The Monocle Man Read online

  His mother was there moments later. She stretched a hand out to him, a key gripped between her fingers. He took it without a word, stood, and slid the key home into the bedroom door. He doubted a simple lock could hold such a thing within. But relished a little when the bolt clicked home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BROOKWISE, NH

  BROOKWISE, NEW HAMPSHIRE

  “So, what’s wrong with him?”

  The question hadn’t completely caught Garrison off guard. He expected it to come at some point. But he’d been lost in his thoughts, looking at Annalise from the corner of his eyes, as the tv blared on before them.

  They sit on a small couch in the basement, a semi-half finished, cavernous room, with a laundry to the back, and a small pool table to the left. A stand before them holds an older model television set against the wall, encircled by a sofa and a couple easy chairs. Garrison snaps himself from his reverie, turning to meet her eyes.

  “Not sure yet.”

  “Not sure as in… from the accident years ago? Or not sure as in something new?”

  “Well,” Garrison sighs. “Not sure in both? I don’t know.”

  “Come on Gar. Looks like something is bothering you.”

  “You… you can tell?”

  “Of course I can silly,” she answers, scooting across the cushions a little more, getting closer to Garrison, and pulling one of her legs up under her while leaning against the back of the couch.

  “How can you tell?”

  “I just can. That’s all. So, what is it then?”

  “Well-“

  “Don’t mind me kids!” Trish, Garrison’s mother comes trotting down the stairs, a basket of laundry tucked under her arm. “I’ll just be a sec!”

  Please don’t let her be doing any of my underwear! Garrison’s cheeks flush a little, as he spies the basket from the corner of his eyes.

  Sighs.

  He typically did most of his laundry, but had been lax as of late, with everything on his mind concerning Brent. At any given time, his mother would collect his dirties from the hamper and take care of them herself. The last he wants is for Annalise to see his tightie-whities. He’s having a hard enough time keeping it together as it is!

  Sighs again.

  The laundry isn’t his. And though relieved, he tries not to seem bothered at all by any of it. Hoping dreadfully, that Annalise won’t notice his sudden nervousness.

  “Ok, all set!” His mother starts up the stairs. “You two have fun!”

  Fun? Fun? What kind of fun were they supposed to have? Man, he was way out of his league here! Realizing he didn’t know the first thing about girls, and especially what kind of fun he was supposed to have with them. Especially in the basement of his parent’s house. Should he hold her hand? Try to kiss her? She moves closer. Was this some kind of sign? Suddenly he’s sweating way more than he should. Garrison rubs his palms on his jeans and looks back at Annalise, who sits poised there, on the cushion next to him, eyes questioning.

  “Well, so tell me. What’s wrong?”

  “Ok. I’ll tell you. But please don’t think I’m crazy!”

  “I already think that Gar!” Giggling behind her hand.

  “Ha, ha! Funny!”

  “Geesh,” she adds, slapping his arm. “Lighten up a little, wontcha?”

  “All right.”

  “Sorry, go ahead.”

  Garrison tries to sound rational as he relays the events of the last few days, keeping his fingers crossed Annalise will understand, or at least grasp a portion of the telling. He talks about Brent being lost in the yard for a moment; the way the boy was staring out into the woods. He talks about the strange tone of voice when Brent spoke, more like a man, instead of a kid. And then there was the incident in his brother’s bedroom. This is the moment that seems unwavering from his mind. His brother standing there, speaking…

  “Garrison?” Garrison is frozen in place at the call of his name, in that same deep, mature tone he heard earlier outside. He turns his head, but his little brother is still standing at the window, unmoving, hands at his side. “Gary. I’m out there you know. I’m somewhere out there.”

  What the hell did that mean? Somewhere out there? It’s eerie and keeps him awake at night. The statement continues to slither its way into his dreams. Even during the day, his mind lingers on it.

  Garrison is almost in tears, but holds them back with great success as he runs his hand through his hair. The look of desperation on his face is clear.

  “So what does it all mean?”

  “I wish I knew!”

  “And the doctors said?”

  “Doctors couldn’t find anything different with him. Tests came back negative. As usual, they think it’s all in his head.”

  “Do you think your folks are lying?”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Um, I don’t know silly… you really have been different yourself since the accident.”

  “Different?”

  “Come on Gar! Even you must know how protective you’ve been of him since it happened. You feel responsible.”

  “I guess. It’s just-“

  “It’s ok. It’s kind of cute!”

  “Wait… what? Cute? CUTE?”

  “Yeah!”

  Annalise leans in and plants a kiss on his cheek. Shocked, Garrison’s hand flashes up to the side of his face as if trying to capture some warmth from her lips. Trying to hold the moment in place. He flushes again.

  “Wha?… what was that for?”

  “Well,” she whispers. “It’s not like you were going to go for it.”

  2

  2.

  A few hours later, after the sun has set, Garrison’s father drives Annalise home. There’s a quick peck on the porch, one which his mother spies through the living room window.

  She smiles.

