her back, he hoped, as he paid for three number one deluxe dinners. His thoughts hollowed as he thought about the murders. He knew that a small tear had begun to rip somewhere deep in the inner part of his sanity. The futility of violence had pushed through his subconscious and now slashed at a seam that was beginning to unravel.
He was now stalked, not only by his own emotions that were pushed taut by exposure to so much death and destruction.
Somewhere, in a small rundown apartment building not far from the Alamo, a man sat watching Slore’s interview on the five o’clock news. “How dare that stupid cop call me perverted and sick? I’m God’s celestial messenger! An angel of salvation! Maybe God will choose him to be saved! Or maybe, some of his family ought to become one of God’s brides, then that phony will know what kind of man I really am!”
Chapter 2
On his way home, Slore drove north on Blanco Road. He and Kelly had a homey place where they had lived for the past nine years. Although he was eager to get home, tonight his mind was a jumble of thoughts that raced here and there. He thought of the dead children and the haunting notes that were left with each body. Why were they written? What was the real reason? Were the killer or killers trying to tell the police something? If that were the case, I should be able to unravel the mystery hidden in the puzzle.
Slore’s mind vibrated with unholy visions of children whose small bodies were ripped apart, boys who would never again play ball. Boys who were dead before they would taste a first kiss, or feel a first love. Now they were boys who would be known from pictures on dressers and remembered only in minds attached to broken hearts. They were children who would never know the joys of life. He couldn’t forget today’s smells. They made him want to vomit.
Racing throughout his head were images of his own playful childhood. He had enjoyed a childhood free of responsibility. He’d been able to just enjoy being a kid. Suddenly there was a feeling of panic as he realized his and Kelly’s precious child could be such a victim. The thought of anyone hurting Joey sent anger and fear screaming through his mind.
He recalled his own near death when he was only nine years old. He remembered the car wreck, one dark and rainy night twenty‑five years ago, that left him alive while killing his mother’s two brothers. A drunk had parked in the center of the road and his uncle swerved too late to miss the parked car.
His mind began to settle. Happier thoughts loomed large with anticipation of the early arrival home and an evening with his family. Slore became happy for the first time today. He realized just how lucky he was to have such a wonderful wife and son. He also pondered a marriage that had weathered some occasional rough water. The last few months, he and Kelly had drifted in opposite directions. He knew there had been a strain in their relationship and that thought brought a nagging, sick feeling. He wondered if Joey was aware of the problem. Kids don’t miss much, he thought. Also there are these strange rushes of colors that he now called his twilight time. It only lasts a few seconds. Sometimes there are strange smells and that funny taste. It’s just the pressure of the job, he thought. He also realized his extra security job at Sears was taking away time he wanted to spend with Kelly and Joey.
There were the twilight times. Not like the warm and safe feeling he now had as the sun slid down behind the low hills just west of town. The temperature cooled a bit and dusk fell across the city, turning the blue of the day into the magenta of sunset.
Slore’s eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar sight. At the traffic light, he saw Kelly’s old red Volvo station wagon turn east on West Avenue. They had taken his Christmas overtime paycheck to pay off the wagon six months early. He watched as the car turned left across traffic. There were four cars between him and the light, but Slore waved when he saw Kelly. She did not see him and went speeding east on West Avenue.
“The food is going to get cold before I get home,” Slore said in a disappointing tone. He waited for the light and the traffic to move and quickly turned in the same direction Kelly had taken. Slow pokes, come on, let’s go, he thought.
The red Volvo was out of sight when he finally made the turn onto West Avenue. As darkness quickly fell, shoppers began turning on their headlights as they pulled out of the shopping places, which made seeing very difficult. Slore contemplated that dusk is the time of the day when it is hardest to see, but, driving as fast as was safe, he hurried on in hopes of catching up with his wife. Searching, searching, it looked like her car turning right onto Bitters Road.
“Where’s she going?” he asked himself aloud. There are no malls or movies this way. Maybe she’s going to Sam’s, he thought. He wished for the old blue detective’s car with its siren and dash-mounted red light so he could hurry the slow‑moving cars out of his way. Pushing the accelerator and driving a little faster, he saw Kelly driving along the access road. She had begun turning into the parking lot beside a row of small shops.
Slore knew he would have to hurry to catch her before she got out of the car and into the stores. His calculations indicated that if he hurried and drove straight to the main entrance, he could cut her off just as she got to the shops’ front doors.
With one eye on Kelly and the other on the entrance, he cut back into the parking lot and drove around to the area where Kelly was about to park. There were people everywhere. While most of them were in a rush, it seemed to Slore as though half the shoppers were dragging their feet, just poking along. He felt that every bad driver and old lady in San Antonio had suddenly appeared in this parking area with their feet on their brakes.
Still watching Kelly over his shoulder, he saw her park the car in an empty space. She was dressed in a light yellow sundress and seemed to bounce out of the car. Her auburn hair was shining brightly in the artificial light of the night. She was beautiful. Kelly was smiling and happy. He could see sparkles reflecting from her eyes and there was a lightness in her step as she walked. Slore thought she looked like she was going to a party.
Instead of going straight to the stores’ entrance, Kelly walked around the Volvo then behind a light blue Cadillac. Suddenly she turned beside the Caddy, opened the door, and quickly disappeared inside.
This doesn’t seem right, he thought. Then he realized she must be meeting a girlfriend for shopping and a movie. Quickly he parked and waited for them to come to the mall entrance. From where he was parked, Slore could see the silhouettes of the occupants in the blue Cad.
That sixth sense police officers had seemed to come alive. Whether you take that ability into the job with you or whether you develop it is a mystery, he thought. The intuition and perception are there or you don’t survive long on the streets. Tonight, Slore’s awareness was acute. It surrounded him like an aura. Not only could he see things in sixth-sense perspective, he now heard and felt his surroundings with increased sensitivity.
Time seemed to slow. He knew this was a time to mentally take notes and be alert. Where was this feeling of impending danger coming from? His senses sharpened, as he observed the blue car. He was oblivious to his other surroundings. The shoppers and parking lot traffic faded from his thoughts. Within the deep recesses of his mind, a strange feeling was beginning to stir. It was a feeling of uncertainty, a tactile sense he was not accustomed to.
He estimated he was parked about fifty yards from the red Volvo and the blue Cadillac. Overhead streetlights and the lights from the cars passing on the street cast strange reflections across the parking area. Slore scrunched down in the seat to get a better look into the Caddy. Now he could see the two occupants well in the artificial light illuminating the parking area. It was Kelly and… “A man. Who’s that guy? I can’t believe it! It’s her boss, Henserling.”
His mind went blank for a second. He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing as Kelly, his Kelly, turned in the seat to kiss her boss. Not a peck on the cheek, but a real kiss. She put her hand to the back of Henserling’s neck and seemed to pull him closer. The world stopped for Slore. He felt the rush of color and a smell of garlic.
Henserling was a man in his early forties. He had distinguished gray hair. Politicians’ hair, long and stylishly cut. He was a health freak and played handball