Show of Evil

Thirty-Seven

The driving was going well, a breeze, in fact. Stampler had figured out the cruise control and set it on 70, a safe speed according to Rebecca. Hold it to 70, be sure to use your turn indicator when you pass, do not drive erratically, she had told him. It's like swimming, she had told him. You never forget how. Don't worry.

Worry? He never worried. Worry was destructive. He remembered a quote from Emerson. 'What fears you endured, from evils that never arrived.' Worry sapped his strength, fear drained his energy. Together they were destructive forces, distractions he could never afford.

He turned his thoughts to Daisyland, to Max and Woodward, patronizing him, telling him how 'well' he was doing. Panderers. Treating him like a child. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles almost glowed in the dark. God, would he like to see their faces now.

The news was coming on and he turned up the radio.

'Good morning, this is Jerry Quinn with the two A.M. edition of the news. Updating the hottest story of the hour, in a bizarre murder case that is still unfolding, Supreme Court Judge Harry Shoat was brutally murdered in his Lakeshore condominium earlier tonight and his killer, a deranged woman, was shot and killed while resisting arrest less than an hour later. During a hastily called press conference at midnight, Lt. Shock Johnson of the Chicago Police Homicide Division told reporters Shoat was brutally murdered about 9 P.M.

'According to Johnson, Shoat's body was mutilated and he was beheaded. His head was found an hour later in the apartment of Rebecca Hutchinson at 3215 Grace Avenue. Ms Hutchinson was killed when she attacked one of the arresting officers with the same knife she allegedly used to kill Judge Shoat.

'Acting District Attorney Martin Vail, who joined Johnson at the press conference, said that his office has issued a murder warrant against Raymond Vulpes, aka Aaron Stampler, of a central city address. The warrant will charge Vulpes/Stampler with the murder of police officer John Rischel and the attempted murders of attorney Jane Venable and special officer Maj. Abel Stenner.

'Vail said these attacks took place at approximately the same time Shoat was killed by Hutchinson. Vail identified Vulpes as Aaron Stampler, confessed killer of Bishop Richard Rushman. Vail said Stampler was released from the state mental institution at Daisyland earlier in the day. Stampler has been a patient at Daisyland since the Rushman murder ten years ago. Ironically, Vail defended Stampler in the Rushman murder trial before becoming chief prosecutor of the district attorney's office.

'Vail said Stampler will also be charged with one count of murder and two counts of attempted murder and mayhem in the attacks on well-known attorney Jane Venable and Maj. Abel Stenner, head of the DA's Special Investigation Squad, both of whom also figured prominently in the Rushman case. Here is a portion of acting DA Vail's statement.

' "We have reason to believe that Aaron Stampler, during the past several years, communicated by computer with Ms Hutchinson, who was his teacher in grammar school. We also believe Stampler abetted Ms Hutchinson in two other murders. The murder of Mrs Linda Balfour at her home in Gideon, Illinois, last October, and Alex Lincoln, a UPD delivery person, in Hilltown, Missouri, a few weeks ago. In both cases, the MO was exactly the same as was used in the Rushman murder. Stampler also attacked attorney Jane Venable and detective Abel Stenner at Ms Venable's home. Both are in critical condition in the Intensive Care Unit of City Hospital but are expected to survive."

'Police have issued a five-state alarm for Stampler and will have an updated photograph of him in about an hour. Stampler is thirty-five years old, five-nine, weighs one hundred and fifty pounds, and has blue eyes and blond hair. According to Ms Venable, she struck Vulpes during the attack and he has a severe laceration on the left side of his jaw. Police said Stampler should be considered armed and extremely dangerous -'

Stampler snapped the radio off.

'Son of a bitch,' he said aloud. 'Son of a bitch!' They killed Rebecca! How did Vail track her down? What had gone wrong He slammed a fist into the steering wheel. His eyes glittered with hatred. Venable and Stenner, who sat on the witness stand and told the court that Stampler was faking it, had survived.

Well, he'd show them. Get-even time. Get-fucking-even time!

He passed the sign on the edge of the interstate:

SHELBYVILLE, NEXT EXIT.

This time there wouldn't be any mistakes.

He pulled into a sprawling truck-stop complex and parked in a dark area off to the side of the restaurant. He checked his map and stuffed it in his pocket, then went through the doctor's satchel again. He opened a flat leather case and his eyes gleamed. It was a set of scalpels. He took out the largest one, tapped his thumb on the blade, and drew a drop of blood. He sucked it off and slipped the razor-sharp tool in his breast pocket. He also took a hypodermic needle, a vial of morphine, and a large roll of adhesive tape from the bag. He got out of the car and locked it. He looked around. Nobody was near him. He hastily opened the trunk and threw the doctor's satchel on top of Rifkin's body. He slammed the trunk shut and walked off into the darkness.

