Читать книгу The Reluctant Savior - Krystan - Страница 10

chapter 1

Incipimus ad Finem: (We Begin Near the End)

(We Begin Near the End)

Portland, Oregon

May 21, 2011

It was just after 10:30 p.m. when Frank pulled up in front of a short row of town houses toward the end of Gaines Street. He knew that the redheaded nurse lived in the third one from the left, because he had followed her there from work a couple of weeks ago. Having no transportation of his own, both then and now, Frank had borrowed an old black ’82 Corolla from a friend, promising to use it only for a couple of hours each time. Tonight was different from his last visit, however, as he had arrived before she did and had plans other than just observing. As he cut the lights and turned off the engine, he was excited and somewhat edgy. Like a big cat seeking out its prey, all his senses were heightened and he felt a rush not unlike that from the line of coke he had done just before leaving his friend’s house. It was like a double high this time, though—the drugs plus the anticipation of what he planned on doing to the nurse when she arrived home from work.

This wasn’t just any nurse either. Frank couldn’t remember her name exactly, but she worked evenings at OHSU, and was often there when the cops hauled him in. She would always quickly flip her badge over in his presence so he couldn’t see her name. Can’t blame her, really, he thought. Who in their right mind would give out any personal information to a druggie like me, especially in the shape I’m usually in? Damn, I hate going to that hospital, but seeing her almost makes up for it. The way her ass wiggles when she walks down the hall…almost makes me come just thinkin’ about it. And those tits…oh my god, just like two overripe melons! I’d love to pluck those babies and suck on ’em till I die! And she was always such a smart-ass too. He hated it when a woman got the upper hand on him. Tonight he would get even, though.

Frank rolled a joint and lit up just to accentuate his fantasies a bit. He raised the windows and sucked in the sweet smoke that he so often depended on. “Oh, yeah,” he groaned as the weed took its intended effect. “Tonight’s the night I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.”

It was a pleasant spring evening in the city—partly cloudy, with temperatures hovering around sixty degrees. The moon was half-full as it illuminated the fronts of the four attached row homes, which were quite unique, even by Portland standards. With towering walls of glass in the front, and three levels of living, they backed up to a forested area that gave them a woodsy feel. Across the street where Frank was parked was a trail into the Marquam Nature Preserve, which offered miles of hiking into unspoiled Northwest habitat, ironically juxtaposed with Portland’s huge high-tech medical research complex. Frank studied the third town house very carefully, looking for any sign of occupancy at the moment. He was pretty sure that she would be returning from work shortly, as she usually worked the 3–11 shift and, at least on his previous visit, arrived home around eleven thirty. He also thought that she might have a boyfriend, as he had noticed a man through the window on his last surveillance visit. That complicated matters considerably and certainly made him a bit more cautious tonight. On the other hand, the thought of tying the guy up and fucking his woman right in front of him was almost more excitement than Frank could imagine. He had raped women before and had even done time for one of them, but the thrill of the struggle and conquest lingered strongly in his mind. Frank had heard somewhere that rape had a lot to do with repressed anger, but try as he would, he really couldn’t identify any such emotion in himself. For him, it was a lot like Lady Cain—all about the high, which was magnified so much more with a beautiful and struggling subject.

If he had thought about it, Frank would have easily seen that “getting high” had been the sole objective for most of his life. He had been in and out of foster homes as a child, with his police record starting at age nine, when he was convicted for sexually molesting the eight-year-old daughter of his sponsoring family. By his teenage years, he had numerous minor convictions for petty theft, drugs, and even one case of indecent exposure. His first real prison sentence began at age nineteen, when he was found guilty of raping one of the local high school cheerleaders after a big football game. At twenty-five, he was on the street again, residing primarily in homeless shelters, doing whatever drugs he could get his hands on, and continuing his sexually predatory practices. Had it not been so difficult to prove that his escapades were not consensual, he would have spent far more time in prison. As it was, his past few years had involved numerous brief periods of jail time interspersed with frequent hospital admissions for intoxication and drug overdoses. Now, at age forty-two, Frank was planning his biggest “score”: sexually assaulting one of his caregivers in her own home, with her boyfriend forced to watch—if he was around, that is.

