The Trouble with Sitting

by Eric J Kregel

conclusion

Celia was the victim of the soul who I read in my kid’s new vehicle. Celia, I discovered, was a B-movie actress and model on the Internet. She had starred in two movies: Whiplashed 3: Attack on Doom Mountain and Nora: Queen of Space. She did not play Nora, but some lackey to the bad guy.

Celia Stryker, her professional name, was more famous for her modeling work on the Internet. She had a web site where she would pose in revealing outfits and people would pay money to see them in the form of membership. Her specialty: bondage.

When she was murdered, two years ago, it made the news. Her killer was never found. I tried remembering the images that flashed through my mind when I sat in the driver’s seat. I did remember some pictures of Celia tied up, but I knew she did that sort of thing as a model.

I sat in the seat again. And I got a lot less than I did the first time. Sometimes the imprint of souls fade. Sometimes they’re as bright and vivid as though someone had sat down a minute before. This second read was quite dim. But I did get one image. Celia knew the owner of the car. They were friends. He ran her web site. She entered his car willfully. She knew the name Danny had given me: Rand Johnson.

I had made the connection to Rand and Celia before my second read, when I went through an Internet search of his name. He appeared in a newspaper interview about the murder of his friend. “Celia was a frail woman, like a little girl. She didn’t deserve it,” friend Rand Johnson remembered.

That’s all the search engine gave me on Rand. And yet, when I entered the name Celia Stryker, the pages scrolled to infinity. I read the text, staying away from web sites that were nothing more than picture sites dedicated to Celia’s body. I’m a married man and I don’t see much benefit to my marriage in downloading pictures of dead women.

I couldn’t find any other connection with Rand, but another name that came up: Alicia Presta. From what I could tell, Rand had the same relationship with Celia as Alicia, which would make it safe to assume that she would be next. But there was no mention of other model friends connected with Rand.

Knowing that there was a girl named Alicia still out there made my search all of the more desperate. If there was a way of stopping Rand from killing again, then maybe... But how do you stop a man? How can I prove that I know he’s a murderer by my butt reading his soul? I didn’t worry about that at the moment.

* * *

I drove up to his apartment. A big, yellow eyesore in the heart of our town’s industrial park. I found his postal box, matching it with his apartment number. Before I could stop myself, I wandered up the steps to the third level where his room was.

In the hallway I passed normal, working people who lived in cheaper housing for reasons other than poverty. As I walked up to Rand’s door, I wondered how I could get through to the other side. I mean, should I lie like they do in the movies? Some brilliant cover, to get me in, gaining his confidence so I could snoop around and sit on one of his chairs? No cover came to mind. I just stood in front of the door, trying to think.

Until the door opened in front of me.

Rand stood in front of me, a large man with bushy eyebrows and curly, long hair. He was obese, his gut and his arms billowing folds of fat. He stood in a brown tee-shirt, swim trunks, and flip-flops.

“Took you long enough!” Rand said.

My mind blank, I fumbled for words. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, come in. I’ve got a busy day today, I can’t waste it waiting for some housing inspector to slow my day down.” He waddled out of the way, making a path for me. I came in, trying to figure out the context of my visit. “Look, for months I’ve been complaining to my landlord that there’s mold damage. He doesn’t believe me, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. So all I need is for you to take a look around and write a report on this bozo.”

“Yes, building inspector.” That’s all I could say. I scrambled in my mind. I was in. Now I need to do some work, trying to figure out the link between him and Alicia. “Uhm, can I grab a seat somewhere? I need to fill out a report before I begin.”

“Sure. You can sit at my desk.”

He led me through his apartment. Clothes everywhere. Pictures of sci-fi movies, all of them with women in the front, adorned his living quarters. A smell of cheese hovered around his place. He led me to a desk with a metal chair. I cleared some of his men’s magazines off of his chair. I closed my eyes, slowly lowering myself into his chair.

