A lunatic moon

A lunatic moon - chapter 8 The storm outside and inside

The next morning, after Danny had been arrested and consequently admitted to the Psychiatric Assessment Center, Cliff Bell and Sam MacNeil ran into one another in the parking lot at the police station for the start of their shift. Sam Walked over to greet his partner with a cup of coffee in each hand, Bell finished adjusting his belt and accepted one gratefully.

They went inside together and were immediately told by dispatch to go see the chief. Bell thanked her and Sam tipped her a wink causing her to blush. Cliff wondered if the two had something going outside of work. Not that he cared, he was happy for them if they did. They went in to see the chief and stood before his desk waiting, as he talked to someone on the phone. The chief gestured to a couple of empty chairs and they sat down, sipping their coffees.

Sam looked at Bell and cocked an eyebrow as if to ask, 'What is this?'. Bell just shrugged 'Beats me'. After a few minutes, the chief hung up the phone and apologized for keeping them waiting. "De nada." Sam said.

The chief sighed and leaned back in his chair, folded his hands on his belly and put his feet up on his desk.

"Alright," He said and cleared his throat. "Here's what happened last night." He looked at Bell and said, "It was a good thing you asked Chris and Lucy to go on a drive-by of old man Jean Duhamel's house."

"Why's that?" Bell asked, leaning forward with interest.

"Well, I'm about to tell you why. Apparently, when they showed up they caught your boy Danny Ferguson in the act of beating the living daylights out of the old man. If they hadn't got there when they did, we'd be looking at another homicide today."

Bell shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What?" Sam asked in shock. "Beating up the old man? Is he okay?"

"That was the hospital I was just talking to now and they said Mr. Duhamel is doing fine and in good spirits, considering. They're prepping him for release right now."

Bell scratched his head and asked, "So the Ferguson kid, Danny Ferguson, was out there in the middle of the night and beating the tar out of Jean Duhamel? In his house, or outside?"

"Yeah, outside in the field, Lucy said the kid had gone total nutbar on the guy, pounding his head into the dirt and growling like an animal. He broke the guy's wrists, both of them, badly. Apart from his broken wrists and a few contusions, the old guy got off lucky. It looked like Ferguson was trying to kill him. They tried to subdue him and Lucy bent her baton over Ferguson's head. That might have been going a little too far and could've killed the kid, but she said it didn't have any effect at all. Then when she tried to grab him, he threw her a good ten feet onto her ass. That pissed Chris off, so he proceeded to ruin a perfectly good flashlight by bashing it over Ferguson's head. He said it took him three swings to get the kid's attention. Now I don't condone that type of action when making an arrest, but they said the kid was frothing at the mouth and had some kinda super strength. They worried for the old man, because he wasn't slowing down. Then Lucy said, when Chris finally beat him into submission with the Mag-light and cuffed him, he was spouting off a bunch of gibberish about the old guy being a killer, or some such happy horse shit. They brought him back here and called his folks in. The parents said he'd been under a lot of stress lately. Just lost his best friend?"

"Yeah." Bell drained his coffee and standing up, dropped it onto the wastebasket. "His best friend was the teenager that was run down by a train a couple weeks ago. Uh, Michael Vansickle. Danny Ferguson was the one to find his body, all messed up on the tracks."

"Yeah, it was a bad scene." Sam said, shaking his head at the memory of it. Definitely not something you'd want your kid to see, especially if it was his best friend. Vansickle was torn up pretty bad."

The chief swung his legs off the desk and rolled his chair up closer. "What was the kid like cut in half, or all mashed up?" He hadn't seen the autopsy photos, or even been briefed yet. The chief was a busy man and allowed his officers plenty of space to conduct their operations.

"No, nothing like that." Bell said softly. Thinking back. "Sure he had one arm taken off at the joint, but it was weird, the arm was hanging off one of the rails. Just lying there. The body was a mess. He was shredded chief, it didn't even look like a train fatality. If it had been anywhere else, I would have said it was an animal attack. A large predator maybe. Something like a bear, or a pack of wolves. I mean, he even had his throat torn out. Train fatalities don't normally look like that"

"No they don't." Agreed Sam.

"The coroner ruled it accidental though." The chief said spreading his hands. "Are you saying you think he got it wrong?"

"No, not necessarily." Bell conceded. "But you gotta admit, it's rather close both in time and location to the mysterious decapitation of Julie Gifford. They all go to the same high school. I guess Danny got it in his head somehow, that old man Duhamel had something to do with it. He lives right near the tracks, so maybe Danny had words with him or something."

The chief, who had been trying to quit smoking for some time now at his wife's urging, pulled a pack of Juicy Fruit gum from his shirt pocket and unwrapped a piece. He thoughtfully folded it into his mouth, then asked Bell, "Is that why you and Sam visited Duhamel at his house, Because of his proximity to the Gifford murder?"

"Exactly." Bell said.

"Well, that brings me to the next order of business." The chief said, his voice growing hard and ominous.

He chewed his gum for a bit and sorted some papers on his desk looking for something. He produced a page from Lucy's notebook. "Danny Ferguson made a request last night, both to Lucy and Chris, the arresting officers and then again to his parents. The father, um, an 'Art Ferguson'... he began, consulting the page in his hand. "...called this morning. After Danny was arrested, a decision was made to send him over to the PAC to have him checked out for mental stability, both for his own good and obviously the safety of others. Before the parents said their goodbyes, apparently Danny begged his father to get a message through to you."

And he looked up sharply at Bell. "Young Ferguson insists that he found a girl's arm in Duhamel's field, he said he thinks it's Julie Gifford's and he wants you and Sam to go out there to have a look for it."

Officer Sam MacNeil and Sergeant Bell looked at each other.

"How would he know that Julie Gifford was missing an arm?" Sam asked. "That information wasn't released to the media, because as far as we know, it's still missing."

The chief stood, hitching his belt. "Not according to Danny Ferguson it isn't. That's why I want you two to get a search warrant for Jean Duhamel's property from Judge Price and go have a look for it."

Sam and Bell left the chief's office and walked next door where the small courthouse was conveniently located. After some terse words from the judge about reasonable cause, they left with a warrant to search Duhamel's property only. Judge Price, in his wisdom, did not think there was sufficient reason to issue a warrant to search the house, or any structures on the property.

"If the kid said he saw an arm in the field and had not been inside the old man's residence, then I'm restricting your search to the outdoor property only. Understood?"

Chagrined, but satisfied, Sam and Bell piled into their cruiser, with the warrant neatly folded on the seat beside them and headed to the country for a little look-see.

Duhamel had gotten there first. He'd been released from the hospital just after the chief of police had gotten off the phone with the head nurse. The hospital sent him home in a cab. The cab driver, at Jean's urging, drove fast and received a healthy tip after dropping him off at the end of the driveway.

Jean did not like being away from home, especially when there had been so many cops creeping around his house. He knew he had to get rid of the girl's arm that lay in his field and quickly. He considered a few different ways on how to best make it disappear and decided that the most efficient way would be to just eat it. As he should have when he'd first brought it home.

