The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

Chapter 23

Fleetwood Mac's , 'You making loving fun', played on low volume in the deck as Linus pulled his brand new, dirty orange Chevrolet Chevette into the parking lot of his four floor apartment complex.

The keys were taken out of the ignition. The eight track was placed on the passenger's seat and a load of papers and folders were gathered into his aching arms.

Like a battle weary soldier, the detective slumped out of his car and carried on to the front door, holding tightly to the contents that were securely tucked underneath his right arm as to not allow the wind to take them away.He hated to fiddle with his keys in such cold conditions, but it was the only way to enter the building since the night guard had left for the evening. Linus feverishly cycled through his ring of keys until he spotted the gold key that he was searching for.

Before he could even slide the key into the lock, the door abruptly swung open, revealing behind it an elderly white woman and her black Labrador retriever.

"Edna?" Linus lost his breath. "Edna, it's ten past one in the morning, honey. What are you still doing up?"

Coming down from being so alarmed, Edna replied, "Oh well, I was just waiting for Stanley to come home, that's all. I figured you were him."

Gladly stepping in from out of the cold, Linus looked upon the sweet, frail thing before saying, "Edna, Stanley is twenty-four years old. He's not a little boy anymore."

"I know," Edna bashfully smiled, "but you never know how folks can be these days." Edna then stood back and examined Linus as if she were studying a work of art. "I saw you on TV yesterday morning. I heard you found that kidnapper fella. Good for you." She grinned while proudly pinching Linus' left cheek.This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

Linus only blushed before reaching down to pet Edna's dog. "Something got to him before I could. But at least he's gone."

"That's right, good riddance to bad rubbish, I always say." Edna said, giving Linus a spunky punch in the arm. "Go get 'em!"

As Linus raised back up, unbeknownst to him, strands of fur fell from out of his pocket and onto the linoleum floor. Both he and Edna continued to converse as the dog sniffed the fur.

Suddenly, like a loud bang, the dog began to bark and snarl at the strange fur that it was sniffing. Linus and Edna gawked down at the animal, wondering just what had it so spooked all of the sudden. From one end of the hallway to the other, not a single soul could be seen or heard, and yet, the dog, which was usually the gentlest beast in the complex, became incredibly angered at a few shards of fur.

"Oh my, Edna bemoaned, trying to keep the dog from breaking its chain, "I wonder what's gotten into Earl all of the sudden!"

"I think you'd better get both you and him back to your apartment before he wakes the entire building!" Linus had to say out loud, taking three steps back just to avoid the agitated animal.

"I think so, too." Edna relented. "Goodnight, Linus."

Linus watched as the woman and her vicious dog carried on to the elevator and out of sight. He then looked down at the floor and noticed the fur lying about. Linus reached down to pick it up and study the filaments carefully.

He never bothered to stay behind that evening at the station to find out the results from the analysis that Brice took, and quite frankly, he was in no mood to investigate any further. He, much like the dog, sniffed at the fur before slipping it back into his coat pocket and carrying on down the quiet hallway to his apartment.

Linus unlocked the door, turned on the light switch that was on the wall and stepped inside. Warm, quiet and alone at long last. To his right sat a bureau with pictures of his wife and two young daughters. Without taking another look at the files and folders that he had brought home with him, Linus dropped them all onto the dresser, along with the other fur samples, before taking off his coat.

The man felt like two hundred and twenty-one pounds of stale meat. Every joint in his body screamed out in agony for their master to take a long, hard stretch. But before even doing so, Linus went straight for the bathroom where he lifted the toilet seat, unzipped his pants and let out an exhaustingly endless stream of urine into the commode.

Once he was through, he flushed, cut on the light and washed his hands. In the midst of washing, he looked up into the mirror. The exhausted man that was staring back at him caused Linus to shudder in subtle disbelief. Wrinkles that were not present the morning before arose in striking, living color. He actually had to remind himself just how old he was just to make sure that he was looking at the right person.

Linus cut off the light and carried on into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door, loosened his tie and rooted around for anything to eat. The instant he came across a Swanson's TV dinner located beside a can of Genesee beer he right away grabbed both items.

He turned on the stove behind him before looking down at the cardboard box that contained beef and vegetable inside.

