The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Chapter 45

February

"And you say this is where the fire started?" Roy Brickman observed as he stood and studied the burned top of Linus' bureau.

The man scaled his right hand against the scarred wood grain while trying to figure out inside his own head just what sort of incident could have taken place inside his friend's apartment.

"Yep, that's it." Linus, still wearing his sling around his left arm, and clothed in a pair of blue jeans and a sweater came back into the living room with two unopened cans of Lowenbrau in hand.

Roy took the beer and popped open the cap. Linus responded in kind before leaning against his recliner and sipping ever so slowly. Roy took a couple of drags before strolling about the small apartment. "I know you quit smoking years ago, but do you think perhaps you may have left a lighter on the dresser by accident?"

Turning around with a haughty grin, Linus replied, "Roy, it was the fur, plain and simple."

Roy quit walking and faced Linus. "You say fur, but I just don't see fur igniting into flames."

"Yeah, isn't that funny?" Linus callously remarked before sitting himself down in his recliner.

Roy sat himself down on the couch adjacent from Linus and sipped some more on his beer. For a while both men just sat and brooded in complete silence. The fizz from the beer inside the individual cans was the only sounds that were being made. That, along with frequent sighing every so often.

Roy sat and studied Linus who refused to make eye contact with his Captain. He would just sit and caress the tip of his can while his blank eyes were steadily fixated on the dingy carpet. Roy was staring at Linus Bruin, but it was a completely different version of the man; a version that made no sense whatsoever. He could have used and thought of every cliché imaginable to describe the man, from

'empty shell' to 'soulless', but something was terribly amiss with Linus, and Roy felt completely helpless.

"Shirley wanted me to give you her best." Roy suddenly spoke up.

Grinning somewhat, Linus replied in a melancholy mood, "Bless her heart. I actually yelled at her the other day inside Cummins' house. I meant to apologize to her for that."

"Well, you know her; she tends to look the other way in such matters."

"Yeah...yeah she does." Linus drifted away.

Roy watched the man trail off once more before he sat back in his seat and cantankerously grunted, "You know, this is bullshit."

Linus abruptly awoke and asked, "How's that?"

Placing his can down onto the table next to him, Roy firmly stated, "I didn't come over here to sit and listen to the winter wind blow. You and I need to get this out in the open right now."

Linus sat his can down onto the floor before rubbing his broken arm and rolling his eyes. The man kept trying to evade Roy's eyes, but no matter what, Roy was just as persistent.

"Now, you may have dodged O'Dea, but I need to know what exactly happened so we can put an end to this nightmare once and for all." Roy nearly shot up from out of his seat. "I was thinking about calling in a few favors, just like the last time, but unless you give me something tangible to work with involving this incident then my efforts won't be worth a damn."

Linus sat and rubbed his hands together as though they were agitating him. "Do you know that it took hours for me to finally get that man's blood off of my hands and nails? He muttered.

Roy was caught off guard momentarily, as if he too were mesmerized with Linus' hands. "What exactly did O'Dea say to you?"

Sighing, Linus responded, "Do you recall last year when— This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

"Nope, nope," Roy cut right in. "We're not playing 'Time Machine' here. You're going to face a grand jury!" He raised his voice. "A grand jury that is only going to see you as the bad guy! I need to know what happened inside that house, and I need to know right now!"

"Roy—

"Forget about it, Linus!" Roy got up and began walking back and forth across the carpet. "Why can't you just come right out and say what went on?"

"Because I'm not going to my grave with everyone thinking that I've lost my mind." Linus simply blurted out."

Roy immediately stopped pacing at that instant before staring hard down at Linus. His reaction to the man's words would have suggested that the wind had just been sucked right out of him.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Roy gasped.

"Sometimes there are certain occurrences in our lives that...that we hoped to God we'd never even seen to begin with."

"Are you talking about that Charles Manson, bigamist cult you and Fitzpatrick busted last year?"

"No. You want to know what happened inside that house, and why I had to put that man down? Then here it is. What I experienced back in Cummins' house, and then the Sanders' home was only a prelude."

"A prelude to what," Roy stood completely stiff.

Linus himself got up and wandered over to the window. "I knew full well that that entire day was leading to something. But deep down, I never wanted to admit it out loud. Even on my way over to apprehend Mercer that night I felt it. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to turn that car around and just come back home."

Roy had all but forgotten how to move at that point. He just stood and watched as Linus stared out the window while blindly telling his ill-fated story. Something wanted him to keep on telling his tale, while something else inside of him wanted to walk out the door and never see the man again.

