The Vigilante (2 page)

Taking out two elongated, hospital-type sanitary napkins, she placed them snugly over the bleeding, melting mess, and pulled his shorts over them, struggling and rolling his flaccid, unconscious bulk. She pulled his joggers, twisted and wrinkled, up to complete the mission.

She observed his pallid features with disdain. His face, rounded and rather feminine, seemed pathetic to her way of thinking, right along with that stubby little nose. The rest of his equipment was nothing to write home about, either. She snorted her derision. “No wonder he picks on small children.”

Her mission done, she enjoyed the sense of complete satisfaction.

His moaning forewarned her he was regaining consciousness. He looked pale, and though blood seeped slowly from his jogging bottoms, she believed his life lay in no immediate danger. “You won’t bleed to death, you filthy, stinking, bastard, but you might wish otherwise.” She laughed softly as her eyes drew into narrow slits again.

Rushing to avoid discovery and recognition, she repacked her supplies and sand bag before sprinting out onto the trail. She’d be just another casual morning jogger if anyone bothered to notice. Maintaining a soft trot, she removed the purple and blood-stained gloves. She twisted a bit and stuffed them into her back pack, and zipped it closed. Continuing on toward the entrance, Serena left the running park with an air of casual nonchalance and sauntered slowly and leisurely several blocks to her small car, an old ‘ninety-five, white, Toyota Celica.

On the drive home, she smiled with a sense of satisfaction that she’d done the world a small, but needed, justice. Pulling into her garage, she pressed the button, closing the wide door.

Before entering the house, she slipped off her rough clothing and men’s boots. She tossed them, along with the pack, behind a piece of unused plywood leaning against the wall near the gardening tools. A few dark spots on her jogging suit caught her attention. Were they blood? They looked more violet in color, but her thoughts, rapidly becoming cloudy and confused, faded quickly as she entered the house.

Once inside, memories of the past hours left her consciousness. Confusion and fatigue descended over her. The hiking boots, back pack, and blue bag were already gone from her memory.

Discarding her clothes, she entered the shower, scrubbed her hair and body unmercifully, seeking the feel of cleanliness. The purple spots on her arms refused to wash off. She frowned as she examined them, but no longer knowing where they’d come from, she shrugged, dried herself, and dressed for bed. Tired, she climbed into her bed and gently slipped away into a fog of exhaustion and bewilderment as she drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER 2

Struggling into consciousness, Fred Callahan opened his eyes. He raised his head, looked about, and saw he was lying in the underbrush amidst decaying leaves and crusting snow. “What the hell happened?” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Why am I on the ground?” Looking around, he realized he was surrounded by brush and not on the running track. Bewildered, he murmured, “I never came in here.”

He rubbed his eyes to clear away the mist clouding his vision and made an effort to sit up. Something was wrong. Noticing a dull, aching pain, he reached down to his crotch and felt a wet, sticky fluid. He drew back a hand covered with blood. “God, damn! What the hell?”

The gory discovery sent gouts of alarm coursing through him, and he came fully alert. His scalp felt like ice and a terrible fear rose inside his chest. His heart hammered and his crotch burned like fire. His hands dripped blood! His face tightening, he struggled to get to his feet but couldn’t find enough strength and fell back. In desperate fear, he fumbled for his cell phone and punched in a number.

“Yeah, Denny?” He heard his own voice sounding weak and tinny as he struggled to explain what had happened. “I’ve been attacked.”

“Attacked? In the park?”

“Yeah, right here in the running park. Can you get here real quick?” He groaned. “Something’s horribly wrong. I think I’m in that grove of trees and bushes on the rise. Hurry! I’ll wait here till you come. I don’t think I can walk.” He struggled again. “Oh God! I can’t get up!”

He sank down on his hip and elbow, avoiding pressure on his painful scrotal wounds and waited in a pile of faded, crusty leaves. The snow hadn’t seemed to touch them to make them sodden or frozen, but in his pain and confusion, it escaped his notice.

Callahan’s head ached and his vision appeared to blur. He touched his crotch area again, feeling the lump of something soft that had been placed there. “What the hell!” he groaned aloud. The area burned like fire and as his fear and consciousness grew, the pain increased.

“Please, Denny, hurry. Something’s really wrong!”

