Bull's Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #3

Chapter 29

Zandra's meditation gave the pockets around her eyes time to drain, restoring her vision just in time to see the boots descending the steel ladder by the entrance. Her first instinct, as usual, is to feel irritated.

All this coming and going, you'd forget this was supposed to be a secret bunker.

Zandra's eyes fall to the horror that used to be Jo a few feet away. It's only a glimpse, but it's enough for a lifetime. She tempers the shock with some black humor, reflecting on Vince and Jo's relationship with sex and violence.

She probably went out with the biggest orgasm of her life.

"Holy shit, Zandra. What did you do?" comes a man's voice.

It's Vince. He looks like he just finished jogging a marathon wearing cinder blocks for shoes.

Before Zandra can respond, Vince rushes to the chair, grabs her shoulders and squeezes. Looking into her still puffy eyes, he says, "What. Did. You. Do?"

I'm tired of getting tossed around in this bunker, that's what.

"I...it wasn't...," is all Zandra can make out. Her throat is still shredded.

Vince points at something on the floor. "What happened?"

"I...I..."

"What. Happened?"

Zandra realizes Vince is trying to show her something on the floor. She can barely believe it after her eyes find it.

The lawnmower knife? It should be in an evidence locker. How did it get here?

Vince's face contorts into something between rage and overwhelming grief. He picks up the lawnmower knife and says, "She's all I had."

Did the man with the scars on his face bring it here and leave it? Was it here all along? I don't understand.

Or maybe it found its way back to me. Maybe I went upstream and brought it back.

No, that's stupid. I didn't do any of that.

But how did it get here?

Zandra gives the cud in her throat a violent hack onto the floor and finds her voice again.

"It wasn't me and it wasn't my knife," Zandra says.

"What?" Vince says, the flat of the knife resting against his hip.

"The man with the scars on his face. He was here," Zandra says. She watches Vince's face unwind and then tense back up as rivulets of tears form against his cheeks. "You didn't happen to run into him on your way back here, did you?"

With that, Vince pukes. Or tries to puke. His body, heaving, curls into itself until he's huddled on the floor.

Poor guy.

"She's all I had," Vince says from between his knees.

Zandra's more accustomed to faking empathy, but this time she knows where it hurts. His sobs transport her right back to Soma Falls, and the feeling of her heart being cored out of her chest. The vision she received, if that's what it could be called, never left her mind. In the years since, it overlaid every mental picture floating in her head, like looking through a dirty window.

And now Vince would know what that feels like, too.

Zandra slides down off the chair and crawls to Vince at shoulder level. He doesn't resist. Together, they find a refuge from the filth on the floor, hold each other and sob.

You won't be alone in this. I know how it feels.

After the ducts in their eyes run raw, Vince looks to Zandra and says, "He's going for Herman next, isn't he?"

"Well...yeah, but...how did...how did you know that?" Zandra, the world famous psychic, says.

"I don't know. I just know," Vince says, his eyes staying fixed on Zandra in order to avoid Jo's remains. "It came to me."

This sounds a little too familiar. Yeah, I guess he really does know what it feels like,

"It just appeared in your mind, huh?" Zandra says.

"You're the psychic," Vince says.

"Welcome to the club, I guess," Zandra says like it's a joke.

"So it is true. They're going after Herman next?"

"The man with the scars on his face, that's what he said."

Vince pulls himself up to his feet.

"Where're you going?" Zandra says. She takes a hand from Vince to rise next to him. "And how in the hell did you get back here?"

"We're going to the hospital. Maybe we get to Herman in time, maybe we won't, but we know our man will be there. And when we find him, we'll finish this. It's not about taking Gene down politically. It's about taking him out completely," Vince says. "Sorry, I know Herman is your friend."

No need to apologize.

"He was three feet under anyway," Zandra says.

Vince stumbles in place. "We need to load up, but I...I...don't know if I can do it in here."

I don't blame you.

Vince shuffles out of the bunker, leaving Zandra to collect supplies. She kicks weapons, water, food, survival gear and anything else that looks useful into a pile with her good ankle, balancing herself against stacks of crates. Then uses a push broom to gather everything at the foot of the ladder at the bunker's entrance. A few towels keep any reminders of Jo off the gear.

I don't know what half this shit does, but Vince does.

The lawnmower knife gets an informal sheath by way of an oversized leather pistol case. It's a loose fit, but it will do. A couple cuts form slits for threading a belt through the leather. She coils the belt underneath the sleeve of her purple gown.

Before calling up to Vince to grab the gear, she catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror bolted to the wall.

I'm thinking like Herman. I'm talking like Herman. I'm using a knife Herman made. Now I'm looking like Herman.

I'm more Herman than human.

Zandra passes the gear up to Vince to load into the Jeep. To keep his attention away from Jo's remains, she asks him what happened after she was pepper sprayed.

"Those weren't my shots. The police opened up on me. Should've expected as much. I had a gun on me and everyone was freaking out," Vince says between trips to the Jeep.

"So is there an army of cops on the way?" Zandra says.

"No."

"Why not?"

"They missed. I got away," Vince says.

"How?" Zandra says.

"I'm not sure. It all happened so fast."

Hmmm.

"So no one followed you here while you were jogging halfway across Wisconsin?" Zandra says.

"No one. And I borrowed a motorcycle," Vince says.

"From a friend?"

"From someone dumb enough to leave it parked with the keys in it."

Fair enough. He's not a double agent or anything. That grief was too real. I know exactly what it sounds like.

Zandra stays in the back seat of the Jeep out of respect for Jo's usual spot next to Vince in the front.

"Drive fast," Zandra says. "There's no time to waste."