Fishing in Brains for an Eye with Teeth (Thirteen Tales of Terror) (2 page)

No comprehensive connection could be made between all
five
women.

Then Agent Coopersmith looked at Jack and said, “Tell me about Bullet Lake.”

“What about it?”

“How many summer cottages would you guess are located there?”

The body of water in question was a small lake in the eastern section of Trinity County.  Jack answered Coopersmith, “I don't know.  Maybe a hundred fifty.  I'd guess roughly half of those are owned locally and the rest belong to summer people.”

“I've got a cabin on the lake,” volunteered Deputy Trojanowski.

Jack nodded.  “So do I.”  He asked Agent Coopersmith, “Why?”

Coopersmith explained, “Still assuming Our Boy is a local man— very likely someone who's well-known in the community— we should consider the possibility he could be using a summer cottage as his kill-zone.  We need to canvass the seasonal residences around the lake.”

“Okay,” said Jack, unwilling to object to anything Coopersmith suggested, even (as in this instance) when Jack believed he was wrong.

Miserably, he thought,
Our Boy is
not
vacationing on the lake
.

Agent Creasey— not Jack— gave everyone their assignments for the day. 

Then Agent Coopersmith— not Carver— adjourned the meeting.

******

All day long, Sheriff Carver kept thinking about Clara Sensora's offer of help.  From the moment he woke up that morning, he knew that he would accept the sisters' assistance, but all day he continued to play mental games with himself, acting as if he hadn't made up his mind yet.

Then, at just past 4:30 p.m., an anonymous tip was phoned in to the Sheriff's office.  The unidentified male caller claimed that Laura Eaton's corpse could be found in the barn of a farmer named Larry McCambridge.  The moment Jack heard about the tip, he said, “It's bullshit.” 

Deputy Trojanowski asked, “How do you know?  Because he said Larry's
barn
, not his
cornfield
?”

“Right,” said Jack.  But what he thought was,
I know
Laura isn't dead
.

He believed she was still alive because of what Clara Sensora had told him late the night before.

Sheriff Carver and Deputy Trojanowski rode out to Larry McCambridge's pig farm to check out the tip.

As Jack had predicted, it was a false lead.

On the drive back to Middleridge, Sheriff Carver told Deputy Trojanowski, “Laura is still alive.”

Noncommittal, Trojanowski asked, “You honestly think so?”

Without hesitation, Jack said, “Yes.  I honestly do.”

And he realized that was the first time throughout this entire investigation that he had felt confident about
anything
.

It was a remarkable feeling.

It was also at that moment that the sheriff stopped kidding himself about what he'd do when Clara Sensora brought the rest of her sisters to call on him. 

******

Jack Carver sat at his kitchen table in front of a bottle of Jack Daniels, a half-filled glass, and a partially consumed microwave dinner.  He was nervous, anticipating the Sensora sisters' arrival.  He arrived home just after 10:30 p.m. and it was now finally midnight.

As the antique German cuckoo clock in his front hallway heralded the beginning of the witching hour, there came a loud rapping on Jack's front door.

Jack hurried to greet his guests.

He wasn't as drunk as he was the previous night— not by a long shot— but he was inebriated enough that, for just a moment when he opened the front door, he thought he was seeing double (until he realized there were five women on his stoop, not four.)  All five of the sisters were dressed identically, in long black gowns, and all five had absolutely identical features.  Fleetingly he wondered if they were quintuplets or clones.

A brisk gust of wind blew past the ladies, caressing their hair and tickling their skirts.  Jack smelled a complex mixture of perfume— potent enough to make him feel momentarily light-headed (particularly because there was a faint under-scent of something rotten.)

Clara stepped forward, her expression blank.  “So?” she asked.  “What have you decided, Sheriff?  Will you avail yourself of our talents?”

Jack surprised himself by asking a question of his own, one that had skipped across his consciousness several times today, “Are you psychics, the way you claimed?  Or are you really...” he suddenly felt extremely foolish saying the final word, “witches?”

Two of the same-faced sisters appeared amused.  Another looked indignant. 

Clara remained emotionless, saying, “You can be the judge of that, Sheriff...
after
you've saved Laura's life.”

