Frank Zafiro - Beneath a Weeping Sky

He glanced down at the passenger seat. The silver blade of the Buck knife radiated a cold light back at him.

The time for waiting is over.

Pick up the knife.

Go inside. Lay the whammo on that arrogant bitch. Slice her. Gut her.

Kill Katie. Kill that cunt.

Kill Cora .

He gave a short shake of his head, trying to clear his mind. He had to be careful. He couldn’t let his rage get in the way. He couldn’t let his mother turn his victory into another defeat by taking away what he most wanted.

Fear.

Control.

Pain.

Vengeance.

Somewhere deep inside the icy core of his soul, he felt a small flickering warmth spring to life. Katie was the only one who had thwarted him since he had become a real man. She was the only one who had defied him. Since that night on Mona Street, he’d heard his father’s mocking laughter in every voice. Worse yet, he’d seen his mother’s hard features in every line of Katie’s face. Just like his mother had done when she attacked him and tore away at his sexual power, Katie’s defiance and her escape robbed him of his manhood. It stripped him of what he’d become.

She had to pay.

His mouth curled into a cold smile. He’d send Katie to hell, where she belonged. Right next to his mother.

“I’m coming,” he whispered, and got out of the car.

1017 hours

“Adam-254, Adam-251?”

Gio reached for the microphone. “Fifty-four, go ahead.”

“Assist the detective. Contact Ida-409 at the west end of Corbin Park.”

Gio clicked the mike, signaling he copied the call. A second click followed, presumably from Ridgeway. Gio was close to the park and drove there in a matter of a couple of minutes. As he turned off Post and into the wide lanes at the west end of the park, he was surprised to see Ridgeway already there. He pulled his car alongside.

“You got here quick,” he said.

Ridgeway grunted back.

“Ida-409?” he asked Ridgeway. “That’s Tower, right?”

Ridgeway nodded, but didn’t say a word.

Gio suppressed a sigh. Instead he said, “You take an oath of silence or something?”

“No,” Ridgeway answered, “but sometimes I wish you would.”

“What’s up, Grumpy Gus?”

Ridgeway’s bleary-eyed stare answered Gio’s question.

“Nothing’s up,” the veteran officer said through gritted teeth. “I’m just tired.”

Gio nodded an apology. Ridgeway accepted it wordlessly and leaned his head back against the headrest.

It was at times like this Gio missed their fallen comrade, Karl Winter the most. Winter knew how to listen, especially to Ridgeway.

The best he could do was sit next to him and know when to remain silent.

1020 hours

He strode down the alley like he owned it.

He did own it.

He was in control.

At her small back gate, he unlatched the clasp and slipped into the yard as quietly as he could. He clutched the Buck knife in his right hand, the blade hidden by the cuff of his white shirt. The weight of the cool metal reassured him.

Confident, he walked to her back door. At the door, he peered through the small glass panes into the house.

No activity.

He strained his ears, listening for movement.

The patter of water and the rumbling whine of plumbing filtered toward him. He glanced at the marbled, frosted window a few yards to his right. Condensation formed on the outside of the window and the glass had a hazy film of steam covering it.

She was in the shower.

Perfect.

Without hesitation, he drove the metal butt end of the knife into the small glass pane in the lower left corner of the back door. He was rewarded with shattering shards of glass. Flipping the knife around, he used the blade to clear out the four-by-four-inch mini-pane of any remaining glass. Then he reached through and fumbled for the lock inside.

First the knob.

He found the small button in the center of the doorknob. Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, he twisted it until it stopped.

Then the deadbolt.

The larger locking mechanism was easier to find and to flip to the opposite side. A solid click sent a thrill of success through him.

He opened the door and stepped through.

Inside, the heavy sound of falling water from the bathroom filled the quiet of the house. He forced himself to creep cautiously toward the sound. His eyes flitted around his surroundings as he moved.

He wondered if she brought her gun home.

If so, where did she keep it?

A quick look told him the kitchen counter was clear.

Probably the bedroom, then.

He knew he should go there first and collect it, but he was drawn to siren’s song of the falling water in the bathroom. It sounded so…vulnerable. He imagined her naked body under the shower head, water cascading down upon her. Rivulets of white, foamy soap sliding down her breasts, across her stomach. He could almost see the dark patch between her legs standing out against the lather soap and her pink skin.

I’m going to tear you to shreds, bitch.

I’m going to lay the whammo on you like you’ve never known. And then -

The water came to a sudden stop. The sound of a shower curtain being drawn aside was muffled by the door between them.

A moment of panic struck him, but he pushed it down. Quickly, he adapted his plans. It would have to be an ambush when she stepped out of the bathroom, then.

He moved silently to the side of the bathroom door.

He gripped his knife and waited.

1022 hours

Tower pulled up next to Gio’s car. The two officers looked over at him. Gio’s pleasant features were expectant. Ridgeway’s were sullen.

“Where are we going?” Gio asked.

Tower recited Jeffrey Goodkind’s address. “It’s about ten blocks away,” he added. “Just up the hill.”

“What’s there?” Gio asked.

Tower smiled. “It might be the Rainy Day Rapist.”

He enjoyed the surprise that registered on the faces of both officers, followed by anticipation.

“If,” Tower said, “you’re interested.”

“Hell, yeah,” Gio said.

Ridgeway gave Tower a resolute nod.

“All right, then,” Tower said. “Let’s go.”

1023 hours

Katie scrubbed her hair with a towel, drying off. The weariness from the long night had seeped into her bones. Her muscles felt heavy and weak. The warm breakfast and now the hot shower had only made her exhaustion complete. Thoughts of flopping her head onto the pillow in her own bed and slipping into a deep sleep filled her mind.

It felt good to be home again. To dry off with her own towel. To see her own robe hanging from the back of her own bathroom door. She imagined that she’d sleep better tonight than she had for weeks.

Katie wrapped the towel up on her head. She reached for a second blue fluffy towel, drying off her body with long strokes. Slight stubble on her legs reminded her that she hadn’t shaved them while showering.

Oh well. It’s not like I’m going on a date.

Finished, she re-hung the towel on the rack. Then she put on her battered terry cloth robe and opened the door.

1024 hours

When the door opened, a rush of smells blasted outward, riding on the steam. Soap. Linen.

Her.

He trembled.

His fist tightened around the handle of his knife.

* * *

As soon as she stepped through the door, she felt an eerie malevolence in the room that made her skin prickle. Before she could calculate a response or process the sensation, a figure appeared in front of her. A bare hand shot toward her throat.

Instinctively, Katie knocked the grasping claw aside in a sweeping block with her left forearm. The collision of her fleshy muscle and his bony hand reverberated through her arm and up to her shoulder.