The Death of Dorian

Shift.

When he woke up, Dorian sprinted to the toilet and expelled low-quality grease and the vestiges of his Frankie nightmare.

After a quick shower and simple dress, Dorian arrived at Scum’s and continued ignoring Frankie and teaching Jacob. Lara began to cozy up to Jacob, and Jessica gave Dorian the cold shoulder until closing.

She didn’t ask for a ride home.

His head pounded to some forgotten jazz ensemble as he worked the lock on his front door. After pouring a glass of cough syrup bourbon, two ice cubes, he sat in his reading chair and watched a small spider trek across the vaulted ceiling. Man, that thing is ugly. Too bad it’s out of reach.

The spider meandered above him, and paused. Waiting for a moment to strike. Dorian looked at the book in his lap. The Baron Kinkvervankotsdorsprakingatchdern. He wondered if he could actually pronounce the name as he opened the book to a random page. When he looked up, the spider was hovering about a foot from his head.

WHOP! Dorian put the book back in the shelf. He made a mental note to be cautious around page thirty, no need to shock himself. Dorian headed down the hall toward the bath, stopping long enough to grab a white cotton towel from the laundry closet on the way.

Tonight he decided on an eggshell white shirt with french cuffs and grey flat front pants. He opened the top drawer of his dresser and withdrew grey socks and brushed steel cufflinks before grabbing his burgundy Rockport casuals and matching leather belt. Don’t forget the zip ties. He left the reading lamp on in the corner of his living room, donned a weightless brown blazer and made his way into the night.

Once again, he found himself standing on the pompous red carpeted sidewalk with a pompous little sign making arrogant proclamations of idiocy. The city still smelled like the city, and the sky was dark with bored clouds. Closing his eyes, he stepped into the familiar migraine fog.

Something was going on with the cheerleader. But what? She didn’t want to go home last night, that was a definite. Abusive parent or parents? Maybe, it seemed that all fathers with daughters were committed to sexual abuse. Hopefully, it was something else. She was a nice enough person, even if she defied physics by not floating into the atmosphere.

Dorian walked past the burger joint he’d went to with Jessica.

No, it couldn’t be that. It’s too obvious. Maybe her parents work late and she doesn’t like being alone. That’s a damn horrible tendency to fall into. Could lead to problematic promiscuity. Wish these headaches would stop.

He was standing at an unfamiliar street corner with a big DO NOT WALK winking at him. Not like he’s in a hurry.

If her parent’s work late, there could be someone in the apartments that knows that. Could be some lecherous man or woman like the old guy with the whistling voice on that cartoon show Jacob keeps mimicking. What was it called? Family Man or something. Not important.

It looked like Dorian was somewhere mid-town, not quite the rich district, or even the suburbs, but working on it. The long streets matched his long legs.
Well, it could be she was telling the truth. Not many women do that, but it happens. Especially with the naïve ones. She might have just wanted to hang out because she felt Dorian was lonely. It could be nothing. Figure it out later, after this stupid headache takes a nap. Where am I?

Dorian stopped to locate himself. Definitely in mid-town. Middle-class apartments hugged each other on either side, and the street lamps burped just a little too much yellow to be the uptown district. Cars lined the sidewalk and late-night television murmured through thin windows. The stars were still playing hide and seek. And his headache was playing an encore to a disgruntled audience. He reached down to a crumple of newspaper and dropped it into a street can two feet away. Asshole, whoever you are.
The headache called cadence as he wandered down the street, eyes ahead and slightly down. It was amazing how quiet this part of the city was. There wasn’t even any traffic. As in, there were literally no cars in motion. Dorian found it awkward.

At least, it was quiet until he passed an alley near the next intersection.

“Help! Help, anybody! Please for the love of God, someone help me!”

Dorian spun back to the alley and peered into the bland lighting. Underneath a fire escape, he saw a man raising a two-by-four with both hands. Below him, a lady sprawled in a torn red dress suit with a hand raised in defense. She was still screaming.

Faster than Dorian thought he was able, he tackled into the man from behind and landed on top of him with an anti-climactic thud.

