After Death (38 page)

Parks slid in-between the two of them and used his body to edge his partner gently backwards.

Fernando just watched in admiration — They took good cop, bad cop, to a whole new level.

“Fine.” Parks calmly said and handed Burt a pen and his small notebook that was already folded open to a blank page. “Just draw us the same map you gave Frank and we’ll be on our way.”

Burt chewed his lip, trapped. He reluctantly took the pen and paper and began to draw.

They all knew where Will Rogers state park was and reached the Santa Monica mountains in good time. Burt had told them they would need to park near the entrance and walk the rest of the way and Fernando saw that Parks immediately had the same question on his mind that he did — Where was Frank’s car? Parks shone his flashlight around the immediate vicinity but the parking area was empty. Parks had already asked Fernando what Frank drove since there had been no vehicle registered with the DMV. The thought kept bouncing around in Fernando’s mind —

How had all this escaped everyone? How could a kook be living and interacting with everyone and not get caught? Fernando couldn’t even drive to work without someone giving him the once-over yet here was a guy that was literally living in a totally made-up world and no one had noticed a thing! It was like he was the perfect chameleon and everyone simply believed what he projected; that he was just an average nice guy trying to write a book and, in the meantime, do the right thing by everybody. Fernando couldn’t even remember how many times Frank had seemed to feel guilty or had regrets about the smallest things — and here he was — a serial murderer! What was it that made Frank seem so believable? Was it because he believed his own BS — that he’d convinced himself absolutely and that made it a piece of cake to convince everybody else? Was that what made him seem so trustworthy?

Parks radioed in for back-up and his partner strutted ahead, starting to move through the dark woods like a bull — knocking branches aside, kicking or thumping obstacles out of the way.

Here was a guy you wouldn’t want angry at you
, Fernando thought.
Or Angrier
, he corrected himself.

Park’s partner paused and turned a menacing eye back towards him like he’d read Fernando’s thoughts. With only the light of the downward flashlight in his hand, he cut an ominous figure; solid, determined, and scary in his single-mindedness.

Parks used his flashlight to consult the map again and called out to his partner.

“Washington — Let’s stay tight — easy to get lost in this.”

So that was the tank’s name; Washington
, Fernando thought.

Washington wasn’t listening — he was back to barreling through ragged underbrush, his flashlight beam cutting this way and that like a saber. Parks didn’t bother to press the issue and adapted.

“Stay left.” He called out. “Just keep to the left for quite a while.”

***

The trees and bramble were thick and Fernando was dirty, sweaty, and tired. He’d been cut and whipped at by a dozen dark shrubs and he felt done for — He hadn’t signed on for this — he’d much rather watch stuff like this on TV. Why had he agreed to come along in the first place? He knew why; Parks and his commanding voice — and his own morbid curiosity. Still — enough was enough. He was just about to suggest bailing out when the trees and bushes abruptly ended and they came to a small clearing.

In the center, looking like something out of a Grimm’s fairytale, was a gigantic forked tree. The knee-high mist floating above the ground that wrapped around its huge base and the full moon that seemed suspended just a few feet above its gnarled branches exaggerated the surreal effect — it looked like a matte painting from a gothic horror film.

Parks and Washington were unfazed and moved quickly forward. They examined the ground at its base while Fernando again hung back — there was something unnatural and hideous about that tree and he preferred to keep his distance.

The assortment of fresh footprints of man and dog in the mud were so clearly visible in the moonlight that they didn’t even need their flashlights. Washington scanned the torn up earth and the prints that seemed to go in all directions at once. There wasn’t a single clear area around the base, indentions were everywhere.

“Look at all of ‘em — What the fuck was he doin’ — dancing with his dog?”

Washington shook his head, spat on the ground, and glanced towards Parks.

“Maybe he’s a fuckin’ Satan worshipper.”

Washington noticed two sets of prints, those of man and dog, that split off from the rest and seemed to lead away from the tree.

“Whoa, wait a minute. What do we got here.”

Washington followed them, mumbling under his breath.

“Ain’t getting’ away that easy, you
sonofabitch
…”

The last was said with such vehemence, Fernando realized that Washington was actually getting more tightly wound as they went on. He was already a bomb ready to go off, now the fuse was getting shorter. He wondered if Washington was always this way or if it was the fact that this dealt with children that was the trigger..? He’d heard somewhere that cops often had areas that really set them off — things they considered sacred that, if breached, violated their sense of right and wrong and justice to such a degree, they had trouble maintaining control… Was that what was going on here? Somehow, despite the fact that these two cops were almost complete opposites, they had one thing in common; they were closed books — walls high and airtight. Fernando could make all the guesses he wanted but he was pretty sure that’s all they’d ever be; guesses. With guys like these, he’d never really learn anything about either of them for certain —

***

The tracks lead across the clearing and back into the dense brush. The three of them moved in a line, first Washington with his flashlight pointing down in one hand and his other arm swinging in wide savage arcs to clear the way, then Parks, then Fernando dragging the rear. There was no hint of a path beneath their feet and they relied on the muddy prints and Burt’s map for their direction. Even with Washington as a human machete, the way was difficult and time-consuming. Parks paused and again referred to Burt’s map and seemed satisfied that they were going in the right direction.

“If I’m reading this right, we should be coming to a hill or mountain dead ahead.” Parks said.

Washington continued to pound and bang his way through every obstacle and Fernando wondered if Washington wasn’t a little crazy and thought that maybe that’s what it took; one crazy person to find another.

