Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - To Love a Monster

Episode Date: August 22, 2022

🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3juM1og 🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: patreon.com/drnosleep 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It's something else here now. Something new. From. Exclusively on Paramount Plus. It's the series Stephen King calls scary as hell. Everything here is impossible, but it's also real. Sci-fi Vision calls it the best show streaming right now. We're running out of time and we still don't know the rules.

Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch. Saving those children is how we all go home. From binge all episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. Thank you to my new patrons, Deveen, Lisa, and Stewart. If you'd like to also support the podcast and receive access to exclusive content, check out the Patreon link in the description below. Now back to the story. Love is blind. That's what they say.

But I find it to be true in a different way than the standard comprehension of the saying. Love makes you turn a blind eye to a myriad of faults, misdeeds, and red flags is how I've come to understand it. I've been interviewed at least a dozen times now, and the number one question is always, how could you love such a monster? But I didn't really know the answer. I'm both disgusted and quite frankly shocked that even still, when I lay awake at night in my bed, I miss her. My heart aches for her touch, while my stomach churns with revulsion.

How can I love a monster? It all started with a smile, one of those smiles that reached all the way up to the eyes, pure joy in the sparkle of those baby blues. You'd think after all those years of detective work, I'd be able to spot a killer when I saw one, that I'd be able to smell the rot brewing beneath layers of Chanel. But love is blind, and I was hooked from the very beginning. An addict. The smile led to conversation.

which led to drinks and then to the best sex I'd ever had. I could still feel the brush of her lips on my neck. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. She had been so normal, or had seemed to be in the beginning anyway. Sure, she was a little odd, but I had assumed all artists were. The quirky weirdness was required to make good artwork or something like that. If only I had known, the department had put me on unlawed. unpaid leave until this PR nightmare was over with.

I'd turned in my badge and gun to the chief when the press had gotten a hold of her identity. A homicide detective who had been unknowingly dating the mannequin killer for months. What a damn mess. I hadn't been the lead detective on the case, thank God. But I had been a consultant for it. And how did that make me look? Well, it made it look like I was tipping her off, keeping her ahead of the police.

But that wasn't the case. Unfortunately, very few people believed that I was innocent. Thankfully, one man did, though. My old partner, who did happen to be the lead on the case, he knew I would never disgrace the shield like that. He also knew I wouldn't take this one lying down either, badge or no badge, because underneath all of that love and disgust was rage. White-hot, unbridled rage from being fooled so easily.

for the humiliation of the press and the tarnishment of an otherwise immaculate career. For all the warm nights I spent with a cold-blooded killer, for being tricked into loving a monster. I slammed the manila folders that Rodriguez had copied for me on my desk. I took a deep breath and opened the first one, I whispered. The crime scene photos always got me, no matter how many times I looked through them. And I always made myself study them for a moment,

before moving on to the other files. It was punishment. My penance for being so close to the killer and not knowing it. Joseph M. Reynolds and Claire S. Adams, a young couple, newly engaged. The picture showed them both staged at a dinner table in their apartment.

His hand was hoisted with a wire coming from the ceiling, giving a toast to his dead fiancé. Her hands were nailed to her chest. A twisted smile cut into her face from ear to ear. Almost as if she were laughing at something Mr. Reynolds had said. Spoiled pasta with molded butter sauce sat on the table, along with the candle that had burned down to the end of its wick. Another picture showed the Mayfields had a family picnic in front of their barn. The mother and father were propped up with two-by-fours through the back of the

shirt. The lumber had been buried four feet down so that they would remain in place, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the blanket. This one is spruce. especially made my stomach churn because of the boy and his dog. The son, Eric, lay on his side with an arm around the poisoned golden retriever. It seems she tried to capture a wild-eyed gleam on the boy's face, and to do so needed to remove his eyelids. There was a dozen more photos just like these, depicting the murders that had occurred over the past year and a half.

I thumbed through them, even as bile rose in my throat. I had to. I owed it to the victims. She was an artist, dubbed the mannequin killer due to setting up the bodies like, well, you guessed it, mannequins. The name was fitting, although I hated it for obvious reasons. It seems she was trying to capture a still-life scene with the bodies, to freeze them in a moment forever.