His frenzied cries reached no one. His friend hadn’t had time to arrive. Burning pain radiated down the back of his legs. Panic and fear grew in his mind and settled in his thoughts regarding what might have happened. “Some filthy bastard has done a number on me. I need a doctor, I know it, and I need one fast!” Tears of helplessness filled his eyes. “Son of a bitch!” he sobbed.

Footfalls crunched on the graveled pathway, and the familiar figure of a slight, dark-haired, older man, pushed his way through the bushes.

Hysterical with fear, Callahan cried, “Denny, Denny, somebody jumped me, and they’ve cut me! I need a doctor, real fast. I’m bleeding down here, Denny, look—oh, God!” He screamed out his terror as he reached for his only friend.

“Okay, okay, Fred—my God, you’re bleeding, sure as hell. Let’s get you to the hospital. Can you walk?” He inched a few steps closer, peered down at the man on the ground, but held no comforting hand out to him.

“Hell, no, I can’t even stand up.” Callahan’s voice quickly reached a high pitched whine. “Call 911, I need an ambulance here, right now. I’m dying Denny, I know it.” He searched his friend’s face for answers.

“Okay, okay. Hold your horses. Looks like you’re not bleeding enough to die.” Denny whipped out his cell and punched in 911. “Man’s been attacked right here in the running park. No I don’t know what happened, but he’s bleeding,” he said. “Yeah, he’s awake and shaking like a leaf from lying on the ground. It’s cold as hell out here!” He gave the needed information, then, turned back to the man on the ground. Okay, they’re on the way, be here in a few.” Taking another look, he asked, “So what the hell happened, Callahan?”

“I don’t know for sure. Didn’t see anybody else out here. You know I don’t like to miss my training, even on a bitchin’, colder’n hell day like this. I’ve been trying to lose some weight, you know, keepin’ in shape. Maybe there was somebody...I can’t think straight right now.” Callahan held his head in his hands, leaving a wide smear of blood across his forehead. “Oh God, Denny, I’m bleeding to death. You sure they’re coming?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” His slender, dark companion peered closer. “Your crotch is bleeding all right, that’s for damned sure.” He reached out but failed to touch Callahan.

“Tell me about it,” Callahan sobbed. “Somebody’s tried to do me in, that’s what. I’m real scared, Denny, scared what they’ve done to me.” His muscles tightened with fear and pain as he contorted his body in misery and writhed about on the frozen ground.

Denny’s scalp felt like ice, looking at the bloody mess congealing on his friend’s jogging pants. “Better call the cops, huh, Callahan?” He clutched his belly. “God, I feel sick! Who’d have done a thing like this, Fred?”

“I don’t know, but yeah, we’d better call ‘em.” Callahan let out another whine. “After all that’s happened lately, they won’t give a shit what’s happened to me, you damned well know they won’t.” He shook his head, “I’ve been assaulted. A crime’s been done to me. They’ll have to take care of it, won’t they?”

The doubtful tone in his voice gave notice. After his own brush with the law, he had little faith in his own protection, especially from officers who knew him. “I got rights too, don’t I?” To his pleading query, Denny shrugged.

Both men lifted their heads as the scream of an ambulance neared the park. “They’re coming, Denny.” Callahan breathed a sigh of relief. “About damned time, maybe they can fix this.” Deep within himself, he knew they couldn’t put him back together, but in his horror and disbelief, he couldn’t say it. Hearing the words spoken aloud might make this nightmare real.

At the sound of heavy, running feet, Denny stepped out to meet the approaching EMT personnel and wave them into the grove. “This man’s been attacked and he’s bleeding.” He pointed to Callahan’s crotch. “Look at that! Look what some dirty bastard’s done!”

The EMT leader, a big, brawny, crew-cut type, introduced himself. “I’m Jack Larson. We’re here, we’ll handle it.” Gently, but firmly, he pulled Callahan’s knit joggers down and shivered visibly while assessing his condition. “My holy God, man, what the hell happened here?” he questioned as he knelt down to the area, opened his red emergency case and, donning gloves, cleaned and dressed the wounded area with fresh, sterile dressings, before pulling the soiled knit pants up.

“How’d that purple stuff and the damned snow get in there? It’s melted in the wound and made one hell of a mess,” he continued. “So how’d this happen?”

Callahan cried out in terror and frustration. “I didn’t see the guy. Bastard must have hidden in these bushes right here and whacked me over the head by the way it aches. I’m bleeding bad—real bad, man. Whoever did this cut me something awful. I need a doctor, and right away.” His sobbing cries cut into the icy air along with his panting breath.

