Donna dropped Mo off at home. Then she did something she hadn’t done since the day little Sammy died. She drove to the West Windington police station and went inside to talk with an officer. The last time she’d been in that building talking with an officer, Donna had been asked to explain what happened, how it happened, and then, thanks to that awful policeman, Officer Murray, Donna also had to explain why it happened.
I just turned away for a minute. There was this kid from school and I thought he liked me…
But now it was nine years later and Donna crossed the threshold of the West Windington Police Department with the intention of finding out about missing blonde girls. What she found instead was a highly uncooperative reception officer behind the desk.
“We don't have the resources to chase after every baseless rumor that lands on our desk,” the receptionist sneered when Donna asked about the missing girls. “And shame on you for wasting our time with another one.” Her eyes looked eerie, almost colorless, and her tone sounded flat. Donna felt the impulse to turn and run, but she swallowed hard and faced the reception officer with another question.
“Aren't the police supposed to treat every concern as if it's real?”
The receptionist tilted her head, but didn't answer the question. If Donna didn't know better, she'd think the receptionist might not even care if blonde girls were missing. Donna was starting to see why Mo had it in her head that the cops were being useless about this entire mess. She apologized for the trouble, backed away from the desk and stepped outside. The air was chilly, so she hurried toward her car.
“Nice night, isn't it?” A voice from the parking lot startled Donna. She peered through the sea of vehicles until her gaze landed on a man standing a few rows away. The shadows hid his face, but Donna could tell he was tall with dark hair, and that he wore a jacket and tie. She stopped in her tracks, poised her key, and readied it for use as a weapon. The fact that she was in a police station parking lot did nothing to soothe her, especially after the incident with that terrible reception officer.
The man scoffed. “Don't be afraid of me, Donna. I won't hurt you.”
Donna clenched the key tighter.
How does he know my name?
“Do be afraid of your nightmares, though. You never know when one might leave your head and come to life. Then there goes your nice, stable little world.” He chuckled as he lowered himself in a vehicle. Seconds later, an engine churned. Then the familiar blue Toyota Camry backed out and zipped toward the parking lot exit. Donna gasped. She hurried to her car, quickly got in and locked the doors. After catching her breath, she turned the key to start the Mustang's engine. A sound caught her attention, like something smashing, but Donna ignored it and headed quickly toward the parking lot exit.
“Oh my God!” She screamed and slammed on the brakes.
The wreck had happened directly under a parking lot light, so everything was illuminated by its halo. The blue Toyota was crushed like an accordion between the parking lot’s stop sign and an old, beat up, black Bronco. The man who had been driving the Toyota stood outside his car, pressed against the door frame. A strikingly large, fearsome-looking man loomed above him. He held the biggest gun Donna had ever seen and it was thrust against the chest of the Toyota man. A cigarette hung loosely from the gunman’s lips and when he looked over at Donna, his eyes glowed red in the tip of its light.
“Nice car, human,” he growled. Then without looking away from her, he pulled the trigger and gunfire split open the air. Donna screamed again, covered her ears, and ducked. A heavy engine grumbled to life, vibrating the windows of the Mustang. The engine revved, backfired and then accelerated. Wheels squealed. The vehicle accelerated again then pulled away. Donna kept her head lowered, sobbing, waiting to be the next victim. After several moments passed and she was still mercifully alive, Donna slowly brought up her head and looked out the windshield. She rubbed her teary eyes. Against the Toyota's headlight glow, radiator steam hissed and ascended like a ghost on its way to the heavens. The beat up Bronco was gone and so was the shooter. The Toyota man lay next to his car, motionless and in a pool of blood.
“Oh my God…Oh my God…” That stupid reception woman would have to believe her now. Donna unclasped the seat belt and bolted from the Mustang, which was still running, and burst through the police department entryway.
“Help! A man's just been shot!” She hurried to the reception desk, breathless and sobbing. “Please, there's been a shooting.”
The reception officer rolled her cow eyes toward Donna. “Listen, little lady -”
“No,” Donna shrieked. “You listen to me. A man's been shot!”
“And where is this so-called man who's been shot?” The receptionist laid aside her Sudoku puzzle and clasped her hands.
“Right outside.” Donna gulped. “He's dead. At least he looks dead.”
The reception officer sighed and then pushed the intercom button.
“Can I get an officer up front, please?” she said in a flat tone. “A young woman claims to have witnessed a shooting.” Then she sat back in her chair, crossed her arms and glowered. Donna tried to steady her hands enough to bite her fingernails. She hated how the officer's chair squeaked when she rocked in it, and how she watched Donna with those eerie, beady eyes. When the side door buzzed and a different officer finally plodded in the room, Donna frantically ran to him and recounted the story. He stood there, silent, looming like a blond bear in a cop costume. His name tag read, “Officer Behr” and he listened closely to Donna. When she was done, he exchanged glances with the reception officer.