  Garrison watches his father’s SUV head down the drive, feeling… what? A little sad? That, and a little overjoyed as well. What is he feeling? He isn’t sure. The one thing he understands is, seeing her again cannot come soon enough!

  Turning from the porch Garrison heads back inside, their conversation still on his mind. Annalise brought up a great point. Maybe there was more to this than his parents were letting on. Hell, they hadn’t seemed to believe him entirely when he relayed the stories to them. In fact, they might have dismissed it altogether if he hadn’t dragged them out of bed. They looked as perplexed watching his little brother stand there, stone still and staring into the night at his bedroom window.

  The door closes behind him. He turns down the hall and passes the archway to the kitchen. In the kitchen, his mother is pulling the clean dishes from the dishwasher, shelving them in the cabinets above.

  “Ma?”

  “Yeah hon?” Dishes clank as she reaches them up into their respective cabinets.

  “Can I ask ya something?”

  “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

  “It’s Brent.” She pauses a moment, then sets the dish in her hand down, closing the cabinet door after.

  “Ok?”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “You already know that, son.”

  “No, I mean… what’s wrong with him? You took him to see the doctors again, and I just feel like maybe you and dad aren’t telling me everything.”

  “Well,” starting, as she pulls a chair out from under the kitchen table. “There doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary,” sitting, and leans forward toward Garrison, resting her elbows on her knees, much like his father would do when he wanted to have a “man to man” talk. “Your brother appears to be the same as always. They said his brain is having a hard time adjusting to something. But they don’t know.”

  “How could they not know?”

  “Well hon, they can’t know everything. But they’re trying. It’s best not to worry about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because dear. You worry over it too much already. We’ve been throu
gh this. None of this is your fault. Your dad and I see how good of a big brother you are to him. You’ve always been a good brother. Neither of us, nor Brent could ask for anything more. You need to be a little less hard on yourself.”

  Maybe she was right.

  Garrison sighs, confused and tired suddenly. The lights in the kitchen seeming too bright. He knows she wants him to tell her he’ll try to worry less. She’s sitting there looking at him now, the request apparent in her eyes. But he’s not sure he can put his heart into an affirming answer. He knows there’s something else up with Brent. Knows it to the bone. But he, much like the doctors, is at a complete lost. Can’t help the anger. He’s sure the doctors are supposed to know something! That’s what they get paid for. But maybe his mother is right. He needs to take a step back.

  “Ok mom. I’ll try.”

  “That’s my boy!” Jumps from the chair and plants a kiss on his forehead, before returning to the dishes. “Oh, Garrison?”

  “Yeah?” Spinning on heels.

  “How was your date?”

  “Ummm, it wasn’t a date mom.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “I just thought-“

  “Mom!”

  “Ok. Ok. Good night, kiddo!”

  “Night.”

  Garrison’s feet feel heavy as he trots the stairs up to his bedroom. He’s not sure he’ll sleep this evening. He knows his brother is. He’s probably out cold. The doctors gave him something in the form of a little pill to take a half hour before bed. The hope it’ll keep the lights out for him, allowing for a proper night’s rest.

  His bedroom door squeaks open as he pushes it with his foot. He trudges to the bed where he falls onto his back, kicking his sneakered feet onto the bedspread, knowing his mother would be yelling at him now if she could only see. But he cares little. He’s wiped. Placing a hand under his head, the other across his stomach, Garrison lets his mind drift.

  Tonight had been good.

  It had been really good.

  He knew in many ways, he probably biffed it with Annalise. There was the kiss. Though through that he fumbled. Stuttered over his words like an idiot. And he knew as an absolute fact, he turned at least a few shades redder in the cheeks. He was turning red now just thinking back on it.

  But maybe… things weren’t so bad. After all, she planted another one on him before she left, just after his dad hopped into the driver’s seat and shut the door. And this last one had been on the lips.

  What a feeling!

  Was that what kissing girls would always be like?

  Damn he hoped so! So many things came pouring back into his mind now. How soft her lips were. Moist, as she licked them nervously before kissing him. And the smells! He hadn’t noticed before how Annalise smelled. Was it perfume she was wearing tonight? Or did she always smell that way?

  A little floral.

  Sweet.

  Her hair like she just stepped from the shower.

  Her skin, the faintest touch of soap.

  The way she looked at him, especially during that last kiss. There was something different in her eyes. They burned brighter. Greener. Seemed to soften, yes, but sparkle like so many of the stars in the sky.

  Garrison sighs. Loud and exaggerated. Yes, he could certainly get used to Annalise. The way she smelled. The way she now looked at him. And the way she kissed. He could live on the memory of that kiss alone, for a very, very long time.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SATIN CITY WHARF

  SATIN CITY WHARF

  Shadows blanketed the interior of the warehouse. The moonlight played through the windows on the upper tiers, both at the front and rear of the building, and large streamers of dim light filtered through, creating hazy beams. The light struggled to cut through the endless shadows within. His eyes squint, acclimating to the dim illumination. If he could flip a switch, Reynolds certainly would. He paused as the front door swung closed. Above him, a second floor. He stopped a moment to listen. Craned his neck to the side, hoping to hear some footsteps above, wondering if the thing he saw in the window was still up there.

