Phobias Read online

  He started seeing a therapist, one that Marcia often saw, and went on a ten-month struggle to rid himself of the phobia. He failed at that too. He was a desk jockey with a fear of his own gun and well on the way to corroding his liver and other digestive organs.

  Several years later, he quit the police force. Even at his desk, the sight of guns moving around him all the time became unbearable. He took another desk job; this one in front of a computer doing data entry.

  ~*~0~0~*~

  Chad rolled on his back in bed wondering where Marcia was. She had probably fallen asleep in her chair. He moved his hand down his torso and began to gently stroke himself.

  Then the pounding began again.

  Chad realized something or someone was banging on the front door of the house. He speculated Marcia must have finished her bottle of wine if she was able to sleep through that, and he wished he’d had another beer and shot to help him sleep through it too, even though he could tell his stomach was going to be angry with the amount of booze he’d already dumped into it.

  He let go of himself, sighed, and turned to the clock.

  2:45 AM it read.

  “Who the fuck is banging on my door at 2:45 in the morning?” he grumbled to the empty room.

  More pounding carried into the bedroom. Whoever was out there wasn’t going away.

  Chad swung his feet off the bed, padded to his dresser, and took out a pair of black briefs, which he pulled on. He left the bedroom and headed for the front door. He passed the den in the process and saw the light was still on and Marcia’s reading material rested haphazardly on the floor. Chad didn’t notice the window screen by the chair had been cut. Someone would point it out soon enough.

  Where is she? Chad wondered.

  More pounding.

  “Okay. Okay. Ease up on my wood will you?” he grumbled as he approached the door. He undid the deadbolt and opened the door. A face he instantly recognized was there. “Terry?” Chad said with genuine surprise.

  Terry Calles was a young ambitious detective who’d transferred to Minneapolis from somewhere down south two years before Chad quit the department. Chad basically liked the slightly younger detective but still didn’t know a lot about him.

  “Mr. Dean?” Terry said. “Is everything okay? I’ve been knocking for some time.”

  “I was asleep,” Chad returned and hooked a thumb behind him. “And what’s this ‘Mr. Dean’ shit? It’s Chad. You know me.”

  “Have you been here all night, Mr. Dean?” Terry asked ignoring Chad’s directive.

  “My shift ended at nine. I hit the liquor store then came home. I’ve been in bed since about midnight,” Chad returned trying to sound convincing. He admitted to himself that he’d drunk enough in those couple hours to make anything he’d done since about 11:15 a complete blur.

  “Is your wife home?” Terry asked.

  Chad recognized the tone. Terry was fishing. “I… I’m not sure I guess. She was here when I got home but I haven’t seen her since your pounding woke me up. I guess I’m a little surprised she didn’t answer the door.”

  “I’m actually not surprised at all,” Terry returned sharply. “Is there anyone else here who can verify where you’ve been since you got home from work?”

  Chad shook his head. “Just Marcia. What do you mean you’re not surprised Marcia didn’t answer the door?”

  “We got a call from the Blaine PD tonight,” Terry started. “Seems there’s been some kind of incident.”

  “Blaine?” Chad blurted. Blaine was a suburb miles to the north of Minneapolis. Chad scratched his head. “What’s this got to do with Marcia?” He laughed. “You’re not going to tell me you found her in some bar up there are you? Because Marcia is terrified of speed. She can’t ride in a car, bus, the light rail. She can’t move more than a few miles an hour.”

  “It’s difficult to be sure,” Terry said. “We only have this to go off of.” He pulled his smart phone from his pocket, clicked a few icons, and brought up a photo. “ID bracelet they found says ‘Marcia Dean.’ Do you recognize this, Mr. Dean?” He showed the image on the phone to Chad.

  A woman’s hand rested palm down on freeway pavement. Though Chad couldn’t see it from the photo, the hand could have easily been disembodied. Around the wrist was something he did recognize. His wife’s ID bracelet. Marcia had gotten one just like it after they married. If that wasn’t telling enough, the diamond in the ring setting on the ring finger was one Chad himself selected.

