Chapter Two
"I told you, honey, I don't want that man in my house."
"But he's my brother!"
Frank Shaw wiped his brow, beads of perspiration clinging to his hand. Frank Shaw hated confrontation. Why he decided to marry when he knew that was part of the deal, he did not know. Why he decided to join the force, which is the very definition of confrontation, he did not know. But what he did know was that he did not want Al Monty, arrested twice for attempted shoplifting, once for attempted car theft, living under his roof.
"He's a felon!" Frank persisted, but he knew this conversation wouldn't last for long. "If you want me to keep tabs on him to fulfill your paranoid obsessions then fine, but I'm not letting you throw him out on the street!" As her voice rose, the cheap desk phone Frank was speaking through crackled and hissed, and Frank winced at the noise. "End of discussion!" The phone let out more static, and after it died down, he feebly attempted to stop her from cutting off, but she had already left.
As Frank's best friend, Duane Garraty, cracked his imaginary whip, Frank let out a sigh and placed the phone back in its cradle. "Just as a matter of interest," Duane said as he propped his feet on Frank's desk. "How does Al feel about all of this?"
"He thinks it's great." Frank replied. "A cop, banging his sister? He thinks he's got me to vouch for him. But if I could just get Holly to realize what a failure he is, than he’d be out on the street like that!" He snapped his fingers for emphasis. "But that's what I'm saying man." Duane took on a slightly more serious tone. "She's got your balls in a vice. You got show her you mean business if you want to get through to her."
Suddenly, Police Chief Romero burst into the room, offering no warning whatsoever. Both Frank and Duane jumped, Duane instantly swinging his legs off of the desk. "Are you incompetents cops or what?" He roared, his generous stomach wobbling as he spoke. "I just got juicy case down at the doctor's office on Windswept. You know the one. Anyway, we've got ourselves a first-class murder!"
He stared at the two of them, waiting for them to react. Duane leaped from his seat immediately, rearing to go. However, Frank simply stared, lost in thought. Murder? That was not a word you heard in Hangleton. Death, yes. You always heard of the death of that unfortunate man who was killed in the car crash. You always heard of the saddening passing away of one of the elder members of the community. But murder? No. Never. So, being the timid man that Frank Shaw was, he was not excited like his friend Duane. Instead, he was terrified.
Romero, satisfied by Duane’s response, turned to Frank. But Frank didn’t move at all. “Well, Frank?” He growled, “How about you?”
“I don’t know.” Frank stuttered. “We’ve never really handled this sort of thing before.” Romero looked genuinely offended. “Well, fine.” He said. “I just threw you a bone, but if you don’t think you’re ready…”
“Oh, no, chief,” Duane stopped him from continuing. “We’re ready. We’re totally ready!” He ran around to stoop in front of Frank, still in his chair. “What the hell are you doing?” He whispered. “This could be our big break!” Frank gave in. This really could be his last chance to move up on the ladder. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.” He said, albeit reluctantly.
“Bad guys, here we come.” Duane said as he slipped into his overcoat and exited with Romero and Frank. “Time to play cops and robbers.”
As their police car, along with several others, left the station, Romero filled them in on the situation. “The victim is Dr. Henry Greene, he’s a shrink. His secretary was discussing matters with a janitor when out of nowhere Dr. Greene’s body just,” He seemed to have trouble saying the next words. “Fell out of the ceiling.”
“Fell out of the ceiling?” Frank asked. “That’s what she said.” Romero replied. “Said he just burst out of the ceiling and fell the right onto his desk. "Sounds like a load of bullshit, if you ask me.” Frank thought for a moment, then asked, feeling strange and uncomfortable saying it: “What’s the status on the body?”
“Don’t know.” Romero replied. “But I do know this. Whatever happened to him must have been pretty bad because, apparently, the janitor barfed all over the place when he saw it.”
“Damn.” Duane muttered, and Frank felt apprehension and fear start twisting and coiling inside of him.
When they reached the building, the rest of the police team exited their vehicles immediately and swept toward the building. Frank, however, took a little more time, and had to be urged out of his car by Duane. As they made there way inside the building, Frank felt the sudden urge to turn and run, but quickly banished it from his mind.
They turned the corner, and there it stood, the open door to Dr. Henry Greene’s office. Just inside was the desk, surrounded by plaster rubble, and on its center, the body of Henry Greene.
They passed by a news crew interviewing the secretary, who was talking animatedly, not at all like she’d just seen a dead body. They passed several other people milling about, waiting to be interviewed. And, finally, they passed the rest of the police team, who had already taped off the area. Strangely, no one had yet entered the office. They passed under the tape, and what Frank laid eyes upon was like nothing he’d ever seen.
Henry Greene’s body lay upon the desk as a sacrifice would lie upon an altar. His mouth was twisted into a sickening rictus of alarm and a violet bruise stained his left cheek. But most horrible of all were his eyes, or rather, where his eyes should have been, because replacing them were two gaping holes, caked with gore and clotted blood, metallic in smell and almost black in color.
Someone muttered: “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.” But to Frank the voice was tiny, almost nonexistent. The rest of the world fell away, and it was just Frank and the body of Henry, mocking him with those blood-soaked eye sockets, laughing with that tortured, rubbery grimace…
“Frank!” The voice struck him like a fist, he felt his knees give way, and then he was clutching the side of the desk, gasping for air. “Frank!” Duane rushed to Frank’s side and stared into his face, fear etched into his handsome visage. “Are you all right? You look like you’re going to be sick.” Duane’s eyes flicked upwards to steal a quick glance at Henry’s face, and then he immediately came back down to Frank’s. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine.” Frank managed to get control of his breathing, and then stood. “It’s just… who could do that to a person?”
They turned back to Romero, who was looking a little worse for wear. Realizing they were staring at him, he turned and roared: “Well, what the hell do I pay you for? Tape down the body and then make a report!” Duane exited the room to get the tape, and Frank began to follow him when the phone rang. All three of them turned, gazing at the phone, partially hidden by Henry’s body. Without being told, and not entirely knowing why, Frank crossed to the desk and cautiously slid the phone out from underneath the body, then picked it up.
“Is this Dr. Henry Greene?”
“Uh…no,” replied Frank. He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. “I’m sorry to inform you—”
“Oh, good. Just making sure he wasn’t getting up.”
“Who is it?” Duane asked, but the man was speaking again and Frank didn’t have time to respond. “You know how shrinks have a tendency to recover from certain things.”
“Who is it?” Duane repeated, and Frank turned to him, mouthing “I don’t know”.
“Well, ask him.” He said. “You are a cop, remember?”
“May I ask who is speaking?” Frank said, anxiously. There was a long pause, and then the man spoke.
“My name is Abram Waters. I am the man you are looking for. I killed Henry Greene.”