They made their way through a particularly dense cluster of fallen trees and bramble and emerged directly in front of a dark mountain that seemed to have materialized from out of no where. At its side the tracks abruptly stopped and Washington busily scoured the ground in an effort to resume the trail. He panned his light around for rocks and other hard surfaces that might be close enough to move onto without leaving prints. There was nothing; only mud around the entire base of the mountain that would surely have shown any trespass.

Washington pointed his flashlight at the mountain above the last of the tracks. Every inch seemed completely covered with dark vines that radiated in all directions like snakes.

He was flummoxed. The prints simply disappeared against the mountain. He was about to explore further when Parks made a low whistle through his teeth. Washington hurried over seeming to know that this meant something significant and Fernando followed.

Parks was shining his light on a dead dog lying off to the side under some thorny bushes. The animal was large, with pitch black matted and mangy fur and looked scary, even in death. Its long sharp teeth were fully bared and its baleful eyes stared straight ahead intensely. On seeing the beast, Fernando reacted.

“That’s the same mean scrounge hound came after me outside the hospital. What happened to it?”

Parks knelt and examined the blood-soaked carcass under his flashlight. He turned the dog slightly to the left and exposed a deep gash in its throat.

“Looks like a knife wound.” Parks said.

Washington shook his head in growing disgust.

“Fuckin’ sicko must’ve killed his own dog...!” He looked at Parks. “Any idea why he’d do that, Sherlock?”

Parks thought for a moment and rose to his feet. He brought his gun out from its shoulder holster.

“We’d have to read his story more carefully to be sure but if I had to guess, I’d say in his mind, this wasn’t
his
dog.”

Fernando was amazed again. Parks showed no signs of being creeped out by this monster at their feet or the dark mountain or the entire environment. Neither did Washington. Here they knew that Frank was somewhere nearby and that he was completely delusional and very dangerous — and they showed no fear. Instead, Washington was outraged and Parks was seemingly unaffected and cool as a cucumber. Fernando had never thought of that expression before until now — now he knew what it meant.

Fernando checked out Washington and was again struck by the extreme dissimilarity of these two men. Washington was all raw emotion. Fernando had little doubt that if he had his way, they’d rush in, guns blazing, and kill and burn everything — fuck consequences. He seemed like one of those guys that applied a color chart to life. If anything passed the middle gray scale — that was it — they were toast — no questions and no hesitation.

As Fernando watched, Washington turned back towards the tracks that disappeared against the mountain and glared. He fumed and seemed to growl — and abruptly rushed the mountain wall at full speed, right over the footprints and colliding with the wall.

Or so Fernando expected. Instead, Washington ran
into
the mountain and disappeared. He could be heard to grunt and cast around in disgust and after a moment he reappeared covered in a messy camouflage of vines and growth that had given way to reveal the entrance to a hidden cave.

He threw the last of the vines that wrapped around him to the ground and angrily pulled the rest off the wall to reveal a wide cave mouth. He spat in disgust and brought out his weapon, then turned a glowering face on Parks.

“So, we goin’ in or what?”

His pride and impulses were barely in check and Fernando could tell that Parks noted this in a glance. Parks nodded and spoke in an amazingly relaxed voice.

“Give back-up a few minutes to catch up.”

Washington looked on the verge of losing it. Even in the murky light, a burst of color could be seen rising to his face.

“And what if he’s got another kid in there? What if he’s getting’ ready to cut off another kid’s arm? What about that?”

Fernando didn’t like this obvious battle of wills between the two partners. He found himself sliding his finger down the smooth metal sides of the cross around his neck — Old habits died hard, especially when he was nervous.

Parks seemed to be doing what he did often; measuring and weighing the pros and cons of the situation. In this case, Fernando could almost guess that it wasn’t just the logic of what his partner was saying that he was taking into account. It was also Washington’s volatility and what might happen if he forced his opinion. He finally met Washington’s glare and nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Let’s go.” was all he said but his return stare at Washington said a lot more. “Keep it together” it said. “Don’t get out of control.”

All Fernando could think was
Fuck that!
I’m not going anywhere!
He found himself staring at the ragged animal on the ground, its neck ripped wide open. He couldn’t take his eyes off it and didn’t move as Washington moved quickly into the cave, gun drawn, eyes narrowed.

Parks paused alongside Fernando and put a hand on his arm.

“You’ll be alright — just stay behind us. We might need you to talk him down.”

Fernando had no idea why he listened to Parks, why his legs suddenly obeyed — but he followed, stiffly at first, then with more ease as they began their descent. The cave floor angled slightly at first, then more steeply — and Fernando tried to push the thought away, tried to ignore the feeling that they were venturing into the bowels of hell.

They rounded a short turn and a disgusting odor floated up from the depths to greet them. Even Washington at the front of the group hesitated and put a hand up reflexively over his face and nose.

They were forced to walk single file as the cave narrowed and in the tight quarters Fernando began to feel a bit claustrophobic. The angle of the ground continued to get steeper and steeper still and they marched on to the sound of their own amplified breathing and footsteps.

Washington abruptly stopped as he noticed something in the walls that he illuminated with his flashlight. He waited as Parks tucked up right up behind him and indicated with a sharp jab of a finger at an odd protrusion.

Their heads blocked Fernando’s view for a moment then pulled aside. The cave walls were no longer made up of dirt and rock and normal mountain material — now something else was densely packed in with a grey makeshift mortar.

Bones.

Fernando scanned the walls quickly, noting what he could with held breath in the scant light. Rib bones. Arm bones. Leg bones. A bone he didn’t recognize. And finally — Skulls — not one but many — all sizes and turned in all different directions —