notes and recorded their tapes

There were a few that cast a slew of questions to the Chief, but those questions went unanswered. As if he where deliberately trying to avoid the media. Keeping his eyes turned away from the crowd. Paying attention to only the men that where under his command.

It wasn't only reporters in the crowd; In fact, half the town showed up for the show. And the crowd was growing larger. It was as if Pink Floyd was playing for one night only in the parking lot of St. Mary's. 'You don't want to miss this show.'

Gordon had done what he could to keep the crowd under control but there were only a dozen police officers on duty that night, not enough manpower to keep this crowd under control. He knew that, when he called for more backup. But in a case like this, he would have to ok it with the mayor before he handed out overtime slips to his crew.

Once he was off of the phone, he walked to the yellow tape to make a statement to the adjoining press.

"At approximately 11:45 pm Officer Larry Keys observed a speeding car going in the direction of the emergency room, This coincided with he intelligence report that we had, that there might be an attack on the hospital. Knowing the report, officer Keys tried to prevent the terrible happing and bring the suspect in.

"When the suspect was uncooperative, he had no choice but to shoot him, Before he could set off the Bomb."

The commotion in the crowd grew loud as he spoke.

"We are certain that we have everything under control now, so you can all go on home and read about it in the morning paper." He desperately tried to convince the people to clear the parking lot, but they stayed. Keeping the lot full of bodies as more people flocked to the scene. Overcrowding the smooth pavement.

He left his makeshift podium to return to his duties as the questions kept pouring out of the sea of faces. He left them unanswered as he approached Jerry Roberts. Another pay-billy that was making sure that there was no evidence left behind for the news cameras to broadcast all around town. Re-election is next year.

Jerry was the loud type. You know the one guy that can't seem to lower his voice in the library. When he spoke, the wax in my eardrum vibrated. Tickling my brain. It was definitely not a soothing voice. It was a deep high pitch with a slight crackling to it. It was not quite as feminine as Peewee Herman's voice in "Nice Dreams".

When he began to speak to the chief about the progress that he and the others where making on the clean up, he turned yellow with lies. (It was his duty to make sure that the blood was cleansed from the white concrete. And that the whole scene was made out to be on the up and up.) 'There was no way that this is going to be on the front page.' That's what he told the chief last night before going home. "Yes sir. It's almost cleaned up. Mike is on the horn with Thomas right now. He should be here pretty soon." The lies should've turned his face red with shame but he took after his mentor.

Gordon was a grumpy old man. Easily irritated. It was almost like he was beaten most of his life. He was approaching Sixty, (you know how people tend to become more laid back as they grow older, I think that that kinder state of mind was eluding him.) His irritability seemed to thicken as age educated him. "You make sure that you don't fuck up. Do you hear me?" His tone seemed to be exceptionally irritated this evening. The same with his Glare. Irritated.

Jerry has been on the force for fifteen and a half years. He was Gordon's collaborator during the Austin Case. That was when he learned of the way of the Lancaster police department. He knew that when the chief is angry, to stay away from him and make sure that you do what he tells you to do. If you don't, you might suffer the consequences. Like Tony Wilson did when he back talked him fifteen and a half years ago. (I wonder if he even had a family?) No one's ever even asked about that poor soul.

"Yes sir, I hear you loud and clear." And with that Gordon shot back towards the emergency room doors.

It wasn't five feet before Officer Collins cut off his pass. "Sir" The voice was that of a rookie. "I still don't understand why we are the ones cleaning the blood up?" It was an inquisitive voice that rang out through the night air.

Gordon's irritability was being tortured with the questioning rookie. Looking sternly at him, He grabbed the arm of the fresh out of boot camp cop, "Will You shut the fuck up?" And he Practically drags him to the corner of the building, in behind the shadows. It was out of sight of the noisy reporters. That was where he began his scolding. "What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Without a chance to answer the rhetorical question, he shouted lowly again. "Why are you here? Did your mother kill herself after you were born?" He started to cut deep with his insults. "I oughtta shoot you right here and right now. Then the world would be rid of one more piece of scum." His face was red; it looked like he was having a heart attack or something.

Collins was disturbed by this behavior. It frightened him, as a matter of fact, almost to the point where he wanted to quit his job. It was difficult putting up with the abuse. But he had to. He was in college part time, his first year actually. But the bills had to be paid and the tuition had to be satisfied. The pay wasn't really worth it but it was enough for now.

Collins was a quiet man, one that kept his thoughts to himself. He rarely went on the beat with a temper. But this scolding was really eating at him. His patience was running out. There was a time when He almost lost his wits when the chief was spitting in his face as he shouted. "Motherfucker, I ought a spank your mother fucking pansy ass."

The scolding was starting to rise in volume when another officer interrupted his disciplining.

"Now what the fuck do you want?" The tone in his voice was that of a thundercloud. "Can't you see that I am busy?"

It was pretty obvious that Mike was intimidated by his superior. His voice was crackling as he tried to explain the chief's faults to him. "We can hear you all the way over there." His finger was pointing to where David's body was just a half-hour ago. "And" the additional information that he was about to give Gordon had precedence compared to the discipline that he was dishing out at the moment. If the reporters got word that he was acting Irate then who knows what would be on the front page.

"Ok I'll be right there." The thunderous voice was suddenly calmed like a storm reaching the end of its course.

Mike turned back towards his duties of making sure that the Lancaster police was not implicated in any wrong doing on this matter.

It Reminded Collins of his second day on the Lancaster force. He was riding with Gordon for field ops and when the grand master was talking to one of the local thugs, (also another pay-billy, hired by the chief himself to work under cover for his black ops.) his voice was piercing. "I'll snatch that ring right out of that ear of yours if you fail me." His threats where endless, as he shouted.

Then Gordon had seen a news van Parked across the street. His voice had not been so penetrating when he relieved the pay-billy of his duty. "Go on home; take a shower. And I'll call you later." Much more soothing, Collins thought. He didn't know what to think about the irate behavior that was being exhibited by the county official. That was when he knew that he wasn't going to be working for this police department for much longer.

No, he's not going to work here for much longer at all. He had some big plans; He's going to graduate with honors and when his little brother gets his act together, they were going to start a record label together. Those were his plans. He didn't want to be a cop like his father wanted him to be. He became one to make his father happy, and now that he has become one, he was unhappy. Even though he doesn't know about Gordon firing him next week, he has plans on going to New York this coming up weekend, (He was being Transferred to New York State University for his final year of studies.)

Gordon's voice, lowered this time, almost like he was trying to be nice, finished the scolding with "Don't ask me any stupid questions. Now get back to work." With that, he left Collins standing there to think about what he had said. And headed towards the men cleaning the bloodstain.

'What the hell is wrong with that man?' He thought to himself. 'His head must have found the wrong side of a swinging baseball bat when he was a kid.'

The thought lingered in his tired mind as he started to head for the stain.

I have to let you in on something; there is this monster that resides in the area. It's not a monster in the normal sense of the word, but rather the worst kind of monster. The one that you can't see when it is standing right next to you. You could talk to it and it would be nice to you, you wouldn't know about the time that his hands drew the blood of an innocent. But Collins saw him. He saw the monster just a minute ago. Breathing out the fiery plume of breath that was shared by Satan himself.

~End Chapter 1, Part 3~

$0 Web Hosting

DriftersOasis © 2001-2004.
All material © the Original Authors, otherwise held by DriftersOasis.com
No portion of this site may be copied without permission.

Get a GoStats hit counter