Year of the Dragon Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  X

  XX

  Year of the Dragon

  Thomas White

  Copyright © 2019 by Thomas White

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781080429578

  1

  龙年

  Once upon a time, Tuesday, February 15th, Chinese New Year’s Eve, a fortune cookie crumbled in his hands, leaving the same message that he read last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. Good Things Are Coming Your Way!

  But the lie flickered away with the cheap lights.

  “Give me a break.” Tossing the fortune, Jonas returned to his life, the monitors and the dumplings. His tongue numb with spicy duck, he watched that pretty little princess wander aimlessly around her room. She tapped her fingers away on her little laptop on the desk, then jumped onto the bed, taping them again on her phone. His eyes glazed over, then shot back to life. New movement. What kind? The hallway cam caught her turning left, probably heading into the bathroom. . .

  His head hit the table. “Tony, Tony, I can’t do this anymore, Tony! I can’t. I don’t know what this dude thinks she’s doing when he ain’t around, but this shouldn’t be our problem anymore, Tony.”

  The lights flickered. Tony picked rice out of his beard. “Would you relax? If this old man’s got too much money and needs to burn it up by putting a camera in a teddy bear, who am I to question it if the pay is good?”

  “We ain’t gonna get these years back,” Jonas said, “and when the next one rolls around, I guarantee you we’ll still be in this cave eating Chinese food.”

  The lights flickered.

  “I like Chinese food.” Tony scraped the bottom of the oyster pail. “I want soy sauce. You want soy sauce? I want soy sauce.”

  All air and thought blew out of Jonas’ lips, deflating his face. “Sure Tony, yeah. Go get your soy sauce. Meanwhile, how about I just hang myself with these egg noodles here? Good plan, Tony? Good plan?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  In a flicker, Jonas was alone with the monitors. I got to end this shit-cycle somehow, he thought, I’ll try acting again. No. No. I got to move back in with mom first, then I can be an actor. I know I’m pretty enough. I can do it. I’ll see my name up in some nice bright lights, and I’m gonna eat snails and quail and whatever other shit Mr. Waller shoves down his throat. I outta shove my fist down that old fart’s throat. I just gotta. . . I just. . .

  The lights flickered and princess Jessica was leaning in the office door. “Hey there, Mr. Bowman. What are you up to?”

  What do you think? is what he wanted to say, and he probably should’ve shut off the monitor hooked to the teddy-cam, but whatever. “Not much, Ms. Waller. How about you?”

  “Well. . .” She batted her eyes and curled her blond hair right around her finger. “I heard you boys ordered takeout today, so. . .”

  “You want something?” An adult acts like a damn child and she gets whatever she wants. Sickening.

  “Can I have one, itsy-bitsy, egg roll?”

  He could feel his face crack under the force of his smile. “Oh, I don’t see why not.” Have to be nice and happy around little princess Jessica. Wouldn’t want to make her feel down for once in her pretty little life. He passed it over.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bowman. . .” She turned. She was gonna leave too. Why did she have to stop? “Oh, you guys wouldn’t happen to have some soy sauce down here, would you?”

  Get out! “Funny you ask,” he said, turning back to the screen, “Tony just went in the kitchen to—what?”

  The lights flickered. Oh yeah, Tony was getting some soy sauce all right, if it was on Jessica’s lips and he was getting it by sucking it right off. That princess clawed her sparkly nails into his beard as they rolled around the floor. The teddy-cam shook.

  Jonas smacked the monitor. “How? How. . .”

  The lights flickered. Jessica was still in the cave with Jonas, facing the door. Shut and locked. Jonas did a double-take. No. Still here. No. With Tony. No. With me. No. With Tony. What the shit is going on? “Jessica?” he said.

  She didn’t turn away from the door, only squeezed the egg roll in her hand, disintegrating in her grip, falling in pieces on the floor, leaving a glint between her fingers. Knife? She wrapped her little finger around a blond curl and ripped every golden strain off her head with one effortless pull.

