Dreaming of Zebrafish

By Greg Jolley

The very small town of Dent, Michigan needs a defender and it has one in Wiki Danser. Taking hot line calls in the dead of night, her world is turned onto its roof when a caller opens up his box of grisly crimes and shares a few.

Shaken and revolted, she goes on the hunt.

As the killer crosses the county heading straight for her, he'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Épouvantail Books, LLC
• Release date: Mar 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088119693

Greg Jolley

Greg Jolley earned a Master of Arts in Writing from the University of San Francisco. He is the author of the suspense novels about the fictional Danser family. He lives in the Very Small town of Ormond Beach, Florida.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Hotline

Chapter Two

Zebrafish

Chapter Three

Cherry Christmas-Land

Chapter Four

The DeadStar

Chapter Five

Canden in Heat

Chapter Six

Canden and the Tunnel

Chapter Seven

Surfing in Ohio

Chapter Eight

The Peabody

Chapter Nine

Uncle Ray

Chapter Ten

Canden in the Rain

Chapter Eleven

Canden Steals a Car

Chapter Twelve

Black And White

Chapter Thirteen

Zebrafish and the Octopus

Chapter Fourteen

For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow

Chapter Fifteen

Tin Cans

Chapter Sixteen

Punished

Chapter Seventeen

Milk Toast

Chapter Eighteen

Break In

Chapter Nineteen

Out Takes

Chapter Twenty

Cleaning Out the Trunk

Chapter Twenty-One

Lynzie Hill

Chapter Twenty-Two

Let’s Make a Deal

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Swap

Chapter Twenty-Four

Canden on Location

Chapter Twenty-Five

Pry Bar

Chapter Twenty-Six

Nail Holes

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Pawn & Gold

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Seduction of Tom Selleck

Chapter Twenty-Nine

DeWalt

Chapter Thirty

Candid Camera

Chapter Thirty-One

Deputy Tom

Chapter Thirty-Two

Swimming

About the Author

"Please sway beside me, let us sway together

Our tails together and our fins and mind

We’ll leave this water and let our scales shine…"

~ Will to Love – Neil Young

Chapter One

Hotline

Time to wade into the sad and crazies, Wiki said as she climbed the stairs.

Dried mud was falling from her boots, littering the wood steps. Inside her office, she rounded her desk to her cozy chair, entering the warm glow of her computers in the otherwise dark room.

Now that hurts. She sat down slowly, cautiously, most of her body bruised, sore, and so very tired.

Her training uniform was mud-splattered, and there was dust and twigs in her short blonde hair. She pulled on her headset and adjusted the microphone with dirty and cut fingers. Tapping the keyboard on the center iMac, the sleeping blue screen changed to bright white. She brought the second computer to life by nudging its mouse with two fingers bound with black duct tape.

The middle screen displayed the Crisis Hotline Call Center software. The left screen was filled with the Crisis Message application and her email in a lower box. The third iMac to the right remained dark.

Another August night with the lost and confused, she said, wishing she had made a pot of espresso.

Her second-story office was way too warm, and she considered taking off her shirt. Printed in yellow, the word ‘Sheriff’ was on the front, and ‘Trainee’ was on the back.

The two windows to her right were open, but the blinds were down. Her office was in the attic with no air conditioning or heat. The curve of her three large monitors formed a U-shaped buffer between her and the door. It was closed even though leaving it open would provide a slight cool breeze.

Wiki logged onto both the Call Center and Message Center software and looked for an Incoming icon on both. While she waited, she launched Photo Booth, somewhat curious about her appearance. The software opened and displayed her face, fed from the monitor camera. There were dried sweat tracks in the dust and grime on her brow, cheeks, temples, and small nose.

"Looks like I’m in crisis," she spoke to the screens, finding a weary smile.

She turned on the capture option in both programs so that the voice and typed conversations would be saved and available for editing—technically, a no-no. Next up was opening the Daily Log binder the Crisis Center insisted she maintain.

Swiveling her chair, she opened the small ice box behind her and took out a bottle of enriched water. After rubbing its icy beading on her brow, she twisted off the cap. Drinking the entire bottle, she shot it for the waste can beside the door. It would have been a three-pointer, but the can was already filled to the brim with prior bottles.

She logged onto both services using her ‘Kiwi’ pseudonym. Turning around for another water, she stopped when three violin notes announced an incoming call.

Her first call of the night was in Messaging, appearing next to the field for making notes. She read:

MessageCare™ Start of Session: Friday, August 19 10:27:05 PM (EST)

--- Hello Kiwi, how is your night?

Kiwi: Fine, thank you. What’s your name? You know mine.

