Fathom by Mikel Parry

CH – WANDERING DUCK

Walking away from the facility Demo was sure he felt sicker than he would have had he been told he had a malignant tumor; at least with a tumor, he’d know what to expect. And worse, he’d thrown Bob Cat into the mix. His naïve choice of words wrapped themselves around his heart like a boa constrictor. Maybe Bob Cat was right; maybe this was too deep, even for a freak like him.

Fishing around in his pocket, he toyed with the small electronic piece of memory resting there. It knew it was too late now. His curiosity and obsession with saving lives had damned him. He truly felt like a dead man walking. But if he was going to go down, he’d go down with a fight. He needed to see what the stick of memory had to offer. He chose to walk all the way home, which ended up being way farther than he had expected. He wasn’t afraid. After all, he was more than likely being tailed. Although Roslin had agreed to some of his terms, he knew better than to trust Demo out in the open with sensitive information. As he walked he pulled out his cellphone; still no missed calls from Bob Cat. Bobby, what is going on with you? Things were getting stranger by the minute. Smoke and mirrors sat fixated at every point in Demo’s mind. What is real? What is actually happening?

Climbing the stairs to his apartment, he let current reality drift by him like a ghost. Occasionally someone he thought he knew would ask how he was doing or throw a generic one-liner his way. But he was a cloud of energy looking for a ground to strike, like a lightning bolt. It came to a pause in front of his door. He stuck his hand out and turned the grimy doorknob. Surprisingly, it opened without a key. Damn it, Demo, you forgot to lock your door again! He shook his head, dismayed by his stupidity. Why can’t I remember these things?

As he stepped into his tiny apartment, the smell of a decaying lifestyle hit his nostrils—rotten food, dirty laundry, an aroma spawned by pure laziness—but for better or worse, it was home. He felt his stomach grumble but ignored it. He had more important matters occupying his already busy mind. In a zombie-like trance, he looked at his old computer; smudges, crumbs, and coffee stains coated the surface of almost every exposed inch of it. I’m a complete slob. He made a silent affirmation to change his ways, knowing he wouldn’t remember or care about it in just a matter of minutes. Probing his finger around the case, he finally found the power button. With a sticky push, power began to flow into the worn down machine. While he waited for it to boot, he looked around, wondering if anyone had been in his apartment to scrutinize his lifestyle. It didn’t matter; anything of real importance was parked safely in his brain. His home was really only where he existed on the temporal plane; a place to do the inconvenient things his body demanded he do.

The screen flickered on, signaling that it was ready for his input. Demo started to insert the stick into its new master when suddenly his pocket vibrated. Placing the stick back into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. His eyes unhinged from their sockets. Finally! Bob Cat. Demo tried to think of what to say. He had direly missed having Bob Cat around. He’d even been kidnapped embarrassingly easily by men who were probably on their lunch break. Answering he said the only thing that came to mind.

“The blood, you were right about the blood, Bobby. They’re coming for you now. I’m so sorry.”

Bob Cat remained silent a moment leaving only a static purr to fill the gap.

After what seemed an eternity, he finally spoke, “Demo, what are you talking about? I need you to stop, okay? Just stop. I don’t need this right now; I need you to listen.”

Demo’s eyes darkened. Bob Cat’s tone sounded eerie and foreign to him. This wasn’t the Bob Cat he knew.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and we do need to talk. There’s been a lot going on, and a lot has changed. I’ve got a lot to get off my chest . . .”

Bob Cat paused. Demo waited for him to continue but instead received a rush of opposite motion. Within seconds Bob Cat’s voice returned.

“Demo, that was Jacky on the other line. She’s blasting off about something that just went down at the precinct. She wants us both down there now.”

Demo still couldn’t find the right words. He was still trying to wrap his head around Bob Cat’s ill fervor.

“I’m sorry, Bobby. I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“But it is Demo. Just get down there.”