Deep in his heart, Jack felt it was a mistake to trust these women.  He wished suddenly he'd run a background check on them today.  Sheepishly, he asked, “Would you all be willing to give me your social security numbers?”

One woman snickered.  The indignant-looking sister shot him a contemptuous glare.

But Clara simply nodded and said, “Certainly, Sheriff.  We'll happily provide you with everything you need.”

After a silent moment of hesitation, Jack stepped back from the door and invited the women to, “Come in.”

One of the identical women moved forward, giving a slight bow of her head.  “I am Evata Sensora,” she said.  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carver.”  She slipped past him, into his house.

The next sister— the angry one— identified herself simply as, “Ivona.”

The third lady winked at him. “I'm Flora.”  She brushed up against his side as she entered, purring, “Hello, Jack.”

“Hell—” his voice cracked, “o.”

The final sister introduced herself, “And I am Lucia.”

“You already know me,” said Clara, stepping inside.  She took Jack's arm, leading him into the house.  “Come, Sheriff.  Let's help your goddaughter.”

******

Four of his five senses— taste, touch, sight, and hearing— were stripped away. 

Existence was reduced to nothing but smell.

Sweat— overpowering waves of rank body odor—

Hints of urine and feces—

Fried chicken— catsup—

Mold— dampness— must— concrete— earth—

And very faintly: lilacs—

Finally, there was a smell overlaid on top of all these others, a kind of non-scent that was distinctive nonetheless.

It was the stench of female fear.

******

Swimming up through darkness, returning to himself, Jack gasped like he'd been underwater.  Rolling off his dusty dining room table, he looked from one sister to the next, demanding to know, “What the hell was that?”

Slumped in a chair, Clara appeared to be in some kind of trance.  Her mouth was half open, her eyes half closed, an expression of neutral bliss on her face.  To Jack, she looked like a heroin addict who just got her fix.

“Is she okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Evata, using a handkerchief to wipe drool off Clara's lips.  “Facilitating the visions takes a toll on us.”

Again Jack asked, “What just happened?”

Ivona sighed.  “I thought Clara explained all this to you last night.”

Jack nodded.  “She did but...?”  He tittered nervously, wiping sweat off his forehead.

Flora explained, “Each of us channels a different sense.”

“So what I just smelled, that really was...”

Evata quietly finished the sentence for him, “That's what Laura is smelling right now.”

A sob nearly broke out of his mouth with the words, “She really
is
alive!”

“We
told
you that,” said Ivona.

“I want to make some notes,” he informed them.  Then, pointing at Clara, he asked again, “Are you certain she's okay?”

“Yes.”

“Go record your notes, Sheriff.”

“We'll be ready for the second sense when you are through.”

Jack hurried into his study where he grabbed a pen and notebook to write down all the smells that he/Laura just experienced.

******

Twenty minutes later, Clara was herself again. 

Jack stretched out atop his round dining room table, his feet sticking off it.  The Sensora sisters surrounded him, with Evata now next to his face.  The women formed a circle, linking hands, the two sisters next to Evata clasping onto her shoulders.

Gently, Evata placed her fingers around Jack's head.

“Are you ready, Mr. Carver?”

“Which sense will it be this time?”   

“Taste.”

He wished they could skip right to sight but Clara explained last night that they need to build up to the more difficult senses by conquering the less complex first.

Unfortunately, Jack wouldn't be seeing or hearing as Laura until
tomorrow
night.

On the agenda for tonight were smell, taste, and touch.  Evata asked again, “Are you ready, Mr. Carver?”

“Yes,” said Jack, surrendering his mind.

******

Once again, his identity was stripped away. 

Senses were again robbed from him— all but taste.

Crispy French fries, drenched in salt and dipped in catsup—

The fries were followed by a drink of Coca-cola (spiked with vodka!)

After a brief pause she (he) tasted her favorite food: fried chicken breast (and Jack recognized the unique taste of the breading.)

The meal continued— chicken, French fries, and a Coke— until finally....

******

Jack Carver returned to his own head.  The sudden flood of additional senses caused him to gasp.

“The Red Brick House!” he immediately shouted with excitement.

