A Storied Man

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Fourteen.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14

Part Fourteen

The setting sun glinted orange off the small jet’s wing. The clouds below stretched out, a blanket of cotton candy completely obscuring the ground. Besides the hum and whine of the jet’s engines, it was a quiet, still world up there. Off the tip of the wing, in the distance, a commercial airliner headed the opposite direction.

Wall hated flying, and to him a nine-passenger plane was barely sky legal. Something wasn’t right about a passenger’s ability to see directly into the cockpit. He was the only one riding for that flight, however, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to bum rush the pilots.

Doug McGruder’s father had insisted that Wall come see him right away. When he said he didn’t have time to drive there, McGruder had sent his jet.

Directly ahead, clouds stood tall and dark above the veil layer, lying in wait for unwelcome guests. Lightning flashed between them.

A red blotch, at first small, worked its way down from the top of a small screen embedded in the control panel. It grew larger with each passing moment.

“What’s that screen with the big red patch telling you?” Wall said.

“That’s Doppler. The red is a thunderstorm. Don’t worry, we’re going around it.”

“I hope so.”

Although the red patch shifted to the left, Wall couldn’t tell that they were going around the storm. Within minutes the sky turned dark. Instead of glowing in the sun’s orange light, the wing nearly disappeared. He confirmed it was there by connecting the dots between the running lights. As thunder rumbled and boomed and Nature’s strobe light illuminated the clouds, he imagined the lightning’s jagged tentacles reaching out to strike the plane.

The song “Electric Avenue” ran through Wall’s head.

To distract himself, he pulled out his microcassette recorder and plugged in the earphone. He had used it when interviewing the suspect’s former childhood friends and college instructors, and listening to those recordings would help him be fresh for his talk with the elder McGruder.

——-

The McGruder house sat on a slightly sloped, well-groomed yard. Or rather, in it. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it appeared that the front door, on the downhill side, was the only part not covered by earth. Wall had driven past a few underground homes, but never had set foot in one.

Scotland McGruder stood outside the door. He was taller than average and thin, but not particularly intimidating, probably 60 years old. Nothing about him said, “vampire,” and Wall shook his head at even having to think that.

“I trust the flight here was uneventful,” he said.

“Not entirely, no.”

“Sorry to hear that, Detective Davies.” He held open the front door. “Please, come inside.”

Wall walked into a small utility room, big enough for two or three people, and stopped. A small counter with a stainless steel sink sat to the right. A closed door awaited him straight ahead.

“Go ahead and open it. It leads to our living room.”

Inside the door was a house not much different from any other. The kitchen and living room were separated only by different flooring. Darkly shaded lamps hung in the corner of each room, just bright enough to reveal the meticulous housekeeping. A doorway led from the living room to a dark corridor.

“I’ve never seen a front door that opens into a utility room,” Wall said.

“Well, as our only exterior door, it fills several roles.”

Wall made his way to the kitchen table and had a seat. He found that domestic interviews worked better there, as it was casual enough to keep the interviewee at ease without making himself too comfortable.

McGruder pulled up a chair across the table and set down a steaming mug. “Hot apple cider?”

“No, thanks. I’m trying to quit.”

“I admit I was hoping you would decline. It’s the last mug, and I was craving some.” He wrapped his long fingers around the mug’s handle and slid it to his own side of the table. “So, Detective Davies, tell me what more you need to know. I can’t imagine anything I didn’t already tell the police or the attorneys.”

“Hell, I don’t know anything. I can just repeat back what I’ve heard.”

“Very well. What have you heard?”

“First, I think I understand your condition… this… Xeroderma Pigmentosa. You stated that your son has it, too, and that’s why he’s so sensitive to sunlight.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I get that. But there’s something else the State Crime lab found that hasn’t been explained yet. He has no blood type, and they found bovine blood cells in his system.”

McGruder slowly slurped cider from the mug, both hands wrapped around it. “How strange. Something must have tainted the sample somehow.”

“Yes. Tainted,” Wall said. “I’d also like to take a look around your son’s room. You mind?”

“Not a problem at all. Come with me.”

Both men stood, the feet of their wooden chairs skidding on the stone tile floor. Wall’s gracious host led him across the living room and into the dark hallway. He flipped a light switch to reveal plain white walls peppered with family snapshots in frames of various sizes and colors. They entered the first door on the left and McGruder turned on the light.

At first glance, it obviously was not the room of a teenage boy any more. There were no posters on the walls, no lava lamps.

“You won’t find much about Douglas in here. He’s been out of the home more than 10 years. Besides, I thought the investigation phase was complete. Isn’t our son’s fate up to the courts now?”

Wall worked his way around the room. He opened the closet and leaned his head in for a better look. “I try to stay on a case as long as I think there are questions that need answered. Your son told a young lady something you might find interesting.”

“What is that?”

Wall leaned out of the empty closet and looked McGruder in the eye. “That he’s a vampire.”

McGruder’s eyes went wide with surprise, but in the next blink it was gone. He laughed. “Oh, the fantasies he has made up about his condition over the years.”

“So he’s had XP all his life?”

“Yes, just as his mother and I have. I went over all this with the authorities.”

“So you’ve said. But the thing is, I’ve been doing some reading. Victims of that disease don’t tend to lead long, healthy lives. And, other residents here who knew your son as a child say you and your wife were different, but he played outside just like other kids.”

“Well, we’re very careful, and ‘all his life’ is a relative reference. He developed it when he was still very young.”

“His former college instructors confirmed that he had classes during regular daytime hours and never seemed different from the other students. Until second semester of his sophomore year, when he switched exclusively to night courses and correspondence.”

“To me that is very young, Detective.”

“Point taken, sir.”

(to be continued)

This entry was posted on Monday, October 27th, 2008 at 11:56 pm and is filed under Drama. You may follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed, and/or leave a comment below.