Chapter One
A tall, red-haired woman in a black and white uniform slid smoothly out of a dilapidated Volkswagen beetle, which had pulled up beneath a street light. A yellow flourescent daisy reflected from the fender. She walked around to the driver's side to lean into the window. "Thanks, Nicky. I just don't know what I'd do without you, hon," she whispered in a slightly Texan sounding accent. They kissed.
"You want me to go in with you again tonight?" asked the young man behind the steering wheel.
"No, I'll be all right. It was only those first couple of nights after that girl was... was...." She took a big, heaving sigh. "...was killed, and then that trouble-maker at the bar. I was pretty shook up. And, well, it's always so late when I get off work. It's not so bad now though... 'specially since you've been picking me up. Besides, I'll only have to work there a little longer, then I'll be a full time wife." She turned and started to walk across the street.
"OK, Barb, but I'll sit here til I see your light go on. Oh! And don't forget our date to go ring shopping tomorrow."
The shapely cocktail waitress swung about in mid-stride in the center of the street. "Now how could I ever forget that?" she laughed, blowing a kiss.
Barbara turned again and walked resolutely toward the entrance of her apartment house. The large, wrought iron gate gave a loud, irritating squeak as she pushed it open. She looked across the street at her fiance and shrugged her shoulders. Having closed the gate behind her, again with a squeak, she stepped onto the pebble walkway that led around the grungy pool area to the stairs. This part of the patio, shaded by hibiscus and oleander bushes, was a pleasant and peaceful place during the day, even if it wasn't very well kept, but at night it was always dark and threatening. Barbara usually walked quickly through the shadows. Tonight she practically ran.
Suddenly, something caught her ankle and she fell forward, plummeting into the pebbles. Her purse flew from her hand, scattering its contents through the bushes. She tried to scream, but a massive weight pounced onto her back, absolutely flattening her. Instead of a scream, her breath was forced out as a short grunt. A soft, fuzzy mass was shoved into her mouth and nearly down her throat. She couldn't breathe and began gagging. There was no way she could struggle... she clutched at the small rocks and dead blossoms. Her head was yanked backwards by the hair with a force that cause a loud snapping sound. Her eyes became glassy and all movement ceased.
In the gloom, a short massive form rolled over the limp mass that had only a few seconds before been a vivacious young woman. For a fraction of an instant, light reflected from steel, while the indistinct shape hovered busily over his work. Then, a gurgling whispered from the blackness.
It was happening again! I had just settled down comfortably for a good night's sleep. It was late and I was tired, but unbelievably, it was happening agina! I was vaguely aware of myself tossing and turning under the covers. Then all of a sudden, after a wave of nausea had swept over me, I bolted upright, shaking fiercely and sweating profusely. Had anyone seen me in this state, they would have thought that I was in the throes of some horrible fever or in the midst of an epileptic seizure; I rather wish I had been. However, I knew all too well what was taking place, but only twice before had it ever happened with such violence; and, the last time hand only been a couple of nights ago, when that go-go dancer was murdered on the Sunset Strip. She, too, had been a tall red-head.
I reached over to switch on the light, then I laid back against my pillow. This, I thought, as I slipped by hands beneath my head, would be the time for a cigarette, if I smoked. (Strange what thoughts can pop into one's head.) I knew that this time I had to do something --- that first episode was too vague, so I hadn't been sure whether what I had seen was real of if it was truly a dream. But, the next morning an account of the tragedy appeared in the paper. This time there were no doubts; I was absolutely certain that it had indeed happened and would happen again. I picked up the telephone and dialed "O". "Operator, I'd like the police." My voice was rather shaky and I was holding the receiver exceptionally tightly. The thought this is going to bring plenty of trouble flitted through my mind, but I shook it off.
"Police department," said a firm, female voice.
"Hello, my name is Lucian Randolph. I want to report a murder," I began in an almost unconcerned, matter-of-fact tone that was very much removed from my own emotions. It was a strange sensation --- as if it was not I that was speaking.
"How is that spelled?"
"M-U-R-"
"No!" she interrupted sharply. "You're name!"
"Oh! L-U-C-I-A-N R-A-N-D-O-L-P-H," I enunciated with growing impatience.
"And what is your address?"
"This is absurd! A woman has just been killed!"
"Sir, we must have this information. Your address, please," she persisted.
"524 South Angeles, Apartment 7, Westwood."
"Your phone number?"
"697-5284. Would you like my Social Security and library card numbers as well?"
"No, sir. That won't be necessary," she continued in the same monotone. "Where did this murder take place?"
"I'm afraid I don't know for sure, but it has just happened. A waitress named Barbara was dropped off at her apartment by her boyfriend, Nicky or maybe Micky. A guy was waiting for her in the bushes. He cut her throat, but I think her neck was already broken."
"Thank you very much, sir. We'll get someone right on it."
"Wait! It was the same man who killed the woman the other night. He's going to kill again!"
"Thank you, sir. Good night." There was a click and the finality of the dial tone.
She must have thought I was a real crackpot. Maybe it's just as well; I've made my effort, I thought. "Hopefully, they'll ignore the call," I told myself, but I was fairly certain that they wouldn't. Please God, let it have been a dream!
For the second time tonight, I turned out the light and scooted under the
blankets. But sleep would not come. While visions of violence penetrated my
thoughts, I pondered on the beginnings of my problems.
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