Frank smiled sardonically as he inhaled the last of his joint and rolled down the window. There were no streetlights on this side of the street, so the black Corolla blended in well with the woods behind it. Passing clouds had covered the moon by this time, and the only light came from a streetlight in front of the second of the four town houses. Frank pensively scratched his four-day-old beard and ran his fingers through his matted and unkept brown hair. Deep wrinkles were etched in his face from years of malnutrition, smoking, drug abuse, and poor hygiene. His clothes were dirty and somewhat ragged, and his hands were rough, with nails resembling those of an auto mechanic. He wore an old pair of high-top work boots that someone had recently donated to the shelter, and a pair of loose-fitting jeans that showed lots of wear. His thin short-sleeved chambray work shirt revealed the tattoo of a large-breasted female torso on his right forearm. He hesitated as he reached for the door handle, as if finalizing some sort of plan in his mind.

Before opening the door, Frank looked carefully at the town house again. The unit to the left, which appeared to be identical, was vacant and for sale. He had seen an open house sign there the night when he had followed the nurse home, and made a point (much to the realtor’s dismay) to visit it the following Sunday. Clad similarly this evening, he caught a bus up SW 6th to Sam Jackson and on up Pill Hill to the hospital complex, walking the last few blocks to Gaines Street. No one was there but the realtor when he arrived, and she seemed very nervous as he slowly made his way through the property, noting all the room arrangements and access points. There was a two-car garage on the ground level, with a guest bedroom and bath behind. A door and several windows opened to a back deck, which looked to Frank to be the ideal entry point. There was a back stairway up to the family room, which was open to the kitchen. In the front of the home, up a flight of concrete steps, was the entry, formal living and dining rooms. Another stairway led up to the third-floor master bedroom, which was vaulted with a wall of windows facing the street. There was a second bedroom and bath on the back side. As he had walked down to the main entry, Frank rather sarcastically thanked her for the tour, and thought to himself that she was just lucky he had something else on his mind. Any other day he would have had that tight little skirt up around her waist and her legs spread apart before they had even left the garage!

Tonight there was only one small light on in the front living room, and the rest of the house appeared to be dark, at least from the street side. Opening the car door, Frank stood motionless for a moment while he paused to verify the contents of his right pants pocket. As his fingers wrapped around the familiar handle of his Beretta Bobcat, he felt reassured. Although he had never been much for outright violence, he found out the hard way several times that it always pays to pack a little “additional security,” and the Beretta certainly fit the bill in that respect. Small and compact, it was the perfect concealed weapon, fitting easily and unobtrusively into his pocket. There had been a couple of drug deals where it had come in handy, but primarily, Frank just enjoyed the advantage that the weapon would confer if necessary. As he ran his fingers over the barrel and trigger, he wondered whether or not he would have to use it tonight. Probably not, he reasoned. That redheaded bitch can’t help but give me what I want when she sees it, though, Frank smiled sadistically as he removed his hand from his pocket and shifted his attention to other details.

Then the nylon rope came to mind. Where had he put it? He felt for sure that it would be necessary, especially if the boyfriend was around. “Where the hell is that fucking rope?” Frank muttered as he groped through the dark vehicle. “Goddamn it, I’m sure I didn’t forget that!” he cursed as he searched further through the Corolla. “Ah, there you are, you little fucker,” he sputtered, breathing a sigh of relief as his hand brushed against the coil of rope on the floor behind the passenger seat. “Damn, you ’bout gave me a heart attack, you little bastard!” Frank glared threateningly at the rope as if it were an unwilling accomplice. “Now where’s my ski mask?” he growled, again canvasing the Toyota until he found it on the floor behind the driver’s seat, next to his small backpack. Organization and planning were not two of his strong suits, but tonight it appeared that he had what was needed. “Better put the fucking gun in the backpack along with this other stuff,” he grumbled, “or I’m likely to shoot my leg off by accident!” As he undid the pack and reached down inside, his hand felt a bottle in the bottom, which brought a grin to his face. “Forgot I brought ole Jim along for company!” he laughed as he opened the bottle and took a long swig. “Ummm…that’s more like it!” he reassured himself as he placed all of his “tools” into the backpack, where they would be safe. He finally emerged from the car, slipped the pack over his shoulder, and shut the door quietly as he turned to walk across the street toward the town house.