Sometimes though, during a full moon, he did not think straight and brought home various parts from his kills. He did not relish the idea of eating carrion. Of course he'd had to do it before in his life, but he'd been near starving then. However, this was important and he wanted to avoid scrutiny, any way he could. Eating it would have to do, at least the disposal would be complete.

Before he even let himself into his house, he strolled through the tall weeds far into the field to where the arm still lay. The same location he had first attacked that stupid boy for trespassing on his property, sticking his nose where it did not belong! A cloud of flies buzzed anxiously as he squatted down and picked it up. He shook as many maggots as he could from it and without thinking twice began to consume the decomposing arm.

He started at the fingers, swallowing the painted nails whole. There was no chewing those. The bones crunched under his powerful jaws and most of the skin and rotted tissue simply slid off the bone. He gulped it down, eating his way up the forearm and slowing only when he got to the elbow. He readjusted his grip, almost as if he were eating corn on the cob and chewed through the bicep first and then the tricep. He bit down hard on the humerus, cracking it through the middle and chewed the various splinters he gnawed from the thick bone. Orange gobbets of maggoty fat and marrow clung to his chin and he hurriedly wiped them away.

It was disgusting, even for him. So he paused to take a few deep breaths, before returning to the remaining hunk of bone. He was able to get through the last of it and within ten minutes, nothing at all remained of Julie's missing arm. He stood up and hurried to his house where he unlocked the door and let himself in. He quickly picked up the bottle of whiskey from the kitchen table and had a couple of large swallows to get the taste of decay out of his mouth. He looked in his mostly empty fridge. No body parts here either. Any evidence that would connect him with murder had either been consumed or burned in the burn barrel out back. The freezer was empty as well, except for an old bag of freezer burned corn niblets, coated in a two inch layer of frost. He closed the freezer and sat at his table, lighting a cigarette, thinking.

He hadn't had much time to think, since the fight with the boy last night. Everything had happened so fast. He'd been bundled into the ambulance on a gurney and the well meaning EMT had broken two needles trying to give him a shot of morphine for the pain he didn't feel in his already healing wrists. When he realized what the ambulance attendant was trying to do for him, he'd allowed his skin to accept the point of the syringe and had feigned relief.

"You got some pretty tough skin there!" The EMT had remarked.

"It was probably just a callous." Jean had replied in a dozy voice.

The EMT looked at Jean's arm and his injection site, but didn't see any callouses. He gave a shrug and disposed of the ruined syringes.

The ambulance bounced and jostled them as it raced down the dark country road. It's siren wailing into the night. The flashing lights strobed the lonely barns and pastures like some strange, mournful square-dance disco. They'd released him just that morning but still...

He lit a cigarette and thought back on the night before...

At the hospital, Jean realized that he'd need to slow his healing capability down, just long enough for the doctors to order x-rays for his broken wrists. It wouldn't do to have the x-rays show his wrists healing in just a few short hours after having them broken. He was able to do remarkable things with his body and its healing process, however, it did require energy, both mental and physical to control these things. The entire ordeal had been one big inconvenience and also something that he was not accustomed to.

He took another pull on the bottle of whiskey, remembering the night at the hospital. He'd had to fake his pain and put on exaggerated shows of agony and despair that he didn't feel in the least. He forced the fake niceties and courtesies with the nurses and the doctor, when he absolutely hated to be around them. He'd had to soften areas of his skin to allow for injections. He had to moan and groan whenever they poked and prodded him. Though when it came time for them to draw samples of his blood though, he steadfastly refused and complained that he was very squeamish at the sight of blood and it may cause him to pass out. He couldn't allow them to extract the blood that flowed within him. It moved extremely slowly, as it was black and tarry. Even if they had managed to extract any of this vile, stinking stuff from his body, the sight and smell of it alone would have raised alarms and caused the doctors to demand more tests. So he faked embarrassment and acted all wobbly and light headed.

...He was home now, but he was still angry. Sitting at the scarred table, the early morning sun threw a ray of light through his filmy kitchen window and he squinted against it shaking his head. Cigarette smoke spiraled towards the fly specked ceiling...

The goddamn hospital! In the hospital he'd begged like a dog damnit. He actually had to beg them to not poke him with any more of their damned needles. He never had to beg for anything. That had angered him greatly. He desperately wanted to lash out. This clean and orderly environment was totally foreign to him. The boy, 'Danny' was going to pay for this, for putting him here and pay dearly. He tempered his fury and smiled a grimace, as they fussed over him. The nurses finally relented after binding his hands and wrists with stiff plaster casts instead of drawing blood. They were annoyed with him and left him alone in a hospital bed with two other feeble old people in the same room, while the plaster casts hardened. He drew the privacy curtain around his bed and waited. He was relieved when two hours later, a physician had peeked inside the curtain, pulling it open the doctor looked his casts over, took his temperature and deemed him well enough to go home.

The young doctor had finally signed the release forms and smiled while assisting Jean from the hospital bed. Jean's skin crawled at the doctor's touch and the doctor was equally repulsed at the feel of Jean's wiry, squirming muscles under the flimsy gown, but he managed to fake a smile anyway. He'd given Jean a couple of prescriptions to fill at the hospital's pharmacy on his way out, grateful to be rid of this particular patient, but Jean hadn't bothered. He could tell his wrists were almost fully healed already, but reasoned that he'd probably have to wear the damned casts for a few days anyway. He could tear these damned casts off right now and relieve himself of this unnecessary inconvenience, but he didn't. Just in case those nosy cops came around to see how he was doing. Those damned cops. He'd wear the casts for just a few more days...

Good thing too, because as he sat there at his table smoking and recalling the night before and cursing the damned cops, he suddenly heard a car with a large engine coming up his driveway. He knew right away that it was the damned cops. He wondered which ones it was going to be. He liked the lady cop alright, Lucy. She was young and she was strong. Vital. But the men, they were stupid and weak. Hoping it wasn't that Bell guy and his partner Sam. He didn't like them one bit. He'd gotten a vibe from them, that they didn't exactly trust him. He was right, on both counts. They didn't and it was...

The police cruiser rolled up just outside his door in a cloud of dust. Jean waited until he heard the sounds of both driver and passenger doors opening and closing, then he got up and went to the door. He opened it just as Sergeant Bell was about to rap on the frame of the warped screen door. It seemed to catch the cop by surprise. Bell recovered quickly and giving Jean a hard look said, "Good morning Mr. Duhamel. Glad to see you up and about. They sure got you home in a hurry. I understand you had a rough night last night." Jean held his plastered hands up in display. "I was attacked by a young man who was prowling around my house. It was terrifying." He said, hoping he looked frightened by the thought. Bell didn't sympathize though, nor was he fooled.

He motioned to his partner. "Sam here is holding a search warrant for your property. It's not for your house, it's only for the outside. We're trying to find information regarding the death of Julie Gifford."

