Dead Eyes

By Morne Scott

Will you make the world a better place if you kill a pedophile?
Michael Stillman can't forget the things he has seen.
With his life falling apart around him, a chance encounter makes him decide to avenge the innocent victims.It's time to punish the depraved.
WARNING: Due to the graphic content, this novel is not meant for children and will upset sensitive readers!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Morne Scott
• Release date: Oct 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458082961

Book preview

PART 1

Chapter 1

BREAKING NEWS: Hostage drama in suburbia - remains at the bottom of the screen and, while crossing over, LIVE - appears in the top right hand corner as the images change.

It’s an ordinary house in the suburbs, one most people would drive by without giving it a second glance. Unspectacular - an invisible part of the scenery.

But today it’s the centre of attention. A couple of police cars are parked in front of the house and their giant spotlights, shining on the lawn, illuminate the white paint of the house, making it stand out against the dark sky above. The back of a black van can be seen, but only the white ‘S’ of the word SWAT is visible to the viewers. Movement seems to be minimal at this stage, and given the circumstances, everything seems relaxed.

Like in all hostage situations, the media are not allowed too close to the action, so the cameraman zooms in on the reporter. Charisma Barlow is almost too pretty for her job. She is tall with blonde hair and blue eyes. She could have been a fashion model or beauty pageant winner, but she is far too ambitious to rely on her looks alone.

The clothes she is wearing are, as always, perfectly cut to accentuate her athletic body without making her look desperate or easy. Her make-up is light, naturally blending in with her already gorgeous face without drawing attention to any specific part of it. But the usual smile with which she always graces her viewers is gone; her demeanor subdued and professional.

It has been more than four hours since the hostage drama began in this house behind me. We have received very little information other than a man, who the police want for questioning, has apparently barricaded himself inside the house with a hostage. From what we can gather, it seems as if the police did receive some kind of tip-off about the man, who actually lives in the house. However, they will not give out any information concerning the tip-off or who it came from.

She gives the house a quick glance over her shoulder before she continues.

The police are not willing to give any information about the hostage either. Rumors have it that the hostage may be a child, but nothing has been confirmed yet. The neighbors say the man has been living alone in this house for many years. He is not married and they are not aware of any children that he may have.

Charisma switches the microphone from the one hand to the other.

It is not clear where the hostage came from. The police say the hostage must have been inside the house before they arrived, because nobody entered after the man had barricaded himself inside.

Suddenly something startles her. She gives a small yelp, spins around and faces the house. The front door is open. Smoke is coming out of the windows on the side of the house. The cameraman zooms in on the action at the front door.

A tall, skinny man, wearing only boxers and socks, emerges through the door. The little hair he has left on his head is completely disheveled. He is sweating profusely, breathing hard, while carrying his much smaller hostage in front of him. It’s a little girl. With his left arm under her chin and her feet dangling in the air, she is hanging onto his arm with both her hands, trying to prevent herself from being choked. The man has a butcher knife in his right hand.

The girl is wearing a cheerleader uniform; her face is heavily made up with bright red lipstick on her lips and navy blue eye shadow on her eyes. There are black streaks on her cheeks where her tears have smudged the mascara. She is not crying now. Her eyes are closed tight; perhaps against the blinding light or perhaps because of the pain she might be in.

Oh shit, Charisma says off camera, forgetting herself for a moment.

There is a flurry of activity as police officers, scurrying around like ants under attack, take up their positions. With their guns drawn, they bark orders at the man. From this distance, the microphone can't pick up what is being said, but the image on the screen tells more than words ever could. The man carries the girl a few paces onto the lawn and starts screaming at the cops.

Is he screaming for the cops to shoot him? Charisma asks off camera, her voice anxious.

The man is red in the face. The veins in his neck are bulging with exertion. With eyes darting around wildly like those of a trapped animal, he lifts the knife high, and like a villain in a slasher movie, he gives a feral scream. Two sniper shots ring out and part of his head explodes before he goes down.

The image disappears and the screen goes blank, but it is a second too late to spare the viewers the horrendous images of death.

Chapter 2

The newsreader shuffles his papers before he continues. His grey hair is, as always, perfectly groomed. The image above his left shoulder is that of the man holding the little girl as he emerges from his house.

Two days ago we showed you the hostage drama in which Ron Eckstein committed suicide-by-cop, a term used when somebody forces the police to kill him in order to protect innocent people. Evidence has come to light, which shows Mr. Eckstein was a pedophile. His hostage was the little girl, Kim Lee.

The image changes to the little girl. Without the make-up, she looks vulnerable and innocent, like the child that she is.

She was abducted from her home more than two years ago when she was only seven years old. Mr. Eckstein held her captive in his basement all this time.

The newsreader disappears from the screen and a room appears, filled to capacity with mostly reporters and cops. The centre of attention is Kim; her eyes alert yet fearful.