  “What the fuck is this?” Chad said. His heart sped up in his chest. Any whispers of the booze in his blood stream dissipated leaving only a headache behind.

  “Blaine PD got the call to come out to a… well… a grisly scene on I-35 at the edge of their jurisdiction,” Terry began moving the phone away from Chad. “A woman got hit by a semi. At least that’s what we think. It’s too difficult to be sure right now.”

  “And you think it was Marcia? Impossible!” Chad asserted. “She can’t get out of the city.” But the image of her diamond and her bracelet resurfaced in his mind.

  “We can’t be sure it’s her yet,” Terry said putting hands up defensively.

  “Why not?” Chad pressed.

  Terry sighed. “Get some pants and a shirt on, Chad,” Terry instructed. “The woman’s body is in pretty bad shape. We’re going to need you to come tell us if it’s your wife or not.”

  Chad opened his mouth to protest more but stopped himself. This was just police procedure and there was really no way he was going to get around it. Surly this dead woman on the highway was someone else who just happened to have a similar combination of jewelry. There were over three million people in the metro area and it was definitely possible that someone out there did. Highly unlikely with her same name on the bracelet but still possible. When he got back, he would find Marcia merely passed out in the guest room or on the sofa in the basement probably after having more than one bottle of wine. She would be hungover but none the worse for wear. “Okay, Detective. I’ll humor you. Wait here a minute please,” he said. Chad left the door open, turned around, and headed back for the bedroom he shared with his wife. He went back to the dresser, took out a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt and pulled them on.

  In his T-shirt drawer was a travel-sized flask of silver tequila. He picked it up, opened it, and drank two separate mouthfuls.

  It would be the last drink he would get for a while.

  ~~3~~

  “Alright,” Terry said. “We’re here.” He’d pulled them up to the Anoka County Medical Examiner’s building at 3:41 AM.

  Chad was silent during the entire drive. Partly because he didn’t want to say anything that could later be used to incriminate him and partly because he didn’t want the smell of tequila vapors to hit the detective and possibly set him off. But now that they were here and he was able to get out of the car, Chad did feel like talking. “What time was the body found?”

  “Found?” Terry questioned, raising an eyebrow and closing his own car door. “Well, I’m not sure that’s the right word. The semi driver came across her… so to speak… at 12:05.”

  “Any chance this semi driver is lying… Maybe put her there himself?” Chad said.

  “Unlikely,” Terry said. His loafers clicked on the pavement as they approached the building. “There was a lady travelling not far behind the semi. She said she’d been behind it for a while and saw it slam on its brakes.”

  “Any fingerprints of the victim?” Chad asked. They were inside now and making their way to the stairs that would take them down to the morgue.

  “Well, yeah. I showed you the photo of the hand back at your place. Even still we’ve got half a set of fingerprints… at least,” Terry said.

  “Any matches?” Chad asked.

  Terry shook his head. “Those prints aren’t in any of the ID systems out there so whoever she was, she’s never been printed by law enforcement.”

  Marcia’s never been printed Chad’s mind nagged. �
�I’m guessing there’s no way of knowing if the woman was alive or dead before the semi hit her?”

  “So far, you’d be guessing right,” Terry returned. They were at the morgue entrance and stepped through the double doors. “And given the state of the body, we may never know.”

  “So if the body was found in Blaine’s jurisdiction on a federal highway, why are you involved?” Chad asked. Inside the morgue, the sterile smell could not entirely mask the malodor of all the death that had come through this space.

  “I’ve got a buddy on the Blaine PD. I was up at his place playing cards when the call came in. When we got the vic’s name and ran it, we found only one Marcia Dean… though there were plenty of M Deans. Your address came up and since you were in my jurisdiction, I said I’d come and collect you,” Terry explained.

  Chad didn’t like the way Terry said “collect.” “Am I under arrest here?” he said quietly.

  “No. No,” Terry said. He cocked an eyebrow, eyed Chad like he was a small animal, and the corner of his mouth curled into a smug smile. “Not yet, anyway. It’s a damn shame you don’t have an alibi though.”

