Authors: Wayne Batson
But maybe with all the blood and gore in the movies and even now on TV, people had become desensitized. They wouldn’t care. Blood in pictures would no longer move them. Jack wondered again about Molly. Would she be wasted? Would her big moment come and go without so much as a ripple in the public consciousness?
Jack closed Mixer. He needed something else to tax his mind.
He double clicked the Tournament Chess icon. The program was a beast and took almost a full ten seconds to load. Jack had reverse engineered several of the market’s most challenging chess software packages to create a personal Frankenstein program that harnessed only the best features of all the others. He searched through a listing of games in progress and eventually decided on Garry Kasparov. It had been over a year since Jack made a move against the computer simulated Russian Grandmaster, but he remembered the board as if they had been playing all morning and only paused for lunch. Cyber-Kasparov had offered an intriguing gambit, one Jack thought he just might accept. But, as with all such risks, there would come a time when payment would be demanded.
Jack shrugged and, as soon as the board materialized on screen, he moved his queen’s pawn against his opponent’s seemingly exposed bishop. Then the alarm on Jack’s watch beeped. Though rather shocked that 4:30 had arrived already, Jack stood up so fast that he didn’t even see Cyber-Kasparov’s answering move. Time was everything to Jack, both a precious resource not to be squandered and a brilliant but rigid taskmaster not to be defied.
Jack went to the massive chrome refrigerator, withdrew one of a dozen meals he had prepared in the morning, and carried it to the elevator door near the study. He stepped inside. The doors closed. Jack didn’t press the button for the loft or the basement. Instead, he inserted his key, twisted it a half turn left and a half turn right. The car descended smoothly, past the basement, and came to a halt on a very special floor.
The elevator opened to a spherical chamber ribbed with curving steel girders. Six yards away from the elevator, recessed into the wall, was a brushed aluminum door. Jack typed in a key code on the wall panel. The airlock separated with a hiss, and Jack entered.
He had barely closed the door when he noticed two very unfortunate things: a most unsavory smell and…whispers.
“Hurry up,” one voice said. “Get back in.”
“Shhh,” a second voice warned, “he’s coming.”
Jack shook his head and sighed. He placed the meal on a shelf next to an assortment of black plastic canisters and then walked to the room he called
the kennel
. “I am terribly disappointed,” he said, removing something from his pocket. “Pets are not permitted to speak until play time. Pets are not permitted to leave their homes until play time. And yet…I heard voices.”
Jack paced in front of the
pet houses
and tapped each roof with a baton-like instrument. “Who was it?” Jack asked. “Lucinda?” Jack bent at the waist near the first house. “No, no, not Lucinda. Not kind, trustworthy Lucinda.”
He came to the second house. “You know my discipline is just. You also know it will be more severe if you do not come forward right away—”
A pale hand emerged from the doorway of the third house. “Ah, Pamela, I thought that was you,” Jack said. “You’ve always been so social, so curious. Come out now. And who were you with? Midge?”
“No, no!” came an urgent whisper from the second house.
A hand slithered out of the fourth house. Jack sighed again. “Oh, Erica…and you were doing so well too. Come out, then. You and Pamela know better.”
Pamela came out first, a lithe young woman with a shock of silk-fine, very dark auburn hair. Her skin was pale, and she wore nothing but a sheer white top and gray shorts that reached midway down her thighs. Erica emerged slowly and padded over to stand beside Pamela. Erica’s skin was ivory white, and she wore the same scant outfit. But her sable hair was braided, drawn back, and tied at the base of her neck. Her blue eyes glimmered with tears.
“So that’s what you were doing, was it?” Jack asked. “Braiding hair? It is beautiful.” Jack caressed Erica’s skin and let his fingers slide down one of the braids, off to her shoulder, and along the contour of her hip. There was a telling bulge in Erica’s abdomen. Then, Jack understood the smell. “Erica, did you vomit?”
She nodded and blinked more tears. It gave her eyes the appearance of the purest ice, melting. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve felt ill all morning, and I dirtied my home. That’s why I wanted the braids…to feel beautiful again.”
“Pity you didn’t wait until play time. Who came out first?”
“I did,” Erica whispered.
