CHAPTER 32
Amanda had just taken a sip of her drink when she heard an awful clattering noise.
“What was that?”
“It sounded like it came from upstairs,” Dottie replied.
Seconds later, she heard a sound like somebody running down the stairs and heading toward the kitchen. Dottie’s face suddenly lost all its color as she gasped in mortal fear.
Amanda wasn’t really sure what compelled her, but she frantically pulled out her phone to call 9-1-1. She immediately noticed that she hadn’t disconnected from calling Alan. She pressed the END CALL button just as a man tore into the kitchen, came up beside her and grabbed the phone from her hand.
“I’ll take that,” he said.
The phone suddenly rang. The intruder glanced at the screen and then pressed the ignore button.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” Dottie demanded.
“Let’s just say I’m the Boogyman and leave it at that for now,” he replied.
It was at that moment that Amanda noticed the gun in his other hand. He pointed it directly a Dottie.
“I would like the two of you to join me in the living room,” he said calmly.
“What are you going to do to us?” Dottie said.
“You’ll see.”
The man’s sinister grin made the hair on Amanda’s neck stand up. There was a look in his eyes that embodied pure evil.
“C’mon, stand up!”
She and Dottie arose and were herded out of the kitchen into the living room. Both fell silent as the reality of the situation began to register.
“Take a look here,” the intruder said, pointing the gun toward the sheet music on the grand piano. “I heard you say your dead husband's ghost may have done this. You were dead wrong.”
He fumbled around until he was able to peel off the barcode label, never taking his eyes off either woman. He then stepped over to Dottie and slapped it on her forehead.
“Perfect!” he said.
Dottie raised a hand to remove the label.
“Freeze, bitch!”
Dottie’s arm immediately fell limp. She looked as if she’d just been pistol-whipped.
“What’s wrong with you—why are you doing this?” Amanda said.
The man looked directly at her, his eyes piercing.
“Why don’t you ask her?” he said, pointing the gun toward Dottie.
“How would I know?” Dottie said. “I don’t even know you!”
“Oh yes you do, lard ass! And may I say that I’m very disappointed you don’t recognize me? Not surprised though, seeing as I am nothing more than a scumbag freeloader in your eyes. A worthless bum who sponged off his wife.”
Dottie paused a moment, stared intently at the man until a look of recognition came over her face.
“I know who you are—you’re Marcy’s husband!”
“Bingo!”
“But why—”
“Why am I here in your lovely home right now? Well, let’s think about this for a moment. First of all, did you know that my wife died not long after your company laid her off?”
“Yes, of course I know. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you are. Do you have any idea why she died, Dottie?”
“Well, I read that she had a weak heart or something like that.”
“Yeah, something like that. She had atrial fibrillation; a fairly common heart condition that thousands of people in this country suffer from. And if treated, they can all expect to live long, normal lives. Except my poor wife suddenly lost her insurance coverage when she got axed from UrbanGroup. She put off seeing the doctor to treat her condition and that ended up killing her. Her blood is on your hands, bitch! You were part of the reason my wife lost her life!”
“You can’t be serious! I had nothing to do with any of that!”
“Oh yes you did! You and your fucking boss allowed a dedicated, talented employee go without so much as batting an eye!”
“That’s not true! I don’t do the hiring or firing at UrbanGroup. It’s not in my job description.”
“Job description, my ass! You know what, Dottie? I’m pretty much done talking to you about this because you’re just going to deny it, so why bother? Let me ask you something else. What makes you think you’re so goddamn much better than everybody else? Huh?”
“I don’t think that at all, Mr. Markham. Why would you say that?”
“Oh, please call me Rob, by all means. Do you recall that day when Marcy introduced you and that Becky bimbo to me at the restaurant?”
“Of course. That’s the only time I’ve ever seen you.”
“Correct. And do you remember what you said to me back then?”
“Not really. We didn’t really talk much at all, if I recall.”
“Exactly! You no sooner found out that I was a small business owner than you wrote me off as a loser and a bum. ‘Lucky that marriage has its perks,’ you said. Implying that losers like me are content to just sit back and sponge off the wife when the chips are down. Now are you going to tell me that this was anything but demeaning?”
“I’m sorry if that’s the way you took it, uh, Rob. I surely meant no harm.”
“That’s it—keep on denying everything, bitch.”
“Look, I’m sorry about Marcy and I’m sorry that I offended you. What can I do to make it up to you?”
He laughed.
“Afraid this is a case of ‘too little too late,’ don’t ya think? My wife is dead; she is irreplaceable. I’ve lost my business and am in debt up to my ass for all of the hospital bills I incurred after my uninsured ass got ran over by a car. My kneecap will never be the same and I’m hooked on narcotics to deal with the pain. The list goes on; so what could you possibly do for me to make things better?”
“I could help you out financially. It won’t replace your wife but it would help you get by more comfortably. Just give me a reasonable figure and I’ll write you out a check.”
The look on his face was one of absolute incredulousness.
“A check, you say?” he spurted. “Are you really fucking serious here, fatso? A check doesn’t come even close to what I want from you. Not by a long shot.”