"When I pulled up to the house, I wanted to just sit there inside that car, but I kept on going. I kept on going up the porch steps, inside that house and straight into the bathroom. It was like I was being pulled inside."

Roy expected Linus to continue, after all, there was not a single pause or stutter in his speech. But when Linus just suddenly stopped, that was when Roy found it difficult to keep his own body from trembling. Linus was at the very foot of revelation, and yet, both men seemed apprehensive to continue on.

"I remember holding that woman's bloody body in arms. God, please be with her and that child." Linus droned on.

"You're skipping a part, Linus. What happened in—

"Please don't blame Fitz. Don't even blame Isaac Mercer. That poor, ungodly kid." Linus' voice softened. "I remember his father walking in and holding his dead child in his hands. That poor, wretched child of his."

"What made him so wretched, Linus? After all, he did break your arm."

Linus remained still and quiet for almost an entire minute before he said, "No...he didn't."

Shaking his head, Roy put his hands on his hips and began pacing all over again. "All I'm hearing from you is what you remember about a guy that nearly killed his fiancée, son and yourself. I'm hearing how sorry you felt for that guy. Hell, if I can't get any information out of you, then perhaps I should head down to the hospital and question his fiancée."

Turning his head, Linus firmly remarked, "Leave her alone! If you cherish me, then you'll leave her alone forever!"

Roy dropped his arms to the side right then and heaved a huge sigh before glancing all over the living room in a hopeless and defeated manner.

"You know, I used to think that—

Suddenly, Roy stopped himself and focused solely on Linus' back which was still pointed at him. At that very second Roy saw something that he himself had never seen before. It just flashed into his sight like a bright blur.

"I'll be dammed." He muttered with a dry throat. "You don't wanna be saved. You want to go down. Don't you?"

Linus never replied. Nor did he even budge, and that response alone gave Roy the visceral impression that something very vital was slipping away like water through his hands.

"It's funny you mention his father. That next day he and I sat down and talked. He, much like yourself, just wasn't there." Roy explained. "But that still doesn't explain how—

"Go home, Roy." Linus eventually uttered.

And with that, every last bit of will power Roy may have possessed at one time had all but been exhausted. Without another word spoken the man walked over, grabbed his trench coat from off the coat hanger and proceeded to open the front door.

"Make sure to arm yourselves down there at the station." Linus said aloud with his face still out the window. "You've got a long journey ahead of you."

Roy stood and studied Linus for about four seconds before the television that was sitting in the middle of the living room floor suddenly came on without warning.

Roy took a slight step backwards and eyed the contraption that was showing 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.' Linus remained at the window completely oblivious to the uncanny occurrence that had just taken place within his own home.

With his face still pointed out the window, Linus said, "Don't be alarmed. It's been coming off and on all by itself for the past couple of days. Don't ask me why. It just does so."

Roy had not one word to express his unease at that stage. Everything had just come to a complete standstill right before his eyes.

"And it always starts and stops at that one particular scene as well." Linus added.

Roy looked back at the television right when the killer snatched his victim just before slamming the steel, sliding door shut. Roy was stunned into stillness as the scene vanished right before the television itself went back off again, leaving the screen totally black.

It was then that Captain Brickman snapped back to the present while seated comfortably in his wonky wooden chair that overlooked the overcast Downtown Cypress scenery. The last thing that sat and festered inside Roy's memory was Linus' backside that was staring right back at him as he walked out

the man's door. He couldn't even recall Linus' face without looking at an old picture; just his backside that wouldn't turn away from the window that had captivated him so much.

"Captain," Shirley Donaldson knocked on and carefully opened the office Captain's door.

Gradually, Roy swung around to face both his perfectly clean desk and a blushing Donaldson. "Well, Donaldson, I figured you would be home by now." He cleared his throat.

"No, sir, not yet," Shirley humbly grinned. "I, uh, I just stopped by to see how you were doing."

Growing a smile, Roy replied, "Well, as you can see, I'm all packed up and ready for home."

"Yes, I can see that." Shirley remarked while gazing around the office's bare walls. "Well, sir, I just wanted to give you this before you left."

Roy sat and watched as the woman placed a small box down onto his desk. Roy glanced up at her before taking the box and opening it to discover a lone silver bullet inside.

Taking the bullet out and strangely examining it, Roy questioned, "What on earth?"

Like a giddy little girl, Shirley rocked back and forth in place. "I remember when I graduated from the academy; my father gave me that bullet. It's was first made way back in 1881. And every person that ever owned it has never had to use it. So I'm giving it to you, sir. It's given me good luck throughout the years, and hopefully it'll do the same for you."

Roy's face exploded into full red at that very moment. From front to back the man stared at the bullet before placing it back inside the box.

