Memory Man

The man tugged on his sleeve and tossed an orange jumper over the seat and into Decker’s lap. He held it up. “It looks a little small.”

Neither of them spoke.

“Do you go by Billy now, Belinda?” Decker said to the driver. “Or was that just for the 7-Eleven gig?”

He watched as the wig came off. The eyes that flashed at him in the rearview were the same ones he’d seen at the convenience store. But they were very different from the eyes that he had remembered seeing at the institute, the pair that had belonged to the devastated teenage girl named Belinda Wyatt. She apparently was gone for good.

He said, “The disguise was good, but I have your hands memorized. Hard to change them unless you wear gloves.”

She just kept staring at him, and in those eyes Decker could see the cumulative hatred of twenty years that was about to be unleashed.

On me.

Decker held up the jumper. “A little privacy, please?”

The eyes looked away.

He started undressing, which was difficult in the confined space for someone so large. The person with the gun took his clothes and shoes and threw them out the back. Decker struggled into the jumper but could not zip it up in front because of his large gut.

He slumped back in the seat and turned to the man holding the gun and squatting in the back of the van.

“Hello, Sebastian.”

He eyed the gun. It was an S&W .45 caliber. The .45. The weapon used to kill his wife and half the people at Mansfield. This gun had been the last thing his wife had seen before her life ended. Maybe it had been used to kill Giles Evers too, he didn’t know for sure. Maybe a quick bullet wasn’t in the cards for the cop turned rapist. But then again, he didn’t give a damn about Giles Evers.

Leopold pressed the barrel tighter against Decker’s cheekbone.

“I didn’t know your situation, Belinda,” said Decker. “When I stood up in the group session and said I wanted to go into law enforcement, that I wanted to be a cop. I didn’t know that a bad cop had lured you into a gang rape and almost killed you.”

The eyes flashed once more at him, but the driver said nothing.

Decker’s mind whirred back to that day at the institute. His twenty-years-younger self stood in the middle of the group and proclaimed that his ambition now was to go into law enforcement, to be a good cop. That he wanted to protect others, keep them from harm. He had looked around at all the people, folks like him, with new and sometimes scary minds and personalities. His words had been met with admiring smiles by some and indifference by others. But one pair of eyes had been staring at him with something more than all the others combined. He could see that clearly now. Apparently his perfect mind had flaws, because this memory, while always there, had not made an impression on him. He had glossed right over it until he hadn’t glossed right over it. It had struck him while he’d been rubbing his old badge through the plastic back at the Burlington police station.

My genie. My wish come true. Death.

Plastic badge, he had thought right before the epiphany had struck him. A plastic cop. Not a real cop. A cop who hurt you. Giles Evers.

And from my words, you lumped me right in with him. And maybe I can understand that, because right at that moment you probably were the most vulnerable you would ever be.

He recalled those eyes as the deepest, most shocked pair he had ever seen. But he hadn’t registered it, because he had been very nervous standing up in front of strangers to talk about his future.

His mind stopped whirring and he returned to the present. He said to Wyatt, “That’s why you singled me out, right? ‘Bro’? Brotherhood of cops. Brotherhood of football players, because I was one of them too? Everyone at the institute knew about that. But not your bro, their bro. Giles Evers and his bunch? But I came here to tell you that I didn’t know what had happened to you. If I had I wouldn’t have said what I did. I’m sorry. I wanted to be a cop because I wanted to help people. Not hurt them like Evers did you.”

They drove on. Neither one of them had spoken and Decker began to wonder why. He figured he would keep going until something he said drew a response. They might be working up the nerve to do what they needed to do to him. But then again, the pair had killed so many people that he doubted they needed much preparation to put a bullet in him.

“I met Clyde Evers. He told me all about what happened at the high school in Utah. So now I know why you did what you did at Mansfield. But maybe you have something you want to add?” He looked at her expectantly.

The eyes flashed once more. But they weren’t looking at him. They were looking at Leopold.