Bad Thoughts

Chapter 30

Susie never arrived home, not even to pack her bags. After watching the six o’clock news, Shannon understood why. He could pretty much guess what DiGrazia told her. He could pretty much understand why she’d believe him.

The lead story was about the murder. The old man’s body was found in the same East Boston alleyway that Shannon had stopped him in. It had been a brutal murder, in some ways even more so than any of the women’s, and it had been leaked to the media that it was done by the same killer. That tie-in made it a big story. Shannon learned from the news the old man’s name was Walter Hough. It didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

No one contacted Shannon. Not Agent Swallow, or anyone from the East Boston precinct or any of the cops he knew in Cambridge. He figured this time they were waiting until they had enough evidence to make it stick.

The night faded by as he half paid attention to the TV. At some point static replaced the talking heads. When he finally closed his eyes, he drifted off quickly. He knew Herbert Winters would be waiting for him. Strangely, he didn’t mind. In a way he was looking forward to it.

The smell was there immediately. Then he saw Winters, his face whiter and fleshier than before. Whiter and rounder than a harvest moon. A nasty grin, made even nastier by the lack of a real chin, was streaked across it.

“You shouldn’t have killed that old man,” Winters admonished lightly.

“I didn’t.”

“Of course you did.” Winters paused to stroke what should’ve been a chin, his grin shrinking to something more smug. “You let me take over. Don’t you remember what happened next? I coaxed him back into the alley. And I didn’t let his collection of bottles go to waste. You remember what we did with them? You remember how much fun we had with those bottles, Billy Boy?”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie to you with us being one and the same?”

“You’re not part of me. You’ve never been part of me. I know that.”

“You do, huh?”

“I do. You blew it with that girl.”

Winters let loose with a low hiss of a laugh. The sound of air escaping from a punctured tire. “I wouldn’t believe what that old man told you, boy. He wasn’t going to tell you the truth. He was scared to death of you. ’Cause he recognized you from the other night. So he fed you whatever bullshit he thought he had to-”

“He was telling me the truth. You blew with it with that girl. I know where I was when you murdered her. I’ve got two people who know where I was.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Two people know where I was.”

“They’re mistaken, boy, because you were there. Goddamn it, you little piece of…” Winters’s voice trailed off. His mouth closed as he considered what Shannon told him.

“What happened?” Shannon asked. “You couldn’t help yourself, was that it? The urge to kill a little too strong?”

Winters didn’t say anything.

“Who the hell are you?”

“That’s the real point,” Winters remarked slowly as life filtered back into his dead rattlesnake eyes. “It doesn’t matter anymore what you think. As long as the police believe you’re doing these killings, that’s all that matters.”

“Who are you!”

“You don’t have any idea, do you? Except that I’m not Herbie, because we both know he’s long dead. Just like your mommy, right, Billy Boy?”

A white, blinding rage surged through Shannon. He felt himself taking off with it, his hands groping for Winters’s throat, wrapping themselves around it, squeezing it. At first there was nothing but shock and surprise in the dead man’s pale eyes, and then unbridled fury. As Shannon squeezed harder against his throat, Winters fought back, pushing himself closer to Shannon, his foul rankness assaulting Shannon, weakening him.

“You’re the one they’ll be coming after,” Winters whispered as he clawed at Shannon, his breath hot against his face. His head seemed amorphous as it ebbed in and out. “Especially after tonight.”

In the same motion Winters jerked free of Shannon’s grip and grabbed Shannon’s two fingers, the ones that had been broken as a thirteen-year-old. “You were right about that girl,” Winters said with a sly wink. “I just couldn’t help myself. But I sure did have fun. And guess who I’m with right now? Even as we speak.” He started to bend back Shannon’s fingers. “I’m going to make mincemeat out of her,” he breathed into Shannon’s ear. Then with a hard push he shoved Shannon’s fingers back until they touched his wrist. And Shannon screamed.