Clara looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“It's a local mom-and-pop restaurant.  Very popular around here.”  Sitting up, he unconsciously licked his lips, tasting phantoms of the food.  “They have the most distinctive breading on their chicken.”

Clara smiled.  “I take it this information is helpful?”

“Yes!”  Jack was so thrilled, he nearly laughed.  “I couldn't tell if it was hot or cold but it certainly tasted
fresh
.  And that confirms that Our Boy— the Cornfield Killer, I mean— he's still gotta be holed up someplace close to Middleridge.”

Jack hopped off the table, even as Evata flopped down in a chair, droopy-eyed and drooling, to be attended by her sisters.  Seeing him look at her, Clara said, “She'll be fine.  Do you wish to take more notes, Sheriff?”

“Yes.”

“We'll be ready again when you're through.”

And they were.

******

The next clairvoyant contact was so disturbing to him, Jack would eventually suppress all memory of it.  Later in his life, during times of extreme stress, the experience of becoming a helpless woman who was being raped by a powerful man would gurgle up into his nightmares and invariably cause him to wake up screaming.

Laura's hands were tied together and secured above her head.  The coarse rope had cut sharply into her wrists, causing them to bleed.

She (Jack) was sick to her (his) stomach, her (his) head throbbing from the effects of the vodka.  She/he was alternately hot, then cold.

She was naked, as was the beast on top of her (the animal who was
inside
her.)

She
hurt
.  He was rough and he was
hurting
her.

A wet tongue was shoved into her mouth.

Jack felt it all, for as long as it lasted, which seemed like an eternity.

He took away virtually nothing of value from the trauma.  He already knew Laura was alive— from the moment he shared her first sense (smell.)

All this third connection garnered him was the horrific knowledge that his poor helpless goddaughter was being used as a sex toy.

******

Jack scrambled off his dining room table and raced for the bathroom, barely making it in time to vomit into the toilet.

It was several minutes before he was able to stop trembling.

After dousing his face with cold water and toweling it dry, Jack returned to the dining room.

When Clara saw him, she reminded Jack, “I warned you it would be distressing.”

I don't think you ever
once
used the word 'distressing,' lady,
was what he thought.  What he said was, “I know.  It's okay.”

Snidely, Ivona said, “You look white as a ghost.”

Clara declared, “We have to stop now anyway.”

“We do?” asked Lucia. 

The sense of touch was brought to him by Flora, who was now half-comatose and slobbering like an over-heated hound.

Evata assured him, “We'll be back tomorrow night.”

“If that's what you want,” added Lucia.

Clara asked, “
Is
that what you want, Sheriff?”

“Yes,” he said emphatically.  “But—”

“What?”

“Will she
last
that long?  Laura
will
still be alive by this time tomorrow night, won't she?”

Snappishly, Ivona responded, “We're clairvoyant, not precognitive.”

Clara said, “We can't be certain, but we suspect the odds are good.”

Evata smiled.  “Perhaps what you've learned tonight will be enough to
save
Laura.”

“Right,” said Ivona, in a sarcastic tone. “Maybe you won't even need us anymore.”

Jack actually had hope that,
Maybe I won't.

“You look tired, Mr. Carver,” said Evata.

He admitted, “I'm exhausted.”

“We'll say goodnight then,” said Lucia.  She and Ivona helped Flora to her feet, dragging her out of the room.

Clara gave a little bow before exiting, saying, “Until tomorrow night, Sheriff.  Good luck.”

Jack nodded.  “Thanks.”  He ushered the women to his front door, gushing, “Thank you very much.”

As soon as they were gone, he hurried to take a long hot shower.

Under the steaming spray, unwillfully reliving the assault that he and Laura just went through, he wept like a girl.

******

The next day, Jack was a changed man.

After the mandatory morning meeting with the Suits— in which he questioned nothing Coopersmith suggested— he pulled aside his two best men: Deputy Lortz and Deputy Trojanowski.  Outside the station in the back parking lot Jack told them his lies: “I got a tip last night.  Phoned in directly to my home.  I think it's credible and we need to pursue it.  And I'm thinking we'll just keep it between the three of
us
... so the credit for getting Our Boy stays local.”  He looked at Lortz, the more difficult of the two.  “If you know what I'm saying.”