Vail sat next to Jane Venable in the ICU. The entire right side of her face was swathed in bandages. IVs protruded from both arms, the narrow tubes, like snakes, curling up to bottles attached to the back of her head. Behind her, machines beeped and hummed as they measured her life signs. An oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose. Her limp hand, which he clutched between both of his, seemed cold and lifeless.

He watched the clock on the wall. It was nearly 2:30 A.M. Stenner had been in surgery for more than four hours. An hour earlier, one of the doctors had stepped briefly into the hall.

'We're doing everything we can,' the weary surgeon had told Vail. 'He's a lucky man. The point of that knife missed his heart by a quarter of an inch. If it had nicked the aorta he would have bled to death before the medics got to him.'

'But he's going to make it, right?' Vail said, almost pleadingly.

'It's touch and go. He's still opened up, we're having to do a lot of microsurgery. But he's strong, in excellent physical condition, that's going to help.'

Since then the tortured minutes had crawled by.

Outside the ICU the entire staff had gathered at the hospital, monitoring phone calls in a small office Mrs Wilonski had hastily cleared out for them. But in the outside world there was nothing but silence. Stampler had simply vanished into the night. Was he holed up somewhere in the city? Had he stolen another car? Vail was overwhelmed with anxiety, guilt, and hatred towards the man who had so successfully conned them all and was now on a madhouse killing spree.

He felt a slight pressure from Jane's hand and looked over at her. Her lips moved under the oxygen mask.

'Take it off,' her lips said.

'Can't do that, Janie.'

'Just a minute,' the lips said.

'Okay, just for a minute.' Vail reached over and slid the face mask down to her chin. She squeezed his hand again.

'Hi,' Vail said.

'Abel?' she asked, her speech blurred by drugs.

'He's carved up pretty badly, but they think he's going to make it.'

'Sav'd m'life, Marty.'

'And you saved his.'

'D'you catch Stampler?'

'Not yet. Just a matter of time. I can't stay long. I'm not even supposed to be in here.'

'Pull rank, you're th' DA…'m I all smashed up, Marty?'

'Nah. I know a good body shop, they'll knock the dents out in no time.'

She smiled up at him.

' 'Fraid m' goin''t'sleep again.'

'Sleep well, my dear. I'll be here when you wake up.'

'Marty?'

'Yeah?'

'Kiss me?'

He leaned over and gently touched her lips with his.

'I love you.'

'And I love you, Janie.'

And she drifted off again.

She was in a deep, deep sleep, dreaming the dream she always dreamed: She was walking through dense fog, hearing the voices but never quite seeing the faces that went with them, those harpy songs that taunted her, luring her deeper and deeper into the mist. Help me, help me, help me, the voices cried until the sense of futility overwhelmed even her dreams, until suddenly she stepped into the hole and fell through the clouds, tumbling towards oblivion until she awakened with a start. This time as she moved through the cottony mist, her feet froze in place and the haze blazed into light just before she fell. She awoke with a start. The bed-table light was on and her feet were tied to the foot of the bed. She tried to scream, but her mouth was bound with tape. Fear turned sour in her mouth. She looked around and saw, a few inches from her face, a scalpel.

Its blade twinkled as it was twisted in the light's beam. Her eyes gradually refocused on the face behind the scalpel's edge.

'Hi, Miss Molly,' he said in the innocent Appalachian accent he had discarded years before. ' 'Member me?'

She recognized Stampler immediately. Time had not changed him that much. Molly Arrington's heart was pounding in her throat, her temples, her wrists. She was having trouble breathing through her nose. Behind him, she saw the open window, the curtains wafting lazily in the draft. She peered at him in terror, but then just as quickly - as she adjusted to waking up - she grew calm. Questions assaulted her mind. How did he get here? What was he doing?

'Listen to me,' he said, and his voice was cold, calculating, without accent or tone. 'I'm going to take that tape off your mouth, but if you scream, if you talk above a whisper, I'll make an incision right here' — he put the point of the blade against her throat - 'and cut out your vocal cords. It won't kill you, unless maybe you drown in your own blood, but it will be almighty painful. Do we have an understanding?' She slowly nodded.

He picked a corner of the tape up with the tip of his little finger and then ripped it off. It tore her lips. Tears flushed her eyes, but she did not scream.

'That's good, that's very, very good,' he said. 'I always did admire your spunk. I suppose you have some questions?'

She did not answer but instead stared down in shock at him. He was stark naked and erect, sitting in a chair beside the bed.

'Cat got your tongue?' He chuckled. He moved the scalpel to the neckline of her silk nightshirt and drew the sharp blade slowly down the length of the shirt. It spread open in the wake of the incision until he had split it all the way to her knees. He took the knife and flipped first one side of the shirt, then the other, aside.

'There,' he said, staring lasciviously at her naked body. 'Now we're even.'

Still not a sound from her.

'Can't you even say hello?'

She did not look at him. She stared at the ceiling.

'Talk to me!' he roared.

She turned her head slowly towards him.

'Martin was right,' she said.