Avoiding the streetlight, Frank moved around the right corner of the fourth town house and stealthily to the back of the complex. The woods were pretty thick back there, and almost up to the decks of the town houses, but he shuffled as quietly as he could through the limbs and leaves. His left foot felt some resistance, and a sharp crackling sound startled him as the fallen limb beneath his boot yielded to his advance. “Shit,” Frank hissed under his breath, “why the hell didn’t I remember to bring a flashlight?” He tried to make out some sort of pathway through the woods before him, but the trees were so thick, and now with the moon behind the clouds, he could scarcely see his own hand in front of his face.

Suddenly, Frank had the uncanny feeling that he wasn’t alone back there. Almost immediately his ears detected a low menacing growl approximately twenty feet to his left. With no further warning, a large dog, apparently on the deck of the last town house, began barking ferociously and loud enough to be heard all the way to the children’s hospital.

Frank froze in his tracks. Sweat quickly beaded on his forehead, and he swallowed hard, wondering what to do next. For what seemed like an eternity, he didn’t move a muscle and tried his best to breathe shallowly, if at all. He knew any minute floodlights would come on and he had no real hope of escape. Ten, fifteen, twenty seconds went by with the dog still barking, but no lights. Then a glimmer of hope flickered through Frank’s brain. Maybe no one is at home, he thought, and I’ve only got to deal with this miserable dog. Another 10 seconds with no sound or movement from Frank and the dog finally stopped. He knew the animal sensed his presence, however, and from the sound of him, it was a big dog. Frank weighed his options. Apparently, no one home, that’s a relief, but after a couple of Frank burgers, that fucking dog’ll be gnawing on my bones in about 10 minutes. It’s so damn dark I can’t see shit, even what that goddamn dog looks like. Sounds like a Doberman to me, though. Jesus, I hate those dogs! That motherfucker would just as soon tear my ass apart if he could. Those last three words stuck in Frank’s brain. That’s it! he exclaimed to himself, he can’t! Must be tied up or something, or I would already have been dinner. Dammit, I wish I could see him!

Just then, almost as if by command, the clouds momentarily parted and Frank’s wish was granted. To his left, on the deck of the last town house, about fifteen feet away, was the biggest, blackest Doberman Frank had ever seen. His teeth were bared, visible in stark relief against a canopy of black. Two steely black eyes, reflecting the moon in each pupil, likewise pierced the black veil and were menacingly fixed on his position. In the moonlight, the dog saw Frank as well, and once again began a low, threatening growl. Frank glanced quickly in the distance and could make out the nurse’s deck about 30 feet down and to his left. The trees were pretty heavy up to about two feet from the deck steps, and he knew there was no way to approach it silently. The growling intensified on his left flank, bringing his attention immediately back to that area. Then, as quickly as it had come, the moon was gone, but not before he saw, or thought he saw, a glimmer of something metallic behind the dog. God, is that a chain? Frank questioned his brief vision—something had caught his eye, but he couldn’t say for sure. As best as he could under the circumstances, he struggled for logic, although in the panic of the moment he seemed to have completely forgotten about the Beretta in his backpack. If the dog is free, he reasoned, he’ll get me whether I go forward or back. If he’s not, I may as well go for it, ’cause he can’t hurt me, and so far, at least, it doesn’t look like anyone’s home at either place. Besides, if I don’t do it now, that sweet little cunt may never taste ol’ Frank’s hot, creamy cocktail. Oh yeah…the very thought of her struggling to protect her feminine delights from his rapacious advances excited Frank all the more, and he began to notice a familiar bulge between his legs.