She'd gotten interrupted during her last murder a month ago and had to flee the scene. Her work was unfinished. and she hadn't cleaned up after herself yet. Normally, the entire crime scene had been painstakingly wiped with bleach, no evidence whatsoever. This time we had fingerprints and a hair follicle. Rodriguez barely had time to break the news to me before it was all over the TV.

Now I was a social pariah. My name was hardly cleared, despite being very open to the public with information on our relationship. I slid open my desk drawer, and grabbed the bottle of Jameson that rattled against the oak. I didn't bother with a glass anymore and took a healthy swig. It burned on the way down just like I needed it to, scratching that itch for comfort.

She had no family. She'd grown up in an orphanage. That I did know. She told me the story of what it was like to grow up in this system over dinner at Mel's diner one night. I could remember her getting choked up over it As she explained the loneliness of her childhood, I wiped her tears and made her laugh. I couldn't help but wonder if it was genuine or not.

Were the emotions real? Or was she playing me the entire time? Nothing made sense to me anymore. The rest of the documents detailed everything the department knew about Evelyn Carter. I poured over the words diligently, digesting every sentence like I had every night for the last three weeks. Detective Rodriguez had exhausted every lead from the file, as had I. Names and numbers of acquaintances, friends and customers were crossed out with the red pen. I'd spoken to them all.

No one knew where she was hiding, unless. I kept coming back to the ledger from the auction house where she had sold her paintings. I'd put a large question mark and circled it at the top of the document. There were about 20 or so sales credited to her. I was shocked by the low amount of sales, because she produced way more than 20 paintings. The artwork that didn't sell would have been stashed in her apartment or at her storage locker. But there were only a couple of works in progress founded her residence and none in storage. Something just didn't add up.

The desk clock beeped as the hour rolled to 11 p.m. I think it was time to pay her art broker another visit and drag him out of bed. I stood and holstered my 38 special in a shoulder rig before throwing on my jacket, then slammed the front door to my apartment before traveling out into the night. Flakes of snow fell lazily on the asphalt as I parked in front of Francis Maynard's swanky house at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was the rich part of town, and my old 72 El Camino stood out like a sore thumb. Luckily, the entire neighborhood of many mansions was asleep and silent.

I killed the big block engine and exited the car. A motion detector light triggered at my presence, eliminating the walkway to the house. I passed through the barrier of rose bushes and loudly beat my fist on the front door. A bedroom light flipped on upstairs. I walked out to the front yard and saw Francis peeping out from behind the blinds. I motioned for him to come downstairs. The expression on my face said, or else. After a moment, there was a sound of the deadbolt sliding, and then the door opened just a few inches.

Detective, it's very late, he hissed. Sorry to bother you so late, Mr. Maynard. I couldn't sleep, and was going over the files and, well, something just wasn't adding up. I wanted to go over some things with you if you have a few minutes. I smiled, trying to seem genuine. Detective, it's the middle of the night. I was trying to sleep, and I have a very big event in the morning. morning that I must be well rested for. Can this wait? He asked, tapping his foot in frustration.

No, I'm afraid it can't, but it won't take long. His mouth opened in protest, but I didn't let him continue before pressing my hand against the door and prying it open. His mouth was agape and surprise as I pushed my way inside to the foyer. What a lovely home you have, Mr. Maynard. I said as I admired the eloquent marbling of the floor and the crowned. molding that ran along the staircase. The ceilings were incredibly high, and the stained glass windows were roughly the size of my car. Sure, sure, just come in. He huffed under his breath while closing the front door. Again, sorry to wake you, Francis. Can I call you Francis? I asked. Mr. Maynard is fine. He grumbled. Sure. So, as I was saying, Francis, I just need to go over a

couple of the details with you about your business relationship with Ms. Carter. I traced my finger over the face of a cherub carved from stone that sat on a shelf by the hallway. I've told you and Detective Rodriguez everything already. It's in my statement. You could have just re-read it and saved yourself a trip across town in the middle of the night. Yeah, you see, I've actually read your statement at least a hundred times, including the sales ledger you provided us. And you know, They just seemed a little light on the details. What do you mean? He furrowed his brow.