Alicia. Sweet Alicia. Wrap you up with plastic. Watch you kick. Watch you scream. Alicia shall be no more. Pretty Alicia. Tomorrow, Alicia. Yes. Oh yes. I shall wait outside the gym, Alicia. Dr. Body. Wait in the cold. Grab you. Plastic.

I shot up out of the chair. I couldn’t take any more. I was out of breath when I rose. Rand recoiled, wondering what gave me a scare. I closed my eyes. Rand, the man within feet of me, was going to kill Alicia tomorrow. He’s a serial killer! Certainly, as a therapist, I ran into murderous thoughts. Fits of passion, individuals embroiled in anger. But this was planned. This was relished.

“Sorry,” I said. Think quick. “Uhm, I just noticed mold.” I walked away from the chair, wanting to get as far away from the images as possible. I found a picture of a pretty, young blond girl. I had to clear my mind with her picture...

He saw me staring at the picture. “Can I help you?”

Trying to catch my breath. “Mold around the picture. Hey, is this a sister of yours?”

“No, she’s a model and I’m a fan. Her name is Alicia Presta. I just hang her picture up as, er, decoration.”

Oh.

Five minutes after I entered Rand’s apartment, I left. I made an excuse that I forgot some forms in my car and I would be right back.

* * *

That night I met Alicia Presta. Granted, not personally: I looked her up on the Internet.

Same type of career as Celia. The difference was that there seemed to be no connection to Rand. The picture Rand had of her was downloaded from her web site and printed on picture paper. The only relationship, as far as I could see, was that she looked like Celia. And I knew from the read I got, she worked out at Dr. Body.

Dr. Body was a pretty posh gym in the next town. It was where a lot of famous people and wealthy folks went to work out. The joke was that women wore make-up and men shaved their chests before they went to Dr. Body. Since I’m bald, overweight, and look ten years older than I should, I would probably stick out at Dr. Body.

The next day, I parked at Dr. Body and watched all those who came in and out. Tedious, uneventful, and safe.

At dusk I saw Alicia Presta. She wore sunglasses, jeans, and a sweatshirt. I watched her almost run into the gym. I scanned around the parking lot, looking for Rand. I looked. Nowhere to be found.

My plan was simple: as soon as Rand approached her, I would phone the police. They could catch him in the act, save Alicia, and my name would be out of the loop. Clean, tidy. Neither Alicia, Rand, nor the police would know about me.

I waited. It grew darker. The streetlights popped on. I scanned. No Rand.

An hour later, Alicia strolled out. She was wearing sweats and a hat. I readied my cell phone. She allowed the double door to close behind her. She pulled out her keys, unlocking her car with a press of a button. I looked around for Rand. She stopped. She looked in her bag for something. A car drove in front of me, blocking my view. I lurched out of my car, cell phone in hand. The car rolled past me, creeping like a turtle.

By the time I had visibility, I saw Alicia. She was standing by her car, her gym bag atop, and she was talking on her cell phone. I heard Rand before I saw his van. The tires squealed. It rolled up quickly between Alicia and myself. It thudded to a stop. The side door flew open. Rand leapt out, draping Alicia quickly with a heavy, plastic tarp.

She screamed, but only for two seconds. The plastic quickly wrapped around her face, her mouth. The heavy plastic sunk into her mouth, blocking all air from her. This dark bubble wrapped around her face. Rand quickly wrapped his large hands around her neck, sealing the tarp around her head. Her legs kicked, but away from Rand and at nothing in particular. She was dying. I punched in 911. ROAMING... ROAMING... ROAMING... ROAMING... ROAMING...

Why, of all times, does my cell phone decide not to work? I didn’t know what to do. So, I ran to Alicia and Rand. They didn’t notice me. Alicia struggled. Rand giggled. I tried my number again. Still, the cell phone was roaming, unable to connect with a tower.

“Rand! Stop! Stop it now!” What was I thinking, I ask myself when I look back at the situation.

