Filed to story: Return of the Reaper Story
“You know what I do, Mar. I operate on the brain. That’s mytrade. But you know what the brain is? It’s three pounds of greasy fat. But it holds within it the invisible organ of the mind. And no one can know what’s in another person’s mind. Not really. All I know is that Isaac is unstable. Not today. Maybe not ten years from now, he’s going to have an episode. He’ll return to the feral state, to the wild. I don’t want our granddaughter around him when that happens.”
She said nothing.
“End of story,” he said and pulled the laptop back in front of him.
“You want more coffee?” she said.
“No thank you, Mar. I’m up at six for a procedure. I’ll be heading for bed when I finish reading this review,” Dr. Roth said and allowed the words on the screen to absorb him once more.
Marcia left the kitchen and made her way back to Merry’s room, the room that once belonged to her own daughter. She checked on the girl throughout the night every night just as she had for Merry’s mother when she was still a mother herself.
Merry slept in the muted glow of a snowman nightlight that Arlene once treasured; it had somehow survived all these years. She was sound asleep in the bed her mother once occupied that was now fitted out with Dora the Explorer sheets and pillowcases. The little girl slept sound, her arms around a teddy bear wearing a camouflaged army uniform and cap. A gift from her father.
As much as she loved having this little treasure around every day, Marcia Roth wished that all was as it should have been. Her granddaughter asleep in her own room, in her own bed, with her mother and father asleep in the next room.
And as much as Jordan’s reasoning made all the sense in the world, and was the result of his expert and learned opinion, she couldn’t help but think that they were stealing time from their granddaughter. Precious time that should be spent with her own father. And, once again, Marcia felt a pang for Isaac who was losing his place in his daughter’s childhood just as she had lost seeing her own little girl grow to middle age.
She closed the door of the room, leaving it open only a crack, then went down to the family room where she could read where the light would not disturb the doctor’s sleep.
The guy was new at Skip’s.
Johnny knew most of the regulars, walk-ins from the surrounding neighborhood. There were always fresh asses on the stools and in the booths come nighttime. But Johnny knew this guy was a first-timer.
First off, he was a little older than the usual evening crowd. Not by much. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself. Most of the nighttime crowd were on their third or fourth adolescence. This guy was more together than that. It was like he was turned inside, keeping to himself. The rest of the crowd was there to be seen. This guy just nursed a draft at the stool farthest from the register.
He was dressed in clean cool-weather clothes. The weather was turning cold at the start of what passes for winter in Florida. Jeans, a button down shirt and a light jacket. He was wearing what might have been the first pair of actual work boots Johnny had ever seen in Skip’s. The drinkers here were either unemployed, retired or slumming students from the colleges. Nobody was spending a paycheck.
Maybe a soldier over from MacDill. The guy had that look. But they seldom made it this far off Dale Mabry. And when they did it was always in a group. Same for Canadians which this guy could be. They travelled in packs. It was the right time of year for snowbirds down from Ottawa and Toronto. Only they were usual older than this guy and came in couples.
Could be a cop or someone looking to hold up the place. In either case they’d give themselves away pretending not to be looking around. This guy only seemed interested in his beer with an occasional glance up at a football game playing muted on the screen over the bar. He made a single visit to the men’s room. Johnny tried to keep track of how long he was gone but there was a rush after ten. The guy was back at the stool gesturing for a fresh draft without Johnny noting his return.
The guy nursed the second beer. He didn’t speak to anyone except to nod at a dude asking if he could take the bowl of mixed nuts from where they rested, untouched, by the stranger’s elbow. The crowd went from rowdy and dancing to sullen and serious as the tides of beer and cocktails washed over them. The same tide carried them away in twos and threes as closing time approached. The stranger in the work boots wasn’t the last to leave but close to it. He left what remained of a twenty for two beers.
Johnny got busy with closing. He counted out the register and put the cash and receipts in a zip bag that he dropped into the slot atop the stout safe set under the bar counter. It was someone else’s money. Someone would come and check his count tomorrow. There’d be a crew in tomorrow morning to clean the place. His job was drinks. That’s all.
He checked the locks on the front door then shut down all but a few lights until the place dropped into a gloom tinged orange by the neon Heineken sign in the window. Johnny entered the security code at the back door and stepped into the fenced back court behind Skip’s. He worked a row of deadbolts closed in the heavy steel door and turned to his Audi parked alone in one of three spaces.
The guy in the work boots stood by his car. Johnny should have been surprised. He wasn’t.
“I had a question,” the guy said.
Johnny had a question, too. How the fuck did this mutt make it over the ten foot fence topped with razor wire that surrounded the back court? The gates were still in place with loops of chromed chain and a big brass lock holding them tight.
“What about, chief?” Johnny’s fingers opened and closed. The five-shot snubbie in the waistband at his back grew warm with a heat all its own.
“Three weeks ago a girl was in here. This is the last place she was seen.”
Flat and even. The guy stood easy with his hands at his side. His eyes never left Johnny’s. Even when Johnny hit the remote on his key ring making the Audi chirp. The guy never looked away.
“I talked to the police,” Johnny said and feinted as if to make for his Audi.
“Now you’ll talk to me.”
Johnny stepped to drive a shoulder into the guy’s gut while reaching for the snubbie with the same move. Johnny was big with a low center of mass. He’d played hockey in a Canadian minor league. In his time he’d knocked more guys on their ass than a rodeo bull. The old speed was still there in short spurts. His legs drove him toward the guy’s unprotected ribs to drive the guy off his work boots.
Only the guy wasn’t there.
With nothing to spend his force against except empty air Johnny stumbled. A hand crushed the wrist at his back. His hand never reached the gun. He swung his free hand around to strike but his fist swept through nothing. An arm snaked around his neck with a rustle of cloth and drew tight.
That’s the last thing he could remember.
He could hear surf close by. It was cold but he was out of the wind. The floor was steady. He wasn’t on a boat.
And, oh yeah, he was buck naked.
Johnny’s eyes were covered and he was restrained in a sitting position by what felt like tape. He was seated low on something smooth and cold. His legs were numb. It hurt to flex them. He scraped his toes on the floor, sand on tile. He pressed his foot to the floor and pushed. His seat rocked slightly. He felt ice cold water touch his balls.
The son of a bitch had him taped down on a toilet.
“Anyone hear me?” he called out. His voice echoed back to him from a large empty space. It wasn’t a bathroom in a home. It was bigger. A public restroom.
“Hey! Anyone hear me? Is anyone there? I need help!” he called louder.
“I’m the only one here.”
The guy. The guy from Skip’s. Work boots.
The voice startled Johnny. The bowl under him rocked sending a splash of chilled water up over his scrotum. The asshole had been there the whole time watching Johnny sitting stripped naked on the crapper.
“What the fuck, man?” Johnny barked.
“Like I said. I have questions.”
“I told you I talked to the cops. I signed a statement. The county sent sheriffs and I talked to them. They sent staties and I talked to them.”
“You lied to them, John.”
“You know my name. Big fucking deal.”