“We’re takin’ you in right now. You can answer questions on the way. You’re stable enough right now—could go shocky if you lose much more blood. We’ll keep an eye out.” Jack exuded confidence to the patient, but as the rest of his crew pulled a stretcher up close, he queried Callahan, “I don’t find any cuts or bruise marks on your head. Sure you were hit there?”

“How the hell do I know? Knocked me out colder’n a mackerel,” Callahan whined out the words. Yet even with mental shock from the sudden attack, he’d gotten a very fearful idea of the seriousness of his wounds, and their permanence. “Think the docs can fix me?” he ventured, not sure he wanted an answer.

“Dunno, mister, looks kinda mutilated down there, but we’ll see what the doctors have to say.” Jack tried to sound upbeat, but Callahan easily read the EMT guy’s real thoughts in what he hadn’t said. He already knew what had been done to him, though his mind tried to refuse the knowledge.

Jack grabbed his phone and called the ER Department at Mercy Hospital, identified his unit, and said, “Man’s genitalia’s slashed and mutilated.” He listened a minute. “He’s stable but needs to see a doctor and soon. ETA’s about ten minutes.” After a moment, “Okay, yeah, we’re on our way.”

Several brawny EMT’s loaded him on the stretcher and rolled it down the running path toward the ambulance. Once loaded, an attendant sat with him as they revved the engines, turned on the flashing lights and, with sirens blaring, sped away. Callahan caught a glimpse of Denny, hurrying to his old green sedan, and felt relief, knowing his friend would follow.

CHAPTER 3

Henry Graves, MD, completed his treatment, stitched the wounds, and stopped the bleeding. Callahan already knew what the surgeon would tell him, but he had to hear it spelled out. “Okay, let’s have it, Doc. Am I gonna be all right?”

“Mr. Callahan, you’ll be fine, but you must realize that an injury such as you have sustained, renders you completely sterile and impotent as well. Hormone replacement might be a possibility if that is your wish.” He added, his face stern, “You were savagely attacked by someone and may still be in danger from that person. Your personal doctor will follow up with you on this injury, along with the Police Department, as far as criminality is concerned. They’ve been called on the case, as they are on any case of assault.”

Dr. Graves shook his head. He’d seen about everything, but this extensive, totally incapacitating, genital mutilation was a first. He found it shocking enough as a doctor, even more so as a man. He shivered involuntarily.

“The police?” Heart hammering in his chest, sick, and horrified from the doctor’s confirmation regarding the severity of his wounds, Callahan now faced the realization he’d have to deal with the police department—again.

After the doctor left his side, he muttered to Denny, who sat patiently nearby in a hard bottomed metal chair. “The police don’t like me much, probably hate my guts.” He sank down on the ER gurney and pulled up the blanket. “In fact, those bastards’ll be happy as hell and dancing in the streets over this. You know they will, don’t you, Denny? You damn well know it.”

The doctor and nursing staff, busy attending other patients, gave them privacy. Denny stayed beside him. “Fred, you’ll have to deal with them. A crime’s been committed against you. They’ll have to find out who did this. That’s their job, isn’t it?” He sighed and added, “I know how they might see this, but, God almighty, Fred, what else can you do? This whole damned thing’s a nightmare, just when everything had settled down.” With a twist of fear in his own gut, he mumbled, his breath escaping through tight lips. “Shit.”

“You know they wanted to put me away for years for the little kid thing. God! How they’ll enjoy this.” Tears slid down Callahan’s pale cheeks. “A man like me has got no rights according to those unfeeling bastards.” He snuffled. “Could you get me a lawyer if I need one, Denny?”

“Yeah—sure, sure, but let’s see how it goes. Maybe they’ll know who did this,” Denny replied. His voice completely lacked conviction, but that fact nearly escaped Callahan’s worry-filled mind as his friend moved away several feet and sat quietly in the background.

When a shadow crossed Callahan’s gurney, he looked up to see a big, sandy-haired, nicely-dressed, man wearing an open-necked, stripped shirt and slightly-wrinkled jacket. He held out a hand. “Good morning, I’m Detective Alan Harris. I’ll be investigating this incident.”

“Incident? This wasn’t no God damned
incident
, officer.” Callahan’s voice reached a higher note in his panic as he shook the officer’s hand. “Some asshole tried to kill me!”