Well, I mean, she sold a ton of paintings, and I mean a ton. She spent countless hours prepping them for you. I know because she would complain about how much of a pain in the ass you were if they weren't packaged correctly. I don't know what you are implying, you frowned. Well, see, some of the titles I did recognize from the ledger. but I knew there were some she took to you that I didn't see. I'm thinking perhaps you have a buyer that enjoyed her work

and just maybe didn't want to be on the books. Perhaps he put a little extra coin in your pocket to keep it under the table, I asked, slowly pacing a circle around Mr. Maynard. I see. I can assure you I've given the police department the complete list. I have nothing to hide, and I don't appreciate the accusations. Oh, I don't mean to accuse Francis.

unless my questions are stirring a guilty conscience. The only thing I'm guilty of is working with that evil woman, but at least I never slept with her. It was a low blow, and it certainly struck a nerve. His grin quickly faded from his face after I reared back and slapped the taste out of his mouth. You, you can't, you can't touch me, he cried. I smacked him again.

Francis held his face in shock. Now listen to me. Those were at 50%. The next time I hitch you, it's going to be at a hundred. You understand? I growled. But you're a cop. You can't. He wondered. Interesting thing, Mr. Maynard. I've been put on unpaid leave indefinitely. My career is most likely over. I've got nothing to lose. I snarled at him with a crazed look in my eye, and he looked afraid, like a rabbit pinned down by a coyote.

So, what's it going to be, Francis? more pain, or give up your buyer? I could tell he was thinking. His eyes darted back and forth nervously. He opened his mouth, but closed it again. He was running through his options in his head. But as I brought my arm up again, he quickly made the right decision. Okay, okay!

He shrieked. Francis walked into the kitchen that gleamed in Chrome and Corian. I followed him to a drink cart where he poured himself a glass of scotch with shaky hands. He chugged the entire glass before speaking again. Norman Black, he's a wealthy investor, lives upstate in a cabin out in the middle of nowhere. And you've been there? I asked, scribbling details on a notepad from my pocket. Once, for a private auction he hosted. Mr. Maynard rubbed his temples, a large handprint growing more and more prevalent on his cheek.

What's the address? Francis rifled through a Rolodex on the counter, and then handed me a sleek black card, Norman Black, collector. On the back was an address in Long Point, Michigan. Does Mr. Black have a phone number? If he does, I don't have it. Well, thank you, Francis. You've been most helpful.

I beamed at him, sliding the card in my pocket. He smiled back weakly and showed me to the door. I paused just before exiting the threshold and said, Oh, and we don't need to let the boys down at the station know about this little visit, do we? No, sir, he stuttered. Good. Then I won't let them know you were hiding evidence either. Have a good night, Mr. Maynard.

I heard the door softly shut behind me as I made my way back to the car. For the first time in days, I was hopeful. Was she hiding out at Norman Black's cabin? And if not, did he know where she might be? I wasn't sure, but it was something to go on. Finally, a fresh lead. Maybe I could actually get some sleep tonight for once. LED lights buzzed overhead, flickering slightly.

Oh my God, what does that smell? A putrid stench molested my nostrils, like an old slaughterhouse rotting in the Texas sun. I tried to move, but couldn't. My limbs were impossibly stiff. The only thing I could move at all were my eyes. I rolled them from left to right, right to left. It was hard to get my bearings at first, because only a few light panels were illuminated. But I could see I was at the police station.

Rows of desks with stacks of paperwork led into the darkness. How am I here? A shadowy figure loomed near the coffee machine at the edge of the light. Is that? Rodriguez? I blinked the blur away from my vision, and he suddenly came into focus. Mary, Mother of God! He was held up by steel wires tied to the ceiling grid like a puppet.

The coffee pot was glued to one hand and a mug in the other. But his face... His face looked like it had been removed and then pulled back and stapled on. His eyes were squinted, and his lips were stretched upward almost in laughter. The staples gleamed under the fluorescence as blood trickled down his neck in his stream. My heart thundered in my chest. I desperately wanted to reach for my gun. Why can't I move?

I could see Sergeant Hobbs sitting at her desk. Her face was even worse than Rodriguez. Her eyelids had been removed and her smile was so jagged. As if it had been carved with a box cutter. Hobbs was enjoying the silent joke they shared as her eyes bulged so impossibly that they threatened to burst from the sockets. Thump, thump, thump, thump!