Again, Demo was left hanging; this time signaled by the monotonous chime of an empty connection. His journey into the blood legacy murders would have to wait. Real life was dragging him back again.

Demo walked out his door, leaving his festering swamp of curiosity behind. Why couldn’t his brain just shut off for once and let him focus on one thing at a time? He was so caught up in his own personal maelstrom he had forgotten to lock his door, yet again. His absentmindedness towards all things normal people did was his literal calling card. His pace quickened. He wasn’t just motivated by the prospect of new evidence to dissect and then piece back together; he wanted to see Bob Cat. He wanted to tell him everything. He wanted a human being to share in his his madness, even if just for a moment.

His journey to the precinct was largely forgotten. He wasn’t paying attention to anything in the tangible world—instead he was anticipating, analyzing—digging inside himself to find his hidden corruption. His heart raced and memories from his past pelted his emotions like a hurricane. Assuming that kind of darkness would certainly take its toll on Demo’s already perturbed soul. This killer was not your garden variety sicko. He cringed when he thought of the killer. Inside he felt the icy shards of doubt encasing his heart. They had told him what had happened all those years ago was an accident; that it wasn’t his fault. So why did he still feel so much pain? Why did he feel the filth of sin caked so heavily on him? He struggled to breathe. I’m so sorry, Mike. I’m so, so sorry.

The cab stopped at the steps of the precinct. Demo looked out of the window at a whirlwind of commotion. The media had smelled the fresh carrion and were already pecking for scraps. Clearly, something horrible had happened. As Demo exited the cab he was met by a wall of eyes, every pair cutting into him and assuming the worst. Questions exploded like mortar shells dropping from the sky all around him. He found himself completely paralyzed; this was hell.

“Demo, Demo, get inside!”

He recognized the voice instantly. It was Jacky. Suddenly the world became far smaller and more manageable. His twisted family was calling him home. Without hesitation, he plowed his gangly body into the amassed crowd. It surprised him just how aggressive he could be when pushed. But he hated every second of it. Once he saw the very distraught Jacky, he pushed the scavengers aside like a great crashing wave into the blue wall of uniforms. Jacky looked like death itself. Her eyes were puffy, red, and filled with a noxious mixture of rage and sadness.

“To hell with those vultures! Can’t they ever just leave things alone? How are we supposed to get a handle on things when the media is spamming a pile of lies to people?”

Demo looked around. The precinct looked like the scene he had left at the warehouse, with people bustling around, noses down. He felt a sudden acute swell of nausea. Has the monster killed again? It relieved him greatly to see another face he needed to see; Bob Cat.

“One day they’ll get what they want and really see up close how sick these freaks really are. And I can’t blooming wait,” Bob Cat sneered as he stepped into their tiny circle.

Demo gave Bob Cat an enthusiastic smile. Bob Cat remained somber and indifferent.

“Bobby, I’m really glad to see you. There’s a lot I want to talk to you about . . . , well, both of you, actually.”

Jacky waved one of her hands in the air, shaking her head.

“Demo, not . . . not right now, okay? I didn’t bring you here to chat. In fact, I’m going to wind up taking a severe lashing for sneaking you both in. But this is my house. If Roslin wants to shove his hand into the hive, then I’m gonna sting back. I’m the queen bee here; everyone would be wise not to forget it.”

Jacky hesitated to continue. She nervously ran one of her hands through her ponytailed hair.

“Whoever this is has put out a new breadcrumb for us to follow.”

“But nobody’s dead, right? Nobody’s been hurt?” interjected Demo.

Jacky looked annoyed, but also relieved to answer.

“No, Demo. Thankfully, not this time.”

Demo visibly let loose the wound up coil of tension his body had become, but felt more confused than ever.

“Then why is everyone so spun up? This still looks like an evidence scrap to me.”

Jacky nodded.

“I just needed you to see something. It won’t stay with us long, if even a molecule of it appears to be connected..”