A twig snapping under the weight of his left foot, however, quickly extinguished that fantasy, as all hell quickly broke loose once again. The dog’s front feet were on the rail, his body arching in a struggle to clear it. His growl and barking had intensified from ferocious to just plain terrifying, leaving no doubt of his intentions. “Fuck it,” Frank swore as he broke into a dead run. “If he gets me, he’s gonna have to catch me first!”

Luckily, the clouds broke again for a few seconds, giving him a quick fix on the nurse’s back deck. The lunging, barking, and growling continued unabated as he zigzagged through the woods, avoiding limbs and briar thickets, honing in on his destination. As Frank glanced back over his shoulder, the dog again lunged toward him, then halted almost in midair. It was then that he got a clear view of the chain stretched taut, glimmering in the few brief seconds of moonlight and preventing the dog’s exit from the porch. Frank lunged for the steps, cleared all three of them, and collapsed on the deck, gasping for air, silently cursing all the while. Decades of abuse had rendered his body largely incapable of this sort of activity, or almost any activity, for that matter. Wheezing and dragging himself to a sitting position, he heard a clicking sound and was almost immediately illuminated by two blinding white orbs strategically placed above the back door. “Oh god, I’m done this time,” he moaned as he dropped quickly to a prone position, face-first into the deck boards, amid escalating barks, growls, and now what seemed like the light of a thousand suns shining directly on his back. Not really willing or able to move at this point, he just lay there, hoping he had been right about no one being home.

The next sixty seconds seemed like several years to Frank as his mind raced, trying to come up with some plausible explanation for his presence there on the deck. Let’s see, how about, ‘Hey, I’m Fred, the painting contractor hired by your homeowner’s association. Working late tonight, but just got off and stopped by to see what I needed to do to prep the decks here for staining. I am so damn clumsy…tripped on your top step and fell flat on my face! Sorry to alarm you!’ Hmmm…that probably won’t fly, he thought to himself. How about, ‘Hey, I’m your neighbor Tom from across the ravine here. I was just cutting through the woods on my way home when I saw a flash of light coming from your bedroom here. Thought it might be an electrical short or something, so I came over to check it out. Clumsy me, though…tripped on your top step, and well, here I lie, flat on my face!’ Much better, Frank thought, at least until he realized that the nurse had seen him several times before and would no doubt recognize him this time as well. Plus, he didn’t exactly look as if he belonged in the neighborhood at all!

A sharp click interrupted his parade of excuses, and just as quickly as the midnight suns had risen, they set. Frank tilted his head ever so slightly to catch a better view of the floodlights above the back door. “Motion sensor,” he muttered. “Damn thing scared the shit out of me! No voices and no more dog barking either. Must not be able to see me without the light,” he figured. “And I was right in the first place…nobody’s home.”

With that realization, a great flood of relief washed over Frank’s prone and motionless body. He had grown tired of his seemingly endless trips either to the Portland jail or OHSU Hospital. Maybe I’ll pull it off this time, he told himself in his most convincing monologue. Maybe just this once I won’t get caught—I mean…I did plan ahead this time…gun, mask, rope…sure would be nice not to go back to jail! That idea, however, was somewhat short-lived, as Frank now realized that he couldn’t move without setting the lights off and getting the Doberman going again. Or could he? Checking the angle of the sensor once again, he noticed that it was pointed just beyond the steps and slightly beyond his present position. Hmmm, if I slide just a little closer to the wall, I bet I can beat it, he figured. Ooching his hips and then his shoulders inches at a time to his left, Frank was soon dead against the outside wall. He sensed the Doberman’s attention, but so far, so good—no lights and no bark! Frank slowly rose to his knees, then his feet, and gingerly rotated his body counterclockwise until his faced pressed up against the screen of the window next to the door. His right hand stretched down and intuitively tested the door handle. No luck, locked tight and a deadbolt too. Shit. How about the windows? There were three of them, one directly in front and two to the left. Frank’s hand slipped softly into his pocket and slowly removed a small knife. Deftly slipping the extended blade under the screen in front of him, with a gentle pressure upward, he was able to dislodge the screen from its track and slide it down to the floor. He couldn’t see the lock on the double hung window, but a gentle pressure on the bottom pane revealed it to be securely in place. “Fuck,” Frank cursed quietly as he replaced the screen. Edging a couple of feet to his left, he tried the same procedure with the second window, again with no luck.