Bell didn't say exactly what kind of information they were looking for. But his instincts told him that Duhamel knew anyway and that he also knew Bell knew he knew. Sam opened the warrant and handed it to Duhamel to see. He took it and read it through and asked,

"Am I a suspect? That's ridiculous. Why would you have any interest in my property?"

"No Mr. Duhamel, you are not a suspect. We are just gathering information, that's all. We're looking for anything that might lead us to her killer and your property is in close proximity to the crime scene. There could be clues anywhere around here." He made a broad sweep with his hand, indicating the fields and pastures around the house. "Anywhere."

Jean tried to hand the warrant back to Sam, but Sam just stood there grinning with his hands on his hips.

"That's your copy sir. We have the original." He turned away scanning the property and then nodded for Bell to follow him as he stepped off the sagging porch. Bell gave Duhamel another once over and pointing at the casts said, "Looks painful." Without waiting for a reply he followed Sam down the driveway.

"Okay." Sam said. He gestured to the twin trails of flattened grass that led into the field from the driveway. Meanwhile, Jean looked on, furious.

"Seems like this is where Chris and Lucy made their approach when they first saw the fight. They parked here and Lucy got out, going in there" He pointed at the trail of flattened grass on the right.

"I'll take the right trail, cuz that'll be Lucy and you take Chris' trail. He would have come around the front of the car and gone in on the left."

Bell nodded. "Makes sense."

They slowly walked up through the grass to a large flattened area. Bell could see another trail further off in the field and indicated it to Sam. "There's more grass flattened down over there. I wanna take a look at that and then we'll come back to this."

He glanced toward the house where Duhamel stood, watching them from the shadow of the porch. Bell waved, then chose the shortest route to the other part of the small field where the grass had been disturbed.

"There!" He exclaimed and pointed to the west side of the field where the treeline of a wooded area began. They could see a trail in the grass leading across, from the woods into the field, about ten yards from where they stood.

"That's Danny Ferguson coming out of the woods. He's not heading for the house. It looks as though he's trying to find something. How does he know where to look? Unless he watched Duhamel throw it like he told Lucy." Bell and Sam stood there, checking out the grassy trails, trying to decipher what they meant. They both caught a whiff of decay on the gentle breeze and looked at each other knowingly.

"Julie's arm?" Sam asked.

Bell winced and said plainly. "Julie's arm. Now how did Danny know it was hers? Could've been anyone's. The father said, Danny watched the old guy throw something out here and when Danny came to look, found an arm. There's no way he could know. Nothing was printed in the media that she was missing her arm. The only people who knew were us, the coroner, his assistant and her parents. He obviously deduced it was Julie's arm, but why? Was she wearing something that he recognized, like a ring, or a bracelet?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm stumped."

Bell looked at him sharply. "Not funny Sam!"

"Oh Christ, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Okay then, fall in behind me, so we don't confuse the trails and let's check this out."

Together with Bell leading, they walked to where Danny's trail ended. They could see another trail leading from the driveway to the same spot.

"So what's this one from?" Sam asked, pointing at the flattened

weeds. "It's coming from the driveway and looks like it's fresh, like from very recently. You can see the other trails, the grass is starting to spring back up a little, but this is flattened. If you look closely there's also still morning dew in the field, except for here, where he passed through. He was just here this morning Cliff."

Bell didn't answer him. He squatted down and took his ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket and started poking around in the grass. The smell of decomposition was strong. "Look at this Sam. Maggots and dried blood."

Sam peered over his shoulder. A few dead maggots lay in the flattened matt of weeds. When Bell lifted up some grass with his pen, they could see one wriggling away. Sam squatted beside Bell. Away from Duhamel's piercing stare.

He spoke softly. "Yup. I see 'em. This is where her arm used to be. The bastard came out here as soon as he got back this morning I bet. Just so he could get rid of Julie Gifford's arm, or at least something, if that's not what it was. What if it was part of an animal though, like a hind leg? Could Danny confuse that as being an arm, if it was decomposed enough?"

Bell shook his head. "Even if it was, say a deer leg left by a coyote, or something, why would Duhamel first try to hide it, then remove it? Also, why would Danny connect it to Julie Gifford? It doesn't make sense Sam. He had to have prior knowledge of the murder scene. Unless the old guy confided in him, which I doubt very much."

Sam stood up quietly, brushing his hands while looking at the different trails in the grass and came to another conclusion.

"Listen, if I were a smart kid and I think Danny's pretty smart. Say I was already suspicious of the old man, which you gotta admit, isn't too far fetched. So... I'm already suspicious and I'm spying on him from the woods. I see the old guy throw something out here and I'm just dying to know what it is. I sneak out of the house at night, come all the way back here along the tracks, past where I found the mutilated body of my best friend. I cut through the woods to avoid being seen, crawl through the grass to find said 'object' and find a girl's arm instead. Her nails are painted, maybe she's wearing a ring or a bracelet, obviously a girl's arm. The only other girl who's been murdered around here is Julie Gifford, so he draws a conclusion. The arm belongs to her! It doesn't necessarily mean he has prior knowledge of the murder scene boss. He's just a smart kid. THEN as he's sitting out here in the middle of the night, looking at the severed arm of one of his classmates, Boom! He gets attacked from behind by Mr. Duhamel who knows the gig is up if he lets the kid tell his story to the cops. Danny is fighting for his life and that's when Chris and Lucy show up. Instead of checking out his story, or giving him the benefit of the doubt, we lock him up with a bunch of mentally ill juvenile delinquents. I think I actually feel sorry for Danny now."

"Whoa, whoa! Hold up." Bell says getting to his feet and brushing grass from his pants. "That's a great story and all, but we don't know for sure. There's not enough left here for us to collect as evidence, a few maggots and some flattened grass don't prove anything. There's no arm out here. I hear ya though Sam, I really do. And it sounds like it fits. It sounds just like how Danny says...but..."

And he looks around and then back at the house where Duhamel is still standing, watching them intently. "I'll tell ya one thing Sammy boy. I don't trust Duhamel as far as I can throw him. And I'd love to throw him in a cell and let him sweat it out, but right now he figures more like a victim of an unprovoked attack from a troubled teenager trespassing on his property. I mean he's got two broken wrists. If he were a serial killer, he wouldn't have let Danny take swing one at him. He just would have crept up behind him like you said and slit his throat, dontcha think? If he were guilty of murder, do you think he'd allow a material witness to get away, from right under his nose? That doesn't make sense. Does it? Something happened here that we're not seeing. Let's go check that area where the fight took place and Chris and Lucy made their arrest."

They walked back to the large area of flattened grass, where it was obvious the boy and the old man had been struggling. They walked around trying to piece together what happened. Sam spoke up, saying softly, "You know, we could always ask Mr. Duhamel how it played out last night."

Bell cocked an eyebrow and in a low voice said, "And you think we'd get a straight answer? No, I'd rather not. I think I have a pretty good read on what went on. Come take a look at this."