He was in a dark world, unable to hear me. I stood ten feet away from them, uncertain what to do. Fight? Scream again? I watched this young woman kick in the air again, gasping in silence. Where was anyone from the club? Was I the only one seeing this?

I dialed the phone again. It picked up. “Hello?!”

“I’m at Dr. Body on Highland Boulevard! Send the police! There’s a woman being murdered!”

That’s all I could say. I didn’t have a chance to hang up. Alicia was dying in front of me. Rand was in a daze, shaking and trembling and choking Alicia. I knew he would hear no one until she was dead.

I lunged at him. Later I figured that was stupid. He outweighed be by a hundred pounds. I was just thinking I would have to make him realize that he was not alone. My sternum struck his left shoulder, causing him to let go of the bag for a brief moment.

Alicia dropped to all fours, falling out of the bag. She gasped for air.

I fell to the ground beside Rand, my face hitting the pavement and my stomach absorbing the fall. Rand’s right foot rose and slammed into my lower back, squashing me like a bug. The blow squeezed all of the air out of my body and sent a sharp pain around my back. I wheezed instead of screamed.

“I’ll kill her! So pretty! Must own her,” Rand said in a gurgle.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I gargled nothing in particular, as I felt Rand’s elephant hands grab my shoulders, lifting me from the pavement. And then I felt plastic being wrapped around my face.

I breathed plastic, gasping in a light blue world. I had no strength, so I didn’t kick or writhe like Alicia.

I simply went to sleep.

* * *

“Are you sure we can’t get him any coffee?” the police detective asked the nurse.

She giggled. She was the same age as the police officer, both without any wedding bands. “No, he’s been through an awful lot.”

“But he’s a hero. If he hadn’t been there that girl in the next room would be in the morgue.”

“I’ll have coffee at home. It’s all right,” I said. This young detective, about six years older than my daughter, was the first person I had seen when I woke up in the hospital. He told me that as soon as I went unconscious the police came and wrestled Rand away from me.

I was out cold for a half an hour. The paramedics were concerned, but when I got to the emergency room, I was coming around. I had gone without air for only a few seconds. After answering some basic questions (“Who is the president of the United States?”), they decided I had no damage, just shock.

Alicia had explained that I came out of nowhere and got Rand off of her. I told the young detective I had just been driving by and saw the attack. I did what any normal person would do and came to her aid.

“That’s what we need. We need more people who are willing to take a stand against crime. I’m sure more people in Dr. Body saw what was going on. But you took action. If we only had more citizens like you... ”

“He almost was killed,” the nurse said.

“Of course he was almost killed. And as an officer, I’m supposed to tell you not to do things like that and wait and let a professional... blah, blah, blah. Look, I’ll tell you as a fellow human being: we need more than just watchers in this world. And for that, I want this man to have a cup of coffee.”

“He’s not to have any coffee!”

“Than how about you? When do you get off your shift for a cup of joe?”

“In a half an hour,” she said with a wry smile.

The young detective closed his notebook full of notes from our conversation and asked, “Well, we’ll keep in touch. I’m sure he’ll plead guilty and will be behind bars. My guess is that this is not his first crime and once we go through his apartment, we’ll find evidence of a whole lot more.”

“I imagine so.”

About an hour passed and the doctor came in. He ran a couple more tests on me and then pronounced me fit to leave. “All of us heard what you did. Very dangerous. Way to go.” I changed out of my hospital gown and back into my clothes.

An orderly came in, pushing a wheelchair. “Hey! Climb aboard the chair! Time for your limo ride! Your wife is waiting for you in the car outside the hospital!”

I stared at the chair.

I rose to my feet. “Thanks, but no thanks. I prefer to walk. I’ve been off my feet for too long today. The trouble with sitting is that it leads to other things. Things I don’t have the strength to deal with today.” And I walked out of the hospital to meet my wife.

Proceed to Challenge 236...