An Axis Oblique - Chapter Eight

Okay kids, gonna try and close out the year on a high note with a little more Axis Oblique, chapter 8 for those of you counting, (and if you are that means you're actually reading, so thanks). This one's a long-ish one, so settle in with some cocoa and prepare to be taken away...



–– Eight ––

It was nearly the new millennium when Perry got first official wind of the Baka Mumfaru; an anciently-old order bent on eradicating all ‘unseen evil’ from the face of the earth. Good luck. In the spring of 1988, he caught a tabloid news program proclaiming the outfit instrumental in the casting of three poltergeists from a farmhouse in rural Kentucky. More luck.
Several years later, while lounging in the dorm room of a U of C co-ed, he came across an article, conspicuously pushed to the back of The New York Times––‘Exorcism: Myth or Magic?’ The Mumfaru was actually cited as one of several ‘underground’ societies specializing in paranormal paranoia––things conventional science had no hope of understanding; still, from what he heard, Perry had no reason to feel threatened. Not that he ever would…
“I’m thinking of writing my memoirs,” Sonny once said to a friend he occasionally had sex with.
“Oh, is that so?” she teased; Meredith Beckonsworth; his first casual romance––smart, rich, idealistic––and crazier than Satan. “Sounds like an awfully quick read to me…” then paused to complete a thought on her computer. “Say, I don’t mean to be critical but, shouldn’t you get through college first?” Sonny scowled from behind her pretentious copy of the New York Times she kept on the nightstand to read before bed, (as though the Campus Chronicle wasn’t quite ‘current’ enough).
She could be a real bitch sometimes.
Sonny didn’t need college. He had shitloads of experience. He’d been around for centuries. Dozens. Hundreds. Drew breath from every conceivable corner of this earth and beyond, and still felt every bit his vivacious eighteen years.
“You don’t think I could?” Quietly, he baited; an underscored anger in his insecure voice, which he struggled to suppress.
“Well, no, it’s not that I don’t––”
“It just so happens I’ve seen quite a bit in my time…”
“Okay, fine. Look, do we have to talk about this right now? I’m sort of in the middle of something…”
“Sorry,” he sulked. “Almost forgot chemistry was your life,” and slunk out of the room.
* * *
Meredith and Sonny first met in a lecture. Something to do with neo-McCarthyism. Or neo-Marxism. Same diff. It could just as well have been neo-Nazism for all the interest he’d paid. She caught his attention straight away. He strolled in late, of course, (by about a week), attracting two hundred-odd eyeballs, each a glare with contempt…
“Um, you might want to sit down before someone throws something at you.” Her saucy voice whispered from the row just behind him. Sonny was no stranger to strange voices, but this one was by far more alluring.
Meredith wasn’t exactly beautiful in a conventional sense. She wasn’t ugly either. More like somewhere in between. He took her suggestion to heart, sitting down in the seat right in front of her. His books remained packed.
“I’m Sonny.” He leaned in, half expecting her to fall at his feet.
“I’m busy,” she replied, eyes down. Saucy…
“Okay, then.” He sat back, hoping to gain a little sympathy. All he got was a leering impatience from behind her red-frames, matching a frock of wild, frizzy hair.
“Would you mind not staring at me?” she eventually said in her typically holier-than-thou tone. “We’re kind of in the middle of a lecture here…”
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t realize you were listening,” and went silent.

“Look I’m sorry, okay?” At the mid-break, she loosened her tight screws. “It’s just that this class is a sore spot for me and I didn’t want to miss something important...”
“Not a problem.” He nodded. And after an appropriately dramatic pause… “Does that mean we can study for the mid-term together? I haven’t a clue what the hell’s going on.”
That earned him a laugh––sort of. It was more of a hybrid; half sigh, half snort. But it worked like a charm.
After that it was smooth sailing––more or less. In it’s entirety, their association only lasted about three months, but in all that time, he never forgot how his silence had been key to her conquest; how something inside seemed to snatch the reigns at just the right moment and say shut yer yap, will ya? Let her do all the heavy lifting….