Sam came over and looked at the ground where Bell was pointing with the tip of his shoe. Bell looked over at the house again, Duhamel was still standing there, still watching them. Since they were within earshot, Bell whispered to Sam, "You see this indentation in the ground? Apparently, when they drove up on the scene, the kid had the old man by the hair and was driving his face into the dirt. That looks face shaped to me, but the old man's got nothing. No marks, no contusions, nothing. He should have a broken nose at the very least. A couple of black eyes, split lip? Nothing. So what's that about? This whole thing gives me the jim-jams."

Sam nodded in agreement and whispered back. "You know how happy I am to hear that boss? I've been shitting my pants since we first laid eyes on this guy. Now I know I'm not the only one." "Alright." Bell said, "Let's get out of here. We got no arm and nothing to show for the warrant, but I want to have a look at Chris and Lucy's report. I also wanna take a run at young Danny Ferguson. I'd like to know how he knew, or at least thought he found Julie Gifford's arm. Cuz there's nothing there now."

They got in the cruiser without so much as a glance at Jean Duhamel. Bell fired it up and cranking the wheel spun out of there kicking up dust and gravel as they bounced down the long driveway. Jean listened while they turned onto the main road and heard the engine roar as the two cops sped away, back to town in search of answers. As they drove down the old country road, with farms, pastures and the odd mailbox flashing past, Sam kept looking over at his partner. Bell gripped the wheel and drove in silence. His expression grim. Deep in thought. Sam cleared his throat, to break the uncomfortable silence. "C'mon, boss let me in. What are you thinking? You got a grip on an end to this tangled mess?"

"I'm not your boss. We're partners. Remember?"

"Alright, then partner, what's your take so far?" Sam scratched his neck nervously. He knew that when Bell got like this, grim, stoic and silent, that there was more to his mood than just a good cop being frustrated by a luckless warrant. He knew Bell was bothered by the same things that were bothering him. And they were many... Bell wrung the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white for a second. Then he spoke.

"How long have you been with me now Sam? Five years?" The car slowed to a stop as they reached the stop sign, where the road crossed highway 52. Bell took the opportunity to look over at his partner. His face was set and Sam was having a hard time getting a read on him.

"In these past five years, you've done more than your fair share of heavy lifting Sam. You've pointed things out to me that I would have missed." They remained stopped at the highway while he spoke.

"You've handled people in a safe and efficient way, better'n I would have handled some of them. You stepped up to the plate and either arrested them quickly, or diffused a dangerous situation. I know I can trust you, that you've got my back. You've got some pretty remarkable powers of perception, as well as deduction. You'll make a good detective. You always keep your cool, even when you're flirting with Denise on Dispatch."

He paused and allowed Sam a sliver of a smile.

"So Mr. Cool, I'm going to ask you this time, not to ask me, but to tell me. What's you're take Sam? Look at what we've got from the very beginning. The day we met Danny and found his friend all chewed up on the tracks, Julie Gifford with her missing arm and her head ripped off. Not cut off, like with a machete, or hacked off with an axe, Ripped off Sam. Ripped right fucking off, like the coroner said. And finally, Mr. Jean Duhamel and what we just saw today. We've got 'em all in the same room, sharing circumstances. We don't believe in coincidence. So talk to me Sammy boy. What's your take?" He grinned at Sam, checked both directions on highway 52 and turned right, while Sam considered the question.

"You want the full story, or will the Cliff notes do for now?"

"Just give me the Cliff notes for now." Bell said with his eyes on the road, as a large transport truck whipped past them in the oncoming lane.

"Okay, here they are. Condensed. Duhamel is dirty. The guy fucking stinks, figuratively and literally." He pulls out his notepad and flipping the pages back consults it. Sam draws a breath and starts. "Danny went looking for his friend, who was reported as missing the same morning. He finds him on the tracks in the condition he was in. I think Danny got a good look at some of the wounds on Vansickle's body and came to a conclusion, that something other than a train mauled his friend. A few days later, after we clear the scene, he backtracks the same route his friend took the night he died, maybe looking for clues, or just innocently, maybe reminiscing, or something. He runs into Duhamel, or knocks on his door cuz he's right there beside the tracks. I think he knows something about Duhamel. Either from before any of this, or someone told him something, or he saw something, or even his instincts. Maybe all it took was one interaction with the old man, but he suspects Duhamel. Maybe his instinct tells him Duhamel is a crazed killer, capable of inhuman strength. Danny goes back again on a different day and spies on him. This is when he says he saw the old guy, fling something into the field. That's what Lucy said at least. The same day we went out to question him, Danny was there by the woods watching us. He saw Duhamel acting suspiciously after we left and chuck something into the grass behind his house. Well... at the spot we were tonight. Danny said he was anxious to find out what the item was and goes back again, but this time the kid sneaks out at night. Boy, he's got some balls on him to do that. That's a long way from home to go by yourself, in the dark? Through the woods? Through the fucking woods Cliff! So he can recon some creepy old guy's house in the middle of the night? I don't know if I'd even do that now. Shee-it!"

He shakes his head in amazement and continues. "So he sneaks through the grass and finds what he claims is the girl's, Julie Gifford's, missing arm. How would you like to find something like that in the tall grass, at the edge of the woods, in a suspicious old man's yard, in the middle of the night? Jesus..."

Sergeant Clifford Bell looks at Sam with admiration. "Okay!" He laughs. "Then what Rod Serling?"

Bell winds the wheel now and they turn left onto the main road back to town. The big engine in the cruiser growls as he gives it gas. Sam flips a page in his notes...

"So by now, Danny is out there in the field, in the middle of night, allegedly looking at a severed arm, when he says he's viciously attacked from behind by Duhamel. How Duhamels knows he's out there is beyond me at this moment, but Danny fights back. Defensively. He says he was fighting for his life. Legally, he's trespassing on private property, but he apparently believes that he's solving a murder. So the two of them are fighting and Danny gets the best of the old man and is continuing to give him the best he's got, when Chris and Lucy roll up and spoil the party. Right before Danny can beat the old man's brains out. Danny is promptly arrested, cuffed and dumped in the back of a squad car, while Duhamel enjoys some sympathy, warmth and the best health care the country can provide. Danny feels guilty, betrayed and ultimately confused as to why he's not congratulated for catching a killer. So what do we do with the crazy kid? Lock him up with a bunch of mentally ill, violent offenders. Duhamel is treated, released from the hospital and goes home where he can properly and not a minute too soon, dispose of any incriminating evidence."

"Where's your proof Sam?"

Sam's expression sags, like a wet flag on a sour day. "I don't have any. None at all." He turns and looks at Bell who's back to looking grim and wringing the shit out of the steering wheel.

"How'd I do?" He asks.

Bell speaks, but his lips barely move and Sam has to strain to hear him. "Same page Sam. That's why we're still partners and that's why I asked."

"Where do you wanna start then, or should I say 're-start'?"