  “Jessica?”

  The lights flickered.

  2

  ドラゴンの年

  Poor girl. Poor, poor girl. Agent Scott grazed her fingertip over the cut, just enough pressure to squeeze some blood out. She winced at the new stain on her glove, but had to return to the method. Jessica Waller’s body was slashed on her ankles and wrists, one cut across the throat, and another on the abdomen, each cut precisely made to maximize bleeding. He clearly knew something about human anatomy, but why did he touch her face? Six cuts, three on each cheek were made to resemble the claw marks of a bear or wolf. Is that what he thinks of himself as? Some kind of animal? That didn’t explain his reasoning for moving the body. The bed was made almost perfectly neat, and there was blood on the floor, so he got her on the floor and positioned her on the bed, spreadeagle. He turned her into a display mannequin for them to find and look at. He was proud of his creation.

  That was all the method told Agent Scott, the facts imprinted on the girl’s body and the speculation that came with it. Still, when Scott looked at the face, Jessica’s face, she looked beyond the method. She saw the deep grimace frozen on the girl’s purple face, the dull remains of golden hair, the glassy eyes. She was looking at someone who was once young, alive, and happy to be alive. He took all of that away from her and was proud of it.

  Sick. That bitterness was rising in Scott’s throat again. Choked it back down, only imagining what the father must be going through right now.

  She peered out the window, and the old man was burying himself into Reagan’s shoulder as he cried. Reagan stood still, but wrapped his arms around Mr. Waller. He looked up at Scott, eyes just as glassy as Jessica’s. That was why he was chief of the Bureau’s B.S department, she knew. Reagan saw the worst these monsters could do time and time again. If any of it bothered him, he didn’t show any sign of it, not a twinge of anger or disgust. She wanted that power so badly, the power to disconnect and to calm. He’s a good guy.

  Two agents pulled Mr. Waller aside, and Reagan head back inside. Time to tell him what she’s concluded. This was her big chance to prove that she had what it takes to be a part of what the boys at the Bureau call “The Special Agents Club.” He stepped in.

  “Alright chief, I think based on the nature of the cut—”

  “Hey, tiger. . .” Reagan cleared his throat and wiped his glasses with his tie. “Uh, I think there’s something you should know.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Well, Mel, actually. . . I can’t.” Reagan coughed. “I can’t actually work this case with you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “But you said—”

  “I know what I said, but I have a known personal relationship with Mr. Waller. Bureau policy dictates that I stay hands off during the investigation, otherwise I may compromise the case. At least, that’s what the book says.”

  Damn it. Scott heard him mention once that they went to Harvard together at some point, but why should that matter? Another question came to mind: why was she gonna let this get in her way? “Okay,” she said, “I’ll take care of this myself then.”

  “No. You need a special agent or an agent with at least three more years of experience to assist you. I already picked him out for you.”

  “I don’t need anybody.”

  Reagan was still again. “If you want this promotion, and if you really want to find whoever did that to Mr. Waller’s daughter, then you would know that you do, Agent Scott.”

  Her eye switched over to Jessica for a second. “Understood.”

  “Good.” He pulled out a notepad, struggling to find his pen. “Now, he’s a little eccentric, but he’s good. I’m gonna write down where to pick him up. . .”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t have a real address. He lives on the beach by Shady’s Pier.”

  “No,” she said. “Why do I have to pick him up?”

  “He doesn’t drive.”

  “What? Why?”

  “He doesn’t like to leave his house.”

  “But why do I have to pick him up?”

  Reagan clicked his pen. “Because he doesn’t like to leave his house.”

  3

  용의 해

  Her boot prints washed away with the tide. The small shack stood alone at the edge of the beach. Scott kept walking, but there wasn’t much more to see up close, just straw and wood and bamboo strung together to make some shelter. Roomy enough, for sure, but it wouldn’t leave much of an impression on any buyer, not unless they just wanted to be far away.

