Beneath the Mask of Sanity Read online

  “Is it him?” Lester asked.

  Sheila never blinked. She just stared at the corpse, but she did have presence of mind enough to nod at Lester’s question.

  Lester pulled the sheet back and pushed the corpse back into the wall and shut it. Finally, Sheila gave a couple blinks. Frank expected her to cry, but the tears never came.

  Guess she’s all dried up now, he thought.

  Sheila turned and walked out of the room, the other two men followed her. When Frank exited the examining room, beads of cold sweat began to break out on his forehead.

  In the corner of the lobby, Karen and Jill were looking at some book with a bright, red bunny on the cover.

  “Karen sweetie,” Sheila said. “We should probably get going. I’m sure your sister misses us.”

  “She’s probably still being a butt,” Karen said.

  “Karen Marie Braddock! You should not talk that way about your family.”

  ”It’s true though.”

  Sheila stomped over and grabbed Karen’s hand. “You’re going to have to apologize when we get home young lady.”

  Karen sighed. “Okay,” she said.

  Frank wanted to laugh, cry and feel his heartbreak at those words. There was something so innocent and sweet in that voice, yet defeated as well. To Frank that voice summed up at that it was to be a child.

  “Mrs. Braddock, I’m so sorry for this,” Frank said.

  Sheila turned her eyes on him and they were filled with fire. Frank jerked back a little, not prepared for it.

  “You just catch whoever did this, do you understand?”

  “We’ll do everything in our power…”

  “No,” Sheila said. “No, that’s not good enough. I want you to stand here and tell me that you’re going to get whoever did this.”

  Frank stared at her. He didn’t want to open his mouth, but discovered that apparently your body could sometimes work on its own, without your input.

  “I promise you that we will find him.”

  “Good. Call me when you do.”

  With that, Sheila (dragging Karen by the arm) walked out.

  When they were gone, Lester turned towards Frank. “That’s gonna be a hell of a trick Frank.”

  “I know. Just find me something I can use. I don’t like to break promises.”

  12.

  Marina del Tago was a small city nearly fifty miles outside of San Ignace. Most of the houses were quite large. Professions varied in the residents, there were plastic surgeons, heart surgeons, producers, CEO’s, other executives and many more. One thing was uniform, however, they all made top dollar.

  Bentley walked down the street, looking both at the houses and the street. He kept expecting to see a cop car roll down the street. They were much more common in the rich neighborhoods. Even the cops knew who paid their salary.

  It wasn’t long before Bentley found what he was looking for, a driveway with three cars. Not just any three cars though. Two expensive looking sedans and a sports car.

  The darkness that surrounded him made it more likely that people would be home, but that didn’t bother him. In fact, that was exactly what he wanted, the way it had always been. It had taken Bentley quite a while to get out here, he hadn’t dared to hitch a ride, The Master would have never allowed it. Hitching meant that people could recognize you. The bus took him most of the way, the rest he walked. After the long trip, he thought he deserved a reward and he was going to get it.

  The house was a large colonial. There was a huge front yard, the kind that whatever little rich bastard lived here could play football on with all his rich asshole friends, but there was no gate and that was good. Bentley didn’t like gates.

  He crept up the lawn, looking in every direction. The three cars stood in front of a garage that was big enough to have been a nice house. Bentley quickly eliminated that as a possible entrance, it wasn’t attached.

  Instead, he took a sharp angle and made his way to the side of the house. There was a gate back here. A tall wooden one designed to keep the backyard safe.

  Rich little kikes, Bentley thought. Keep the backyard safe, that’s smart.

  There were two windows on the side of the house. They were both tall and wide, perfect. Two round electric meters sat below the first window. Bentley looked and judged them large enough to step on.

  He lifted his leg and set his foot on first one and then the other as he grabbed the sides with his hands and hoisted himself into a standing position.

  From his new vantage point on the meter, he could see inside the house. It appeared as if he was looking at a study. There were large shelves on the three walls that he could see. Books filled each and every row; there must have been thousands of them.

  All them books, Bentley thought. How many have you read? One? Two? Surely no more than three. All you rich assholes ever read is the Wall Street Journal so that you can see how much blood you’ve sucked from the rest of us to pay for your yachts and your houses and your whores.

  Bentley put his hand on the glass, waiting for an alarm to sound. None did.

  Could be silent, The Master spoke. The Master thought of everything. He was the one in control here. Bentley heard the Master’s lessons and he put them to use. To do otherwise would be to open the door to getting caught, and that couldn’t happen. These adventures were too much fun to end.

  He pressed his face against the glass and looked as far right as he could. Then, he turned his head to the left. The study was dark, but he could still make out the outlines on the walls. He didn’t see any boxes on the walls. Boxes that would indicate some kind of security system that would have to be turned off. If they did have an alarm system it seemed that there was no kill switch in this room.

  “Hopefully that means that the security doesn’t extend to these windows,” he whispered.

  There was a lump in the pocket of Bentley’s pants and he reached his left hand in and pulled out a dirty old rag. Bentley wadded up and wrapped it around his right fist.