Bell sighs deeply and relaxes his grip a bit as they negotiate the sharp chicane in the road, known as the 'S' curve, three miles before the edge of town. "We need proof. Any proof that Duhamel is involved. I wanna start with the chief. I want us to be the primaries on this case. I know Chris and Lucy were Danny's arresting officers, but we met him first and I think we know him a little better, or at least understand him. I also want to see the autopsy photos for both Michael Vansickle and Julie Gifford. So when I talk to the chief, you put in a request for those. I wanna see Chris and Lucy's arrest report, not just hear it from them. Then I want to talk to Danny. I'm hoping that after that, we might have some fresh questions for Jean Duhamel, maybe if we're lucky we'll find some cause to obtain a warrant for his residence."

Sam made a face at the thought of going through Duhamel's stuff. "Yeah, that sounds like a good start. I want to see Danny's perspective on all of this too." Sam says, looking out the window as they roll up to the intersection in front of the coffee shop. Bell cuts across the road and they pull into a parking space. Bell kills the engine and Sam puts his hand on his arm.

"So same page, right Cliff? You think Duhamel has something to do with Julie Gifford's death, but what about the Vansickle kid?"

He lets go of Bell's arm and waits expectantly, as Bell looks him in the eye. "I think Jean Duhamel killed both those kids Sam. I don't know how and I honestly don't know why, but sure as shit that motherfucker

is connected, if not outright guilty of murder and it's up to us to prove it one way, or another. When we do though, I'm gonna buy Danny Ferguson a double cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate shake. That's the least I can do." He breathes deeply and rubs his hand over his face. The stubble on his cheeks makes a rasping sound. The two cops get out of their cruiser and head inside Robin's Donuts to fuel up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the residents of the PAC had been ushered back inside, due to the weather, it grew dark as night out. The storm came hard and heavy.

The torrential downpour was continuously punctuated with blasts of thunder that shook the wire encased windows. By the time it laid into the PAC wholeheartedly, as well as the community surrounding it, the patients were at dinner trying to eat. Half of them were wigged out already due to their illnesses and the other half were wigged out from watching them, between screams and trying to sneak peeks at the forked lightning outside. The lightning that did not seem to want to let up. It flashed strobed flares of incendiary brilliance every few seconds.

Danny sat at the far table by himself. Nurse Clay and Nurse Tom and one other orderly, some beefy Latino dude Danny hadn't met yet, looked in and watched for a few minutes before shaking their heads and leaving. Apparently rounding up the frightened screaming patients, was far too big a job to bother with at the moment. Besides, Danny overheard Nurse Clay complaining that he thought he might have left his car windows open. Danny allowed himself a little smile. Every now and then he would look up from his food, just to check that none of the patients running amok were getting too close for comfort.

It seemed that every time they got within worrisome range, they'd turn back and head in the other direction. Like he had an invisible barrier around him. The guy who Danny had labeled 'Puker Poker', was not present at his table for the mandatory meal either. Danny checked the other tables for him and didn't see him in the dining hall anywhere. He must have been too ill to eat that night, or the storm kept him in his room under his blanket. Otherwise, ill in a different way.

Danny was not frightened by the storm however, not even when the heavy roar of rain changed to a rattle of hail against the building. He could feel its power though. He felt it deep inside him, in his bones and if anything it made him curious. That's what made him slightly afraid, his sense of curiosity. After that afternoon's demonstration in the garden, he'd been wondering just how much power he might be able to draw from his environment. He'd tried it with some of the patients without success. Then he tried drawing power from inanimate objects with no effect. When the sky grew dark and the storm broke on the first bolt of lightning, that had coincidently, or not, struck the lightning rod of the PAC center itself with a mighty crack and sizzle of ozone. Danny reached out to it with his mind and heart. He'd instantly felt his hair rise on his head like the static charger he'd seen at the Science Center when he was a kid. The hair on his arms had stood straight up as well and it had frightened him badly. He did not want to accidentally turn himself into a lightning rod, so he had to think about something else. The sensation of being charged had persisted, until he dumped it on the metal railing by the door when they were called inside out of the rain.

That had been quite enough of an experiment for now. So he sat quietly, enjoying the ham and scalloped potatoes in the dining hall, while half the patients ran in circles screaming and others bounced their heads off the folding tables of the dining hall. The rest of them looked pale and worried. Rich's pimples blazed yellow and red in the harsh fluorescent lightingand Ronnie cowered close by like a frightened puppy.

The big smelly menace who'd bumped his shoulder at lunch, Danny called him the 'Big Stink', just sat staring sullenly out the windows at the hail as it bounced off the glass. He looked like an irritable pit bull. His food going cold on the peach coloured plate in front of him.

Danny just sat chewing his ham joyfully, watching the show. He finished his meal and opened his pudding cup, spooning butterscotch pudding into his mouth when one of the screamers ran, slamming into the Big Stink's table. And that, then and there, brought the storm inside. The Big Stink stood up and with one fluid motion flipped the table he'd been sitting at, upsetting a few other plates of patients that fled like mice in the path of an ornery cat. He grabbed the screamer by the seat of his pants and the scruff of his shirt and body slammed the petrified patient on the floor. The poor kid lay there rolling around in silent agony, his screams knocked out of him for now at least. The Big Stink cast around for another victim and deftly snatched one of the mice he'd startled as they beelined for the door. Danny heard the tearing of fabric as Big Stink hauled him around in a looping circle and proceeded to punch him in the head. This kid was either smart, or had been the victim of similar attacks before, because he just 'turtled up' and covered his head with his arms and curled into a ball dropping to the floor beside 'Silent Agony'. Big Stink gave him a couple of perfunctory kicks then settled his gaze on Rich and Ronnie who were standing by a window watching the storm outside. Rich's mouth made a perfect 'O' when he saw what was coming inside instead.

Watching in horror, Rich reached over groping, finally finding Ronnie, patting him on the shoulder in a warning. Ronnie was oblivious. He was frozen by the ferocity of the storm. Rich raised his fists in a desperate attempt to block an oncoming punch, but instead, Big Stink grabbed him by the left ear and Ronnie by the right and swiftly knocked their heads together. Danny heard the clonk of skulls above the din of the storm and screams of panicked patients from across the room. Rich and Ronnie dropped like a couple sacks of potatoes and lay still, unconscious. Good thing too. Danny thought grimly. Most of the patients had fled for their rooms by now and there was still no sign of any orderlies.

The cooks had been watching the entire affair impassively behind their counter. They weren't worried, after all, they were well armed with butcher knives and boiling water. The Big Stink looked around for fresh victims and saw Danny sitting by himself off in the corner. One of the cooks shouted out to him.

"If I were you I'd bail buddy!" waving frantically towards the door. "Oh Christ look out he's comin' for ya!"