  If he starts to weird you out, starts talking to thin air, don’t worry. He’s nowhere near dangerous, Reagan told her befor
e she left.

  What’s wrong with him? The doctor suffers from Schizoid personality disorder. So, he’s crazy then? No, No, Listen. It’s like the world doesn’t engage him. You understand? Not much stimulates his brain, so it has make things up to keep from getting bored. Well, he won’t get too bored in the middle of a hunt for a murderer, won’t he? Mel, he’s a doctor for a reason. The man can profile a psychotic like nobody’s business, just only at home, but that’s where you come in. Don’t worry. I think he’ll take good care of you. Goody.

  “Dr. Knight? Dr. Knight?” One soft knock on the door, and it creaked open. The weirdest music came from behind it, a melodic clanking.

  Reagan said he’d call ahead of time. Better get this over with. She stepped inside. Plain it was, plain and dark with only some streaks of sun coming in through the ceiling. The clanking grew louder, and there was laughing too, a brash thunder of laughter.

  “That’s a good girl! Oh, that’s a good girl. Yes, ma’am!”

  She came around a bar in front of a small kitchen where a laptop played the clanking music. The screen made her raise a brow. Cartoons? It was an old one, black and white, featuring a pig in a sombrero running away from some dancing skeletons. She scratched her neck, and there was another burst of laughter.

  “Okay, okay, one more time.”

  Around a corner, she found a space big enough to resemble a living room. Only a man in a folding chair laid there, facing away. He waved a tennis ball in his hand. “Come on! Come on! Fetch!”

  It barely bounced off the wall, thudded to the ground, and rolled back to his foot.

  “That’s good, Gwen. Daddy’s real proud of you, but I have to get back to—”

  “Dr. Knight?”

  He jerked, snapped his neck around like a whip. Those eyes dilated in her presence, big with some fear, but more confusion.

  “I’m sorry to barge in,” she whispered. Does whispering even help?

  There was another snap behind his eyes, and he cleared his throat before he stretched out the best smile he could manage. “Oh, good morning.” He rubbed his face, a clean face matching the dress shirt and the neat brown hair of a schoolboy. “I am Agent Doctor Thomas Knight, Ph.D., of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “Yes, doctor, I know who you are,” she said.

  “May I see your credentials, ma’am?”

  Ma’am? Why ma’am? Why my credentials? she thought. “Uh, sure.” Unfolding it out of her jacket, she flashed her badge, almost pocketing it.

  “Pardon me, please. I like to make sure of things with my hands.” He leaned closer, stretching his arm out, marching forward.

  Her own whip snapped for a second, that quick pull of fight-or-flight from the sympathetic nervous system wanting to release epinephrine into the bloodstream, but it was only for that second. Don’t be rude, Mel. Don’t be rude. She flipped the badge open.

  His neck twitched. “Shoo! Shoo! Get out of here! You’re being rude now! Scat!”

  To her relief, he was talking to the space above the floor that he named Gwen. His eyes shifted from that space to down the hall. And Gwen’s gone?

  The doctor touched the badge, squeezing it in his palm three times. Scott let him have at it, and he ran his fingers around the card’s print. “Yes, Agent Melony Scott of Behavioral Science, one of Reagan’s, of course.” His eyes went from her face to her photo, then face, then photo. “He said you have a hard problem in psychological profiling. . .”

  “No. Not exactly, doctor,” she said, rolling her tongue around her teeth, deciding that her next word shouldn’t be I. “We have a clear idea of who we are looking for and how to proceed. The Bureau just would feel more comfortable if you could consult.” These words were better. They would ease the doctor into helping, and ease her into accepting that the Bureau would only listen to her if she cited a man who talks to himself.

  ”Well, if my country needs my expertise, then how can I say no? This is going to be interesting, isn’t it?”

  “Interesting?”

  The doctor twitched. “Oh, sorry Agent Scott. I was talking to Professor Snape.” That would explain why he seemed to be talking to her right ear.