  A cold sweat broke out on Chad’s brow after the detective said this. But he’s right he said in his mind. I don’t have an alibi. Or even a fucking recollection of anything that happened after chasing that fourth shot of bourbon with that fourth beer. The thought of alcohol made his mouth water and he desperately wanted a drink. He looked around and discovered unless he was going to drink some kind of a sterilizing alcohol, he wasn’t going to get a drink here. “Terry? Why would I kill my wife? I love Marcia,” Chad said honestly.

  “Motives are a dime a dozen,” Terry said and shrugged. “If you did it, something will come up.”

  “If this body you found is even my wife,” Chad countered.

  “Well we’re about the find that out,” Terry returned. “Hey, Holly? Holly? You around?”

  They heard a rustling in a corner of the morgue space. A second later, a woman appeared from an office that was tucked away back there. She was tall, thin, and quite striking with sapphire blue eyes and chestnut-colored straight hair that framed the porcelain skin of her face. “I’m here, Terry,” Holly said as she made herself visible.

  Chad thought she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

  “Is this the gentleman who’s going to hopefully ID the freeway victim?” Holly asked. “Results came back on the blood at least. The type is B negative.”

  Chad knew his wife’s blood type was B negative.

  “This is Chad Dean,” Terry said. “Marcia Dean’s husband.”

  Chad stuck out his hand and Holly shook it, though it felt to Chad like she couldn’t get her hand away from him fast enough.

  Sensing this, Holly said, “Sorry. It’s not you. It’s touching the living in general. Occupational hazard. I’m the assistant medical examiner. So I get the night shift.” She shrugged and bounced her blue eyes with her last statement.

  “Holly? Why do you keep it so dark down here?” Terry asked.

  Holly chuckled. “I don’t need a lot of light most of the time, Detective. For that matter, no one here really does.” She waved her hand toward the rows of closed stainless steel refrigerators that were used to house the bodies of the dead before burial. “So I save energy every way I can. You know? For the future. Humanity should really be terrified of the future. Especially if we keep adding to the population like we are.”

  “Does the future scare you, Holly?” Chad asked.

  “Oh, heavens yes,” Holly said. “It’s not my biggest fear by any means but it’s up there. My biggest fear is one of those irrational phobias, you know? I suppose a lot of people have them.”

  “I suppose so,” Chad agreed thinking about his own phobia of firearms. He certainly didn’t think his phobia was irrational. Crippling, debilitating, and mind-rending came to mind, but not irrational. “So what is your biggest irrational fear then?”

  “Look,” Terry said with a tone of irritation. “Can we just get to the body already?”

  “Of course,” Holly said. “Follow me. I’ve only done a cursory examination of the body. I’ll do the post mortem after Mr. Dean hopefully identifies her. A couple of Anoka’s finest detectives are here waiting, It is their scene, after all, though I got the distinct impression they’d be happy to hand this off to the state police or the FBI since it happened on a federal highway.”

  “That’ll be for us cops to figure out,” Terry said.

  “Uh. Right,” Holly said. “The body’s in here.” She stopped beside a door that led into an exam room and waved a hand for them to enter.

  Terry stepped in first and Chad followed. Inside the exam room they did indeed find two plain clothes detectives who looked grim and ceased whatever conversation they were having. They eyed Chad suspiciously. On the table in the center of the room, beneath a bank of high-powered lights, a body bag rested.

  “Okay, Mr. Dean,” Holly began. “I have to warn you. This is… going to be pretty shocking. More so if it’s actually your wife, but I want you to be prepared for what you’re about to see here. It’s not going to be pretty.”

  Chad nodded. He took a deep breath and wished again that he could have a drink. He thanked whatever forces working tonight that each of the three officers in the room had his firearm concealed. “Okay. I’m ready,” Chad said.

  Holly nodded and moved to the body bag. She slowly unzipped it. When she was finished, she looked again at Chad and thought he looked like a frightened puppy. His sleep-roused sandy blonde hair was tousled. His hazel eyes were wide. And she recognized a slight tremor in him. But when he nodded again, she pulled the bag cover off of the body.