It sounded as if someone was running on the beams above. Suddenly, an acoustical pad fell to the floor from the ceiling. A series of clicks came from the hole, like an insect rubbing their mandibles together. Long, auburn hair slipped through the opening, followed by a face hidden in the fray, she whispered. I tried to answer, but couldn't move my mouth. I thought you would. The voice was deeper, but so familiar.

Evey? Don't you like it, Michael? Her words reverberated around my skull like an echo. They were so quiet and warm, yet so dark and foreboding. Look at your screen, Michael. Her voice grew louder. She was excited. I moved my eyes to look at the computer monitor.

It was powered off, and I could see myself clearly in the black mirror. Deep lacerations revealed my cheekbones through the flesh. My eyelids were gone, and my eyebrows were peeled upward. A silent scream erupted from my chest. I started to choke on saliva, unable to swallow. Spit bubbled through the cuts in my face as my windpipe flooded and threatened to close. As I struggled, I could see her lower herself through the ceiling. Her body was that of an enormous spider, black and glossy.

The light refracted through a translucent red hourglass on her abdomen. Now you can stay here with me, just like this, forever. We can be happy together. Dozens of beady eyes stared into mine as viscous fluid drift from her fangs. They danced hungrily as she came closer. Don't you like it, Michael? No! I sat upright in the bed panting.

Sweat, poured down my chest, and soaked the sheets. A dream. Just a dream. Despite the nightmare, I felt like a million bucks. It was the first real sleep I'd gotten in a month. I had stopped and picked up an F-150 from the car rental place down by the airport. It was a five-hour drive, and the El Camino got about 10 miles to the gallon on a good day. Plus, Evelyn knew that car.

If I had any real shot of sneaking up on her and taking her in, it wouldn't be in the Camino. For the next several hours I drove past snow-covered pastures and prairies, as Johnny Cash hummed over the speakers. I let my mind drift to thoughts of her. I could see her on the balcony. mixing paints to get the perfect shades of blue for her rendition of the smoky mountains on canvas. I could see her smile when she noticed that I was watching her. The way she dropped her palette and strolled over to me,

hips swinging suggestively as she began to strip in the sunlight that leaked through the windows. But when images of the crime scenes overtook the memory, bodies posed using wood, wire, and mesh. Emotions carved into their flesh like there were a lump of clay in the hands. hands of the potter, the buzzing of bloated flies and the sickly sweet smell of meat as I paced around the scene looking for evidence. How I'd come home to her the night that I'd seen the boy wrapped around his dead dog, how I'd wept, and how she had comforted me. Sick fuck, I thought, squeezing the steering mill so tightly my knuckles were white. 303 p.m. I pulled around a sharp abandoned the road and parked the truck off to the side of a gravel road, one that led straight to

Norman Black's cabin. The cabin was large and luxurious, just like I imagined it would be. It sat about 200 yards off from the road and was shrouded in blue spruce trees. I did a quick pat check, 45 pistol in the shoulder rig, revolver on the ankle, keys, knife, and phone in pocket. Then made my way around the perimeter of the property, making sure to stay concealed in the punch. lines. The good news was I didn't see a security detail. I wasn't sure what to expect exactly. I couldn't find much information on the guy, other than that he ran a few non-profits and hosted several art galleries around the country. I'm sure I could have dug up more if I still had access to the database down at the station. But it had been revoked, and I didn't want to bring Rodriguez

in on the situation. Not yet. Not until I had something concrete. I observed the cabin for about 40 minutes before I saw Norman Black. He walked into the living area that was surrounded with large bay windows and flipped open a laptop that sat on the table. He was a tall and slender man, probably mid-50s with salt and pepper hair, well-groomed with a youthful appearance for his age. Once I was sure he was alone, I decided it was time for us to meet. I wrapped my knuckles against the emerald door and it opened almost immediately. Mr. Black? I asked. Yes. How can I help you?

He responded pleasantly. Hi, I'm Detective Hart with the Dayton Police Department. Do you have a few minutes? Oh, what's this about? His charming smile faltered just a little. Well, it's a private matter pertaining to one of the artists that you frequently buy from, and we're just trying to collect some information on her whereabouts.