Shannon woke up screaming. He doubled over in pain and grabbed his two fingers. He rocked back and forth in bed massaging his fingers, trying to quiet the pain that was radiating from them. After a few minutes it became bearable.

His fingers had turned a dark purple. They had swollen to over twice their normal size. Shannon walked to the kitchen and wrapped ice in a paper towel and squeezed hard on it, trying to numb out the pain. As he stood in the kitchen, he smelled it. It came from his hair and it brought a rush of vileness up from his stomach. He fell to the floor, vomiting. It lasted a long time, long after there was anything left inside. When he could stop, he went to the bathroom and stuck his head under the shower and scrubbed his scalp until he was sure he had gotten rid of any trace of that smell.

When he was done he dried off and made his way back to the kitchen. He slowly, meticulously cleaned the floor and then put some water on for coffee. His fingers hurt like hell. He must’ve slept on them funny, somehow spraining them, maybe even breaking them. Probably why he had that dream… but that smell-somehow he imagined it-because how could it have gotten in his hair? Unless…

Unless, and the thought sickened Shannon, unless it was more than a dream. And what did Winters tell him-that he was with her?

With brilliant clarity Shannon realized it was true. Winters was with her.

He called DiGrazia. The answering machine clicked on. Shannon hung up and tried again. DiGrazia answered after the third ring.

“Where is Susie staying-”

“You son of a bitch,” DiGrazia groaned. “It’s three in the morning.”

“Where is she?”

“Goodnight, buddy boy.”

“Joe, listen to me-”

“I told you before I didn’t want you calling me again-”

“He’s with her right now. The murderer.”

At first there was only static. Then DiGrazia asked how Shannon knew that.

“He told me.”

“What do you mean he told you?”

“I know this sounds crazy but I had a dream where he told me he’s with her. And Joe, I know it’s true.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Who are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. In my dreams he’s the guy who murdered my mother. Whoever he is, I know he’s with Susie.”

“Did you smell anything?” DiGrazia asked, his voice barely audible.

“Yeah, I smelled something. You’ve dreamed about him, too, haven’t you?”

There was another long pause before DiGrazia told him he didn’t know what the hell Shannon was talking about.

“You’re lying, Joe. You know about the smell. You’ve dreamed about him. Damn it, Joe, he’s with Susie right now. She’s going to die if you don’t help me.”

“I’m not telling you where she is.”

“Joe, you’ve got to believe me on this-”

“I’ll tell you what I got to believe. That you’re completely wacko. That you’re playing the same game with me you did when you called me about that old man in East Boston. Susie probably contacted you already. She let you know where she’s staying, didn’t she?”

“Dammit, Joe-”

“I’m getting off the phone now. I have to go check on your wife. You better pray she’s okay.”

“Call me when you see her-”

The line went dead on him.

The killer was with her. He knew it. DiGrazia better fucking hurry.

Shannon couldn’t stand still. There was a frantic energy buzzing through him and neither pacing the apartment nor kicking the walls helped calm it down any. A drink would take some of the edge off but there was nothing in the apartment and all the bars were already closed for the night. He checked the kitchen for cigarettes, didn’t find any, grabbed his coat and headed outside. There was an all-night gas station off Memorial Drive where he could buy a pack.

As he drove he played back his dream. He had no doubt about it being real. The killer had talked to him. Somehow the killer had invaded his dream, had somehow forced himself into Shannon’s subconscious. It was more than just that. The killer’s presence had been real. That smell… the damage he did to Shannon’s fingers.. . as crazy as it sounded, Shannon knew it was true. Absentmindedly he found himself imagining what Elaine would say if he told her about it.

He was with her…

Shannon pulled the car over. His knuckles bone white as he squeezed the steering wheel. A dull ache pulsated from his injured fingers. His therapist. Elaine Horwitz.

He was with her. He was going to make mincemeat out of her.

Shannon knew it was true. But he had made a mistake about who the killer was referring to. Now he knew.

The road was empty except for a gray Chrysler sedan that had pulled up behind him. Shannon got out and told the two FBI agents in it where he was going.