Grueberfest 2008 Round 3 – The Wrong Man (569 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.62 on 8 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Hornet (View user info) at 2008-10-14 15:25:42 EDT
The cop's name was Edwards. He had tracked the rapist to this musty underground lair the old-fashioned way, using a map of the city and tips from the 800 line. Now he was trapped.
The man the cops referred to as Mr. Whitehead wore a white fright wig or a series of them, cheap Halloween wigs that were distributed nationwide. Mr. Whitehead had raped eleven women on the east side. He had savagely beaten every one of them, permanently disfiguring two and leaving another in a coma.
Edwards was in a vast cellar, under an abandoned factory. There was a lingering dry yet sour smell that could have been the memory of old beer.
He had turned a darkened corner and been hit on the back of the head. His gun and his cell phone had been taken away. Now he was trapped in a form-fitting cage of hammered steel bands. It was like something from the middle ages. He couldn't move and he felt two distinct points of pain on his neck and his inner thigh.
"Fallen into my trap is the Lord High Constable," a man said. His voice was a wet hiss. "Seeee..."
All Edwards could see of the man was a thin, long-haired silhouette. The man was pointing down a dark corridor. The walls were lined with rounded bricks and the floor was flat, dusty flagstones fading into the dark. At the end of the corridor was an alcove. There was a small felt-topped table there. On the table Edwards could see two plastic glow sticks, the chemicals giving off a murky green light. Between the glow sticks was his cell phone.
"My quest shall not be halted by the likes of thee, Mason" the man said.
Oh no, Edwards thought. Oh God, is this The Child?
Homicide detectives had been looking for the murderer known as The Child for two years now. The killer had dubbed himself 'Society's Child' in a number of mocking emails to the police.
"I scall safe thefe babes," one email had read, in a poor imitation of Old and Middle English, "from days efer more byttere than myne."
The papers called the killer 'The Child.' The Child had a body count of sixteen. All of the victims were children under the age of ten. The case had gotten national attention. Detectives had been pulled from every division to join in the hunt, leaving Edwards short-handed in Sex Crimes. Even Mason, the Chief of Detectives, was out on the street, feeling the heat and looking for The Child.
I found the wrong killer, Edwards thought, and The Child thinks I'm someone else. "You've got the wrong man," he said, gasping as something bit into the softness of his neck. "I'm not Mason."
The Child stepped closer. His face was pale and his eyes were wide and crazed, twisted and surrounded by badly healed scar tissue as if someone had slashed at them with a knife long ago.
Edwards felt a cold hand slip into his jacket through the bars of the cage. He saw his badge case flipped open. The Child looked at the badge and ID inside.
The Child shrugged. "Fate has decreed you stand in Mason's stead," The Child said in his wet whisper. "If you want freedom all you need do is push open your cage, for I have not secured it. Follow this course to the end and cry for succor."
"That's all?" Edwards winced at the spike of pain in his neck.
"Yesss," The Child said. He turned and walked out of sight. "If you cannn."
Edwards could hear the man's footsteps dwindling in the dark, somewhere behind him, and then he heard a heavy door slam shut and tumblers turning in an old lock.
He waited a full minute, and when he was sure he was alone, Edwards pushed gently against the front of the form-fitting cage. The metal hinges were stiff with age, but a hinge on the right squealed. The cage really was unlocked. He pushed further and the pain flared again in his neck and thigh. He took a deep breath. He could not let The Child get away.
"Fuck it," Edwards said. He shoved the front of the cage and it opened wide.
Slender steel barbs fixed to the inside of the cage and hooked through his skin ripped pieces of tender meat from Edward's throat and inner thigh. He clapped a palm against his throat even as a jet of his blood splashed against the dusty wall.
Move, he thought. Now!
He took a step and nearly stumbled. The pain in his leg was very strong, and blood was gushing down his inner thigh. He femoral and his jugular had been severed simultaneously. He gripped the wound inside his thigh and pushed against the flow of blood.
The phone was only thirty feet away. Edwards began to walk, discovering that walking and pressing against his leg wound was infuriatingly difficult. His shoe filled with blood and he skidded on the flagstones, losing his grip on his own throat a moment, another jet of blood slapping against the wall.
Easy, go easy.
He stopped and took a careful breath. He could do this. He took another step. His shoe gave a wet squelch.
Edwards was about to take another step when he paused. The sound of his breathing rebounding from the walls and floor was different here. He looked down. There was a hole, black against black. He kicked a piece of rubble over the edge of a broken flagstone. He counted to six before he heard a splash.
The hole was at least four meters across. He could never jump that far. Strung across the hole were two pale nylon ropes, one at his feet and one at eye level. The ropes were almost invisible in the gloom. The ropes were a bridge. He could walk on one, and steady himself with the other, but that would mean removing at least one hand from a wound.
Edwards leaned against the tunnel wall. He took slow, relaxed breaths, trying to clear his mind and get his heart rate down.
When he was ready he let go of both wounds. He leaped halfway across the hole, grabbed the high rope with both hands, and moved as fast as he could. He could feel blood gushing down his leg like water from a faucet and he could actually hear the blood spraying from his throat wound with every heartbeat. He was across the obstacle in a few steps.
He clamped his hands down on his wounds again and fell to his knees.
Almost there. Get up. You are almost there.
He felt like he was going to be sick. His head swam as if he was drunk. He got to his feet and took the last unsteady steps toward the felt-topped table.
Edwards reached into the glow of the light sticks for his phone. His hand struck something. He squinted and saw that there was a tall and heavy glass bell jar over the phone. He hit the table with his hip, hoping to knock it over, and realized the table was bolted to the floor. He leaned forward and struck the jar with his shoulder. It didn't move. The bottom rim of the jar was set into a deep groove in the felt-topped table. The jar would have to be lifted straight up with both hands.
"One," Edwards said, "Two..."
He took a deep breath and then grabbed the bell jar. It was very heavy. He lifted it up. A jet of blood spattered the jar as a red pool formed under his feet. He dropped the jar and it shattered on the flagstones.
Edwards grabbed his phone with one hand and covered his throat wound with the other. His legs gave out. He fell and leaned back against the table. He flipped his phone open. He felt like his head was a hot air balloon soaring away from his body.
He pressed 9.
What was that rapid fluttering in his chest? Could that possibly be his heart?
He pressed 1.
Edwards realized his phone was almost too heavy to hold. He didn't have the energy to laugh at the idea, but he was amused. His hand began to shake.
Come on. You can do it. One more number to push. Come on. Come
User Reviews
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-10-16 09:50:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I read this earlier, I didn't think it was bad, not great but not bad either.
+2 as I like your other stuff, too.
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2008-10-16 06:37:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Saw is old tat now.
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2008-10-15 14:53:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-10-15 04:15:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It doesn't matter anyway, since I doubt very much that he would have a phone signal in this underground lair.
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-10-14 20:52:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"musty underground lair" seriously?
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2008-10-14 17:11:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2008-10-14 15:50:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by FALLEN (user info) at 2008-10-14 15:45:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"I want to play a game"
If it's Halloween it must be...