Demo looked over her shoulder as if ushering her to move on. Bob Cat’s cologne reminded him of what had really enticed him to come in the first place. He looked over to see Bob Cat looking blankly on.

“You went back to the old stuff. I guess it’s not my place to ask why.”

Bob Cat looked at Demo through a sliver of one eye.

“Let’s get this over with. I don’t want to be around this any longer than I have to.”

Demo wasn’t surprised by Bob Cat’s resistance to answer him. Judging by his behavior, it was obvious. His attempt to rekindle his relationship with Jacky had been dampened. Bob Cat had been cut out from his once-upon-a-time idea of marriage. Things had changed. Bob Cat had changed. Up ahead, Jacky’s heels clacked as they followed her. They arrived at a wooden door, slightly ajar. Jacky pried her fingers into the gap before giving one last command.

“I need you to see this for what it is, Demo. Don’t convolute this with everything else that’s been going on. We need to be sure.”

He didn’t know what to say. He never thought of himself as someone who convoluted his gut instincts. But he obliged by nodding. The door opened and Jacky did what she always did by shooing the current occupants out. They scattered like cockroaches caught in the light, and soon the room was primed for inspection. Demo stepped inside just as Jacky pointed to a metal table.

“This showed up mysteriously in a box outside our door. Brains say they can’t trace just how or when it arrived. Whoever left it has been watching us for quite some time to know how to pull this off. Some sick freak came this close to my house! I’m going to put one right between his eyes!”

The tone of Jacky’s voice said it all. She was done playing nice. She was ready to do whatever it took to eliminate the depraved demon targeting her office; even if that meant breaking protocol and being completely subordinate to her superiors.

Demo could see clearly now what she had been pointing to. On the table sat a small doll—a very peculiar doll—a doll he was quite sure he’d never seen before. It was a boy doll with big oblong blue eyes. It was dressed in suspenders with a matching cap. These details were interesting, but shadowed in comparison to its most dominant detail; crimson red blood had been poured carefully over the doll’s body. It left horrific dripped patterns on the otherwise playful toy. Demo’s mind suddenly snapped two pieces of the puzzle together. Jacky started to give him further details, but he promptly cut her off.

“No fingerprints, no tracking, innocuous box, and no one saw anything,” Demo stated, glancing at Jacky.

She clicked her heels together and let out a sigh.

“Demo, I hate it when you do that! For once, can I just finish a damn sentence? I’m supposed to be the one who gives you the facts. I’m the one in charge!”

Bob Cat quietly smirked.

“A woman who likes to take charge; where’s the whip, Master?”

Jacky hissed at Bob Cat, who was acting more like himself for the first time since they’d met up.

“Shut up! And you! What else do you know? You always know something so what is it? And don’t drag it out with some inane buildup!”

Demo shrugged but responded swiftly.

“The blood . . . well, Bobby was really the one who reminded me of it. It’s always about the blood.”

Bob Cat grinned stupidly at Jacky.

“And you said I never do anything.”

She ignored him.

“So what about the blood? I’ve got a team analyzing it as we speak.”

Demo shook his head.

“Not just this blood. The guy at the courthouse who died on the steps was also covered in blood. It took me a while to realize that it wasn’t his. So why would you bathe in someone else’s blood? And whose blood was it? That question tormented me until we found the bodies in the walk-in freezer, and I saw the witness whose eyes had been—for lack of a better word—removed. He’d also been completely exsanguinated. That’s a lot of blood to handle. The blood has some quasi-religious meaning in the killer’s mind. There are some deep layers to this that I’m still struggling to understand. But unless I can peel those layers back and expose this sick freak, he’ll always be a step ahead of us. He wants us to see. He wants us to follow. He’s sending us a very clear message that we just aren’t grasping.”

Jacky sat silently for a moment before giving Demo an extremely hard-nosed look of impatience.