It turned out to be sound advice.
The two went through their ups and downs––and further downs––but generally tended to play rather well off the other’s distinguishing quirks. At the end of the day, they were lovers far more than friends…which made things much simpler, when not needlessly complicated.
It had been a difficult afternoon the night he took comfort in her waiting arms. Sonny was fighting a losing battle with time and doing his best to keep oblivious.
After all, other people had mood swings… Right?
“Is something wrong?” she asked innocently. If she only knew the half of it.
“What?”
“You just seem…you know––distant. Is it your mid term? I could help you with it. You know, after my chem final.” Can’t you see I’m reading, you cunt…?
His thoughts turned violent as he sifted through some lengthy op-ed on the back of her fancy New York Times… Nothing but nonsense in big words… “No, it’s not that.” A long silence followed, save for Meredith clicking away at her keyboard. “Sometimes I’m not sure I belong here…” he mumbled, reaching the part about ‘demonic frequency quotients.’ Is this hard news or X-files fanfic…?
“What’s that?” She barely acknowledged, engrossed in her cyber-tutorial. “Sure you do. You’re just overwhelmed, that’s all...” Ain’t that the truth…
It didn’t matter much, whether she listened. Sonny knew she could never understand; and eventually, he would have to…no––no, this was his battle and he was going to fight it alone. Just look at her, you babbling brook…so ripe...
For a long while he watched her from the bed, typing at improbable speeds. He focused on her right leg. Ooh that thigh… It was swinging hypnotically––rapidly, back and forth, like a pendulum––on crack. Her slender fingers periodically ran through that thick, luxurious red hair to keep it from getting in the way of those beautiful, hazel-nut eyes... She obviously knows you’re watching…
Suddenly, she turned around as if able to feel his heavy stare. “Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I’m just on a bit of a roll here; wanna get this thing finished by midnight…”
“I want you,” he said, kind of out of the blue.
“Okay, but just let me––”
“Now.”
Slowly she turned around again, doing that hair thing, but consciously this time. “Well...someone sure needs a release…” The smell of her filled his panting nostrils and he could barely contain himself.
The sex was incredible; always one of the noted highlights of their special arrangement. But that night, it was especially raw. “And now I must get back to work,” she said after about twenty minutes of afterglow. Didn’t ask for your fucking life story…
Hmm. Sonny got to thinking––about the places he’d been; the people he’d––no wait, those were just fantasies. Except…
“Earth to Sonny. Don’t just lie there, I’ve got work to do…” She rolled off the bed to get back to her computer.
Go ahead. Tell her. Ten to one she laughs in your face…
“I’m thinking about writing my memoirs,” he said––testing…
“Oh, is that so?” she teased. “Sounds like an awfully quick read to me,” and paused to complete an online thought. “Say, I don’t mean to be critical but shouldn’t you get through college first?”
“You don’t think I could?” You just never learn, do you…?
“Well, no, it’s not that I don’t––”
“It just so happens I’ve seen quite a bit in my time.”
“Okay, fine. Look, do we have to talk about this now? I’m sort of in the middle of something...”
“Sorry. Almost forgot chemistry was your life,” he sulked, slinking out of the room.
Looks like you lose…
–––––––––––––––
Let’s get something to eat...
Keith was beginning to feel nagging hunger pains. “You know I could really use a bite. How bout you?”
“I’m not sure how you can think of food at a time like this.” Mitch Barrett stood across the long metal slab cataloguing scores of frozen human tissue. “It’s all I can do to keep from yacking all over the floor...”

It was just the two of them down in that spooky makeshift morgue. Merrimac had practically volunteered the man to stay late after everyone had cleared out; no doubt in punishment for showing him up.
“Guess I’m just not as sensitive,” the detective said, rubbing his own grumbling stomach.
