He heard the shower door open and close. He retraced last night’s steps down the hall. He didn’t want to talk to Kelly this morning. He did not even want to see her face.
She was in high spirits this morning. In her joyful mood, she didn’t notice his sullen atmosphere when he walked into the bathroom. She was a morning person who looked forward to every day. This morning, Kelly stood in front of the steam-covered mirror. She was wrapped in a white fluffy towel and brushed her hair that had turned dark and limp in the shower.
“Good morning, Bobby. What happened last night? Too much work with the boys?”
“You guessed it,” he replied and stepped into the shower.
Slore let the warm water flow over his body for a long time. He hoped Kelly would be gone by the time he finished his shower. Even in the warm confines of the shower, tightness in his chest kept him from fully relaxing. There was a dull, burning pain that ran the inside length of his left arm.
He heard the blow dryer stop and Kelly walk out of the bathroom. He was glad she had gone. He felt a little more relaxed. Finishing his shower, he quickly shaved and left the bathroom. Kelly was not in the bedroom. Good, he thought. She’s gone to work.
“Bobby, don’t forget to turn off the coffee pot when you leave,” Kelly called from the kitchen. “I’m off.”
“Okay.” Slut, he thought.
“I’ll be late tonight, Bobby. I’m going out with some girls from work. Martha’s boy, James, is in a school play and some of us have promised to go see him. I’ll be home around eleven.”
Slore did not answer. He heard the front door open and close. He shook as though an earth tremor had attacked his feet. There was a sense of closeness and heat. Black and red covered the room. He smelled the fire before he saw it. He was being pushed and prodded by devil‑like dogs that walked on their hind legs. The dogs had long pig snouts and slobber glistened as it dripped from their ivory tusks. It felt like a vice around his chest. The foul smell of brimstone took his air.
He stumbled over hot coals that burned his feet. The devil dogs prodded him again and again with their elephant tusks. He cried out in pain and begged them to stop. Abruptly, he fell through a smoldering crack that opened up to trap him. He was in a furnace of fire that was consuming him. As he watched, his feet melted like a wax candle. He was in terrible pain and could not breathe.
He heard a loud singing and, when his torment let him look up, he saw a host of devil dogs. The dogs were sitting around a judge’s bench, howling like coyotes. He was hit on the head and forced to bow. The flames licked at his face and his features started to run and drip. As the drippings of his flesh hit the flames, there was a sizzling spurt of fire back into his eyes. When he tried to breathe, flames raced toward his gasping nostrils. Two dogs stuck their razor tusks in each of his ears and forced his head back to look upon their master.
Seated on the throne, surrounded by the howling dogs, was Henserling. Henserling was naked. He had dogs’ ears and fangs. His head was thrown back and a hideous, high‑pitched yelp rolled from his black lips. Sitting on the floor beside Henserling was Kelly. She was half-cat and half-human. Her face distorted, catlike. She was naked and had a long tail that switched back and forth. Slore could hear her purr as she licked Henserling’s leg.
For the first time, Slore came out of the time tunnel lying on the floor. “The only way out of this is to even the score,” he muttered. His hands were heavy as he reached for the bed to pull himself up. “I must have my self‑respect back. She won’t take that. I won’t let her! How can she act as though nothing has happened?”
Then Slore exhaled a deep, sorrowful breath as he realized she shouldn’t act differently. This love affair had probably been going on for months or maybe years. The shaking continued.
Once when he was a little boy, his father had taken him to the train station. It was in the fall. The weather was cool. They had gone to the Southern Pacific Station and watched the trains come and go. He had enjoyed that day, with all the people scurrying about. His father had let him put a penny on the railroad tracks and when all the train cars had passed, he was allowed to retrieve the coin. It was as big as a fifty‑cent piece. As he stood by the tracks, waiting to get his coin back, there came a shaking, rumbling, and then a loud roar. The air smelled foul and his eyes and ears hurt, as the train cars picked up speed. The sensations of shaking and bewilderment he now felt were very much like those on that fall day so many years ago. He noticed that his bedroom smelled evil.
He felt his whole life had been meaningless. It seemed that he had been flushed down a black slime filled drain. Falling and swirling, he gurgled down into a slush pit. There was little hope that he could survive. To try, and climb out of a hole on walls of crumbling decay, would be an impossible endurance trial. He was positive that not trying was the easy way out. He wondered why he had not pulled the trigger on the shotgun.
Then he remembered… Henserling! Deep in the core of his being, a plan emerged. Energy and focus sprang from the plan and he quickly finished dressing. He knew there was only one place he could go for survival. He had to go within himself, to the center of his mind where no one else could go. There hung a door, a brown door that leads into the inner workings of his brain. He knew that to get to this entrance, he must first walk down a long, dimly lit hallway. The hallway is carpeted with brown carpet and the walls are beige. At the end of the hallway is an old large wooden door, bound with hand forged black metal straps and hinges. Only he has the power to open this door. When the door opens, he can step into a small room where the walls are lined high with file cabinets. In this secret room he can plan and wage war, preparing, undetected until he is ready to show his front. This room has known many names, but today it is called the war room.
His spirits lifted, as he finished the tasks of preparation for work. He felt as if he might do a jig or maybe a clog dance. Perhaps he was a fairy or a leprechaun. He would hide under Kelly’s illicit bed and jump out right at the inopportune time. He’d then fly about the room and sprinkle magic dust on them. When he had finished with his games, they would be zapped away to Never‑Never Land, and he and Joey would move to Colorado and live happily ever after.
“So you think you’ve found a prince, do you? You are about to see a prince turn back into a frog,” Slore calmly stated as he walked out the front door.
Chapter 4
Slore felt a rush of danger. Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, he had seen someone move, quickly behind one of the apartment buildings across the street. He was sure, that from the shadows, someone had been watching him. Spying on him. Who could it be? He ran across the street to the edge of the building, but no one was around. He hurried to the pool. No one was there either. Who had it been? Why would anyone follow him? He was sure the man was dressed in black. He walked through the game room and the office lobby, then back outside. It must be my imagination, he assured himself and strolled quickly back to his car. He looked in the rearview mirror as he left the driveway, but he did not see anyone following him.
Today’s early morning drive into the police department lacked yesterday’s energetic wonder. Yesterday, he wondered about crime scenes. Yesterday, he had one brutal, ritualistic murder to solve. Today, there was another sick and depraved crime to solve. Today, he also plotted and schemed and wove a web of deceit and destruction for Kelly and Henserling. Even as he passed the same buildings and same people as yesterday, last night had changed everything for Slore.
“Every day I see the same people,” Slore