Phantoms

Tal handed him a flashlight.

Bryce directed the hewn into the dark heating duct and frowned. The narrow, metal passageway ran only a short distance before taking a ninety-degree upward turn.

Switching off the flashlight and passing it down to Tal Bryce said, “Impossible. To get through there, Wargle would have to've been no bigger than Sammy Davis, Jr., and as flexible as the rubber man in a carnival sideshow.”

Frank Autry approached Bryce Hammond at the operations desk in the middle of the lobby, where the sheriff was seated, reading over the messages that had come in during the night.

“Sir, there's something you ought to know about Wargle.”

Bryce looked up. “What's that?”

“Well… I don't like to have to speak ill of the dead.”

“None of us cared much for him,” Bryce said flatly, “Any attempt to honor his memory would be hypocritical. So if you know something that'll help me, spill it, Frank.”

Frank smiled. “You'd have done real well for yourself in the army.” He sat on the edge of the desk. “Last night, when Wargle and I were dismantling the radio over at the substation, he made several disgusting remarks about Dr. Paige and Lisa.”

“Sex stuff?”

“Yeah.”

Frank recounted the conversation that he'd had with Wargle.

“Christ,” Bryce said, shaking his head.

Frank said, “The thing about the girl was what bothered me most. Wargle was half serious when he talked about maybe making a move on her if the opportunity arose. I don't think he'd have gone as far as rape, but he was capable of making a very heavy pass and using his authority, his badge, to coerce her. I don't think that kid could be coerced; she's too spunky. But I think Wargle might've tried it.”

The sheriff tapped a pencil on the desk, staring thoughtfully into the air.

“But Lisa couldn't have known,” Frank said.

“She couldn't have overheard any of your conversation?”

“Not a word.”

“She might have suspected what kind of man Wargle was from the way he looked at her.”

“But she couldn't have known,” Frank said, “Do you see what I'm driving at?”

“Yes.”

“Most kids,” Frank said, “if they were going to make up a tall tale, they would be satisfied just to say they'd been chased by a dead man. They wouldn't ordinarily embellish it by saying the dead man wanted to molest them.”

Bryce tended to agree. “Kids' minds aren't that baroque. Their lies are usually simple, not elaborate.”

“Exactly,” Frank said, “The fact that she said Wargle was naked and wanted to molest her… well… to me, that seems to add credibility to her story. Now, we'd all like to believe that someone sneaked into the utility room and stole Wargle's body. And we'd like to believe they put the body in the ladies' room, that Lisa saw it, that she panicked, and that she imagined all the rest. And we'd like to believe that after she fainted, someone got the corpse out of there by some incredibly clever means. But that explanation is full of holes. What happened was a lot stranger than that.”

Bryce dropped his pencil and leaned back in his chair. “Shit. You believe in ghosts, Frank? The living dead?”

“No. There's a real explanation for this,” Frank said, “Not a bunch of superstitious mumbo-jumbo. A real explanation.”

“I agree,” Bryce said, “But Wargle's face was…”

“I know. I saw it.”

“How could his face have been put back together?”

“I don't know.”

“And Lisa said his eyes.”

“Yeah. I heard what she said.”

Bryce sighed. “You ever worked Rubik's Cube?”

Frank blinked. “No. I never did.”

“Well, I did,” the sheriff said, “The damned thing almost drove me crazy, but I stuck with it, and eventually I solved it. Everybody thinks that's a hard puzzle, but compared to this case, Rubik's Cube is a kindergarten game.”

“There's another difference,” Frank said.

“What's that?”

“If you fail to solve Rubik's Cube, the punishment isn't death.”

In Santa Mira, in his cell in the county jail, Fletcher Kale, slayer of wife and son, woke before dawn. He lay motionless on the thin foam mattress and stared at the window, which presented a rectangular slab of the predawn sky for his inspection.

He would not spend his life in prison. Would not.

He had a magnificent destiny. That was the thing no one understood. They saw the Fletcher Kale who existed now, without being able to see what he would become. He was destined to have it all: money beyond counting, power beyond imagining, fame, respect.

Kale knew he was different from the rest of mankind, and it was this knowledge that kept him going in the face of all adversity. The seeds of greatness within him were already sprouting. In time, he would make them all see how wrong they had been about him.

Perception, he thought as he stared up at the barred window, perception is my greatest gift. I'm extraordinarily perceptive.

He saw that, without exception, human beings were driven by self-interest. Nothing wrong with that. It was the nature of the species. That was how humankind was meant to be. But most people could not bear to face the truth. The up so-called inspiring concepts like love, friendship, honor, truthfulness, faith, trust, and individual dignity. They claimed to believe in all those things and more; however, at heart, they knew it was all bullshit. They just couldn't admit it. And so, they stupidly hobbled themselves with a smarmy, self- congratulatory code of conduct, with noble but hollow sentiments, thus frustrating their true desires, dooming themselves to failure and unhappiness.

Fools. God, he despised them.

From his unique perspective, Kale saw that mankind was, in reality, the most ruthless, dangerous, unforgiving species on earth. And he reveled in that knowledge. He was proud to be a member of such a race.

I'm ahead of my own time, Kale thought as he sat up on the edge of his bunk and put his bare feet on the cold floor of his cell. I am the next step of evolution. I've evolved beyond the need to believe in morality. That's why they look at me with such loathing. Not because I killed Joanna and Danny. They hate me because I'm better than they are, more completely in touch with my true human nature.

He'd had no choice but to kill Joanna. She had refused to give him the money, after all. She had been prepared to humiliate him professionally, ruin him financially, and wreck his entire future.

He'd had to kill her. She was in his way.

It was too bad about Danny. Kale sort of regretted that part. Not always. Just now and then. Too bad. Necessary, but too bad.

Anyway, Danny had always been a regular mama's boy. In fact, he was actually downright distant toward his father. That was Joanna's handiwork. She had probably been brainwashing the kid, turning him against his old man. In the end, Danny really hadn't been Kale's son at all. He'd become a stranger.

Kale got down on the floor of, his cell and began to do pushups.

One-two, one-two, one-two.

He intended to keep himself in shape for that moment when an opportunity for escape presented itself. He knew exactly where he would go when he escaped. Not west, not out of the country, not over toward Sacramento. That's what they would expect him to do.

One-two, one-two.