“What do you want, then?”
“Let’s begin with a little humiliation, what say? Pay you back for how you humiliated myself and my wife at that restaurant. Let me see, what could we do that might come close to that degree of humiliation? Say, I’ve got it! What could be more humiliating—or disgusting, I might add—than you stripping down to your rather copious birthday suit? Right here and now with the two of us watching?”
“You can’t be serious—”
“Oh, but I am serious!”
“Please, don’t do that to her,” Amanda pleaded.
“Would you like to go in her place, then?”
Amanda’s bravado faltered. “No.”
“What kind of friend are you? If you’re so set on sparing your mentor this degradation, then you should be willing to step up to the plate for her, don’t you think?”
“I just don’t see—”
“Why don’t you just take whatever you want from this house instead?” Dottie pleaded. “I have a lot of valuables, plus several thousands of dollars in jewelry and cash in a safe upstairs. You can have it all. But please just leave us alone.”
“Sorry, not gonna float. I know what I want and you may not believe this, but your money and your valuables aren’t even on the list.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to start shucking that dress off. I want you to do it now!”
“Please, I can’t! I—”
In a flash, Markham slapped her face hard. Dottie winced and started to sob.
“Stop, you can’t do this!” Amanda cried.
“Sure I can. And you’re going to be next if you don’t shut up. I’m telling you one more time, Dottie. Take it off.”
She stared at him a moment, her eyes imploring. Then she looked over at Amanda.
“It’s okay, Dottie,” she said softly. “You’d better do as he says.”
She stalled another moment and then began slowly removing the strap from her right shoulder. She removed the other strap and just stood there before going any further. Then her expression changed from dread to reluctant submission. She knew she had no choice and that she may as well get it over with.
When she was down to her bra and briefs, Markham motioned for her to remove them as well. Her face crimson red, Dottie slipped the bra off and finally removed her underwear. Amanda thought her heart was going to break, seeing the poor woman standing there like that. She also felt guilty for not going in her place, even though she knew it wouldn’t have made any difference.
She would probably be forced to strip for him as well.
“May I say that you look absolutely marvelous . . . Not! Jesus, you’re even fatter than I imagined! How the hell do you squeeze into that little car you drive, anyway?”
Dottie continued to sob pathetically.
“Oh, stop your bawling, bitch. I’m gonna let your protégé cover you up here in a minute.”
Both Amanda and Dottie glanced at him, wondering what he was getting at. He just smiled, set Amanda’s cellphone on the piano and reached into his back pocket. He produced a thick rolled stack of self-adhesive labels. Amanda noticed that they were barcodes; identical to the one he’d stuck to poor Dottie’s forehead.
“I was originally going to do this myself, but since Amanda’s here, she can do the honors. It will spare me having to touch all of that gross fat, too.”
He handed the stack of labels to her.
“I want you to start at the top and work down. There are over three hundred labels here. Distribute them evenly, but keep enough to make it all the way down to her toes.”
Amanda was horrified. Who is this sick bastard, anyway?
“I can’t do it,” she said.
He pointed the gun at her face. “Of course you can, and you will! And you need to make it snappy—we don’t have all night here.”
Amanda’s mind was racing. She was certain that he was going to kill both of them eventually—the man was clearly a psychopath. She tried to think of something she could do to stop all of this but came up with nothing. His piercing eyes had never left either of them for even a second. She was just going to have to play along for now and hope that something came up.
She stepped over and faced Dottie. The woman frowned and hung her head. Markham was standing behind her so close that she could hear him breathing. She peeled off one of the labels, paused for a moment, and then gently stuck it to one of Dottie’s cheeks.
“That’s it—nice placement.”
“What are these labels for?” Amanda said.
“I thought you’d never ask. They represent all of the losers in the world—the sick, the poor, the downtrodden. Basically people that for one reason or another suddenly find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Expendables, I like to call ‘em. Take my wife, for instance. She was deemed expendable by the good folks at UrbanGroup. And all of those civilians I had to blow away in Iraq. Bush made that call, by the way, not me. McPherson’s little girl. Innocent perhaps, but still expendable. The list goes on, but I think you get the idea.”
Amanda spun around and stared at Markham in utter shock.
“You killed Chloe?”
“Bingo, again! Somebody had to make Mr. Boss Man pay for what he’d done.”
“How could you kill an innocent child?”
“The same way I kill anybody else. ‘Just do it!’ as they say.”
Like a tidal wave crashing in, Amanda suddenly realized what was happening here. This was the man Alan had been looking for and he had come here out of pure revenge. To make Dottie pay as he’d made Travis pay.
And now she apparently was also included in his hit list.
If only I could have dialed 9-1-1! The police would be on their way!
She needed to stall somehow—buy some time until she could figure out how to keep this maniac from killing them. If she could just grab her phone long enough to dial 9-1-1, it might make him think twice before going any further with this.
“You’ve got a job to do, Amanda. I suggest you get moving.”