“Can’t believe the guy who did this is the same one who bloodied up the Bluemont mensroom just last week. Talk about karma. Sure as hell didn’t see that one coming…”
Keith let slip a short, half-smile. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling more sure of Hell by the minute.” He took his hand out some kind of fleshy organ, half-thawed. “Pass me another glove, will ya?” Nuff’a this dimestore banter, I say. I’m about hungry enough to eat a goddamed–– “Cheese-steak. You want?”
“Hm? No, Sir, you go ahead.”
“Come on, Lieutenant.” Keith pressed, considerably jovial. “Think we could both use a break. It’s not like the body parts are going anywhere…”
*
Mitch Barrett didn’t care much for Keith Merrimac. That was no secret. Sure, they worked well enough together. He respected the chain of command, after all. But the man behind the rank…was another matter entirely. On some level, he had to admit, he could see an appeal. That casual, scruffy, ‘just-got-out-of-bed’ charm, he’d seen first hand, could crack even the toughest of exteriors but, for some reason, never his own. Perhaps it was because deep down, he knew it was mostly an act; carried over from his more adventurous days in mean old Manhattan.
Barrett grew up in small town Indiana; perhaps not as fancy, but he valued his nuts and bolts perspective. Merrimac just didn’t seem to grasp the simple niceties of close-knit community living. To him, Maplewood must have looked like a modern-day Mayberry. It wasn’t until Richard Pollack put them on the big-city map that he even started to tuck in his wrinkled shirt––and that, he suspected, was more for the TV cameras.
“Nother beautiful night in paradise, eh Lieutenant?”
Barrett looked over at him from his slightly lower vantage point in the passenger’s seat...
“Beg your pardon?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make light,” he murmured, adding, “Almost forgot who I was talking to…”
“Sir, where exactly are we going?” Barrett was getting impatient, and, for just a split second, witnessed a very subtle, practically imperceptible color shift in the man’s sparkling greenish-blue eyes.
“Bluemont.” The detective answered swiftly.
“Bluemont? But I thought you hated––”
“I told you I wanted a cheese-steak; and unless you wanna drive halfway across town…” He leaned back smugly. “Relax. I’m sure one’a them places is bound to toss you a salad or something…”
Barrett sat hunched in the slightly broken seat, staring out the window. His thoughts drifted from one insignificant observation to another; the ugliness of the car’s upholstery for one, not to mention unsanitary filth. This was going to be a long night.
The silence stretched on into the Bluemont sparse parking lot. They seemed to be playing a game with each other, either consciously or sub––or both…each trying to out-ambigufy the other through a careful regiment of selective non-verbalization.
“Try not to be so chatty, Mitch. You’re talking my ear off.”
The detective blinked first.
Indeed, the tone lightened up some once inside the monstrous shopping complex. No more macho headgames, or childish doses of silent treatment. By the time they sat down in fact, they were almost downright hospitable.
As soon as he got a few bites in him, Merrimac seemed like a different person––again. His trademark charm came rushing back, to the point where even Barrett was taken in––almost… “So tell me something, Mitch.” he asked, near meal’s end. “What made you wanna be a cop, anyway?” The question caught Barrett off guard.
Up until then, the conversation was very impersonal––like he liked it. He took a moment to answer as he swallowed a mouthful of Diet Coke. “Well, I ah…don’t really…s’pose it all started with Starsky and Hutch,” he laughed. “And by the time I was about ten or so, it was more or less in the blood…” He looked up at Merrimac’s almost sinister smile. “I guess as I got older, it came more out of a desire to do some real good in this world.” He stopped, feeling far too exposed. “You probably think that’s a little naïve.”
“Not really,” he replied; sauce streaming down his chin. The cheese-steak was inhaled in not quite sixty seconds and by the look of him, hardly satisfied.
“What about you?” Barrett asked, surprised by his own genuine curiosity.
“Me? Not that complicated really,” he started, sipping on his extra-large ice water. “Mostly, it was for the authority. Plus the chicks.” He chuckled. “You know, that whole man in uniform thing.” Barrett didn’t flinch. “Still, by the end of my training, I think I was more attracted to the power than anything else.” Barrett looked down at his chimichanga. “Guess that kinda shocks you, doesn’t it, Barrett?”
