Sinclair
When my parents arrived at the hospital, they were obviously upset and I had to keep reassuring them that I was fine.
“You’re coming to stay with us until they catch this person,” said my mother, her eyes brimming with tears. “Promise me, Sinclair.”
“Mom,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I’m not going to let this man scare me, okay? I have a job and a life. I can’t let him take that from me.”
“Then we’ll hire a bodyguard for you,” said my father, clasping his hands in front of his round belly.
I stared at him and smiled, so happy to see them, again, even under such crazy circumstances. My parents were in their sixties and remind me of what Santa and Mrs. Claus would look like if they’d retired in Stanton – both short, round and tan with laugh lines, pug noses, and puffy white hair. My dad even had a little white beard and smokes a pipe now and again.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
He frowned. “Well, the police should assign one for you. That’s why we pay our taxes, isn’t it?”
“The detective I spoke with earlier said they’d probably do that,” I said. “Especially now that’s he’s killed two people. They’re going to send someone to talk to me again, tomorrow before we leave the hospital.”
My mother gasped. “Are they worried he’ll come looking for you?”
I sighed. “Well, they think he’s probably taken off, fled the city, but they don’t know for certain.”
My dad nodded. “They’d better get someone for you because I don’t want you going anywhere unescorted.”
“Dad…” I said.
“No, I’m serious. If I have to follow you around everywhere myself, I will,” he said.
Just then, a nurse knocked on the door and stepped inside. “The detective from earlier is back to see you,” she said.
“Good, send him in,” said my dad. “I want to talk to him about security, find out what they plan to do.”
I sighed. “Dad…”
“Dad nothing,” he said, bending down to pat my hand. “You’re my little jewel and I’m not going to let anyone threaten you again. Not if I can help it.”
My awesome dad had called me that since I was a baby. His little jewel. I smiled up at him.
The bald detective from earlier stepped into the room, his face much less grim than earlier. He held out his hand to my parents and introduced himself.
“Have you heard anything about this monster?” asked my dad. “Have you people found him, yet?”
The officer smiled. “Actually, that’s why I stopped back here myself, to tell you the good news.”
“Good news?” I asked, sitting up straighter.
He nodded. “Well, it appears that your attacker was killed in an automobile fire a couple of hours ago.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, shocked.
He pulled out a small pad of paper. “Yes, there was an accident involving a semi and a sedan that we believe the perp was driving at the time. The car flipped over the side of a ravine and then started on fire.”
“And you think it’s him?” asked my father.
“Well, the man was burned pretty badly but we found some forged IDs he’d hidden in a small safe in the trunk which, fortunately for us, survived the fire. One of the IDs was for a ‘Michael Richie’.”
“Oh, my God, it had to be him,” I said.
“Well, we believe it is. We’re still investigating the scene and do not really know his true identity yet, but I thought you should know,” said the detective.
“Tell us, detective, do you think it was really him?” asked my dad.
He nodded. “Personally, yeah I do. There was also a shitload of money and a prescription for Clozapine in the safe.”
“What’s Clozapine?” I asked.
“It’s used to treat Schizophrenia,” he said.
Now that made sense.
“He’s really dead…” I murmured, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from my chest. I could suddenly breathe again.
“As far as I’m concerned,” replied the detective. “Your nightmare is over.”