I woke with a pool of piss at my center and a pounding headache like no other in my life. I reached for my forehead and rubbed fingers along a thick bandage. Dried blood was smeared over both cheeks and a fly took residence on my left earlobe. The rank aroma of urine filled my unknown whereabouts. Positioned on my back, I conceived that I was naked all except for a pair of white boxer-briefs. When my vision cleared, able to see in the dark, I sat up on the bed and took in the room where I was stashed away. The walls were of crumbled bricks. The ceiling was made of cement and wooden beams. A teardrop-shaped light hung down from the ceiling above me. The floor was half brick and dirt. No windows, pictures, dressers, writing tables, or bookshelfs accented the room. To my far right was a rusted iron door, keeping me in that dark catacomb. I determined that I was in a cell of some sort. A place where someone was sent for solitary confinement. I wasn’t sure, though, and wouldn’t be for a little while longer.
What happened? Where was I? The last thing I remembered was having a few shots of whiskey in my kitchen, walking upstairs to take a piss, and entering my bathroom. I did recall spinning around and seeing a male figure behind me. The trespasser swung a Viper helmet in his right hand, banged it into my forehead, and knocked me out cold.
What day was it? What time of day was it? How long had I been trapped inside that vault-like place? Who had taken me there, and what for? Why was I only wearing my underwear? And who had taken the time out to meticulously bandage my head?
Confusion blocked my sanity. So many unanswered questions raced through my mind. A dozen or more concerns surfaced between my temples because of that unconceivable situation and state that I was in. Again, I felt the bandage on my forehead, swallowed dry air down the back of my throat, and felt breathless and dizzy. My hands started to shake and my skull felt like a merry-go-round. Within a matter of seconds the light above me flashed off and darkness crept over my still body. Then I started to scream, but no one heard me.
* * * *
To my right, a small stream of white light at the bottom of the steel door woke me. I saw a shadow move up to it, which startled me. I thought about screaming again, but the cords that aligned my neck throbbed with pain. Instead I sat up and listened to the lock on the door make a loud grinding noise because it was old and rusted. Approximately five seconds later the buzzing stopped and the steel door was pushed open.
A tall figure dressed in what looked to be a black abaya entered the room. The person carried a Coleman camping lantern in his right hand, sitting it on the floor. A Vipers helmet was in the person’s left hand, swinging to and fro. The stranger closed the door behind them, but it wouldn’t secure. Then the figure tossed the helmet toward me, rolling it in my direction across the dirt floor like a bowling ball.
The lantern’s light filled the room with steady white illumination. I saw that there was dried blood on the helmet and believed it to be my own. Then I made eye contact with the intruder, knew exactly who he was because of his almond-colored eyes, and said, “You killed two men in Vanmer and I assume you’re going to kill me next.”
* * * *
Phil Candorelli removed the abaya and dropped it to the dirt floor. He was wearing a pair of white running shorts and a matching T-shirt underneath, thin and fit. His feet were bare and he grinned at me. The ESFL official stood approximately four feet away the bed and asked, “Do you know where you are, Mr. Knight?”
I admit, I was terrified, shook my head with the rest of my body, and replied, “I don’t know.”
He let out a boisterous laugh and said, “Under the Chuck Chutney statue in Talon Park, of course. You thought these rooms didn’t exist, did you? And to think you consider yourself a journalist.”
The asylum under Talon Park was hearsay in our little city of Vanmer, but now I realized that the many rumors of the Talon Rehabilitation Institute had existed in the early forties, was emptied of patients, and was thereafter buried under acres of earth. Now it was a public park for our community where picnickers enjoyed the sun, athletic football players jogged, and murder clues were shared in secret by two-person parties.
“Forget about where you’re at, Johnny. I have other things of importance to tell you.” He blinked a number of times, kept the devious grin smeared on his face, and asked, “Would you like me to walk you through the murders or have you figured it all out on your own?”
I said nothing, fearing for my life, realizing that he was insane. Chills swept over my body and my heart began to race. I felt sick to my stomach, comprehending for maybe the very first time that I was trapped like a rat in a cage, unable to find freedom.
“I’ll start at the very beginning then,” he said, nodding. “Because Julie Andrews says that it’s a very good place to start, right?” He laughed at his own words, thrilled with his work. He stood motionless inside the cement cell. “Jamie Bodice and I went to have a little night cap with Tad Dossner on the evening of September 6. We walked right into his apartment with the Vanmer Vipers’ helmet. The helmet was supposed to be given to Steven Reider and/or Rod Peterson to autograph and be sold for a charity fund, which was a lie of course. Rather, it became our tool to take Tad down, which you know worked in our favor.
“The three of us shared gin and tonics with light conversation. Summer practice was over and the season for the Vipers was just beginning. Tad, Jamie, and I were excited to work for the ESFL for another three years according to our contracts. We discussed stats, favorite players, and how much money each of the Vipers were making. Jamie and I knew that Tad didn’t spend a single dollar of his earnings as a professional official. Frugal was an understatement when it came to the man. And we also knew that Tad kept a wad of cash inside his apartment, which totaled nine hundred thousand dollars.”
I was numb, speechless.
He looked at me with a steady stare for quite some time, nodded, and added, “I think you know where this is going, don’t you, Johnny?”