She was finally reunited with her parents this morning when they arrived in the country, after having moved back to China a few months ago.

Her parents enter the room and rush toward her, both of them in tears. Her mother kneels before her and grabs her in her arms, hugging her tightly and sobbing loudly. Her father hugs them both, tears streaming down his face as well. Kim stands frozen like a statue, neither pulling away nor resisting, her expression unchanged.

The image changes again, this time showing Ron Eckstein's house the day after his death. Yellow tape surrounds the house, warning everybody not to cross into the crime scene.

In an attempt to destroy the evidence, Mr. Eckstein poured lighter fluid onto pictures and videotapes, and then set them alight. The police managed to extinguish the fire before it got out of control.

A uniformed police officer, wearing white latex gloves, comes out of the house clutching a computer hard drive to his chest, like a baby.

Although some evidence has been destroyed in the fire, police say they did recover enough to prove Mr. Eckstein's guilt. The investigation will continue to determine whether he acted alone or whether he had accomplices.

Chapter 3

The camera moves over the excited audience. The intro music starts and even before the announcer begins to speak, everyone cheers and claps enthusiastically.

Ladies and gentleman, welcome to one of the most controversial television shows in the world. Here's your host, Aaaaaaaandy Graaaaaaaaaham!

Andy runs onto the stage, wearing his famous golden suit. His hair is jelled back and his huge smile shows bigger teeth than Gary Busey.

Thank you, ladies and gentleman. Tonight is going to be a great show, one that's going to be talked about for a long time to come. For the first time ever, we are going to welcome a true hero to this show!

The audience goes wild. After more than a minute of clapping, Andy lifts his hand for silence. The audience settles down.

Making his television debut, please welcome: Lenny Travis!

The audience goes wild again. It doesn't matter that they have never heard of this man before. They believe everything Andy tells them. They hang onto his every word, as if he knows all. Lenny comes out onto the stage, his mullet hairstyle neatly combed by the make-up artists backstage. He smiles at the audience, showing his missing front teeth. Andy shakes his hand and motions him to a chair.

Most of you know about the little girl who was saved from the pedophile Ron Eckstein last week. This is the man, Andy points to Lenny, who phoned the police with the tip-off that day.

The audience cheers and claps loudly. Somebody starts chanting 'Lenny, Lenny'. Lenny smiles widely, not at all self-conscious about his missing teeth. Andy holds up his hand for silence and again the audience calms down.

Welcome to the show, Lenny. Why don't you tell us what happened that day?

Lenny moves around in his seat trying to get more comfortable. If he is nervous, he is not showing it.

Thanks Andy, I bin a huge fan for years.

He clears his throat before he continues.

Well, I was at home, surfin' the net for porn, ya know?

Andy nods with a smile.

And I have this thing for normal tits. Not those implants. I like 'em small and natural. My friend Bobby says it’s 'cause I ain't got breastfed by my mama.

Wait a minute, Andy interrupts, your mother never breastfed you?

Nah. My daddy says she din't wanna 'cause it would make her tits sag. Well, they sagged anyway and it wasn't my fault 'cause I never sucked 'em.

The audience laughs and Lenny gives them a huge grin, lapping up the attention.

So, anyhoot, I type in 'small tits' and start surfin'. After a while I got into this one site and it had this link which says 'Photo gallery' and nothin' else. So I clicks on it and it gave me these kiddy-porn pics.

Let me just stop you there for a second. Andy interrupted. Was this free porn or pay porn?

Hell, no, man. It was free. I ain't got no credit card. Why would I wanna pay for something I can get free?

So, what you're telling me is that anybody can surf into this site, even by accident?

Sure. Lenny continues, So, I ain't never seen nothin' like it before, right? So I scrolls down and looks at the pics a bit.

The audience boo’s.

Why didn't you just leave the site immediately? Andy asks.

I guess I was curious. I din't have no sisters and I was outta school when I first got laid, ya know, so I ain't never seen young naked girls before. Don't get me wrong, I ain't no prevert or nothin'.

Don't you mean pervert? Andy asks.

Hell, no, man. Prevert. Like, guys that are into small kids and shit. I mean, I may have looked but it din't get me hard or nothin' like that.

Okay, Andy soothes, so what happened then?

Well, I got to this one pic and I recognizes the guy doin' the little girl. It was Ron Eckstein.

Where did you know him from?

I use ta work for the bastard. I quit only a couple o’ months ago. He was a real asshole and I din't get along with him at all.

Andy looks at one of the cards in his hand.

This was at his fast food business, right?

Yeah. Minimum wage and he expected us to work, like, all the time. Never goof off and shit.

Okay, so you recognized him. Then what?

Well, I calls Bobby and tole him 'bout it.

