Inanimate (27 page)

“
What
does that mean exactly? Wasn’t real.”
Matt asked.

As Tony
fumbled for the answer Billy
interjected:

“
Like a toy, a toy dog. It was
like something a kid would
have.”

“
A toy dog?” scoffed Sandy. “How
could a toy dog do all this?”

“
It wasn’t real”
said Tony
trancelike.

Matthew glared at his friend. He didn’t
believe a word of this. In his mind it was an animal attack, plain
and simple.

“
I just
can’t help but think…” spoke Sandy
“…That all this started the day after you killed that guy
Tony.”

“
Are we back to this again?” Tony
snapped from his trance.

“
Look. We already covered this,
that guy deserved it. Plus, it wasn’t all my fault.”

“
One of the last things Earl said
before he died was that we all share the blame”
said Brian somberly.

Tony just
looked around the group, the
words were hitting home.

“
You think
Earl died because of some kind
of revenge?” Matthew asked in disbelief.

“
Jimmy and Amanda too.” Sandy
said “It makes sense Matt.”

Matthew didn’t believe it still. Or
more accurately, he didn’t want to believe it. He was about to
challenge Sandy’s statement when he was interrupted. Brian spotted
Tony backing off towards the exit.

“
Tony, where
are you going?”

“
I’m going somewhere safe! You
guys want my advice? You should do the same. I’m not ending up like
Earl!”

With that, Tony
turned and ran out
the door, heading to the one place in town he thought he would be
safe.

CHAPTER 26

In the city Connor Williams slept, his
hands were now unclenched and he lay with them by his head. In the
shadows beside him stood Dixie and “The Eye”; both watching him
intently. “The Eye’s” voice was husky and quiet, sailing through
the air delicately like smoke from a cigarette.

“
Good
boy Connor. You have done well today.
You have given the people a lot to think about. Tomorrow we will
start again, and we will really put the fear into their little
minds.” Dixie moved powerfully yet quietly over to the sleeping
Connor’s bed. Leaning over the boy the hulking beast gently pulled
the blankets up to his chin. Then he stepped back to rejoin his
master in the shadows.

“
You sleep now child,
tomorrow
will
be a great day. You’re going to be getting a visitor, and your
Doctor friends will be getting a little surprise.”

“
The Eye”
grinned. His teeth were visible only
slightly in the darkness. Although sleeping, Connor smiled a little
too. “The Eye’s” words reached him even in sleep. The two demons
watched him sleep for another moment while Dixie heavy wet breath
billowed in the cell. In the dead silence of Hallcombes, the two
slowly disappeared into the shadows allowing Connor Williams to
sleep right through till morning.

CHAPTER 27

An empty bottle of liquor guarded an alarm
clock which buzzed furiously at its owner. The wakeup call was like
a drill to the head of Oates who roused groggily into the land of
the awake. He would bother trying to justify his excessive alcohol
consumption if he thought anyone noticed, or cared. Even his once
trophy wife who was now bitching at him to “turn the noise off”
didn’t give a crap about him or his drinking. Part of his routine
in the morning was looking over at old his high school sweetheart
who once had so much potential. Lying beside him, now a
self-medicating hag, whose only rest bite from her ten-hour sleep
was a dose of talk shows and microwave dinners. Shriveled up with
age she slept like he imagined a big fat fish would, on its side,
mouth open, sucking in oxygen and spewing out gases in return. He
was pleased to escape her sleeping flatulence; a side effect of her
medication. He stepped out of bed and had a quick stretch. After so
many years, his day started out perfectly routine; even despite the
fact that these past few days his sanity been slowly packing its
bags, intent on heading for a better climate. Autopilot kicked in
as per usual. First he went for a shower then he brushed his teeth.
He put on his uniform and combed what little hair he had left. He
took his gun out of his bedside drawer and clipped it into his
holster. He headed downstairs to the stillness of his kitchen,
teaching himself years ago to remember to put on socks before
stepping on the cold wooden floor. He placed sliced bread inside
the toaster and brewed a pot of coffee. His morning routine was all
alone. It had been this way for years. For all his loyalty to the
letter of the law, his dedication the badge, his reward was the two
cousins: emptiness and loneliness. Every sound was magnified in the
silence but he did not notice it, he was used to it by now. The
dull sound as the fridge door opened, the snap of the margarine lid
coming off, the crunch of the yellow paste spreading onto his burnt
toast just the way he liked it, all the while being accompanied by
the constant drip of the percolator. Then he poured the milk into
his coffee. Oates liked this part. He liked it because except for
the immediate splash, there was little noise involved in the
process. As the milk gallantly dove into his Columbian roast,
(dramatically changing the color and the flavor) it did so
silently. No sound was magnified here. Odd as it may seem, this was
his favorite part of the morning. Not least because it was when he
got time to himself to sit and eat before heading into work. When
he was finished he would normally pick up his badge then his hat
but today he saved his badge for last. Today he wished he never had
his badge at all. Today, in light of what was happening he silently
wished he didn’t have to be the Sheriff. Still, that was his life
and when he took the job he accepted the fact he would have to be
able to deal with anything. However never in a million years did he
think he would be dealing with a situation like this. He knew his
town was falling to ruin and all eyes were on him to fix
it.