Then for some reason, the cook ducked behind the counter. Danny guessed he didn't want to witness the impending mutilation of the 'new kid'. Big Stink strode with fury and purpose towards Danny, kicking overturned chairs out of his path. On the way, he stepped over Silent Agony who was now crawling towards the safety of the hall. He'd set his sights on the perfect target of opportunity. Danny sat there, unsure of what to do. He was afraid that if he ran, Big Stink would just yank him back and proceed to beat him to a pulp anyway. So he sat stock still and watched his approach. He was within ten feet and he shoved a table with his right hand, it slid across the polished floor and crashed into another table sending chips of formica and wood flying. Danny could smell his stink now. It was strong, wild and eye watering, but he could only stare.

"Well," Danny said to himself, "I guess being put in the hospital is one way of getting out of this place."

Big Stink stood in front of Danny's table now, just across from him, looking directly at him, breathing hard and flexing. Danny stared into his eyes, wishing him away.

"Please don't hurt me." He heard himself say. "Please just go away and leave me alone."

He realized he was shamefully begging for his life, but it worked. Big Stink reached out and took the half eaten butterscotch pudding from one hand and plucked the plastic spoon Danny was holding from the other, then just turned and walked away, spooning pudding into his mouth. Danny heaved a sigh of relief and started to laugh. Big Stink cast a single baleful look at Danny over his shoulder and left the dining hall. Getting up from the table he looked around at the wreckage of the fight. The poor kid that had been body slammed had made it out safely and was either on the way to the infirmary, or at least his room. Rich and Ronnie were just regaining consciousness, over by the wire windows. They were groaning and holding their heads, Ronnie was still oblivious to what had happened and Danny heard him ask that very question.

"What happened?"

It was almost comical, but Danny had had enough and wanted to go to his room. On his way out, Ellis, the cook who had shouted the warning at him appeared from under the counter and was shocked to see Danny upright and unharmed.

"You got lucky boy. That big kid is nothin' but trouble!" He said wide- eyed with disbelief, as Danny walked past.

Danny kept walking, not feeling particularly lucky, just relieved. He had a feeling that a fight with anyone here since his transformation might turn into something that he would have little control over. He went to his room and sat on the cot, listening to the storm rage outside. It sounded like it was starting to wind down. The lightning and thunder had stopped and the hail had changed back to a steady downpour of rain. Nurse Tom appeared at his door along with the stocky Latino orderly he'd seen earlier. They both looked angry.

"Meds in one hour." Tom said. "Report to Nurse Christie's desk. Nurse Tito here will take you there."

Nurse Tito? Danny thought hysterically. Do they even hear themselves? And are they really nurses with medical skills, or more like bouncers? He supposed at this point it didn't matter. They walked away, but not before Danny heard Nurse Tom muttering something to Nurse Tito about him, the 'new kid'.

Whatever. Danny sighed, it had been a full day and he was tired. He shut his door to wait for meds and then lockdown. For lockdown the doors all locked automatically at nine o clock sharp.

If you were caught outside your room after lockdown, one of the orderlies had to come and let you into your room with one of the many keys they carried on a ring attached to their belts. This also earned you a black mark in your file, which also earned you a visit to Dr. Rickert where you had to explain any reason for your transgression.

Danny found out earlier that Dr. Rickert was generally disliked by the majority of patients here in the PAC. They hated and feared him in equal measure and called him by their chosen nickname, 'Doctor Dickhead'. Danny assumed correctly, that staff as well as the good doctor himself were of his given alias. Danny also correctly assumed that these feelings of fear and hatred were mutual between doctor and patient. He promised himself to be very careful around 'Dr. Dickhead', since Rickert was Danny's key to freedom. All Danny had to do was be regretful and remorseful when dealing with the doctor and pretend to be taking his meds on a regular basis.

He still wasn't positive if the meds would have any effect on him at all, but he didn't want to take that chance. He needed to be alert at all times in here. Of course, What Danny did not know was that although Doctor Rickert, with his fragrant pipe smoke and 'friendly' demeanor, was the day doctor. By law, there had to be a doctor present at the PAC during all hours. The night doctor, whom Danny had not had the misfortune to meet yet, was Doctor Lawrence. Doctor Lawrence chain smoked cigarettes, no fragrant pipe here and Doctor Lawrence enjoyed, in fact, preferred the night shift. It allowed him to carry out his experiments with his young wards without much interruption.

The 'Big Stink', otherwise known as Frederick 'Freddie', Jerome, according to his file, had already been apprehended by Nurses Tito and Tom, for his disturbance in the dining hall. He was in with the doctor now. The good Doctor Lawrence was performing some electroshock therapy to help soothe young Freddie's troubled mind. He was frustrated since he would have loved to take a peek at Freddie's actual brain itself. Just to see what makes him tick. He wondered if a lobotomy might help. They were easy enough to perform and practically painless. However, Doctor Larence's (Call me Larry), hands were tied. For now at least.

Danny lay down on his cot to wait. Despite the excitement of the day, or perhaps because of, he fell into a deep sleep. Mike-boar came to him in the clearing in the woods. The three deer were there too. Danny was kneeling in the soft earth in front of the mighty Mike-boar. Danny noted that the boar had grown quite a bit larger since the last time he'd seen him. Must be from all that good eatin', Danny figured, as he watched its big muscles rippling while it rooted in the earth with its big tusks. After a while of snorting and slurping, Mike-boar looked up at Danny. Chewing on something he'd found, he said clearly in Mike's voice.

. . . You aren't in a good place are you Danny? This is a bad place and you have to get out of here. . . Time will run out and you can't be in there when it does. . . Time is running out now. . . Time will turn you and you will hurt someone. . . You have to get out. Before the next red moon. . .

Red moon? You mean the next full moon dontcha Mike?

. . . Eight days Danny. . .

As he watched the mighty boar chewing, it suddenly stopped and opened its mouth. Danny felt the sensation of falling forward towards it. He couldn't stop himself, he tried to brace himself with hands that weren't there and his head went Plop, right into the boar's mouth. From here Mike's voice seemed to boom in his head.

. . . See here Danny. Look and see forward at the next red moon. . .

Danny looked and saw images flashing that looked hauntingly familiar to what happened today except there was a lot more blood.

. . . This is you. Hurting people. . .

I'm not going to hurt anyone Mike. Trust me, that's the last thing I want to do. Although he could think of at least one, or two people who might deserve a little hurting. I'm just going to do my time here, like a good boy, until they release me.

Mike-boar laughed, a low rumbling sound that kind of tickled Danny's tummy like he'd swallowed a lively minnow, but also filled him with dread.

. . . I'm sorry pal. There is no time. I know what I see and you will hurt someone...badly...oh wait what's that. . ?

In his dream, Danny looked around slowly, like he was underwater. The deer looked at him impassively, but he could see nothing else. The boar stood sniffing the air, snout twitching. Danny was confused, until the boar said,

. . . I smell something good...I'm'a gointer find it! Gotta go Danny...gotta go. . .

Danny awoke to a pounding on his door. Every room had a large simple clock mounted high on the wall encased in heavy wire. Presumably so you would have no excuse for being late to any appointment or mandatory meal. The clock said that it was 8 o clock in the evening, an hour now until lights out. He could still hear rain pattering against his window. Before he even had a chance to get up and answer the door it opened revealing Nurse Tito.