Barrett for his part, wasn’t all that shocked. Intimidated maybe. Disgusted, certainly––but not especially surprised. “Well, no reason it should, Lieutenant. The best way to control a criminal mind is to understand it; even identify a little.” Barrett took another small bite––and swallowed.
“Is that the way they do it in New York?” he asked. And Merrimac looked almost caught off guard…before refashioning a sultry smile…
“The good ones, you could say…” he sneered, finally wiping his mouth. Barrett remained silent. “You really think sickos like ‘mensroom’ give two shits about your code of honor, Barrett? As far as they’re concerned, if you’re stupid enough to live by one, you probably deserve to die by it too. That what you want?”
“Gee, I’m sorry if I hit a nerve, sir.” Barrett backed off. “It was only a question,” and went back to his supper, which tasted better than ever.
“You almost finished?” The detective snapped at him, embittered––then with a forced civility, added: “I’m pretty anxious to get back to it.”
And just like that, in what felt like the blink of an eye, the two were back in the morgue, as though none of it had ever happened. As soon as he caught glimpse of one discarded appendage, Barrett felt every bit as sick as predicted. Merrimac on the other hand, appeared quite at home. By all accounts the food sat well with him; a little too well for the lieutenant’s taste...
“Hey Barrett, you okay over there? You look a little…” But Barrett didn’t want to give his boss the satisfaction, so he swallowed hard––and sucked it up.
“Just fine, sir. You?”
“Actually, I’m still a bit hungry. Feels like I haven’t had a decent meal in ages.” Barrett couldn’t tell whether he was sincere, being a smart-ass, or just trying to keep his subordinate at a continuous unease.
“We could always close up early…”
“I’d much rather get this finished,” the detective said, eyes buried in the rotting forearm on the table before him. “But you can take off, if you like. I mean if you’re really not up to it. I completely understand.” Barrett looked up at him curiously.
“Really? Cuz I thought you said––”
“I know what I said. Just forget it. It’s my fault for dragging you outta here in the first place. You go on. Get some sleep. I’ll be done in a jiffy.”
Several hours later, he was on his imitation-leather couch, sipping noodles from a hot cup of store-bought soup and watching soccer highlights on the Spanish channel, down to his last Nicorette. His appetite seemed to magically return almost as soon as he and Detective Merrimac parted ways––not entirely surprising…
The man had always seemed more or less unstable, but his curious words and actions that evening went far beyond anything he’d personally witnessed. The stress of the Pollack murders, coupled with this latest mess must have been getting to him. Barrett wasn’t exactly sorry to see it––just a little creeped out.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK––
At first, he thought he was hearing things. It was almost four in the morning, what kind of a fool would––? KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK–– Okay, that was definitely a––KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!! Barrett went for his gun.
–––––––––––––––
There were nights he wasn’t proud of, when Sonny would lie awake in his childhood bed––and think of her. She was his first, after all. His most memorable, and she left his life without so much as a word. He longed to look at her even one more time; to smell her sweat as he fucked her. She was such a tease. There was no other way to see it after what she did. Sure, maybe he did get what he wanted––but he wanted more.
“Sonny, what are you––? STOP THAT!”
His thoughts were unintentional; uncontrollable, as bizarre fantasies of a night that never took place flashed in and out of his head. Just fantasies…
“Oh God, PLEASE! No, please, Sonny, DON’T – !”
Nothing more.
–––––––––––––––
Barrett swung the door open, ready for just about anything. Anything except––
“Detective Merrimac. Sir, what are you––?” Looking past him, he could see no sign of his rusty Oldsmobile eyesore. “Did you walk here?”
–––––––––––––––
“I’m not in the mood for the tortured soul bit, Sonny. It’s late. And I’m tired.”
“I know that. I just wanna talk.”
“Talk? Well can’t it wait till tomorrow?”
“I promise I’ll be quick.”
“Fine, come in.”
“Not here.”
