The killer…
He was identified as one Herbert Winters. His family was from Mornsville, North Carolina. Upper middle-class, his father a doctor, his mother a high school English teacher. They had no idea what he was doing in Sacramento. They further claimed they’d had no contact with him since he’d left home three years earlier. The police sent his picture and prints to the FBI hoping to tie other murders to him. Herbert Winters’s death was ruled justifiable.
Bill Shannon ended up hospitalized for five months, most of it in the psychiatric ward for severe depression. His father visited him only a few times during those five months, and when he did, neither of them talked much or made eye contact. When he drove his son home from the hospital it was in silence.
Shannon’s father was only thirty-four when his wife was killed. Before the murder he looked enough like Robert Conrad to have people stop him in the street. He and his wife used to joke about whether he should try and get a stand-in job for the Wild Wild West. Five months after the murder no one bothered to stop him. He no longer looked like Robert Conrad. He had aged, become an old man almost overnight. His hair more gray than black, the flesh around his face loose and sagging, his jowls hanging from his jawbone. It was his eyes, though, that had changed the most. They had become hollow and bitter.
Days would pass without Shannon or his father saying a word to each other. Sometimes Shannon would catch his father looking at him a certain way, the way you’d look at something you detested. Shannon would stare back and his father would end up averting his eyes.
One day Shannon felt his father staring at him. When he turned to face him, his father didn’t look away. Instead, he kept staring at the boy, his lips twisting into something hateful. Then into something insane.
“Was your mom alive when you got home?” he asked.
“What?”
“You heard me, was she alive?”
Shannon stood with his mouth hung open, too confused at first to answer, and then it hit him what was really being asked. A cold fury took him over. As he turned away, his father grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him until his teeth rattled.
“I asked you a question, was she alive?”
Shannon struck out, catching his father along the cheek. Then he watched as his father’s eyes went blind. The older Shannon threw his son against the wall and then stepped forward, punching him in the ear and knocking him to the floor.
“Answer me, goddamn you!” he screamed, his face twisted like a wounded animal’s. “You were there for over an hour. Was she dead when you got there? And what the hell were you doing to her?”
For awhile it was like it was with Herbert Winters, near the end anyway, with Shannon seeming to observe the scene from a safe distance, detached, only vaguely interested in what was happening. As if he were floating in a corner of the room, watching as his father slapped and punched at him. It seemed to last a long time. Then it was as if he were sucked back into his body. At that instant he could feel a mix of hot tears and humiliation and pain surge within him. As it took him over he told his father every hurtful thing he could think of.
The words hit his father hard, his body wincing with each one. He stood up, backing slowly away from Shannon, his body shaking like a drug addict’s. Shannon didn’t let up as the words poured out of him, as the words chased the older man out of the room and finally out of the house.
That was the last time they spoke to each other or even looked at each other. At seventeen, Shannon left both the house and California.
Shannon jerked his eyes open, a cold sweat breaking out along his upper lip. He sat up and reached over towards Susie, his hand finding her small hip. Still asleep, she pushed his hand off her. He stared slowly at her before squinting at the alarm clock. It was only three-thirty.
He got out of bed and went to the kitchen and found a pack of cigarettes. He sat and lit one after the other, inhaling the smoke deeply into his lungs. A half hour later the pack was nothing but ashes and burnt-out stubs. Shannon sat for a little longer and then went back to bed.
Come on, close those eyes. Let the Sandman come and put dust in those black holes of yours. I got a lot to tell you and I’m getting sick of waiting. More sick than you could ever imagine. And I don’t know how much longer I can stay out. It’s four-thirty already. The night’s fading away.
Of course, waiting’s not easy. It’s damn hard. Everything moving at such an accelerated pace. It’s a bitch to stay anchored in any one spot for too long. So close them, pal, there’s so much I need to tell you and I need to tell you tonight. All about Phyllis Roberson, about how much fun I had with her. I don’t know how much longer I got and the last thing I want to do is watch you lying there, too scared shitless to sleep. Well, that’s not quite true. It’s rewarding in a way, but it’s not what I’m here for.
Goddamn it… losing my anchor… don’t worry, pal, I’ll be back… you can’t keep a good man down for long. Bet on it.
It’s always kind of weird when you lose your anchor. It’s what happens, though, when you wait too long in any one spot. Oh, man, what a wasted night.
Early on I tried to find Phyllis, see if I could put the fear of God in her, so to speak. A lot of times if you catch them early enough, before they get a chance to get acclimated, you can really have a lot of fun. Get to them before they have their sense of bearing. Well, I didn’t quite make it. She had a crowd around her, guiding her, explaining the ropes and all the rest. Oh well, you get your kicks when you can.
And now this. You’re ruining my plans for the night, man. It’s not good, but I guess it really doesn’t matter. I’ll be back. We’ll talk. Only a matter of time…
See ya, Billy Boy.
Chapter 12
When the alarm went off Susie stirred slowly, eventually pushing herself out of bed and stumbling to the clock to shut it off. After killing the noise she stood for a moment rubbing her face before turning back towards the bed. Shannon was lying on his back, his eyes wide open, his face drawn in an grim expressionless stare.
“Sleep okay?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, his eyes glazed and motionless, his body as still as a corpse’s.
Susie began to lose patience. “What’s so interesting up there?”
No answer. No movement, nothing. Was he even breathing? A quick panic overtook her as she ran to him and put her ear against his chest. The skin felt warm. She held her breath and could hear his heart beating. As she pulled away from him she could see his eyes focusing on her.
“Damn you,” she swore at him as she choked back a rush of tears. “Damn you! I thought you were supposed to be getting better!”
He looked at her blankly before rolling his eyes back towards the ceiling.
She stood frozen, staring down at him. An angry, painful sob convulsed through her body. “Weren’t you supposed to be all cured? Isn’t that what your therapist has been telling you?” she asked, her face turning a hard white. When Shannon remained mute in response, she exploded, “Answer me! Are you even in there?”