“Very well,” Jack said. “Hold out your hand.” He grasped the end of the baton and pulled. It telescoped out until it about eighteen inches long. It ended in a small noose made of bent wire, looking something like a light bulb’s filament.
He held out the baton and lay the wire on her palm. Erica closed her hand around it and shut her eyes.
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
“Do you understand why I have done this?” Jack asked.
Erica and Pamela nodded, tears leaping from their cheeks to the cold floor. Neither of the young women could speak and they wouldn’t be able to for several minutes.
“Return to your quarters, my darlings. I bear you no grudges. I will bring your meals soon. Lucinda is first today. Her turn. Oh, and Erica, see to it that your living space is cleaned.”
She nodded again, half bowed, and disappeared into her quarters. Clutching her hand, Pamela slunk away as well. Jack spun on his heel and went to the first dog house. “Lucinda, my sweet, it is time.”
A blond pixie of a woman crawled out and stood. Her huge green eyes glittered.
Jack took her by the hand and led her out of the kennel. “You’ve been crying,” he said. “Were you feeling sorry for Pamela and Erica?”
She shook her head.
“You may speak.”
“No, it’s not them. I warned them they shouldn’t disobey. They chose not to listen.”
Jack gave a proud smile and led Lucinda into a room with a low ceiling, dim lighting, and a half-dozen quaint tables. The chairs were black wrought iron as were the decorative accents forming arches above the tables.
He held a chair for her. “Our usual table.” She sat. He sat and took her hands. “Your tears disturb me. If you do not weep for Erica and Pamela, what then?”
She blinked, starting new rivulets of silver on her cheeks. “I…I miss Molly.”
“Shh, shh, shh, now. I am so sorry. But she chose to go and could not find her way back. Molly is lost to us now.”
“I…I know.”
“But what about Carrie?” Jack asked. “You know how she loves to brush your hair? She’s nice, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Lucinda said. “Carrie’s very nice, but I miss Molly.”
“You have many fond memories of Molly, yes?”
“I do.”
“Cherish them. They enrich your soul. Learn and grow from them. And now, won’t you eat?” He pushed the plate toward her.
“My stomach hurts.”
Jack smiled knowingly. “I’ll just be a moment.”
He returned with a small tray. He wiped Lucinda’s upper arm and shoulder with an alcohol solution and then dried her meticulously. Jack said, “I think this will help. It usually does.” He peeled a still-smoking patch from its plastic contact sheet and then gently pressed it onto her shoulder.
“The chill feels good,” Lucinda said. She smiled and ducked her head demurely. Then, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back. “Oh, I think I could eat now.”
Jack smiled. “So very glad to hear it. Perhaps later, if you’re feeling up to it, I’ll send Doctor Gary to come and see you.”
“At play time?” Lucinda asked.
“Of course.”
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
At exactly six o’clock, Dr. Gary came home. He placed his briefcase on the floor by the antique coat rack. “I have news, Jack.”
“So do I,” Jack replied. “But you go first.”
“All right. We’ve accepted Stricker and Lends’ contract. It’s final. They are throwing a huge party. All the surgeons are invited.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“It will be,” Gary said. “You’ll need to dress the part, of course.”
“Of course,” said Jack.
There came a sudden knock to the kitchen door. “Expecting someone?” Dr. Gary asked.
“No, not today,” Jack said. “It’s Saturday.”
“Still, you should change.”
Jack disappeared down the hall, and Dr. Gary went to the kitchen door. He glanced through the draped window and saw a harried looking woman with very curly hair and very thick glasses. He recognized her at once and opened the door.
“Ah, Mrs. Bell,” Dr. Gary said. “Sophie’s mother, correct?”
“It’s Karen,” the woman said, glancing around nervously. “I mean yes, I’m Sophie’s mom, but call me Karen.”
“What can I do for you, Karen?” Dr. Gary asked.
“It’s about Thursday,” she said, trying to peer over Dr. Gary’s shoulders. “Is Jacqui around?”
Dr. Gary kept the door semi-closed but called over his shoulder, “Sweetheart, Mrs. Bell is here,” he called. “Are you free?”
