James Swain: The Night Monster

The Day’s Inn on State Road 84 was a time warp. Hot pink stucco and a flashing neon vacancy sign, it had been there for as long as I could remember. The Lady Seminoles usually rented a row of rooms in the back, away from the highway.

I drove behind the motel, tasting the salty ocean breeze. Coming around the corner, a pair of shiny animal eyes flashed back at me from the swamp behind the motel.

The team bus was parked in back. I parked behind it and got out.

Peels of laughter and loud dance music floated through the air. My daughter’s team was celebrating their hard-earned win over Ole Miss. Everything looked fine, but looks could be deceiving. I decided to find Jessie and make sure she was okay.

I started to cross the lot, and stopped in my tracks. A vehicle was parked in the grass between the team bus and the swamp. It looked like a Ford Minivan, and I approached for a closer look.

It was a Ford Minivan, the rear window covered in duct tape. It was the same vehicle from the Bank Atlantic Center. I drew my Colt.

I approached the driver’s door. Through the tinted side window glowed the orange ember of a cigarette. Grabbing the handle, I jerked the door open.

Behind the wheel sat the stalker. Headbanger music blared out of his car radio, his fingers tapping out the beat on the wheel. He shot me a startled look.

“Remember me?” I asked.

The stalker nodded stiffly, his eyes never leaving my Colt.

“Get out, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

He hopped out of the minivan, tossing his butt to the ground. Enough light was coming from the motel for me to get a good look at him. Small of build, with rotting teeth and a crooked nose, his darting eyes made him look feral.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Mouse,” he mumbled.

“Is that your first or last name?”

“Just Mouse.”

“Okay, Mouse, put your hands in the air.”

Mouse lifted his arms into the air. There was something childlike about the way he acted that made me think he was not all there. But that didn’t make him any less dangerous. I stuck my head into the open door and peered inside the minivan. The interior had been stripped and reeked of paint remover. I pulled my head back out.

“Where’s your partner?” I asked.

“I don’t have a partner,” Mouse replied.

“Stop lying. Which girl on the basketball team are you after?”

Mouse’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Guilty as charged.

I decided to frisk him, but I didn’t do it the old-fashioned way. Instead, I made Mouse turn his pockets inside-out, and when I saw that he wasn’t carrying a weapon, I had him unbutton his shorts, and drop them to his knees. Then I made him do a slow three-sixty spin. It was a great way to humiliate a person, and often led to a suspect opening up. Seeing that he was clean, I let him pull his pants back up.

“Where’s your partner?” I asked again.

Mouse hesitated, then pointed at the row of rooms where the Lady Seminoles were staying. “There.”

“Show me,” I said.

Mouse started toward the motel. When asked, criminals often led people of authority to places where they’d committed crimes. I’d never fully understood the reason, and guessed the answer was rooted in the subconscious.

Mouse stopped at the last room in the row. The door was closed, the shades on the window tightly drawn.

“Is your partner in there?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said.

I ripped the baseball cap from his head, and used it to slap him in the face. I couldn’t do that as a cop, but I wasn’t a cop anymore.

“Stop hitting me,” Mouse protested.

“Is he in there or not?”

“He’s in there.”

“Knock on the door. When he answers, tell him everything is okay, that you were just checking up on him.”

“Okay.”

Mouse rapped loudly on the door, then took a step back. I should have taken that as a warning that something bad was about to happen, but my adrenaline was pumping and I felt in control of the situation. From the other side of the door came a woman’s muffled scream. A smile crossed Mouse’s lips.

“What’s so funny?” I said.

“You’ll see,” he replied.

The door banged open, and I found myself staring at a huge man dressed in a black sweatshirt and black pants, his face covered by a ski mask. He was so big, he had to duck beneath the door frame as he came out. Even though I was holding a gun, his presence scared the daylights out of me, and I stepped back.

“Stop right there,” I said.

The giant stopped. Slung over his shoulder was a young woman wearing gray sweats. She lifted her head, and I saw that it was Sara Long, the top scorer on Jessie’s team. Sara’s mouth was taped shut, her wrists hog-tied with rope. Seeing me, she let out a muffled scream.

“Put her down,” I said.

The giant grunted something unintelligible under his breath.

“I mean business,” I said.

“She’s mine,” the giant said.

The giant patted the bottom of Sara’s behind. It was a strange gesture, almost affectionate, and I knew that he wasn’t going to comply.

Mouse shot his arm out, and grabbed my wrist. Considering his size, he was unusually strong. He twisted the Colt’s barrel so it pointed at the ground.

“Got him,” Mouse said.

The giant struck me in the head with his free hand. The blow felt like a baseball bat. My knees buckled, and the Colt fell from my hand.

Still holding Sara, the giant lifted me off the ground by my shirt, carried me across the lot, and slammed my head into the side of the team bus. The smart thing would have been to not fight back, but it wasn’t in my genes to quit.

I punched the giant in the face. The blow snapped his head, and his ski mask slipped off. He snarled at me like a dog.

“That was a no-no,” the giant said.

His face was round and childlike. It was the same crazy bastard who’d abducted Naomi Dunn from her apartment. After eighteen years of looking, I’d finally found him, and now he was about to abduct another young woman right out from under me.

It was my last thought just before I passed out.

Two hospital visits on the same day was a record, even for me.

I awoke in a private room with uneven plaster walls and a window facing a parking lot filled with cars. It was starting to get light. I’d been unconscious all night.

I squeezed my fingers, and moved my arms and legs. Nothing felt broken, and I wasn’t wearing any casts, nor were there pulleys hanging from the ceiling above my bed. I just had a splitting headache, and my mouth tasted like dried blood.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Jessie sat beside my bed playing with my cell phone. Her cheeks were red and puffy. If I’d accomplished anything as a cop, it was shielding my family from my work, and it killed me to see her upset like this. She rose and kissed my cheek.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “I got your cell phone to work.”

“I’ll live. What happened?”

“Someone threw you into the swamp behind the motel. You were lucky you didn’t drown. Coach Daniels pulled you out and gave you CPR.”

“Coach Daniels is kind of cute, isn’t she?”

“Daddy!”

“I need some water. My throat is killing me.”

Jessie filled a plastic cup from a jug sitting on the nightstand. I took it away from her and sucked it down.

“You were in pain, so the doctor gave you a sedative,” she said. “He said the only reason your skull wasn’t broken is because you have a thick head.”

I found the strength to laugh.

“Have you talked to your mother?” I asked.

“I called Mom’s cell, but she didn’t pick up. Then I tried her at the hospital, and the receptionist told me there was a huge pile-up on the interstate, and all the nurses and doctors were working the emergency room.”