  “That still’s gotta be one of the worst things I’ve ever seen,” Terry said when the corpse was revealed. He grimaced.

  “I’ve seen worse,” Holly said. “But not much. Mr. Dean? Can you step closer and take a look? Can you tell us if this is your wife?”

  Chad felt frozen where he stood. Finally, Terry stepped up behind Chad and moved him closer to the table.

  Chad looked down at the table.

  The lower portion of the body was intact at least. Even though there were many cuts, scrapes, bruises, and abrasions visible on the shins, knees, and thighs. The left foot was turned almost backwards and the ankle was black and blue from the shattered bones beneath. The torso was not so good. Broken ribs jutted through the bloody skin in places near the sternum, clavicle, and the right breast. The left arm was still attached but the right had been torn off and rested beside the body. The flesh below the elbow was a shredded wreck with no recognizable forearm or hand. But the head and neck were the worst. The gigantic truck tire had literally squashed the skull to pieces. All that remained was a gelatinous pile of tissue, hair, and bits of bone that the crew had been able to scrape off the highway and plop into the bag about where the head belonged.

  “Cripes!” Chad eked out. He felt acid boiling in his stomach and mixing with the tequila that hadn’t been absorbed yet. It started to burn into his esophagus. “How the fuck do you expect anyone to identify that?” He staggered back, whirled around and knew he was going to vomit. He searched for a sink, raced to it, and made it in the nick of time. He had little in his stomach and regurgitated a small stream of thick reddish goo that reeked of stale beer, the tomato soup he’d had for dinner, and the unpleasant combination of bourbon and tequila. But even though the face was a mangled mess, Chad recognized the shape of her breasts, her pubic hair, and of course her ring and bracelet.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Dean,” Holly said. She looked at Terry. “Maybe we can get some DNA from their house and match…”

  “Does… does the body…,” Chad began while he clutched the edge of the sink. “On her backside… Marcia has a birth mark on her lower back. Right side. Three small circles of lighter skin that form an almost perfect equilateral triangle. She had a white rose tattooed right in the middle of it.” He suddenly laughed. “Fuck. She c
an’t ride in a car but taking a needle to her skin was nothing.”

  “Can one of you help me?” Holly said to the Anoka detectives. With a grumble one of them moved over and they lifted the body together. Holly quickly found the birthmark and tattoo. “Is that enough of an ID for you, Detective?”

  The detective nodded. “Step over here, Mr. Dean. I’m takin’ you into custody.”

  “What?!” Chad, Terry, and Holly all said together.

  “His wife’s dead and I heard he ain’t got no alibi,” the detective said. “It’s always the husband.” He unclipped his handcuffs and moved toward Chad.

  But Terry stepped between them. “No alibi is not evidence. You need evidence to make your case. Not your assumption that the husband always does it.”

  “I can still take him in and hold him for questioning,” the detective snapped back.

  “But you won’t,” Terry said forcefully. He puffed up his chest. “I won’t let you take this man anywhere without some good evidence. We may not be all that close but this man was once a good cop.”

  “Yeah?” the detective said. “Getting his partner killed and killing some innocent kid?”

  Chad started to advance on the detective. “Man! Fuck you! How dare you say that to me!” he bellowed. He had every intention of striking the detective but Terry held him and the detective’s jacket opened revealing gun metal that glinted in the bright light of the exam room. The sight of the firearm ignited Chad’s hoplophobia and he gasped and stopped.

  “Gentlemen!” Holly shouted. “This is a morgue. Have some respect for the dead!”

  “Look,” Terry grumbled. “Gather your evidence. Then make your arrest. Until then, Mr. Dean is going home.”

  The detective eyed Terry, looked at his partner, and then glared at Chad. “Fine! But don’t even think of going anywhere, buddy.” He shifted his gaze to Holly. “You get the autopsy report to me right away, lady. I want to know if this woman was dead before or after the truck hit her.” He didn’t wait for a response and stormed out of the room. His partner followed.