  Teeth grinded down against each other and he thrust his arm out as hard as he could. The glass smashed in with a muted jingle. Bentley raked his arm down, sending more shards flying inward.

  Jagged pieces rose up, threatening to cut as Bentley reached down and undid the latch at the bottom of the window. It slid back smoothly and Bentley extracted his arm. He put his gloved palms on the window and lifted. It rose, leaving more than enough space for him to crawl through.

  Once he was in the study, he moved quickly. The door was to his left and he opened it and walked through.

  The room outside the study was a massive open space. It looked more like the floor of a museum than a home. The door was on his right. There was no box there either.

  Trusting neighborhood, The Master spoke. Bentley smiled.

  To his left was a large staircase that led up to the second floor. There was an open space where the ceiling should be in this part of the house and it was easy to see the row of doors that the stairs led to. There were five of them. Now Bentley moved with more caution. If there was no alarm system than he had no reason to rush.

  He climbed each step, one at a time, listening to hear any kind of noise, any sign that the owners of the house might have been alerted to his presence. He heard nothing.

  Bentley crested the last step and looked to his right and left. There were two more doors at each end of the hallway.

  One’s a bathroom, The Master said. The other one might be a room or a closet or anything.

  Bentley turned to his left and followed the hallway down. There were no squeaks, no creaks, no noises at all.

  When he reached the door, Bentley reached out and grasped the handle. He turned slowly. The door opened revealing a bedroom. The bed looked like a queen. The sheets were pulled tightly on the bed and two pillows sat at the head.

  Bentley looked around. There was a dresser, but nothing on the walls, no human touch at all.

  Guest room.

  Closing the doo
r, he turned his attention on the doors that faced the open space of the main hall.

  He opened the first one; it appeared to be some sort of office. There was a computer on a large wooden desk. Some more books reposed in a set of smaller shelves. There were three books on the desk itself. Bentley was beginning to reexamine his opinion of the owner’s reading habits.

  The door snicked shut and he tried the next door. This one was also a bedroom, but there were stark differences from the first one. A Fathead poster of Terrell Owens in a 49ers uniform decorated the wall across from the door. The dresser contained several knickknacks on the top of it. A black bottle with the word AXE on it, a wallet that looked thick, a set of keys, and a cell phone.

  The bed was different too. The sheets weren’t hugged to the bed; they were loose and formed around a body.

  Bentley walked over to the bed. The boy was sleeping. His chest rose and fell in the harmony of the unconscious. He had brown hair, parted to the side. His eyes moved side to side and up and down.

  What do the rich dream of?

  The boy looked tall, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Bentley walked away from the bed and over to the dresser again. He stared at it for a second, thinking. This was hard to do sometimes, especially without The Master’s input. Finally he pulled out the third drawer and hit pay dirt, jeans. There were several pairs, folded neatly and sitting side by side.

  Bentley pulled four pairs out and set them on the ground next to the dresser. After a second of consideration he opened the second drawer and found several shirts that he added to his collection. When that was done, Bentley walked back over to the boy. He hated to do things quickly, but there were others in the house that he had to think of. So, Bentley reached into his pocket again and pulled out the knife.

  He had picked it up at a trade show two years ago. It had a twelve inch blade that curved towards him.

  Bentley held the knife to the boy’s exposed throat and slashed across. The result was immediate. Blood poured out it a red jet. The boy never even opened his eyes, didn’t make any noise. His body seized forward for a second and Bentley gently pushed him back down on the bed. Blood began to soak through the sheets and Bentley stood up. He shook his head; his mouth was drawn down into a frown. Still, there were others.

  The next door was also a bedroom. This one was different as well. The décor was more sedate, more modern. A painting of a young woman standing in a grove of trees hung on the wall. The woman was holding a white umbrella and wore a white dress.

  Bentley turned from the painting and towards the two lying on the bed. The man had his back to the woman and was sleeping on his side. The woman was turned towards the man. Her right hand was stretched over her head, the left hand lay between them, as if reaching out in sleep to find her husband.

  Unlike the boy’s room, Bentley had only one interest here. He looked around the room for something suitable. His eyes happened upon a paperweight on the dresser. It was an amorphous thing. Just some chunk of stone that did the important job of protecting their papers from a breeze.

  Probably still paid a few hundred for it, though.

  Bentley walked over and grabbed it. It wasn’t as good as The Master’s pipe, but it would do the job.

  He made his way back over to the bed, the knife in one hand and the paperweight in the other. The man would have to be first. Besides, the woman was where the real fun was anyway.

  Bentley walked around to the husband’s side of the bed. He had the same hair as his son; only his was thinning, seeming to run away from his face. Bentley slashed the knife in the same way that he had when he had dispatched the boy.

  Only this time, there were noises. The man’s eyes flew open and Bentley looked straight into them. He didn’t see fear, or horror, or anger. The only emotion in those muddy brown waters was confusion. The man emitted a bubbly croaking sound and then his body went slack.