“What the hell are you doing, man? Let me go!” Twobyfour said as Dorian bound his hands.

Dorian propped the man into a sitting position. “Can’t do that.”

He moved over and helped the lady to her feet. She dusted herself off as she tried to calm down. It didn’t take long. “Oh, thank you so much, mister! That, that man, he was… Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Stop!” Dorian was only as firm as necessary to zip tie the Reddress’s hands and sit her against the wall opposite Twobyfour.

Something was nagging at Dorian, but he wasn’t sure what. He leaned down to Reddress’s face. “I’m sorry, I can’t be too careful. I don’t want you attacking a bound person,” he said.

Reddress stared like he was a soup sandwich. After a few moments, she relaxed.

“As long as you don’t start any funny business, mister.”

Twobyfour glared across the alley. “Don’t listen to her, man. She’s crazy.”

“Fuck off you freak!”

Dorian wiped his face with his hand and massaged his temples. “Both of you, stop. Miss, what’s your name?”

She gave a smirk much prettier than Jacob’s.

“Alicia. I’d shake your hand, but you kinda goofed that from happening.” Something was still itching Dorian’s brain. At least it distracted him from the headache.

“Okay, Alicia. What happened?”

Alicia hung her head for a moment before speaking. Dorian had seen other women do the same thing when mustering strength to relive moments that lead to a mugging or attempted rape.

“Well, I was walking home from McGurden’s bar a couple blocks away. I just moved here a month or so ago and haven’t been able to save up for a car yet,” she said. “Anyway, I decided to cut through the alley to save time and that asshole was digging through that dumpster over there.
“And I know I should’ve stayed on the street where it’s more open and everything, but I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal, and, and he,” she cried.

“That’s a load of shit and you know it you crazy bitch!” Twobyfour was loud enough to drown out what Alicia had finished saying. Luckily, Dorian got the gist of what she happened. At least according to her, it’s always important to get both sides.

He moved across the alley and looked down at Twobyfour. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Zaeed and I live in three-C in that building. I used to have a fiancée until that murderer came along and killed her! Tried to kill me, too!” Zaeed said.

Dorian's cranial itch was still there.

“What happened? Tell me everything.”

Zaeed shot dagger eyes at Alicia. “It was our two year anniversary and I was cooking Sharon dinner. That was her name, you evil bitch! That was my fiancée’s name!”

Alicia was still crying too hard to make a reply.

“Focus, Zaeed. What happened?”

He glared at Dorian. “I was finishing up the alfredo sauce when there was a knock at the door. Sharon answered it. I watched her open the door from the kitchen. I heard a lady ask if I was home. I heard her ask,” Zaeed said. He jerked his head at Alicia.

“Sharon began to ask her why, I mean, it was fucking ten p.m. for Christ’s sake! Then all of a sudden, there’s a pop and Sharon… Sharon’s, her face…” Tears streamed down Zaeed’s face. This guy should be an actor, Alicia’s crying doesn’t even sound that pitiful.

“Go on, Zaeed.” He needed the rest of the story to compare notes.

“Okay, okay… I panicked and ran into the bedroom and locked the door. I ran to the window because she started shooting the door and I didn’t want to get killed, too. I… I got onto the fire escape and jumped down it as fast as I could, and she followed. I guess I was lucky that she couldn’t get a good shot at me and I was able to drag her off the ladder. That’s how her dress got torn. And I was about to finish her off for killing Sharon, but then you came outta nowhere and hogtied me,” he finished.

This is awkward. Alicia’s story makes sense, but something felt odd. Zaeed was obviously crazy, or at least a bad liar. There it was.

He turned to Alicia. “How long before I came was he attacking you?”

Zaeed rolled his eyes. “Of course, yeah, take the woman’s side. It’s always the man’s fault, right?” he said.

Dorian waved him off. “How long?”

“I don’t know, I, maybe twenty or thirty seconds?” Alicia clenched her eyes against the thought.

Great. Just great.

“Why didn’t you start screaming when he attacked you? I walked past the alley, then you screamed.”

Alicia’s eyes opened wide. “What? I was busy being attacked by a damn hobo criminal! What does it matter?”