“What?”
“Let’s take a walk.”
“Sonny…”
“A quick one. Come on, Mer, I need you tonight.”
–––––––––––––––
“Saw your light on. Thought I’d see if you were still up.”
“Did you find something?”
“What?”
“At the coroners’, sir. Did you––?”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m not sure…”
“Well which is it?”
“You never liked me much, did you, Barrett?”
“I beg your––”
“It’s okay to admit it. We’re off the record here.”
“Nevertheless, sir, I really don’t think we should––”
“The thing is…after all these years, I still can’t seem to figure out why. Mind if I––?” With brute force, he pushed his way in as Barrett instinctively stopped him––
“Yes, actually. It’s late.” Merrimac ignored him completely. He looked odd; even moreso than before––as though in some kind of a trance...
“So what is it? Why won’t you tell me?”
Barrett realized there would be no way to politely sidestep––
“You’ve got it all wrong, sir.” He conceded. “It’s not that I don’t like you; more like don’t understand you…” By this time, the man was on the couch. “This being an excellent example.”
“Go on...” The man sounded almost like a psychiatrist.
–––––––––––––––
“You’ve been so––distant lately. I don’t get that. Sometimes I don’t get you.”
“So that’s it then. It’s over?”
“What? No. How can something be over when it never properly started to begin with?”
More mind games. Who does this bitch think she is…?
–––––––––––––––
“You know, its people like you that make this world so susceptible to people like me…” he said, purposely taunting him with a drag off his freshly-lit smoke.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re a lamb.” He looked up. “Tell me. Are you at all familiar with the Biblical role of the lamb, Lieutenant?”
–––––––––––––––
“You’re scaring me, Sonny.” For a split second, the words seemed to register. Sonny experienced a mild, dizzy spell and stumbled a few steps backward…
“Sometimes I…scare myself…” he managed. But there would be no more backpedaling. The girl made it easier, of course–– They always do...
“Sonny, are you––?” But she could tell simply by looking it was a wasted question. “Let me help you,” she finished, placing her warm hand on his cold shoulder.
–––––––––––––––
“If I didn’t know better, sir, I’d say you were threatening me.”
“Is that right?” Merrimac snarled, casually standing from the couch... “Well if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were worried...”
“I am worried, sir. About you. These last few months have obviously been more trying on you than I first thought. Why don’t you just––”
–––––––––––––––
“Tell me what I can do,” she pleaded, caressing his tight shoulder blades. At last, the very words he longed for––and though she couldn’t detect it, his eyes turned a shade even darker...
“Do?” he asked, innocent. “Well for starters, you can try not to fight...”
–––––––––––––––
“Here’s the thing, Mitch.” Merrimac began calmly, all the while slipping on a pair of disposable rubber gloves––just like the ones he’d been wearing most of the night. “I’ve been trying to put this off for a while but––I’m afraid I’m gonna need a warm meal.” Barrett responded with a nervous, though not entirely insincere chuckle.
“What is this? You’re…you’re gonna kill me or something? Because I don’t like you? Jesus, Keith, I knew you were crazy but––”
“You called me Keith,” he blurted, still impeccably rational. “Christ, it’s about time…” Barrett had had enough, bringing his weapon into plain sight. “You shouldn’t play with guns, Mitch,” he said. And it was the last bit of civility he had left to display––before engaging Mitch Barrett in the fight of his life…
–––––––––––––––
“Sonny, what are you––STOP THAT!” But there would be no stopping him.
Sometimes in his nightmares, he would see her face––not with a sparkle in her eyes or roses in her cheeks. Instead, she was…blue…pale…lifeless… Her hazel-nut eyes rolled back in her head; her red, full lips now a bright purple and, along her white, slender neck, the unmistakable mark of pressed fingers.
In those dreams, he had scattered glimpses of a blade slicing into her tender flesh. An axe chopping away at pure bone and hands snapping them apart like spicy Buffalo wings. Sometimes he saw blood…and dirt…and semen, all mixed together under cold erratic breath. These were the images of a deeply troubled mind. One without closure.