"Meds." Was all he said and stood waiting, scowling with his arms folded.

Danny got up from his cot and made as if to brush past Tito, but Tito grabbed him roughly by the arm and turned him towards his clock.

"You see that? When it says eight o clock you're s'posed to be in line already for yer meds. I don't fucking care if yer new here or not. You've been here long enough to know by now. I ain't yer babysitter and I don't have time to run around looking for you. Get with the program!"

Danny wanted to say that he doubted very much that Tito ran anywhere for anything. He also wanted to say that Tito didn't have to look very hard for him since he was right here in his room sleeping. He wanted to tell Tito that if he didn't get his greasy mitts off him he was going to lose them. Instead, he nodded and allowed Tito to shove him toward the shuffling lineup. When Danny looked back at him, he noticed that Tito had a new addition to his utility belt. It appeared to be an electric prod, the kind you zap cattle with if they aren't doing what you want them to do. Since it was the first time he'd seen one, Danny wondered how often they were used, or if it was just in response to the mini riot in the dining hall.

He swore to himself right then, that he'd make sure anyone who thought about using one on him, would eat it first. He went and joined the lineup for meds. Tito flanked the line on the left side, another nameless orderly took the right. He was wearing a cattle prod too. Suddenly from the door to the doctor's office a patient emerged and stumbled a couple steps before stopping. A female nurse took him by the wrist and slowly led him up the hall to join the meds line. At first Danny couldn't see who it was, because their face was obscured by locks of sweaty hair. All he could see was their mouth, open and drooling and the curve of their jawline. Their skin was white as bone. They wore a green hospital johnny and appeared to have recently had some procedure performed. The nurse led them up the line and Danny realized with shock that it was the Big Stink, or Freddie Jerome the monster of the dining hall. The nurse led him up the line to where he stood and tucked him in behind.

"Now you be a good boy Freddie and take your meds then go lie down. You've had a long day." She glanced at Danny and conspiratorially tipped him a wink.

Danny, sick to his stomach, felt a wave of pity for Freddie. He shouldn't have though. Freddie Jerome deserved everything he had coming to him.

"Buddy, are you okay? You look like shit." He whispered under the watchful eye of Tito.

Freddie just stared at the floor, drooling. If his hair hadn't been hanging in his face, Danny would have seen the angry red marks left by the electrodes. Thanks to Doctor Lawrence's tried and true therapy.

Tito took a step toward him and said, "Why don't you mind your own business?"

Danny wondered what Tito would look like with the cattle prod rammed up his ass on full power and allowed himself a smile. Somehow, Tito got the drift and looked away, waving the line forward. Danny noticed the patient in line in front of him was 'Puke and Poke'. He'd been missing at dinner during the worst of the storm. Both outside and in. Lucky guy Danny thought. As if he could hear him thinking, 'Puke and Poke' turned around showing his gap toothed smile.

"Hey." he said.

Danny was surprised. So far, apart from Rich and Ronnie, nobody had bothered to engage him in anything other than threats or dirty looks. Except for the time 'Puke and Poker' had offered him 'some'.

"Oh hey." Danny replied as the line inched forward. Then trying to carry the moment a little further, Danny added, "I didn't see you at dinner tonight. That was quite a storm huh?"

The kid smiled even wider and with the big gap of missing teeth he suddenly looked very young and vulnerable. He whispered to Danny, "I don't do very well with loud storms. PTSD and all." And he pointed towards his missing teeth."

That didn't do much to explain why he wasn't there at dinner, but Danny left it at that for the moment. He tapped the kid on the shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Oh shit I'm sorry!" Danny whispered. "I really didn't mean to scare you."

"No, no. It's okay.' He said. "they tell me I have PTSD. That's post traumatic stress disorder, or something. I don't do well with, loud noises, or being touched."

"I just wanted to introduce myself, my name's Danny."

"Oh right, yeah I know. My name's Benji." He said with that childlike, disarming, toothless grin.

"How'd you know my name?" Danny asked.

Benji chuckled. "When you've been here as long as I have, You know lots of stuff."

"Why?" Danny whispered, aware that Nurse Tito was glaring at him now. "How long have you been here dude?"

"Hee hee! Dude! Ha ha, I like that. Nobody's called me dude before. I been here, umm just over three years now."

Danny opened his mouth to ask Benji just what the hell he'd been in the PAC for three years for, when Tito stepped up to them.

"Save the chit-chat for common room girls." He smacked his cattle prod against the palm of his hand and stepped back again.

Benji glowered at him, then whispered over his shoulder to Danny. "I fucking hate that guy. I'll tell you more at breakfast tomorrow okay? I'll also tell you why I do that thing with my food. If you don't mind.'

"Okay, tomorrow then." Danny whispered back.

"Next patient!" The meds nursed barked. Poor Benji almost jumped out of his skin again.

After meds, Danny went back to his room and pulled the same routine as always. This time when he coughed them back up, he looked at the pills. There were three of them. A large oval chalky blue pill he supposed was a sleeper, like an extra potent valium. The two other ones were a pale green and Danny felt, or knew somehow, that these were anti-psychotics, designed by the pharmaceutical company to make you stare and drool like an idiot.

Time to stockpile he thought and secretly looked forward to using them on someone in particular. Nurse Clay was the first to come to mind. He was obviously the supervisor for the orderlies. At least he had some kind of tenure or earned seniority. How he'd get him to ingest the pills he wasn't sure yet, but he had a few ideas. Before bed, he took the little package of pills and tucked them into the sleeve of one of the sweatshirts his mother had brought earlier.

He felt alert and fine, but the food had been causing a little stomach discomfort. He wondered if the cooks laced it with saltpeter. He'd heard somewhere that they put saltpeter in the food at men's facilities to kill their sex drive, so there wouldn't be any urges unbecoming. He wouldn't be surprised if they did that here.

He couldn't wait to get home, but he was afraid to count the days. Hadn't Mike-boar said there were only eight days until the full moon? Then what? He was going to hurt somebody. That seemed to be a foregone conclusion. The way Mike-boar had warned him and the images he'd seen of blood and violence, here in the facility. It was unmistakable. It had been here, indoors, with the pale blue walls and the fluorescent lights spattered with blood. There was no doubt in his mind that this premonition would come true. This legacy would continue without him having any control of it. Control. The magic word. He would have to control it somehow. Direct the fury. He needed to save himself before this nightmare could go any deeper. He would have to practice control. He knew he had control over certain things when he was in this state. In a state of calm. But when he'd been fighting the old man, he'd lost control. For a little bit at least.

He wondered what was going to happen at the full moon when he changed. He wondered if it happened slowly, or quickly. He still could not believe in this whole werewolf business. He couldn't believe that he'd change. Into what exactly? Some hairy wolfman with a tail and claws for fingers? It seemed ridiculous, but he had also seen enough of what he could do already to not believe it. It worried him, the 'not knowing'. What was that old saying? 'Let go, let God'? He laughed to himself ruefully.