“Demo, I didn’t bring you in here to speculate. We’ve got bodies popping up all over the city like daisies including dead officers; MY officers!? I don’t let just sit back and that happen, and I’m damn sure not going to let it go. I’ve got the Feds breathing down my back, and all we’ve got is this blood-soaked doll. So spare me the conjecture and just tell me what the hell’s going on.”

Demo glanced at Bob Cat, looking for some kind of back-up—it didn’t come—he avoided Demo’s stare like an ashamed child. Demo’s mind was whirling like a tornado. Pieces of evidence, clues, facts, and gut instinct assumptions appeared on a loop. It was a forced zenith in his decision making that he wasn’t completely comfortable with. But Jacky meant business, so he had to at least try.

“The man at the courthouse talked about belief; the eyeless victim staring at the wall was obviously symbolic of something. The artistry of the frozen crime scene was—

Jack covered her eyes with one of her hands.

“Demo, don’t!”

Demo nodded. He needed to mute the aspects of the case that reminded Jacky of her agonizing loss. His mind kept racing, but his lips remained sealed. He had to traverse the path to reach the destination. It was the only way his twisted intellectwould do things.

“Eyes of beauty.”

Bob Cat stepped closer to Demo, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

“What are you talking about now, Demo? Just words from a demented mind?”

Jacky silenced Bob Cat with a razor sharp look of rage. Demo took a deep breath.

“The suspect wanted us to see those words, to see the blind angel he created. Angels . . . that’s what we call them . . .”

Jacky’s eyes were beginning to sting. Demo could tell that she didn’t want him to continue, but also knew that he had to. He stepped closer to the tainted doll.

“Someone here is in a lot of danger. I suggest getting everyone’s families under police protection pronto.”

Jacky let out a muffled sob that she quickly replaced with a boiling rage.

“Demo, Bobby—do whatever it takes, do you hear me? I want this bastard dead! Your involvement is off the record as far as I’m concerned. I’ll light this city on fire if I have to; anything to flush this rat out!”

Jacky’s eyes glowed red. Demo knew that she wanted her space now without her having to say it. Nobody was going see her human side, not even him or Bob Cat. As she spoke, Bob Cat dropped his head to his chest, looking completely deflated. Everything happening was taking its toll.

“Demo, do you have everything you need? Have you seen enough?” Jacky asked, absentmindedly staring off to further signal to them that she was done.

Demo perused his thoughts. His arm began itching nervously, as if a tiny flea circus had taken up residence there. He needed to catalog what he had seen today; every detail of it right down to the blood patterns on the doll. Odds are he would never see it again. Once satisfied, he nodded.

“Good. You guys need to go. I’m sure word is out by now and Roslin and his dogs will be barking at our doorstep any minute. Go out the back. Martinez will make sure you find it.”

Bob Cat opened his mouth to say something. His eyes betrayed a slight sense of endearment towards Jacky in her softened state, but words escaped him. He closed his mouth and turned to leave.

Bob Cat called to him, “You coming, Demo? You said you’ve seen enough.”

Demo blinked his eyes, mimicking the shutters of an old fashioned camera. He hoped he was right about the symbolism. He also hoped that his quick response would make a difference. The few threads of sanity he had left were beginning to strain under the pressure. But it was time to go. Without saying another word, he followed Bob Cat out the door. It was shutting quickly, so Demo had to make an awkward lunge to make it out. Clumsily he staggered into the hallway, knocking into a few unsuspecting uniformed officers.

“I’m sorry, the door was shutting,” he explained bashfully.

Bob Cat let out a grunt and without turning his head blurted out,

“Still the same old klutz, eh Demo? You need a hand, hotshot?”

Demo tried to force a smile but couldn’t. He knew this moment of normalcy with Bob Cat would be fleeting. Soon things would digress back into the whirling cesspool of stress this case had become. It was then that an acute point of clarity emerged from his mind like an alligator from a swamp—he had forgotten to warn Bob Cat—his prideful critical thinking hadn’t saved him from neglecting his friend’s safety. Damn it! Demo looked up to say something to him when he realized that Bob Cat had left him far behind. He frowned.