Olivia: its Olivia, remember?

Kiwi: Sure I do. How are you doing, Olivia?

Olivia: thank you for sending the taxicab.

Kiwi: Did you take it?

Olivia: No I didn’t. sure wanted to.

Kiwi: That’s okay. But we can get you somewhere safe. How is it going there?

Olivia: the same. well worse. He buggered me. Corn holed

Wiki clicked in the Notes Log and typed:

Repeat caller. Olivia. The girl with the bad situation. Physical, verbal abuse. Add: sodomy without choice.

Kiwi: I’m so sorry for you. Has he struck you again?

Olivia: well yeah. im mouthy.

Kiwi: Mouthy is good, Olivia.

Olivia: not in this house

Kiwi: Right.

Olivia: he’s watching tv. my arm really hurts

Kiwi: He hit you?

Olivia: no he pulled me hard

Kiwi: Olivia, you need to make a decision. When you do, I can call for another taxi. Get you to a safe place.

Olivia: i know but. I

Kiwi: We talked about the shelter in Ann Arbor. You can have your own room.

Olivia: Yes, but

Kiwi: Sweety – Olivia, the situation isn’t improving.

Olivia: no, right

Kiwi: You have choices. Yours to make. I’m not trying to persuade you.

Olivia: i know, i. oh shit

Kiwi: What?

Olivia: here he is. bye

Kiwi: Olivia?

MessageCare™ End of Session: Friday, August 19 10:35:095 PM (EST)

Wiki retrieved a new bottle of water before closing the ‘Olivia’ Notes. She poured a splash into her hands and rubbed her face, then her fingers, drying both with the hem of her black trainee shirt.

Scooting her chair back, she tugged the Velcro bottom of her black pants up from the laces of her black rubber boots. She had both boots off when she heard the three bars of blues slide guitar announcing a voice call. Letting it ring, she pulled the sour black socks off, splaying and stretching her freed toes. Kicking the boots to the side, she clicked ‘Open’ and adjusted her microphone.

CallWare™ Start of Session: Friday, August 19 10:41:23 PM (EST)

Kiwi: Hello, Crisis Hotline.

Thomas: Mommy, mommy.

Kiwi: Hello again, Thomas.

Thomas: Mommy, mommy, I keep running in circles.

Kiwi: And?

Thomas: Shut up or I’ll nail your other foot to the floor.

Kiwi: Nice.

Thomas: Mommy, mommy, I don’t want to visit grandma.

Kiwi: And?

Thomas: Shut up and keep digging.

Kiwi: Repulsive.

Thomas: What do you call cheese that isn’t yours?

Kiwi: Dunno.

Thomas: Nacho cheese.

Thomas: What do you call a man with a seagull on his head?

Kiwi: Tell me, please.

Thomas: Cliff.

Thomas: What do you call a little boy with no arms or legs on the baseball field?

Kiwi: I’m thinking—

Thomas: Second base.

Kiwi: Nice. What do you call a little boy on fire?

Thomas: Hmm.

Kiwi: Bernie.

Thomas: I’m writing that one down.

Kiwi: Good ‘cause I’m deleting that part of our call.

Thomas: Ever heard of a necrofella?

Kiwi: Necrophilia, sure.

Thomas: Respect the dead. Wear a condom.

Kiwi: (Laughter) Disturbing.

Thomas: Thank you.

Kiwi: Thomas? I have another call coming in.

Thomas: Kay, I’ll call you tomorrow.

Kiwi: Goodnight, Thomas.

Thomas: Thank you, Kiwi.

CallWare™ End of Session: Friday, August 19 10:53:23 PM (EST)

Before sending the log to the printer, Wiki made a few deletes. She also wrote in the Notes Log:

Repeat caller: Thomas. Eleven-year-old boy. Believe his home life is a bit strange.

The slide guitar announced a new voice call. Wiki reclined back in her chair.

Bedtime, love, her girlfriend Sara called up from the base of the stairs.

Wiki nodded and clicked her mouse.

CallWare™ Start of Session: Friday, August 19 10:59:01 PM (EST)

Kiwi: Good evening, Crisis Hotline.

--- Have a story you need to hear.

Kiwi: I’m game. Can I have your name?

--- Umm, Ned.

Kiwi: Hello Ned. You can call me Kiwi if you like.

Ned: Have a friend. He’s in a bit of a bind…

Wiki twisted the corner of her lips at the familiar use of ‘a friend.’

Ned: He has a lot of anger. Think rage is a better description.

Kiwi: That has to be rough on him.

Ned: He gets in his car and drives all night. Down around U of M college.