  Silence.

  Directly above, the ceiling stretched across the width of the building, several large, wooden pillars holding the second floor aloft. To his left, a long catwalk ran the length of the warehouse where it met another walled off section. Between these, the warehouse opened to the ceiling. Several large lighting fixtures hung from the pitched underside of the roof, casually swaying back and forth. Before him, the open floor-plan of the warehouse sat cluttered with rows of shelving, creating walkways between towering fixtures which held all manner of things.

  Tools.

  Nets.

  Scraps of wood.

  Paint cans.

  And more than anything else, boat parts. Firearm pulled from its holster, Reynolds kept one finger outside the trigger guard, muzzle pointed at the floor, as he stepped forward and pressed his back to the first rack. He peered around the edge and down the long corridor created by the towering shelves. Just shadows and dust. His eyes scanned the floor and the various pieces of boat parts littering it. His steps would have to be careful. Reynolds wondered if Dori was finally in the building. And if so, where?

  Dori stepped around the back of the racks within the warehouse. There was little light, but his eyes adjusted well. He came upon a staircase leading to the second floor. Holstered his firearm and buttoned his suit coat. He ran a hand through his hair. His footsteps were silent, almost non-existent, as if he were floating up the stairs. He stopped at the top of the landing, looking first to his left, along the empty catwalk that joined the front of the building. Then to his right where a small hall led to a door. Turning toward the door, he took a few more steps. His hand reached for the handle, the metal cold in his grasp, and turned it. The door swung open easily, and quiet.

  His eyes scanned the room for anything out of the ordinary. The room itself was cast in darkness, a stark bulb hanging from the ceiling, the pull-chain swinging back and forth, the light off. Dori made out a desk at the far end of the room, a few filing cabinets, and various trinkets set atop all of these. A few trophies. A few framed pictures. And above the cabinets, a large mounted fish.

  To his right, two chairs sat vacant. Big, leather things, with a history all their own. To his left, a water cooler, and a small table with a few magazines atop it. But directly in front of him, a few feet away, lie the bodies. Two to be precise.

  Young.

  Female.

  Not quite in their teens as yet. Just like the last crime scene. And the one before that.

  The young girls are stripped of their clothes, dropped in a small heap, one on top the other, discarded like a couple of old dolls. Their arms and legs aren’t bound, but their hair has been neatly tied back, each with a red ribbon. Dori knew this, as sure as anything. The ribbons were a trademark; a calling-card. He knew as well, forensics would find no contusions, or bruising on the bodies. The girls will have met their demise, only hours before Dori and Reynolds arrived at the scene. One crime scene revealed the girls were drugged and typically died of asphyxiation; a direct cause of the catalyst used to render them unconscious. But that catalyst continued to elude forensics. No chemical substance could be found in their autopsies, adding just one more question upon the ever-surmounting pile. This crime scene would bare no difference. Though at one scene, they found one girl barely alive, clinging to her last, rasping breaths. She however, didn’t make the ride to the hospital.

  Such a tragedy, to have one’s flame stamped out at the beginning of life, at such a virgin juncture of living. So vibrant these young things, that the monster liked to play with. So full of laughter and hope and dreams. Now, so dark and cold, gradually sliding down the ladder into the great beyond. Dori shook his head. Looked up from the girls once more, and scanned the room again, turning on heel. A smirk played across his lips. He realized he was caught up in the moment of the young girls. He should have heard the breathi
ng.

  2

  2.

  The rhythm of his breathing sounded in the big space. Each movement and every breath resounded in the warehouse; echoed in his ears. The beating of his heart too. It thundered in the shadows, likely a trick of sound and space, but seemed to carry none-the-less. Reynolds tried to steady himself, but the intense silence broken by those echoes made him uneasy. He wished he could hear something… anything other than the sound of his breathing. Some sign of life; a footstep, the clatter of something dropped or kicked along the floor. Any evidence that suggested something lurked within the warehouse. Something which begged to be caught.

  That was the odd thing about his profession. The thing most he had a hard time accepting. That those men and women who did horrible things to each other were missing something vital and humane within. That in reality, something snapped upstairs and these people could no longer control themselves. As if some insidious evil lurked behind the thin membrane of sanity, just waiting for the tiniest of tears. But the truth couldn’t be further. And in some ways, it was far more sinister.

  The truth was, people committed these acts because they wanted to be caught. Maybe a thin thread of humanity screamed from deep within the veil of horror, urging them to slip up, leave a trail, and eventually get saved from the acts they couldn’t help commit. Of course, the media did little to help the situation. Their glorification of these monsters seemed to spread like a virus, infecting those with less will to seek their five minutes of fame. Catapulted the criminals to a higher status. One worth recognition. Hell, how many of these criminals became millionaires, locked behind bars, while the interviews and book deals kept rolling in? It disgusted Reynolds more than anything. And this case, was one of the worst. At least in his short career.