As he reached the third window, Frank recoiled slightly as a distressing thought entered his mind. What if they have a burglar alarm? He hadn’t even considered that before, but if either of the first two windows perchance had been unlocked, pushing one of them open would have unleashed a hellish cacophony exceeding even the one he had previously experienced. Lights, sirens, dog going insane—all the ingredients of an unmitigated disaster. Well, what now? he wondered, glancing nervously around the rear of the town house.

Frank’s eye soon fixed on a small gray box, barely visible in the darkness and just slightly above the deck, to the left of the last window where he now stood. It couldn’t be more than a couple of feet away, and to him it looked a lot like a telephone interface box. If I cut the line, at least any alarm won’t go to the monitoring station, Frank reasoned to himself. Might as well prevent that, he thought as he deftly severed the incoming phone line with the switchblade. Edging back to the last window, with the knife still out, Frank again pried off the screen and looked carefully at the window. It looked to him like the latch had not quite caught, and if he jarred the window a little, he might be able to raise it. Worst thing that can happen, Frank thought, will be sirens and lights, and then I’m outa here, running like hell for the car and right past that fuckin’ black guard dog, prayin’ to Jesus all the while that the chain is strong enough to hold him! “Piece o’ cake,” he mumbled softly while squinting his eyes shut, bracing himself for the worst, and gently shaking the window.

No lights, no sound, no action—at least not yet. A low-pitched growl emanated from the direction of the Doberman, however, who sounded like he had about reached his limit. One more lunge in my direction and that chain will probably snap for sure, Frank estimated. Then again, if I shake the top pane and jiggle the bottom one at the same time, that lock will probably separate and I’m in, dog or no dog. With no further hesitation, Frank shook the top pane hard while pushing up on the bottom one. He felt the lock slip and the bottom pane rise slightly.

As if on cue, the big black dog began an insane barrage of barking and leaped for the rail. The chain tethered him, his neck snapped back, and he fell to the deck, but not for long. Now in a frenzy, the dog got to his feet, backed a couple of steps, and with every ounce of energy he had, lunged for the rail. This time the chain snapped like a piece of hard peanut brittle, sending the dog over the rail and headfirst into the grass. Barely breaking his stride, he was back on his feet and now racing toward Frank, teeth bared and frothy saliva dripping from his open mouth.

This time, Frank knew he was out of options. With danger this imminent, his reflexes took over, causing him to shove the window up and dive through onto the hardwood floor. The dog was to the steps now and only seconds from the open window. Wincing, Frank rolled over, reached up, and slammed the window shut. Almost instantaneously the dog collided with the closed glass, apparently somewhat stunned as shards of glass flew in every direction. His head was extended through the jagged glass into the interior of the room, but his momentum had definitely abated. A cut on his neck was now visibly bleeding, and a glass fragment in his back paw had replaced the growls with a whimper of pain. He slowly stepped back, extricating his bleeding head and neck from the window, limped a few steps from the window, and apparently decided that he had had enough. With one large shard of glass visibly embedded in his paw, he gingerly backed away from the broken glass, hobbled down the steps, and slowly made his way back home, almost as if he had forgotten why he was there in the first place.

Breathing an immense sigh of relief, Frank collapsed on the floor, too stunned and exhausted to move. For a brief moment before he literally passed out, he gratefully realized for the first time that there was no alarm.