Today, Sheriff
Oates was going to
go to Hallcombes psychiatric hospital to speak to Doctor MacNamee
about Connor Williams. He had to see if he could make some sense
out of all this mess. As he stepped into his cruiser he already had
his route planned, knowing he would have to swing by the station
and let Dora know where he would be. He already thought about this.
He could have called but he would rather show face and let her know
directly. He believed his officers at the station felt more
comfortable knowing their Sheriff was behind them and by showing
face he hoped he could boost morale even a little.

“
Morning Dora” said Oates as he
drifted by the reception desk into the heart of the station.
Although he was leaving soon he hung up his hat on a hat hook
beside his office, wearing a hat inside was bad etiquette after
all. Scanning the room he spotted Deputy Lynch chatting with
another cop. The buzz was in the station early today. The cops were
confused. They wanted to go out and find whoever was responsible
for the murders but they did not know where to begin. They had been
mostly kept in the dark over the specifics of the crimes but any
information that was brought to light was-on the whole-strange to
them anyways.

“
Deputy Lynch! Can I talk to you
a moment?” yelled Oates, announcing his presence to the station.
Lynch made a strange face at the cop he was chatting to and headed
to the office. Oates appreciated having a man like Lynch as his
Deputy; he had such a good rapport with his officers. Since Oates
could be a very disagreeable man, having his second in command be
so personable turned out to be a very good partnership. Oates
headed into his office, followed shortly by Lynch

“
Closed the door Deputy” said
Oates as he sat down at his desk.

Lynch
obliged then stood at the other side
of the desk. Oates didn’t bother asking him to sit down; he knew
Lynch already would if he wanted to.

“
Everything alright
Sheriff?” asked
Lynch, watching the old man pull out his file on the recent
murders, paying particular attention to the ventriloquist dummy
picture.

“
No not really
Deputy, this case
needs to be cracked soon, but I guess I don’t need to tell you
that.”

Lynch
looked down at the floor, memories of
Barlow’s terminal wound crept in, and how he tried in vain to stop
the bleeding.

“
No sir
you don’t.”

“
I’m going up to Hallcombes
today, in fact I’m
leaving in the next ten minutes. I’m going to come back
with some answers and hopefully a solution to all this. Deputy…”
Oates paused, realizing this wasn’t the time to be so formal.
“…Dorrian, I know this situation is far from ideal…”

“
Sir,
please stop a second.”

Lynch
interrupted Oates in a rare display
of insolence, brought on by high emotions.

“
I need you to tell me something.
We haven’t spoke of it since it happened, but, in light of recent
developments I’d like you to be honest with me”

“
Ok,
Deputy, ask away.”

“
Do you still think
t
he image we
saw in the motel is a child? Or something else?”

Oates
looked at Lynch firmly. He didn’t
think it was a child at all anymore, he already told the mayor as
much. But his pride prevented him from saying that to those whose
rank was beneath him, even if it was his trusted Deputy.