Just then, every muscle in his body decided to tense up. He wasn't even hungry. Sluggishly, he turned off the stove before carrying both himself and his can of beer into the small living room.

Late nights were customary for the man; it was all part of the job. In the past five months alone Linus couldn't recall one time getting home from work before ten p.m. Being that he had to report back to the

station in about five and a half hours again only caused his stomach to bubble with dreaded anticipation.

He wasn't sleepy; rest was the last thing on his mind. Every image of the long day before kept his eyes jolted wide open. The sinking feeling that he got every time he dared recollect upon the body bags in the basement only made him want to freebase coffee for the rest of the evening. There should have been the long awaited calm after then storm moment. The unwinding relief, but the enthusiasm was nowhere to be found.

Linus dropped himself down in his recliner, picked up the remote control that was sitting on the coffee table beside him and cut on the set ahead. One station after another was flipped through. From Benny Hill's outrageous and lewd womanizing, to Ralph Kramden's ever constant threats of violence to his long suffering wife. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre just happened to be playing on the late show. The scene where the killer cracked a young man over the head with a hammer and watched as his legs shook and twisted was enough to make Linus turn off the television in complete disgust. It was all he could digest.

He wanted to toss the remote clear to the other side of the room, but instead of being angry, he chose a completely different approach, one that he figured would settle his frayed nerves.

Linus reached up under his chair and pulled out the March issue of Playboy with Susan Kiger on the front cover dressed in a red and black wet suit.

Her nearly exposed chest and long, wet, blonde hair only made Linus rip open the book with the gusto of a child opening a birthday present.The very moment he viewed the first set of breasts inside the magazine he quickly unzipped his pants, took out his part and started to slowly massage it up and down. The harder he pulled at his own member, the stiffer it grew, until it was a rock hard tip in the air.

The longer he gazed into the young woman's brown eyes, the more his left hand that he was holding the book in began to tremble. Her precious eyes and face staring back at him in a sultry, sensual stare caused his stomach to turn. Her legs spread wide open for the world to see made Linus drop the book, turn and vomit all over the carpet beneath him.

When he was through convulsing, the man rose back up and wiped his mouth with his own shirt sleeve. He closed his eyes and gently stuffed his gradually shrinking penis back into his pants.

The warm silence inside his apartment began to cave in on Linus, making him feel as if he were losing his breath. The staggering image of a young woman stuffed in a bag like dirty laundry punched at him like a boxer in the twelfth round.

Linus sat back in his seat, placed his frazzled hands on his two knees and stared up at the ceiling above as though there were something there to see.

Behind him on the dresser sat the pieces of fur, gently moving from side to side as if a stiff breeze were blowing in the apartment. A wisp of thin, fine smoke began to billow from the fur. At first, it was a placid, smoldering sensation, like incense, that is until the smoke grew thicker and the sound of sparks whistled into the air.

Linus spun around not only to hear the popping racket but to also smell the raw odor of what resembled burning flesh. At the drop of a hat, the man jumped up from out of his seat and ran over to put the lone flame out.

He knocked the burning fur off the dresser and began to stomp out the flame, but no matter what, the fire would only grow even more intense.

Before it could become more of a hazard, Linus scooped up the blazing hair, raced directly to the kitchen and drowned it under the cold water in the sink.

"Shit!" He irately yelled, washing his hands under the scolding cold water faucet. Once the smoke had cleared, he cut off the valve and watched as the remains of the burnt fur whisked away down into the drain. Nothing was left but smoldering ash, which too was slowly dissolving.

At that point in the night, there wasn't much more that could possibly take place. In one day, Detective Linus Bruin had witnessed evil on a supreme level, and to think that it had followed him all the way home only made the very thought of sleeping all the more contemptible.

With his hands buried in his pockets, Linus dragged back into the solemn confines of the living room and sat back down in his chair. He wanted to ponder on just why the fur had burst into flames in the first place, or just how in the world Mercer had managed to escape his captor without incident, but it was all mere afterthought as one-thirty rapidly approached on the clock that sat on the coffee table.

The lonely, combat burdened law officer hung his heavy head to the floor and listened to the beating of his heart that seemed to drum a bit slower with every passing minute.