He ignored her and turned to Zaeed. Zaeed had a different look in his eyes, and Dorian hoped it wasn’t hobo insanity.

He picked Zaeed up, then brought Alicia to her feet. It was hard to keep a grip on both of them, but he forced himself to.

“Take me to your apartment.”

Zaeed dragged the other two behind as he moved out of the alley and back to the street. “Finally! Now you’ll see.”

The apartment made one wall of the alley, and the entryway had a simple push door. Dodged a bemusing scene there. There was no elevator, so Dorian finangled the trio up the stairs, Zaeed leading the way, Alicia huffing in indignation.

“What the hell are you doing? This freak’s just going to find a way to break free, or start screaming that he’s been kidnapped or something. Let me go and call the cops on this douchebag."

Dorian ignored her.

Third floor landing. Dorian could already see that one of the apartment doors was ajar, wet light peeking into the hallway. Zaeed picked up speed as he arrowed to the door.

Dorian pushed both people through the door before stepping in himself. They were standing in a small entryway that bled into a small living room with inexpensively comfortable décor. There was a pot on the stove with white stuff boiling over and made the place smell of vacation Italy. The body on the floor had a caved in face and made the place smell like a 1950’s murder mystery. Better make sure not to step in the blood. Too bad about the Pakistani rug, that stain will never come out.

“See? I told you! She’s a fucking psycho!” Zaeed stepped around the body and distanced himself from Alicia.

“Quiet,” Alicia said. She creeped toward the bedroom. Dorian got there first. The window was open, and there were two shell casings below the sill. A compact pistol with was probably a small silencer was on the bed next to a red purse. At least she’s coordinated.

Dorian picked up the handgun and peered into the purse. He found what he was looking for, and loaded the fresh magazine. Alicia resisted as Dorian dragged her back to the living room using the purse strap as a lasso.

“Well, this is awkward,” Dorian said.

Zaeed was standing, still hand-bound, in the living room with the couch as a makeshift barrier.

Alicia turned to Dorian with a authoritative air. It reminded him of the damn sign in front of his condo complex.

“Listen stranger. You don’t know all you think you do. Untie me right now and there won’t be any ramifications – “

It was amazing how quiet the shot was with such a little silencer. Must be high tech.

Dorian grabbed a knife from the kitchen and cut Alicia’s binds, then Zaeed’s. He put the knife back and picked up the phone.

“Wow, I can’t believe you did that. But, you know, thank you for believing the truth. She was going to kill me,” he said, turning off the stove.

“I didn’t kill her on your behalf.” Dorian scribbled on some nearby paper while the phone rang.

A voice came on. “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

“There’s been an attempted break-in at 404 Lakin Street, apartment 3-C. The burglar was overpowered by one resident and killed, but the other resident is dead. The surviving victim suffered a gunshot wound to his leg during the struggle and medical assistance is requested.” Dorian hung up and wiped off the phone with a rag.

“Hey, she didn’t break in, she murdered my fiancée! And what are you talking about, I didn’t get sho—Aagh! Oh sweet mercy, that hurts like a sonuvabitch!” Zaeed feel to the linoeleum grasping his left thigh. “What in God’s name did you do that for?”

Dorian left the wiped gun on Alicia’s body to hold down the piece of paper. He turned back to Zaeed at the front door.

“You broke rule number two.” And he left.

When the police and ambulance arrived, they found Zaeed unconscious from blood loss. He was stabilized, and was taken to the city hospital. Alicia and Sharon went to the morgue.

Watson arrived as Zaeed was loaded into the wagon. He’d gotten a call from one of the responding officers.

“Sir, can you tell me what happened?” Watson already had his pocket brain ready. It was full of notes, and he expected he’d find a new one here.

“He said I broke some rule. Number two,” Zaeed finished. The medical technician had listened, fascinated by the story, but returned to business. He told Watson to question him at the hospital and shut the door.

That was a new one. Watson circled it in his book and headed to his car for his water bottle. He took one swig before he was called over to one of the bodies.

Another note.

This time, the number was five.

What the hell is going on?

[Chapter end currently under work]