Amanda removed another barcode label and stuck it to Dottie’s other cheek. She felt foolish, angry and frightened all at the same time. The worst part was seeing what this was doing to poor Dottie, who by now was barely able to stand up and heaving uncontrollably. If humiliation could kill, the woman would be dead before she completed this ludicrous task.
She suddenly thought of something.
“You know you’re not going to get away with this,” she declared.
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”
“Because I called 9-1-1 earlier. They will be here any minute.”
“Is that right? I’m shaking in my boots here. What do you say we just check and see if that’s true? Of course if you’re lying to me, you’re going to have to pay.”
“I’m not lying.”
He reached for her cell phone. Amanda watched as he accessed the recent calls window. Her heart sunk when she realized what he had just done.
“Gee, I don’t see 9-1-1 listed here, Amanda. Your last call was the one you made to your boyfriend.”
His sarcastic tone of voice sent a chill down her spine.
“That’s gonna cost you, hon. Let me see, how can we make up for the big fucking lie you just told me, huh? Hmm. It’s been quite a while since I’ve felt a nice, firm breast. Haven’t since before my wife passed, in fact. So you just keep doing your job there, and I’ll give you a little extra support in the meantime.”
He stepped over, stood directly behind her, reached around and cupped her left breast in his hand. Amanda flinched and started to object but immediately felt the barrel of the pistol pressed against her temple.
“Whoa, let’s not get all jumpy! The last thing I want to do is blow that beautiful head off your shoulders.”
Amanda shuddered and forced herself not to resist. It wasn’t easy.
“That’s better. Now keep sticking those labels on. Jesus, I hope I brought enough! Gonna take half of them just to cover those monstrous jugs!”
Dottie was whimpering, seemingly zoned out from what was happening. Amanda sensed that the woman might faint any moment.
Markham’s hand travelled over to her right breast. He squeezed her hard and rhythmically, as if to the beat of some song playing in his demented head. There was little doubt that after he was done degrading Dottie he would do something similar to her. Then he would rape her. And after that, kill her.
Suddenly there was an enormous crashing sound like broken glass coming from the other side of the room. Markham glanced over to see what it was. In that instant, Amanda whipped around and grabbed the gun out of his hand. He glared at her with looks to kill as she jumped back a few feet and trained the gun on his chest.
“Freeze, motherfucker!” she shouted.
Markham simply laughed out loud.
“Well look here, we got ourselves a hero-bitch! You aren’t gonna fire at me gorgeous, and you know it,” he said, moving toward her. “So why don’t you just hand it over before you get yourself and your friend—
Like lightning, Amanda thrust a leg out and kicked him squarely in the groin. Markham howled and doubled over in pain.
“Jesus Christ!” he cried, grabbing his crotch.
“Next time I’ll pulverize them, you demented shit,” Amanda said.
She glimpsed over her shoulder and saw a large paving stone lying a few feet from the window. Aware that whoever had thrown it couldn’t have chosen a better time, she wondered who it could have been.
She didn’t have to wait long.
The curtains parted and a familiar form climbed through the broken picture window frame.
“Alan!”
He ran over, removed his coat and handed it to Dottie. Amanda could see the relief on his face as he offered to take the gun from her.
“Can you take care of Dottie until the police get here? I’ll keep an eye on him in the meantime,” he said. “Then you can tell me where in the hell you learned how to disarm a serial killer barehanded.”
Amanda smiled innocently. “I guess I forgot to tell you about the self-defense classes.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
She put her arm around Dottie and led her out of the living room.
“Sit down, Markham,” Alan ordered, gesturing at the piano bench. Markham was still cringing but reluctantly obliged.
“Who the fuck are you?” he groaned.
“Let’s just say somebody who’s been looking for you.”
“A fucking PI?”
“Something like that.”
Alan’s phone buzzed. He checked the caller ID.
“Hey, Mike.”
“Anybody there yet?”
“No, but everything’s under control, thank God. Amanda just overpowered Markham like a Ninja warrior. Nobody hurt except the suspect—he’s nursing a nasty rupture. We’re keeping an eye him until somebody gets here.”
“Excellent. A unit is in the area now and should be there any moment—hang in there.”
“Will do.”
Alan disconnected and said to Markham, “So tell me, why have you waited so long to resume your reign of terror after murdering Chloe McPherson?”
“I’ll let you find that out for yourself, Magnum. You’re the investigator.”
“Swansea’s the name, not Selleck,” Alan replied drily. “So you’re not willing to share any of your story?”
“Nope. Gonna plead the Fifth, I’m afraid.”
Alan heard the sound of approaching sirens through the broken window. Amanda entered the room and stood beside him.
“Dottie’s calmed down some and is getting dressed. Should I go meet the cops at the door?”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
After she left, Markham said, “She’s one lucky woman.”
“How’s that?”
“She was about a heartbeat away from getting a good reaming when you distracted me.”
“Don’t be so sure of yourself, Markham. She still would’ve gotten the upper hand on you without my help. Trust me on that.”
“Whatever.”
The blare of sirens grew louder and Alan saw pulsating red lights reflecting off the walls. A moment later he heard voices approach from the front of the house.
The reinforcements had arrived.