He felt his eyes growing hot like he might start crying. He thought of home. He thought of his brothers, Kevin, Bobby and James. He thought of his parents, Art and Louise. He wanted to cry and issued one single harsh sob, but fought against it. Control, he needed control. He vowed to himself, one more vow... practice your control Danny. Practice your control.

He looked forward to the morning. The storm had moved off and all that remained outside was the sighing wind and the calm cool dark. He reached out, listening. Through the concrete and steel reinforced walls, he thought he could hear the crickets in the garden. He focused on their song. They chirped their way into his ears. They chirped their way into his heart. Chirp, chirp, chirping into his soul. They chirped the word like song, 'Control Danny. Control. Control...' He would practice his control in the garden, until he knew he could. He could control it. Whatever it may be.

Control...

With the crickets singing in his ears, he slept among them.

The next morning after the storm, Danny went to the dining hall for breakfast and lined up. The cooks were becoming accustomed now to Danny's preference for meat and after getting a tray full of bacon, eggs and sausage, went and joined Benji at what had become 'their' table. Benji was in the process of poking at a mouthful of food before spooning it back into his mouth.

He swallowed and gave Danny a big grin. "Morning Danny!" He seemed very happy to see him, which he probably was. Poor guy was probably desperate to have a friend.

"Morning Benji." Danny said a little warily and sat down with his tray.

"So, 'Dude', " He said beaming. "are you ready for story time?"

"Uhh, I guess so. Do I wanna hear this while I'm eating?"

"Sure Danny. You'll be okay. I can tell you have a strong stomach. You wouldn't sit here at my table for every meal while I spit out my food every bite and check it, if you didn't."

"No I s'pose you're right. What do you check it for anyway Benji?"

"My teeth." He said pointing at his mouth. "I'll get to that in a sec. First, you wanna know why I've been here so long right?"

Danny settled in and started on a strip of bacon. "Yeah! Three years? What the fuck dude?"

Benji positively loved being called 'Dude' and he giggled again at that, repeating Danny. "Dude."

His eggs temporarily forgotten, Benji took a deep breath and lowered his eyes. "Well...they say that I shot and killed my mom and dad with a twelve gauge shotgun."

Danny was startled. That was the last thing he expected to hear. Benji looked up at him and nodded, spreading his hands like what did you expect?

"Sure man. This place is for violent offenders right? Like you must have done something violent to be in here."

"Yeah but...you said, 'they say' you shot your parents." Danny leaned across the table and lowered his voice, "Did you?"

"Fuck no!" Benji cried, frowning at Danny. "That's fucking messed up man. It was my dad that did it." He sighed and slumped in his chair and pushed the tray away. He picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. "Alright, here's what happened...

My dad was an asshole, but I loved him, I'd never kill him. I'd never kill anyone, well maybe Rich and Ronnie, I hate those two, or that Freddie guy. He's a big prick."

"Yeah, I don't like them either..." Danny started, but Benji held up his hand, stop.

"Alright, hear me out... So my dad was a mean drunk. And he drank a lot. When he got too drunk he'd beat on my mother. I'd just hide out in my room until it was over, or he passed out. At dinner time we weren't allowed to eat until my dad took the first bite. Sometimes he wouldn't get home from work until ten 'o' clock at night cuz he'd be at the bar drinking. Right? So my mom and I had to sit at the table with dinner keeping warm in the oven until he got home. Sometimes we'd be sitting at the table for three hours waiting for him. I'd be fucking starving hungry. I could smell the food, all nice and hot in the oven and my stomach would be eating itself. My stomach would be growling so hard it sounded like a rabid dog. I swear I could picture my stomach slowly eating itself while we waited for that jerk to get home. But that's what my dad expected. He expected us to be sitting at the table, with the table set and a hot meal waiting for him. No matter what. No matter what. You get me Danny? It only happened one time, where I couldn't stand it anymore. My ass was sore from sitting at the table and I was tired and hungry, so I went to my room to lie on the bed to wait. I fell asleep and when my dad got home, drunk, he was super pissed that I was sleeping and not at the table waiting for him. He came in my room and whipped me with his belt, no big deal. I'd gotten a whipping before, but this time after he whipped me, he dragged me out by my hair. All the way down the hall by my hair, to the table. He threw me into my chair and the legs broke. So he made me sit on the floor. I ate on the floor like a dog that night. So I knew, we knew, my mom and I, that we had to wait for him no matter what. One night I was tired and hungry and it was just after ten 'o' clock, the longest we'd ever waited for him. For all we knew he wasn't coming home at all. So we started eating. My mom felt terrible. More for me than my dad you know? So she took the food out of the oven. It was my favorite, meatloaf. He didn't come home until we were almost done and when he walked in, he just looked at us. Didn't say a thing. He just hung up his coat and walked down the hall. I knew we were in big trouble, but I didn't think he was gonna fuckin' snap!"

Danny noticed the tears tracing tracks down Benji's cheeks and looked down at his plate instead.

Benji sighed and continued. "So he comes into the kitchen and he's got his shotgun. My mom started crying and my dad tells her to shut up.' Just shut the fuck up already' he said. He looks at me and says, 'You hungry Benji? You must be really hungry to start without me. Were you hungry son?' I didn't know what to say, so I just said Yeah I was hungry. Then I fucked up. I was angry so I yelled at him and I said, 'We waited forever dad!' He jammed the barrel of the shotgun in my mouth knocking out my two front teeth...and then he said...he said...'If you're so fucking hungry eat this'. And my mom screamed at him. she was babbling and crying and screaming. I think she fucking snapped too y'know? So he pulled the gun outta my mouth and put it in my mom's mouth. He didn't break her teeth, but he pulled the trigger...and killed her. Fuck it was bad. I couldn't move, I froze. What do you do, you know? Then he looks at me, like it was all my fault and the bastard says. 'Thanks for waiting for me son.' I didn't actually hear him say it, cuz my ears were ringing, but I knew what he said. I could see his lips move. And he put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. I sat there for I don't know how long. I think when the blood started pooling around my feet, I figured I should do something. So I stood up and picked up the shotgun. I just wanted to move it, get it out of there, I don't know. I guess the neighbours heard the shotgun and called the cops, cuz suddenly they were there yelling at me to drop the gun. At first I couldn't hear them, cuz my ears, the shotgun was so loud. But when they were pointing their guns at me, like they were going to shoot me too? I dropped it. It wasn't until after they handcuffed me that I realized my teeth were still in my mouth. I don't know why I did, but I swallowed them. Now whenever I eat, I have a little look for them. Like maybe I'll find them and it'll make everything alright? Anyway that's why I don't like loud noises and that's why I spit my food out and poke around in it. Looking for my teeth." He smiled then and wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Danny was stunned. "They didn't believe you did they? That your dad did it? That's why you're here."

Benji nodded and sniffled. "Yeah. That's why I'm here."