Perhaps we could go inside to discuss. I prayed he wouldn't ask to do. see my badge. Of course. Come on in. He extended his arm, warmly inviting me inside his rustic palace. I followed him to the living room where I'd seen him earlier. There were so many windows you felt as if you were outside among the trees. Would you like a drink, detective? Sure, that would be great. Thank you. My pleasure. I have water, coffee, or perhaps a glass of bourbon. Bourbon would be perfect. I hadn't had a drink all day. causing my hands to tremble ever so slightly.

He gestured for me to sit in a leather chair adjacent from the couch as he left to pour our drinks. A large chandelier made of antlers hovered a few feet above. Paintings lined the back wall that led to the kitchen. So who is this artist you were looking for? He asked, handing me a whiskey glass. Evelyn Carter. She's been all over the news for weeks, as I'm sure you've seen.

I took a long pull of bourbon. the warmth of it was intoxicating. Ah, yes, such atrocities. Agreed. Absolute abominations. But you were a fan of her work, correct? Before she was named as the mannequin killer, I finished my drink and felt a little more like myself. I believe I might have a few paintings from her, yes.

Such talent. Although, I had no idea she was capable of such things. I'd never even met the woman in person. Right. You had Francis Maynard broken the sales, correct? Yes, that's right. And I see that paying him extra to keep my name off the books didn't really pay off. He sighed. Mr. Maynard hid your name very well, actually. But I can be pretty persuasive. I stood and wandered over to the windows. There was a perfect view of the lake over the tops of the pines. I could see steps that led from the side of the cabin all the way down to a yellow boathouse on the shore.

Oh, I have no doubt about that, Michael. Norman chuckled from the couch. Someone was coming up from the boathouse. I could see a white sun hat floating above dainty shoulders in a sundress. Did I? Did I tell you my first name? I grabbed onto the chairrail, and suddenly the room started to spin. In fact, I was actually scared shitless all the way up until I got you that drink.

What was in the drink? My lips were numb, and my tongue was swollen. I slipped down to my knees. I looked at Norman Black. He was smiling with a mouth full of ultra-white teeth. Then I looked back to the window. It was her. She stood from the ground, looking up at me and waving.

Evie. I felt my head smacked the harbor floors as everything went black. Lazzang sur-gillet, puissance-moleaned for 15 minutes. We'd say that's their dojo. Prere to play. Vive the pleasure with the Ojo. The casino in line

that proposes the most recent machine-assos and games of casino in direct. Profite of 50 tours on Bix Bas, Bonanza. Without exigance of mise and with the payment instantaneous.

Hey! I've got to get! Woohoo! Sonture the pleasure! Play-O-Joe! 18 years, 1st,000 depot 10 tours

on the machine a soup and base Bonanza. Depos minimum of 10 dollars. Vealier to play to be in a responsible. The conditions apply. When I awoke,

my head felt as if it might split in two. My vision swam for a moment before the cabin's basement came into view. I quickly realized the gravity of the situation

when I found myself tied to a chair. I tried to yell, but a handkerchief was tied through my mouth and around the back of my head. I thrashed against my restraints, but it was of no use. Easy, Michael, easy. It's okay. Oh, I missed you so much.

Evelyn squeezed my neck and kissed my neck and kissed my forehead and cheek, before finally sticking her tongue in my ear. Get a word for me! I screamed, but my words were incomprehensible through the bandana. Are you ready, Evelyn? Mr. Black called from the corner as he dimmed the lights. I twisted and shook once more, desperate to be. be free.

Shh, it's all right. We're just going to watch a film. The film. My life's work. Norman has been funding the entire thing, bless his heart. I hope you like it, Michael. She caressed my face with her palm and then sat beside me. She squealed in delight as the projector hummed to life and squeezed my arm.

She was completely delusional, a true psychopath. It was shot completely in black and white, which was a small mercy. The blood that spurt from the tissue she eviscerated didn't look as horrifying as it would have in color. I could almost pretend that the gore wasn't real in the monochrome video. I watched as she set each scene, moving the bodies, propping them up to their appropriate still-life actions, then how she'd cut, skin, scalp, and staple each one to give them the proper expression that she desired to capture. Tears rolled down my cheeks as she cut the eyelids off from the boy as he was still just barely breathing, but unable to resist. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I owed it

to the victims. I could have stopped this, but I didn't. I didn't know. I did now, though. I knew exactly what I was dealing with. Pure evil. I glanced over to Norman. He was loving it. His tongue was practically hanging out of his head with delight over the film. I looked to Evelyn. tears were streaming down her face as well, but they weren't the same as mine. Hers were as if she was watching something beautiful, like the birth of her own child finally coming into the world. I had to stop this. I had to make sure this could never happen again.