“Please,” Donna pleaded. “It happened right outside.”
Officer Behr squinted at Donna. Something about his eyes made her nervous. Maybe because they were just like the reception officer’s.
“Take me to the scene,” he said.
Donna hurried out front and Officer Behr lumbered behind.
“There,” she pointed. “He's right -” Donna's mouth gaped. The body had vanished, along with its blood pool. The blue Toyota was gone, too. Donna turned and faced the officer who was just sauntering up behind her. “You have to believe me. He was there. I swear it!”
“Pranks are against the law, young lady.” Officer Behr glowered then turned away and headed back toward the building.
“Please, officer. If you don't believe me, watch your surveillance footage. A man was just murdered, right here in your own police station parking lot.”
“Do you want me to cite you for filing a false report?”
“I haven’t filed anything, yet.” Donna pleaded. “Nobody here will let me. Officer, how will it look if you do nothing about this now and then tomorrow the news gets the story?”
Officer Behr stopped, turned and tromped back to Donna. Indeed, his eyes reflected the same vapid look as the reception officer's.
“The story won't look like anything if there's nobody to tell it,” he snapped.
Donna shook her head slowly. “I don't understand...”
He pulled his gun and pointed it at her chest. “Now do you understand?” The barrel's metal glinted against the parking lot lights. Donna's throat tightened.
“Please, officer. I won't say anything to anybody.”
He snickered. “That and a million dollars still won't buy you out of this mess, little lady.”
“But this will.” A dark voice came from behind the officer, followed by a click. The flat stare in Officer Behr's eyes snapped to cold fear. “It's not her turn to die,” the voice growled. “But my contract doesn't say anything about how many asshole minions I can kill tonight.”
The officer sharply inhaled, re-holstered his firearm, and scurried to the police station without looking back. That left Donna alone, facing the menacing man who had just shot the guy in the blue Toyota. His steel-colored eyes locked on to hers like a couple of gun barrels honing in on their target.
“Please don't kill me,” Donna's eyes stung as tears fil
led them.
He lit a cigarette, inhaled. The cherry glowed against his eyes, just like before.
“What did I just say, stupid human? It's not your turn to die.” He peered at Donna through narrowed eyes. “When it is, maybe I'll get the lucky contract and come back for you.” He winked and disappeared into the night. Donna's legs buckled. She fell to the ground, sobbing. A police vehicle rolled in the lot, the driver stopping when the car's headlights revealed a crying blonde in a heap by the curb. Two officers exited the vehicle and approached her.
“Maybe you need to come in the station with us,” the female said. Her name tag read, “Officer Johnstone” and her tone was flat.
Donna brushed away tears. “No. I need to get home.”
“Perhaps that’s not a good idea. Come inside.”
Her male partner, whose name tag read “Officer Taylor”, took Donna by the elbow and pulled Donna to her feet. Donna pulled back, but his grip tightened.
“Please, no. I want to go home.”
“Don't argue, girl.” Officer Taylor grit his teeth, pulled harder.
“No,” Donna whined.
“Yes,” the officer hissed, and pulled her towards the station.
A now-familiar voice penetrated the darkness.
“She said no,” the gunman growled.
Officer Taylor released Donna's elbow and Officer Johnstone smiled at her.
“On second thought,” she offered her hand, “you should go home.” Donna didn't take the hand. She stood on shaky legs, hurried to her car and shut the door.
“Remember your seat belt!” he directed.
“And drive safely, Donna,” she instructed. They watched and waved while Donna drove from the parking lot. She wondered why the cops in West Windington had suddenly turned bad. She also wondered why a shooter had mowed down that Toyota man one moment, and saved her from bad cops in the next. She wondered why the more she craved ordinariness, the more elusive it got. But one thing Donna didn't wonder: how the female officer knew her name. Somehow, it seemed inconsequential.
Donna arrived home to an empty house. She locked up everything tight, double checked the windows, and set the alarm system. Then she went to bed.
Too bad all that locking up couldn't keep out nightmares.
“Donna,” he beckoned.
She turned to face him, but only saw darkness.
“What do you want with me?” she hollered.
“I want to play with you. Come out, come out, wherever you are.” A chilly laugh was followed by an icy hand on her shoulder. His grip was tight, like that cop's.
“Let go of me.”
“You and your friend have devised a sinister plan to ensnare me.” His breath reeked of rotting flesh and his cold hand stroked her cheek.
“How do you know about that?”
“I know everything about you.” His chilly laugh shook the air. “A bit of advice. If you want your normal life back, do not trust the red haired one.”
“Mo? Why wouldn't I trust Mo?”
But he was gone.
chapter five