“Demo, Jacky told me to walk you guys out. Looks like Bob Cat’s already long gone—in more ways than one.”

He looked over to see a stern-faced Martinez scowling at him. Who knew how much stress he was under, what with all that was happening . . . Jacky was relying on him now more than ever. Demo dropped his head slightly. Martinez had really nailed it.

“Bobby’s going through some stuff. He just needs a little space.”

Martinez looked at the floor. It was apparent he was waging some sort of internal warfare, contemplating the unspeakably disgusting things he’d had to take in. He was on the verge of purging.

“Demo, tell me just one thing; there’s just one thing I’ve got to know. Can you catch this guy? I mean, do you really think you can bring whoever this is down? Those two cops were my friends—friends and family—that’s what this is really about. I can’t sleep at night worrying about ’em. I’ll do anything to make this right.”

Demo seized the opportunity. He could feel Martinez’s real fear coming to light. He was a good cop; he could sense that things had escalated and that innocent people’s lives were at stake; even worse, children’s lives. The doll had shaken him to his core, touching something deep and primal in him. Demo knew he had to seize the moment before it was gone.

“The victim at the courthouse—all the blood—I need to know whose it was, Martinez. If I’m right, it’s the same blood that’s on that doll. Am I?”

Martinez nodded affirmatively and pointed down the hall.

“Demo, you know the way out. Shut the door tight when you leave; Ted the security guy’s out grabbing lunch so no one’s watching it right now. People have a nasty habit of leaving the doors unlocked back there. If you do, I’ll tell Jacky you guys did what you were told without putting up a fight.

Demo smiled slightly. It appeared he still had some friends who were willing to help when they could.

“Thanks, Martinez.”

Martinez cocked his head and smiled crookedly.

“You can thank me once we’ve buried this monster six feet under. Now, go.”

Not wanting to press his luck, Demo jogged clumsily away. His gangly body looked like a cheap-suited scarecrow running through fields dotted here and there with human bodies and shiny objects. He wanted to catch up to Bob Cat before he got out of the building. When he reached the hallway leading to the back door, he was completely let down. Bob Cat was already gone. Demo swallowed a lump down his throat that seemed to burst inside him like a water balloon leaking sadness. Is our partnership over? Has it really come to this? Demo let the feeling pass. He knew he had more important things to do and little time to do them. Instinctively, he followed his memory back to a room he hadn’t visited in what seemed like a lifetime. He glanced around to make sure he was alone. Alone he was, except for the tiny blinking eye on the mechanical, panning camera at the end of the hall. Demo stared at it as if expecting someone to pop out and stop him. Then something odd happened; the blinking light on the camera faded and suddenly the camera was still.

“Thanks, Martinez,” he mumbled aloud.

Like a fox in a hen house, he burst through the door and began his hunt. The room was filled with folders, bags, and boxes that held every kind of evidence imaginable. He had to find it. He’d seen it before; he just needed to locate the right one. He hoped beyond hope that Roslin and his crew hadn’t taken it away already. But if he knew Jacky, she’d fought tooth and nail to hold onto whatever she could, for as long as she could. Yanking open drawer after drawer, his efforts were finally realized when he found the folder that contained the crime scene photos evidence list from the courthouse. And there it was; the record containing the juicy little tidbit of information he was so yearning to devour.

KEVIN BARTON RANDALL

He scanned down the page, feeling even more panicked when he heard a noise in the hallway. He needed to commit it to memory right now. He scanned each detail of the info in front of him, but one thing stuck out more prevalently than the rest; the address. Now he knew just where he needed to go, which left only one more question. It showed up just below the address—the license, year, make and model of a car—more specifically, a 1972 Cadillac Deville. Tossing the folder back on the desk, he looked for the accompanying evidence drawer. He found it quickly, locked tight. They can’t remember to lock the other drawers but can remember to lock this stupid drawer?