Let me stop you for a minute. We're going to take a quick break then we'll be right back.

The audience's cheering fades away.

Four minutes and 37 seconds later the audience is cheering again. Andy holds up his hand and they calm down.

Welcome back. My guest today is Lenny Travis. He is the man who gave the police the tip-off about the pedophile Ron Eckstein. So Lenny, you accidentally surfed into this site and you recognize Ron. Then you phoned your friend Bobby and he says what?

Well, I tole him everythin' an' he freaks out. He says: if it's free then the FBI might be checking the site to catch pedophiles. So's I starts to panic. I mean, I done some shit in my life but I ain't no prevert. I cain't go to jail for that shit. They'll fuck me in the ass every day!

The audience laughs again, but this time, Lenny doesn't smile.

I'm serious, man. They'll rape the fuck outta me in the joint for that shit!

Okay, we believe you. Andy soothes again. So what did you do?

I called the cops. I tole 'em everything. I gave 'em the site so they can check it out. I even gave 'em Ron's name.

So you couldn't remain anonymous. But you could have asked to keep your name from the media, though? What do you expect to gain from this?

Nah, man. I'm famous now. I dunno, maybe somebody c'n give me a job or somethin'. Ya know, somethin' not minimum wage and I don't have no heavy liftin'.

The audience laughs again. Andy laughs with them while Lenny gives them a huge smile.

Well, I hope it works out for you, Lenny. It's a good thing you did come clear. I'm sure the little girl's parents are very grateful.

Yeah, but they ain't got no money, so I'm hopin' somebody who's watchin' will help me out.

Thanks for joining us on the Andy Graham show. Remember, tomorrow night we'll be back with more chair throwing and hair pulling. Until then, Andy finishes with the audience chanting along, don't get caught with your pants down!

Chapter 4

The newsreader shuffles his papers again, a habit he is completely oblivious of. The image above his left shoulder is a photo of Lenny Travis.

About two weeks ago we showed you the hostage drama where the pedophile Ron Eckstein had been killed and Kim Lee was saved after more than two years of abuse in his basement. The man who phoned the police with the tip-off, Lenny Travis, appeared on the Andy Graham show last week.

The newsreader coughs and takes a sip of water before he continues.

Excuse me. Last night, the body of Lenny Travis was found in an ally, not far from the trailer park where he lived. He was stabbed several times by unknown assailants. Detective Tim Utt made the following statement.

The screen changes, showing the image of a slightly overweight detective, holding his notebook in front of him from which he reads:

At 23:36 last night Mr. Travis's body was discovered in an ally. He had been stabbed several times in the back, the neck and the chest. The coroner declared him dead at the scene. We currently do not have any suspects, but we are following up on a number of leads. That is all we have for you now.

Several reporters ask questions at the same time, but one reporter's booming voice can be heard above the rest.

Isn't it true, detective, that you are currently investigating a pedophile syndicate, from the evidence you discovered in Ron Eckstein's home? Could this be retaliation from them?

The detective's cheeks flush and anger flashes in his eyes. He is about to say something when a fellow detective touches his arm. It gives him a moment to recollect and he takes a deep breath before answering.

No comment.

He closes his notebook, turns around and walks away, ignoring the barrage of questions from the reporters behind him.

PART 2

Chapter 5

He must be punished.

He must die.

And I must kill him.

It's the clearest thought I've had in two weeks.

I'm sitting at a gas station in a little town called Noopstone, filling up while reading the map I've just bought. I rarely buy maps; I generally feel it's a waste of money. My photographic memory allows me to fairly quickly memorize the route I need to take, but today I feel the need for some inspiration since I don't know where I'm going.

About a month ago I thought my life was perfect. I had a beautiful wife and, I thought at the time, a solid marriage. I had been offered a partnership at the practice with a bright future with lots of prospects. I was happy.

But in the blink of an eye it was all gone.

I've been on the road for twelve days, staying in cheap motel rooms where the dirty, faded carpets may have been a little more fashionable than the wallpaper in the 70's. Money is not the problem yet, but I don't know for how long I will have to make my savings last. I'm looking for answers to questions I don’t even have. No, I'm not exactly running from my life, as my life, the one I've known and worked for, is over. I'm searching for a new one. A new beginning. Something to validate my existence.

I've done it once before. When I finished school I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life. I told my parents, much to their disgust at the time, that I wanted to take some time off. After a heated debate they agreed to give me enough money to travel abroad. I told them I would work my way from one place to the next until I knew what I wanted to do with myself.

I traveled extensively through Europe and Asia, doing odd jobs to keep me going. The human species fascinated me; especially all the similarities and the differences shared by people living in the different places; be it towns, countries or continents. Year to year I extended my stay, wanting to learn the things books couldn't teach me. In the end I traveled around for a little more than four years, only coming home when both my parents were killed in a car crash.