For weeks after, he would partake in the grueling searches; even lead his fair share. He spoke to friends, family, casual acquaintances. The police were relentless and, if not for his own true concern, he might well have taken their persistent questioning personally. But Sonny wanted every avenue explored. Meredith didn’t deserve to just disappear without a trace. And Sonny wasn’t about to let it happen without a fight.
–––––––––––––––
The scratch was regrettable. Keith was genuinely surprised when the man dug that sharp fingernail into his cheek, just inches from his right eye. In the end it just made him angrier. As he wiped away tiny beads of blood from the side of his mouth, the pumping adrenaline exhilarated every part of him. Barrett put up a spirited fight, as expected, but he certainly didn’t see that fingernail coming. It’s the surprises that keep things from feeling routine…
Wrapping the body’s left hand in the garbage bag he’d brought from home, he set out to remove all evidence of his having been there. Cops knew all the tricks, after all. And he, being a homicide detective for going on thirteen years, knew exactly what they, (or most likely he), would be looking for. He, of course, left no fingerprints and was even careful to make sure that the murder weapon was an item from Barrett’s own kitchen, rather than something traceable to anyone outside.
The scratch stung like hell, though. Cuts heal… The entire process took about an hour. There were highly-believable signs of forced entry, a fairly heated struggle and finally, a trail of Barrett’s own blood to show his resourcefulness in the face of his surprise attacker.
The final piece came last. Using the victim’s own knife, he preceded to severe the hand he’d come for; the one with his skin cells embedded. It might also serve to inspire a brand new collection…or maybe just a late night snack…
He glanced out the window just long enough to notice the budding daylight and made one final survey to ensure the utmost efficiency. Just before leaving, his eyes inadvertently met Barrett’s and for only the tiniest of split seconds, something inside him seemed to weaken...
Better get going. Big day ahead…
* * *
He slept like a baby that night. It must’ve been that full course meal he had around sixish. It was rare of him to spring out of bed with such zeal and enthusiasm, but something inside seemed to click in a way not seen for some time.
Almost all morning he felt light as a feather––carefree. In an unprecedented maneuver, he even elected to go for a light jog after breakfast in lieu of coffee. The phone call came just as he returned––
“Y’ello!”
And that’s when all Hell broke loose.
* * *
In all his years on the force, he could never manage to get over the jittery feeling that befell him before walking onto a murder scene. He’d seen quite a few in his day; men, women, children––sometimes all three in various gruesome combinations. When all was said and done, he’d pretty well seen it all.
“Keith!” A familiar voice called out as he took his first steps across the threshold. Sergeant Fiorentine was approaching, looking almost apologetic for her forthrightness. “Detective Merrimac,” she self-corrected.
“It’s alright, Sergeant. How you holding up?”
“Bout as well as any of us, I suspect. I just can’t believe this is happening.”
“Truth really is stranger than fiction,” he offered, sagely. “Which one of you got here first?”
“I did, sir.” Keith shifted toward the source of the subtle accent. Lieutenant Estes was standing promptly nearby; his posture impeccable. “I’d like to put in a formal request to be on the investigation...”
“One thing at a time, Lieutenant. You feel up to a report?” Keith felt confident that even if he wasn’t, he’d pull himself together long enough to give one. In all honesty, the detective couldn’t blame him. He too felt the onslaught of emotion. Barrett after all, was a good man; someone they all knew––who served under his command…
Estes went on to relay a point by point account of the circumstances surrounding his discovery of the body after receiving a phone call from the morning housekeeper, and Keith summoned the courage to glance over at it every now and again. It was badly bruised and beaten; even mutilated in places––and there, in plain view for all to see––his left arm, cut off at the wrist. The sight of it made him want to throw up. It was no secret the two of them weren’t exactly friends, but not even on his worst enemy would he have wished Mitchell Barrett’s brutal and tragic end.
Not if he were human.



Happy New Year one and all. See you in '10

D.A.