Jack appeared a moment later, wearing a floral sundress and flats. “Hi, Karen,” Jack said, taking the door and sliding between Dr. Gary and the visitor. “What brings you here on a Saturday?”
“Well, I was a half hour late,” Mrs. Bell said. “So I owe you a check, but I was wondering if we could…could we just push it to next week’s payment? We’re a little tight right now.”
Jack smiled and said, “I see. Well, you’re usually so timely…sure, just apply the penalty to next week.”
Mrs. Bell offered a great deal of thanks and said goodbye. Jack shut the door.
“You handle them so well,” Dr. Gary said.
“Not so different from the children,” Jack replied. “Or the pets.”
“All require more patience than I have.” Dr. Gary strolled about the kitchen, making a show of sniffing the air. “What do I smell?”
“Prime rib, slow cooked with scallions and garlic,” said Jack.
“My favorite. What’s the occasion?”
“It is bittersweet, I’m afraid. That’s the news I mentioned. We’re going to need to lose Lucinda.”
“So soon after Molly?”
Jack nodded. “Like you said, the tide is turning. I fear for the court’s decision. It doesn’t look good.”
Dr. Gary shook his head. “It’s all we talk about in the clinic,” he said. “But tell me, why Lucinda? She’s always been so complacent.”
“And obedient,” Jack said. “But she has festering attachment for our departed Molly. She won’t let it go, and you know how the temperament can spread.”
“I understand.” Gary cupped Jack’s chin in his hand.
Jack pulled away. “Erica will need a procedure,” he said.
Dr. Gary let his head roll backward on his neck. “I suppose I should not be surprised,” he said.
“No,” Jack said, his voice high and clipped. “You’ve spent too many occasions
playing
with our pets.”
Dr. Gary made a clicking sound in his throat, then said, “You’ve never had a problem with it before. You are welcome to indulge as—”
“You know it’s not the same for me,” Jack whispered.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Dr. Gary replied. “Well…I will take care of the procedure in the next day or two.” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “And what of our little message in a bottle plan, any response?”
“Nothing yet.” Jack sighed. “Ten cameras and not one law enforcement hit.”
“Give it time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“But time is running out. The ruling could come in less than two weeks, maybe sooner.” Jack looked plaintively at Dr. Gary. “I’m afraid we’ll lose.”
“Jack,” Dr. Gary said, softening the gravely tone in his voice, “we cannot lose this fight. The stakes are too high. We are on the right side. We will not lose.”
Then, he leaned close to Jack and kissed him.
Chapter 7
I booked another night at the Motel 6. Another sixty-seven dollars in cash to keep my base of operations in Destin, Florida. I slept fitfully, dreamed horribly, and awoke feeling pretty much like road kill.
Though I’d miss the hash browns scattered, smothered, and covered, I didn’t go back to the Waffle House. I might see Adelade again. She might ask questions. Worse, she might give me the credit for helping her.
A block inland, I found a little greasy spoon called the Echo Inn Diner. $12.50 for a heaping plate of food. The home fries were tossed with onions and red peppers and then cooked in bacon grease. I also had a delicious crispy meat called scrapple. I asked the waitress what was in it. She said I didn’t want to know.
When I returned to the hotel, I found the same old guy and his granddaughter occupying the hotel’s business center. I waited just outside for three hours. The whole time he played, he looked irritated, and she looked bored. I wondered why, on such a beautiful day, they didn’t go enjoy Destin outside, especially the powdered sugar beaches.
I finally got on the computer around noon. I had business, but I couldn’t resist. I looked up scrapple ingredients. The waitress was right. I really didn’t want to know.
The contents of my stomach still roiling like a dryer full of cinderblocks, I went to work on the case history. A simple search on “Smiling Jack” netted me close to 30 million hits. I knew that roughly 29,999,800 of those were worthless mentions in Tweets and blog articles. So I went to the major news sources first:
NY Times
,
Washington Post
, CNN, etc. The first was a ten-year-old article from The Times that chronicled the appearance of the first “victim” photographs. In a matter of hours, the story went viral. The Internet flooded with chatter, mostly public outcry and fear. The FBI set up a task force, and local authorities mobilized. But no bodies had been found, no one identified the victims, and no one knew where jurisdiction began and ended.