Kiwi: Driving can be therapeutic—

Ned: Could be, but it isn’t. It feeds the fire. Gasoline on the kindling. He has these ideas. Fantasies.

(Pause)

Ned: He’s blazing a new trail. A series of dares. The fantasies are strong and go on and on, unfolding. Dawn to dawn.

Kiwi: What are the fantasies about? Love? A new life?

Ned: Extinguishing the rage.

Kiwi: Does he have an… extinguishing plan?

Ned: Well sure. Isn’t it obvious?

Kiwi: I’m sorry?

Ned: This conversation. Had me call you on his behalf.

Kiwi: Maybe he could call in?

Ned: I’ll suggest that. You seem smart enough.

Kiwi: Thank you. I’m here to help anyone in crisis.

Ned: Enough on that. Have you ever been on fire?

Kiwi: Not physically, I—

Ned: Let me finish. His plan involves extinguishing something. Maybe more than one—

(Background noise)

Wiki wrote in the notes:

A train whistle. Maybe a dryer tumbling. Laundromat?

Kiwi: May I ask? More than one what?

Ned: There are these hooty girls. Young women.

Kiwi: Hooty? You mean hoity?

Ned: Don’t interrupt and never correct me.

(Pause)

Ned: He’s tried to meet them. It always goes bad. Them and their distant unseeing attitudes. If they would just step into his world, they would be idolized. Cherished. Consumed by his passion. He’s a, he could be a great lover. Sure, he’s got physical… damage, but he’s a very good fuck.

(Pause)

Ned: You can talk now.

Kiwi: Your friend, he wouldn’t harm anyone, right?

Ned: Well that’s the rub. The rage is growing. Taking him down the path. But there might be time. A chance. Right now… he’s only rehearsing.

Kiwi: Rehearsing?

Ned: Sure. The driving all night. Swinging by the bus stops and coffee shop parking lots. He sees them and the movie in his head. The movies he’s had for years. He directs. He wants to see what happens next.

Kiwi: Can you get him to call me? Or go to the hospital?

Ned: Maybe, don’t know him that well.

Three violin notes played from Wiki’s left side computer. She looked from the scrolling voice call transcription.

‘New Message’ appeared, the first line reading, I need help.

She turned to Ned and said to him.

Kiwi: Ned, I need to place you on hold, for just a moment—

Ned: Don’t you dare.

Kiwi: O-kay.

She muted her headset, swiveled, and quietly typed, Good evening, Crisis Hotline. Her words appeared, and she watched for a response. Seeing none, she added, You need help? I’m here to try. My name is Kiwi. There was no reply.

Ned: Are you listening? Said he had a nightmare, a troubled life when he was young. Didn’t know how to handle, control the pressure, the anger, except to strike back.

Kiwi: I’m listening. Strike back?

Ned: Well, he was young. Made a careless choice.

Kiwi: What did he do?

Ned: He did seven years for what happened to him.

Kiwi: What? In jail? Prison?

Ned: Worse. And yet better. He had a lot of freedom. Did a bunch of reading.

Kiwi: Can you explain?

Ned: No. Another time perhaps.

On the left monitor, Wiki’s last greeting was still waiting for a response. She muted her own voice for just a few seconds and typed, Hello? It’s Kiwi, and I’d like to help you or listen to you. No response. She unmuted.

Kiwi: Another time is fine, Ned. Or now.

Ned: I said another time.

Kiwi: Sure. Of course. Until then I’d like to reach out to your friend. If he isn’t ready to call in, I have a list of contacts for additional help. Different kinds. If you like, I can read the numbers to you?

Ned: When he gets home, I’ll let him know.

Kiwi: Good. Where is he now?

Ned: I’m not saying, but he’s pretty fired up.

Kiwi: Fired up?

Ned: The movies. His are continuing to film. He’s moving his story forward. Step by step. Closer.

(Pause)

Wiki watched the transcription and waited for Ned to go on. From behind her office door, she heard Sara call, Naughty hour. Wiki twisted her thin lips—half frown and half smile. The message center software to the left displayed, ‘End of Message.’

Kiwi: Ned, if he’s dangerous to himself or someone else… you and I need to get him help. Quickly, before something bad happens.

Ned: He’s not ready for help. It sound’s good but not yet. He is obsessed with seeing the movie a bit further. Right now, the rehearsals are going well.

Kiwi: There is, we can get him help. A referral.

Ned: Are. You. Listening?

(Pause)

Kiwi: I’m here, yes.

Ned: Not the right time, not now. He’s busy with casting. He needs to make more.

Kiwi: More?

Ned: More of the movie. It’s