“
I stand by my original
statement…”

Lynch
stared at Oates for a moment before
talking; his voice laced with anger.

“
Sir?
Can I be frank?”

“
By all
means Deputy.”

“
How the hell
can you expect me to trust you
when you sit there lying to my face? You know it’s not a child, I
don’t understand why you won’t just tell me that.”

Oates
sat, his office seemed smaller now,
and with each second he crept towards his admission his office got
smaller still. Oates sighed.

“
You’re right
Deputy. God you’re right! No, I
don’t think it’s a child in the picture, I think it’s something
else, something, not of this world. I’ve already talked with the
child Connor’s Doctor, he confirmed some of my suspicions. That’s
why I’m leaving. I think I can come back here later today with a
definite solution to all this.”

“
Well
, thanks for telling me.” Lynch said
grudgingly.

“
I don’t want to come back to any
more surprises
Deputy. I want patrols out, scouring the streets. The only
time I want our boys to stop moving is when they’re getting more
gas! You understand?”

“
Yes, sir!”
stated Lynch, as he turned to
leave.

“
And
Dorrian?”

Lynch, still angry at being kept
in the dark,
turned around.

“
Yes sir?”

“
I’m sorry I never told
yo
u, it was a
bad move on my part. I do trust you, and I do need you.”

The sentiment from the old
man
was not
lost on Lynch, who graciously nodded his head, appreciating the
thanks.

“
Oh, before you
leave sir, you might
want to talk to your nephew, he’s downstairs in the
cells.”

“
What? Why’s he down
there?”

“
I
tried talking him out, but he isn’t having
it, said he isn’t leaving there till this blows over.”

The main reason Oates hated the
layout of Staunton police station was
the layout of the holding cell area. There
were two ways to get there and two ways to get a prisoner down
there. One way was long but easy, the other, short but tricky. The
first way was via the interview rooms, a long corridor moving round
in a loop with access to the second floor, and from the main room
it would normally take around five or six minutes to take the whole
route if you were escorting a prisoner. The second way was about a
one minute journey from the main room; the only catch was that
there was a steep set of stairs to traverse in order to get there.
The dilemma cops faced was whether to take an unruly prisoner past
numerous people, through a long corridor or simply risk the stairs
and have him locked up in no time flat. Oates would love to remodel
the staircase however the Mayor would usually claim it was an
“unnecessary expense.”

“
Typical bureaucrat” Oates
thought when he tried to push
for the renovation work. Further pissing off Oates
was the fact that Shannahan was always prepared with an answer. He
would cite the fact the station was a listed building; therefore it
would be tricky to receive planning permission. Oates tried to
reason that the police station was the most important building in
town but that point never sat well with the spendthrift mayor.
During these conversations Oates knew full well that if Shannahan
wished, he could use his position to supersede the planning
permission committee instead of using them as scapegoats each time.
The truth remained that Shannahan just never wanted to spend a
large chunk of money renovating the station; it had been that way
for years before he took office so he didn’t see why he should have
to be the one to fix it. He would much rather spend the money
organizing galas and state fairs. But, as Oates pointed out on many
occasions, attracting more people to the town when the cells
capacity could barely accommodate the towns’ population would
create more problems than anything else. There was many an occasion
in the past where Oates had ran out of room in his drunk tank
thanks largely to an outside group of revelers. There were four
closed door cells on one side, with heavy stone supplying most of
the structure and four open barred cells on the other, normally
reserved for the town drunks. Dimly lit, mostly underground, the
cell area was a dank place, musty in odor. Access routes aside
however, Oates secretly enjoyed one aspect of the squalid cell
area. It reminded him of an old dungeon, not the sort of place you
would like to spend the night, thus, many of the youth who found
themselves in here very rarely came back. In his experience he
found that by having such a miserable place for punishment, people
were actually less likely to get themselves into trouble. He had
seen cells in other stations, which, in comparison were like hotel
rooms; bright and relatively comfortable. So all in all he didn’t
mind the cells themselves, he just hated that staircase. As he
navigated the tight descent he remembered why he was coming down in
the first place, someone did want to be in the cells now, his own
nephew Tony.