Still smiling, Roy said, "I don't quite know what to say, but...thank you."

"You're welcome." Shirley kept on beaming. "Just don't use it in one place." She then laughed out loud.

Roy subtly joined in on the humor before getting up out of his chair and putting on his trench coat.

"Sir, just how do you plan on spending your retirement?"

Caught off guard by the question, Roy stood still for a second or two and sighed, "Well, my wife and I are heading back to Montana. From there, I'm going to be doing a lot of fishing."

"Oh, that's wonderful." Shirley replied.

The two of them stood opposite each other and just soaked in the quietness that surrounded them before a helicopter from outside the window shattered the silence.

"We've seen a whole lot here, haven't we, Officer?" Roy glared at Shirley.

Shirley returned the glare, only her's was more on the verge of tears. "Yes, sir...we certainly have."

"You just make sure that you keep this new captain on his toes like you've done to me all these years, young lady." Roy began to walk around his desk with his one small box and one bigger, stuffed box in tow.

"You can be sure of that, sir!" Shirley laughed again before a sudden frown came upon her. "I was just wondering, sir, will you be attending Sullivan's funeral service tomorrow?"

Roy's body tensed up at that second as he sighed and said, "No, Officer. I'm done with funerals." Approaching the woman face to face, Roy extended his right hand and shook Shirley's. He then drew close to the woman's ear and softly inquired, "Everyone out there knows I don't want some damn standing ovation, don't they?"

Nodding her head, Shirley remarked, "You don't have to worry about that, sir. They all know you quite well."

Stepping back, Roy said, "Good, that's what I like to hear."

With both of his boxes, Roy stepped out of his office and into the always busy work area where phones were ringing and officers were milling about like busy beavers. As he passed along one desk after another Roy was approached by numerous officers who either shook their captain's hand or simply patted him on the shoulder. There was no clapping or cheering, no tears or whistles, just admiration for a man that they both esteemed and at times feared. But just before Roy could reach the stairwell, an older, white officer adorned in his navy blue uniform suddenly approached the man from around the corner.

"Ahh, Captain." He exhaled as though he had been running. "I'm glad I caught you."

"I'm not your captain anymore, Phillips, but what can I do for you?"

"Well, sir, I know this news comes a hundred years too late, but I thought you'd like to know that those seventy rifles that you put an order in for back in February just arrived about an hour ago."

Roy looked hard at Phillips for a moment before dropping his head in a mournful fashion. "It figures." His voice sank. "Make sure the new captain uses them wisely."

"Sure thing, sir," Phillips shook Roy's hand. "And all the best to you and the Mrs."

"Thanks. And be damn sure you find Sullivan's killer. Don't let this city drown in blood." Roy responded as he turned around and took one long view of the hectic work area that had seemingly and quite quickly forgot all about his very presence in the midst of their daily detail.

From right to left Roy studied each and every individual before he unexpectedly looked down at the small box that Shirley had given him earlier. He didn't want to study the thing for too long. As a matter of fact, he never really had to. He immediately went to the very first officer's desk that wasn't too far

from where he just happened to be standing. It was a female's desk where the officer had just hung up the phone.

"Can I help you, sir?" She asked.

"When you see Officer Donaldson, make sure she gets this." Roy promptly placed the box onto the woman's desk before turning and heading down the stairwell for the final time.

***

To all of my colleagues and comrades, I, on this day, officially leave the service of The Cypress Police Department, of which I have been a willing servant for the past 41 years.

It has been an honor to serve this great city to the best of my ability. Of my service I can say only this, it has been a journey. It has been a journey that at times I have relished, and at other times I have regretted.

Within the years of my duty I have ran across numerous acquaintances. Namely, one Linus Bruin. A man that I still, and always shall have great respect for. I will admit that perhaps our relationship was out of line at times. Perhaps I treated him more like a son rather than a subordinate. But I truly do know that of Linus Bruin, that man lived honorably.

Why do I speak of Linus and not my own career? Simple, he faced something that no other man or woman on this force had ever faced. I will not speak of his demise, for I do believe that he perished long before he took his own life. My only regret is that I wished I could have been there alongside him that fateful night at that house. I'm not saying that the outcome would have been any different, but I only wish.

In my 41 years I have witnessed all kinds and sorts of triumph and misery, but in this year of our Lord 1977, I can truly say that I have been bested; bested by that which I have never had the opportunity to

face with my own eyes. And for that, I find myself beyond blessed.

I hereby leave this town in the capable hands of the good Lord. May he forever have mercy upon everyone.

Sincerely yours,

Roy Jack Brickman.