  “I’ll get my trench coat,” Dr. Knight said, “Follow me.”

  “Follow?” He was already down the hall. “Doctor, I’m driving. Dr. Knight? Dr. Knight?”

  4

  ड्रैगन का वर्ष

  Jonas Bowman’s gurgles for help were loud enough for Anthony Harris to pull his tongue out of her throat and find out what was happening. Jessica and I were left waiting on the floor for around forty-five seconds. “Hello, Jessica. I am Agent Doctor Thomas Knight, Ph.D., of the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” I said.

  “Tell me, have you ever rolled on your bedroom floor with another man?” I asked her. “Maybe a surgeon with a vendetta against you and Anthony?”

  She told me no. If I asked her Daddy and looked at her Facebook profile, both would confirm that she didn’t have many boyfriends. “Then maybe your murder has nothing to do with you? Maybe someone was trying to attack your father through you?”

  I considered what I knew about Michael Waller, alderman of D.C’s city council, chair of the council’s finance committee. Anyone with an extreme political agenda probably wouldn’t recognize Waller on the street. But then again, Waller felt the need to hire private guards to watch over his home while he was on council business. “Who would he be afraid of?”

  Jessica shrugged her shoulders and said she dunno.

  “Good luck, child.” The door tore off its hinges, and the creature lumbered inside, locking it’s yellow eyes on Jessica, hissing, charging. She got to her feet, but It held her entire head in Its talons. With the sharp scales of Its tail, It slashed her so that she could bleed to death. As It placed her on the bed, It couldn’t help but hover over her, drooling over Its work, licking Its fangs. . .

  “Hey dude, can you get out of the shot?”

  “What?” Oh, the forensic photographer was here, scratching his head at Scott as if she would know why I was hovering over the dead girl’s face. Scott put on her aviators, standard Bureau issue.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I said, stepping away, placing myself in the corner of the room and letting Gwen off her leash. “Come on, girl! Go!” Gwen was a special breed of beagle, perpetually black and white, like Snoopy, always an expert tracker, and never too far away when I need her. She sniffed the black residue on Jessica’s abdomen and stalked some kind of scent under her bed.

  Scott stepped on Gwen’s tail as she crossed over to me. I would’ve been mad, but I’m used to these little incidents by now, and there wasn’t time to complain anyway. I could tell from her stiff steps that she wanted to pick my brain. “Well Dr. Knight,” she said, “what’s your conclusion?”

  I tried to speak as clearly as I could. “Based on the location of the cuts, our man shows an above average knowledge of human anatomy, slashing her only where she would bleed out the quickest. And you see those scratches on her face? They’re made by the same blade but resemble claw marks one would get if they were mauled by a bear or a wolf. Clearly, he identifies himself more of an animal than a human. However, he’s also an extremely proud creature, laying her body out like she’s an art piece at an exhibit.”

  “Hmm.” She nodded and understood. Good.

  Good show, Dr. Knight! Excellent Deduction, Sherlock Holmes said to me and I was sure to thank him.

  “We have Waller in the tent outside. He’s pretty broken up right now, but I’m sure you can use all of your brilliant therapeutic techniques from years of experience in psychiatry to ease his pain and help him through his severe trauma,” Scott said something like that, I’m pretty sure. However, my eyes locked onto the collection of stuffed animals that cluttered Jessica’s drawer. Gwen pawed at it, trying to climb up there.

  Bark! Bark!

  Indeed, Gwen. There was something between the teddy bear and the unicorn, an animal that didn’t belong. I tossed the bear over my shoulder and I think Scott must’ve caught it. “Hey! Hey? Dr. Knight, there’s something wrong with its eye?” she said.

  “Watson—I mean Scott—come here.” Under the unicorn, a pink paper was neatly folded with four large triangular points on one side, two little ones on the other. By carefully folding the four points, I could get the piece to stand on my palm.