'Oh, Martin was right. Martin was right,' he mimicked her. 'Martin was finally right, you should say. And only because I let him know. I gave him the clues and he finally figured it all out.'

'That's what he said.'

'Bright boy. Well, Doc, I don't have much time. Got a lot to do before I'm on my way. Got to be waiting when he comes.'

'Comes where?'

He just smiled.

She did not ask again.

He held the scalpel up again and regarded it with sensual pleasure. 'Know what I like about knives, Doctor? I like the way they feel. I like their power. People have a visceral fear of knives. And they're so efficient. All you have to do…' - he slashed the scalpel through the air — '… is that. Swish, and it's all over. Exsanguination. Instant rigor mortis. Instant! All the air rushes out of the lungs. It's such a… a pure sound. Whoosh. Ten, fifteen seconds and it's all over. And this? This is a masterpiece. A scalpel. The ultimate blade. So beautiful.'

'It's nice to know you killed them first, before you—'

'Oh, she can talk. Before I what? Before I cleansed them? Before I blooded them?'

'So that's what you did. Cleansed them,' she said with sarcasm.

'Oh, we're going to push it, are we?'

'Push what?' she answered wearily. 'I don't doubt for a minute you're going to kill me.'

'I might surprise you.'

'You can't surprise me any more,' she said.

He stood up and began to stroke himself. His lips were twitching around a sickening leer.

'You always wanted it, didn't you? Huh? Wanted me to throw you down on the floor of that cell and fuck your brains out.'

'You're delusionary.'

The smile vanished. The eyes went dead.

'Rebecca was right. Rebecca was always right. She was right about my brother and Mary. Get rid of them, she told me. Get rid of the hate. She was there when I stuffed the towels in the car window. And when they were cold and stiff, we did it in the front seat, right in front of them. Now you're even, she said. Now you can forget them. Just like I forgot Shackles and Rushman and Peter and Billy. Just like I finally could forget Linda and that creepy little coward, Alex Lincoln. She told me you were in the pit, too, that you were just as nuts as the rest of us. You know what it's like, don't you? To be smarter than all of them, listen to them pampering, pandering, so righteous. So fucking proud of themselves playing God. And they were all wrong. All of you were wrong. That's the best part of it all. Now everybody will know, the whole world will know.'

'I was wrong,' Molly said. 'You're not delusionary, you're demonic.'

'Demonic,' he sneered, raising his eyebrows.

'Demonic,' he repeated, savouring the word. 'I like that. Is that a medical term?'

'You want to kill the people that kept you alive.'

'Alive. You call ten years in bedlam alive?'

'Would you have preferred the electric chair?'

'I would have preferred freedom. He played games with me.'

'He did the best he - '

'He fucked me to protect that miserable faggot Rushman. He had the tape. Not a woman on that jury would have found me guilty if they had seen the tape. Christ, after that he had plenty of room for reasonable doubt. A second person in the room, temporary insanity, irresistible impulse. But nooo, he had to play the clever boy, protecting Rushman's good name, sucking that prosecutor into his game. And you went along with it.'

'You tricked yourself. You provided the multiple personality defence…'

'I didn't know you two would use it to sell me out. I knew when he came up to see me in Daisyland the other day he was going to try and ruin me. Hell, he would have looked like a fool if he tried to stop me from leaving, but he was too smart for that. We had the perfect plan, Hydra and me. Hydra got Shoat and I was supposed to get Venable. I could have been back in the room with a perfect alibi. I could've laughed at Vail. I could've got them all - Venable, Shoat, Stennet, you - all but Vail. I would've let him live in his own hell. Then that bitch, Venable, screwed me up. Look at my face. She did that!'

Molly said nothing. She stared at him in disgust as he straddled her, resting on his knees.

'He should've pleaded temporary insanity, I could have walked out of there free and clear.'

'That's ridiculous, he couldn't - '

'Don't speak to me like that!'

'I'm sorry.'

'You're not sorry. You're patronizing me. You should know better.

She shut up and stared at the ceiling again.

'Vail was so fucking clever, playing all those little legal games of his in court, dicking around with that insufferable Shoat. Jesus, I could have done better.'

No answer.

'Ten years of drugs and shock treatments, egomaniac doctors, panderers, panderers, they were all fucking panderers.'

He turned to the night table and put the scalpel down. He picked up a hypodermic needle, stared at its point. He picked up the vial of morphine, inserted the needle into it, working the plunger until it was full of the deadly painkiller.

'Well, now, Mr Vail understands what it's like to hate enough to kill. And it's going to get worse.' He settled down on her and held the needle in front of her face. 'One hundred ccs, Doc. Permanent sleep, like the shot they give you when they put you away like a dog. I'll give it to you a little bit at a time, so the pain won't be so bad. A cc here, a cc there, here a cc, there a cc…' he sang.

He had lost it, she realized. Disassociated. Calm replaced by rage. Whatever he was going to do, he would do, she knew that now. She closed her eyes and waited with an eerie calm for the inevitable. She hardly felt the needle when it pierced her arm.