Demo let out a moan of frustration. The sound of footsteps in the hallway seemed to be coming closer. He needed to do something, and fast. Glancing around the room he looked for a way to get into the drawer. Usually a spare set of keys were kept hidden away, just in case. He racked his brain but came up empty. He attempted to assimilate the mindset of the men and women who routinely worked in these kinds of places. No doubt, the monotony had led them to keeping most drawers open for easy access. This probably meant that a missing pair of keys was often in hot dispute. If this was the case, then the spare set had to be somewhere easy for them to remember. Under a desk, hidden in some jar? That’s when it hit him. Running back to some of the drawers he had ripped open just moments before, he searched through them until he came to a folder simply labeled with the letter K. He smiled as he slithered his fingers down to the bottom, bringing the spare keys out.

Like a well-trained burglar, he slid a key into the locked drawer and slid it open. Voila! The blood! I found the blood, Bobby. Demo identified the plastic jar with ease, its insides carrying the DNA rich leftovers of the horrific courthouse scene. He spun it around looking for a name or identifier, and there it was—

CARMINE BURKE

Demo let out the breath he’s been holding. The blood wasn’t Kevin Randal’s. But what shocked him the most was that Jacky had lied to him. She had said the blood was still in the works, yet here it was. Why didn’t she want him to know? Why keep something like that from him? She must be connected, but in what way he couldn’t fathom. Sudden, a conversation from the hallway caught him off-guard. How long had he been inside? Dropping the folder back into the drawer, he locked it back up and then placed the keys back into their uninspired hiding place.

Nervously, he cracked the door open to look for the source of the noise. He saw there was an ongoing conversation between two police officers walking down the hall and slowly back towards the main belly of the building. Demo tried his best to sneak the door open slowly. It let out a faint creak as he went. Panicking, he pressed the door more quickly hoping to mute the noise all together. But as always, his mind was ahead of his body. The door moved far faster than he had imagined and gravity took him the rest of the way. He plunged through the door and into the hallway, unceremoniously falling to the ground. The commotion alerted the two policemen who turned around to see Demo lying pathetically in the middle of the hallway.

“Hey! What are you doing? How did you get in here?”

Demo looked up and blurted out the most ignorant thing he could have.

“I was looking for the bathroom and got lost. Just trying to find my way out.”

One of the officers squinted at him before shaking his head.

“I know you! You ran into me earlier! You got a real problem with walking and talking, don’t you? Get out of here and don’t touch anything, you weird crackpot!”

The officer rolled his eyes before pointing.

“And use the back door; you know . . . the one in the back.”

Demo smiled, trying to look as coy as possible.

“You’ve got it, Sir. I apologize. I’m leaving right now.”

Demo looked up at a camera that was now actively panning and blinking. Looks like Ted’s back from lunch. I hope he didn’t see any of this. Jacky would rip my head off.

He jumped up and practically sprinted out the back door under the scrutinizing eyes of both officers, who now seemed to find his mere presence ultimately unbearable. Once out the door he headed directly into the shaded light of the back alleyway behind the precinct. It was telling how fast the feeling of safety and comfort he had felt in the building was quickly replaced by an eerie sense of fear. I’m a wandering duck out here. Or is it sitting duck? Just more of the stupid thoughts that often plagued his mind in a useless fashion. Nothing compared to his hatred of alleyways—alleyways in crowded cities—he might as well be drowning. He tried to keep walking, but was immediately cut off by a hand and a damp rag slammed strategically over his mouth. The world spun wildly around him as he fell limp into the assailants arms like a baby into the arms of a parent. Demo now found himself helplessly in the clutches of yet another unknown quantity. It appeared the wandering duck had wandered too far. His life could very well soon be over.