Finally, it was over, followed by a brief roll of credits. Norman Black was highlighted as the benefactor, of course. But I was noted as a special thanks at the end. A black and white photo of her and I kissing at the diner appeared on the store. screen just for a moment before it went black. Evelyn, that was incredible. Norman stood and clapped, giving her a standing ovation. She jumped to her feet and took several bows and giggled with delight.

I'm so glad you liked it. I knew you would. Did you like it, Michael? She beamed at me. I smiled the best I could and rolled my eyes down dramatically at the gag in my mouth. Oh, yes. Let me get that for you, hon. She pulled the bandana out from my mouth and let it dangle from my neck. I took a deep breath and cracked my jaw. I knew I had to be convincing if this was going to work.

That was magnificent, Evie. A true work of art. I swallowed back vomit as I lied. She fell to her knees and crawled towards me, resting her hands on my knees. Do you really mean that, Michael? Her eyes welled with tears. Of course I do. Anyone with eyes could see the beauty you've captured here.

the way you brought the dead back to life. No one else could have done this, that's for sure. It means the world to me that you loved it. I just knew deep down inside that you could appreciate it once you saw it. Once I revealed it to you, I knew you would love it. Her lips quivered as she brought her face down into my lap, sobbing with absolute joy. Of course, he left it, Evelyn. God himself couldn't have done better.

Norman sung her praises and made his way over to me. You've got yourself a real revolutionary here, Michael. You are a lucky man, he said, patting me on the back. I am incredibly lucky, that's for sure. I choked, struggling to stay in character. Evelyn raised her head and kissed me deeply, never closing her blue eyes. I had an overwhelming urge to bite her nose and rip it from her face, but I stifled it. I love you, Michael.

I smiled back at her, but couldn't bring myself to say those three. little words. She stood and gave Norman a hug. They shouted in joyous harmony while dancing in a circle like children. While they were distracted, I nosed at my right ankle with my left shoe. My heart thundered in my chest when I felt the cool touch of the pearl handle of my 38 press against my lower calf. Say guys, I'd really love to celebrate as well. How about you untiming? We all go upstairs, and you can fix me a proper drink this time, Mr. Black. I winked and gave them both my best. best grin. Oh, yes, let's. She squeaked with joy, giving a little twirl in her sundress. Of course. No hard feelings about the restraints, right old boy? Norman asked, as he untied the ropes

from behind the chair. None whatsoever, Mr. Black. Come now, we're all friends here. Call me Norman. Okay, Norman. I stood from the chair and shook his hand, then brought Evelyn into an embrace. She squeezed me tightly and kissed my neck. It felt cold. The love was completely gone. All that remained was violent, disgust, and rage. We crossed the room together to the stairs. I gestured for them to go ahead of me and brought up the rear.

About halfway up the steps, I stopped and reached down, lifting my pant leg and pulling my gun from its holster. They didn't notice. They were deep in conversation about the recent success. Hey, Edelan, I called. Yes, Michael, she turned to face me. Go to hell. I smiled as I pulled the trigger twice.

The look of utter shock and terror on her face was just so satisfying. I flattened my body against the staircase wall as she went rolling to the bottom. Norman held his hands up. He was trying to plead for his life, but kept choking on his words. Bang! I sent a bullet right through his neck. He grabbed at his throat, gasping for air as blood spewed like a faucet from the wound. His head snapped back as a round ripped through his face, completely disintegrating his nose.

Norman Black fell and slid down a few steps before stopping halfway down the stairs. I finished the ascent and went outside to sit on the front porch. I patted my pockets. My phone was still there. They only took the 45 from my shoulder. Not very thorough indeed. I dialed an old friend. Hey Rodriguez, tell Michelle you're not going to be home for dinner tonight. I got Evelyn.