I still regret not being here when it happened, and not having the chance to say goodbye to them. At least by then, having learnt a lot more about myself, I chose to go into Psychology.

And then I see him. Standing across the road, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. He's even bigger than I thought, completely baldheaded, standing more than 6 feet tall and weighing at least about 350 pounds. I wonder for a moment if it really is him, if it could possibly be him, or if my mind is playing a trick on me. Considering all that has happened, I can't discount the possibility.

A young woman walks past him, pushing a stroller with her baby inside. He says something to her, grabbing his crotch with his free hand and shaking it for her. Her eyes go wide with shock and her head snaps away from him. She picks up her pace and almost starts running with the stroller. He gives a lopsided grin as he releases his crotch, brings the cigarette back to his lips and takes another drag.

My suspicions are confirmed. He has the same lopsided grin as in the picture I saw of him. Yes, it definitely is him. He tosses the cigarette aside, not bothering to stub it out, and walks into the hardware store. Only then do I realize my mouth has been open. I snap it shut, looking around to see if I haven't drawn any attention to myself. But nobody is looking my way; everybody is going about their usual business. It's a good thing I've been in my car all the time.

What do I do now? Deep in thought, I put a cigarette into my mouth. That's another thing. Since everything has gone to shit, I've started smoking again, a bad habit I actually gave up in my early twenties. I'm about to light it when the gas station attendant knocks on my window, startling me and I drop the lighter. I'm all shook up, feeling like I got caught with my thoughts visible for all to see.

There's no smoking here, he says, with a boredom bordering on comatose, pointing lazily towards the signs.

I snap back to the present and dumbly nod my head. I fumble around to get the money for the gas, counting it out with shaking fingers. He waits patiently, either because he is use to waiting, or because he does not give a damn either way.

Keep the change, I say, in what I hope sounds like my normal voice. He shrugs, takes the money and walks away. I get the feeling he doesn't care much for his life at the moment or for the customers giving him a tip.

People working dead-end jobs for minimum wages tend to be angry most of the time, usually blaming society for not giving them a break. I've treated a couple of them. Not one of them ever blamed themselves. It was always the government, deadbeat parents, a girlfriend who got herself pregnant, or a hundred different excuses. In the end, it was never them. To be fair though, many could be happy with their lives, but these I never met; they did not need my help.

The thought makes me shake my head as I pull away to look for the nearest parking space. I'll have to follow the big guy to make sure - but I've never done anything like this before. After all, it was only a picture. Maybe there is an explanation, maybe it is not what it seems to be.

I park the car to get a good view of the hardware store. I have no idea how I'm going to confirm what I'm thinking, but first I have to find out where he lives. I'll improvise from there.

Chapter 6

About a month ago, I finally walked Mrs. Kroeber out of my office. I was already running 20 minutes behind schedule so it meant a shortened lunch hour, but I didn't have the heart to cut the crying woman off. We walked to the front desk and I told Doris, my receptionist, to make her another appointment in two weeks time.

There's someone here to see you. Doris said with a smile, hiding her irritation well, knowing her already shortened lunch hour will be even shorter.

It's Mr. Conrad Norton. I told him you were about to have lunch, but he said it was very important and he would wait. Doris continued loud enough for the waiting man to hear..

I smiled at him, hoping my face didn't show any signs of what I really was feeling at that moment. I had met Conrad when he came for marriage counseling a couple of months ago. After a few sessions with his wife, I told her to bring her husband along with a next session. He came with, but only for one session in which she mostly complained about him being a workaholic and not spending any time with her. But before the end of the session his phone rang, he answered, told them he'd be right there, made his excuses and left. His marriage ended.

It's okay, Doris. You can go on lunch. I'll take it from here. I said with more conviction than I felt and headed towards Conrad. He stood up and started making apologies before I could shake his hand.

And to what do I owe the pleasure, Special Agent Norton?

Please, it's Conrad. And I do apologize for intruding in your lunch break, but it's important.

I showed him to my office, closed the door and asked him to sit down. When I sat down behind my desk, I opened my drawer and poked around looking for a candy bar I hoped was still there. I was hungry. I know it's very unprofessional, but I'm only human. After all, he was imposing on my lunch hour and I needed to eat something if I had any hope of making it to the end of the day.

You don't mind? I asked politely, unwrapping the candy bar.

Not at all.

I took a huge bite, trying to ignore the fact that it didn't taste anything like it was supposed to.

I'm not here for a personal matter, Mr. Stillman.

I chewed faster, not making nearly as much headway as I would have if the candy bar was fresh. When I thought had finally done enough damage and attempting to swallow it, the candy bar got stuck in my throat for a second before going down slowly until it got really stuck. I raised my hand, asking him to give me a second. My face must have shown my discomfort, as he looked concerned.

I hurriedly got up and went to the table