  “Honey, are you…” the wife began, in a sleep furry voice.

  She broke off and started to scream.

  Bentley jumped over the husband and landed on the woman before she could move. Her body was hot underneath his. She was thin and didn’t look like she had much muscle, but she put up quite a fight underneath Bentley.

  He placed a hand over her mouth and she tried to bite. That didn’t matter, the gloves were thick and her efforts were almost unnoticed.

  She tried to buck underneath Bentley, but his legs were strong and they remained on top of her thighs. Bentley reached out with his left hand (the knife still in it) and cupped her left breast. It wasn’t large or small, but very firm under his hand. Bentley felt the excitement rise.

  “Shut up!” Bentley hissed. “Shut up and listen to me and this will all be over very soon.”

  The woman continued to struggle. Her arms flailed out against him. The nails were claws that tried to dig, but Bentley deflected ever blow with his forearm.

  “Stop or I will kill you right now.”

  The woman laid her arms at his side. Bentley looked her in the eyes. They were blue and they were afraid.

  “I’m going to take my hand away and you’re not going to make a sound, because if you do, you know that I’m going to kill your son.”

  The wife’s eyes grew large and her head moved up and down. Bentley smiled and took his hand away.

  “What do you want? Take anything that you want?”

  “Shut up.” Bentley laid the knife on the bed, but kept it close. “You are going to fuck me,” Bentley said. The wife began to shake her head, but Bentley laid his gloved index finger on her lips. “I’m not asking. You are going to fuck me right here on this bed, with your dead husband next to us, or your son dies.”

  Tears began to run from the wife’s eyes. She made choking sobbing sounds.

  “When we’re done, I’ll get up and leave. You won’t tell anyone that I fucked you and you and your son can go on living whatever fuckin’ life you want on your dead husband’s money.”

  The wife didn’t speak. Bentley continued to look into her eyes.

  “Do you agree?”

  She didn’t speak, she only stared back. Bentley was about to open his mouth again, but the woman kissed him.

  Her tongue darted into his mouth and she pressed. Bentley felt no passion, but that didn’t matter. If it had been there, he might not have felt it anyway. He knew what he was.

  Bentley used his right hand to pull his pants down. He never took his eyes off of the woman. With his left hand he pulled the straps of her nightgown down.

  The breasts were larger than he thought at first, a bright red nipple stood in the center of each one.

  Bentley sucked on the one on the left. The woman gave out a moan, but Bentley knew it was fake. It sounded hollow and emotionless, it was merely a move designed to placate him.

  “Take your underwear off,” Bentley ordered.

  The woman leaned forward and pulled them down. Bentley entered and felt the delicious pressure as the woman’s body formed around him, gobbling him up.

  He thrusted inside of her and she closed her eyes. The tears ran harder now. Bentley knew he was an unwelcome invader but he didn’t care.

  He pumped for nearly five minutes, going faster and faster. Then he raised the knife to the woman’s throat. She opened her eyes.

  “Are you gonna cum soon bitch.”

  Her eyes flashed fear and disgust. It was the only answer that Bentley needed. He leaned close to the woman and whispered in her ear.

  “Your fuckin’ brat of a son is already dead.”

  He slashed the knife across the throat and blood flew out onto him. The woman jerked wildly and Bentley picked up the paperweight. He slammed it against her head and heard the wonderful crunch. His arm moved up and down with deadly force five times, ten, fifteen, before he let it rest at his side.

  The woman had stopped moving. Bentley felt her blood dripping down him. He let the blood flow over him, bathing him in its red warmth.

  13.

  Dete
ctive Miles wasn’t sleeping. His condo was empty except for him and that made it hard to sleep most nights. When there was something on his mind, it became nearly impossible to get any rest. The blankets lay in a heap at the foot of the bed. Frank stared up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.

  “Goddamn Braddock. Why the hell did he have to go and get himself killed?”

  Only that wasn’t fair and Frank knew it. Still, it felt like the dead man’s fault. If he hadn’t died, then Frank wouldn’t have had to look into his family’s faces when they found out he was dead. He wouldn’t have had to make that ridiculous promise.

  After Sheila left, Frank went down to see George Wilson at the lab. They still hadn’t turned up anything.

  “How the hell could someone savagely beat another human being to death and not leave anything behind. No fingerprints, no hair, nothing.”

  The air in the condo was stagnant and it seemed to close in. Frank sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

  “This is stupid. Why am I wasting time thinking about this? After a couple weeks it’s just going to be another unsolved murder. Hell there are thousands of them out there.”

  That might be true, but Frank didn’t need to talk things out with himself to know why this one was different. It was the only one that he had made a promise to solve.

  She won’t hold you to it, he told himself.

  Oh no?

  No, of course not. She’ll understand.

  Would you if it were someone you loved?

  Frank thought about that for a long time. Finally, to break the thought, he got up and walked to the bathroom.

  The faucet hummed as the water ran down the drain. Every now and then Frank would dip his hands in and splash his face. The water dripped down from his nose and chin.

  “There’s got to be something else.”