I went home, but I couldn’t get back to sleep. I drank some coffee and sat in front of the TV with my phone beside me, watching an old science fiction movie about giant killer insects. I dozed.
I jumped when my phone buzzed. It was Rachel. The time was 7:15. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Her voice was low and subdued. “You’re home?”
“Yeah. I thought about sleeping there in the car, but these days I’m not sure my back could stand it. What happened?”
“Give me a second.” I heard her take a swallow of something. Probably coffee. “I told them I stayed in the on-call room in case Henry needed me again. So far I think everyone’s buying it.”
“Good. What about Henry?”
Another slurp of coffee. “I don’t think there were any murders. But it felt like there was something—someone—inside his head. Poking around.”
“Demon?”
“No. It felt human. And it felt like it knew I was there. Mostly it felt like it wanted Henry to know it was there, like it was trying to scare him.”
“What does Henry say? Any dreams? Even non-murdery dreams?”
“He says . . .” She paused. “Sorry. I’m in the break room, and there’s people coming in and out. It’s okay to take personal calls, but this is risky.” More coffee. “Anyway, he sort of remembers walking around outside, but nothing clear enough to describe.”
“Did he hear the song? The humming?”
“Yeah. He still doesn’t know what it was, but it’s something he sort of remembers. He just can’t get it. Why is it important?”
“Maybe it’s not. But songs can trigger memories. If he’s trying to get through to Henry, tell him something, it could be in the song.”
“Yeah.” Rachel sighed. “God, I’m tired.”
“Do you want me to come get you?”
“Yeah. No rush, I can finish up some paperwork. Just stay outside and call me. So Stenholtz doesn’t see you.”
“Let me grab a shower. I’ll be there in an hour or so.”
“Take your time.” She hung up.
I took a shower, ate a quick bowl of cereal, and headed for the car.
I drove as quickly as I could, thinking about Henry. Actually, after five minutes, I was only thinking about Rachel. Hoping she was okay. Usually she’s the one helping me, and I’m busy trying to solve some supernatural problem while she worries about me getting eaten by a giant carnivorous plant or a homicidal cyborg.
I was beginning to see how aggravating it was to wait around and feel helpless. Some days I wonder why she puts up with me.
She was under a lot of pressure. My job right now was to take some of it off her any way I could. Like any good boyfriend, right? I could be a good, supportive boyfriend if I worked at it, couldn’t I? Maybe I could find a podcast about it.
I pulled up in front of the center and texted her. She called back within 20 seconds: “Come in,” she told me.
“What about Stenholtz?” I asked.
“He’s out delivering a lecture somewhere. The guy at security won’t write down your name. He owes me a favor.”
I wanted to ask what the favor was, but immediately decided I was better off not knowing. “I’ll be right there.”
I drove into the parking garage, made my way to the front desk, and got a new VISITOR sticker. The security guard gave Rachel a wink when she came out to get me.
“What’s going on?” I asked as she tapped the keypad next to the inner door.
“Henry remembered something.” Her eyes were red from missed sleep. She was walking fast, and I had to hurry to keep up with her.
“Remembered what?”
“Just now. I wanted you to hear it yourself. Ask questions, you know, what you do. Come on.”
She led me to the door to Henry’s room, knocked, and opened it right away. “Henry? I’ve got Tom. Can we come in?”
Henry was sitting at the small table, wearing the same T-shirt and drawstring pants as last night. “Hi, Tom.”
“Hi, Henry. What’s going on?”
Rachel closed the door. There was no place for us to sit except the unmade bed, so we stood next to each other.
He rubbed his eyes. “I, uh, I was sleeping. Rachel was here.” His eyes darted at me nervously. “She was right here, in the chair, not next to me or anything, okay?”
“It’s fine, Henry.” I hid a smile. “Nothing to worry about.”
“And I was pretty tired, so I went to sleep right away. Right?” He looked at Rachel. She nodded. “And I didn’t have any dreams. I mean—I sort of felt Rachel, but it wasn’t—it wasn’t anything.” He looked at the floor. “There was something else. Like something calling me, but I couldn’t hear it. Like it was too far away.”
“Okay.”
“Then just now—I was eating breakfast in the cafeteria, and I was humming a song, and—” He looked up, smiling. “It was the song! From my dream. And I remembered everything.” Henry sighed,
Rachel and I exchanged a glance. She looked happy. For the first time in days.
“What song?” I asked.
He sang: “‘There was a farmer had a dog, and Bingo was his name-oh.’ You know that?”
A dog. “Uh-huh. It’s an old song.”
“Yeah. The thing is, I had a dog named Bingo when I was a kid. He was just a mutt, but he was a good dog. He was my dog. I guess I named him after the song.” Henry laughed, but then his face grew dark. “That’s when I remembered—well, the rest of it.”
I waited. Sometimes silence is the best way to get someone to open up.
“My best friend when I was a kid was Mitch. Mitch Haining. He was older than me, and he was kind of mean, but I didn’t have a lot of friends. People thought I was strange. That was before—anyway, Mitch hated dogs. He hated Bingo. Bingo didn’t like Mitch, he’d hide when he came over, or barked and growled at him all the time. And then—” Henry closed his eyes. “One day Mitch just killed Bingo.”
Henry’s voice started to tremble. “Bingo was barking at him, and Mitch kicked him, and he kept kicking him, over and over and—I couldn’t stop him. No one was home, my mom was at work, and Mitch just kept kicking him and then stomping him until—until he was dead. And Mitch just laughed.”
“That’s horrible,” I said.
“Yeah.” Henry looked up and wiped his eyes, reaching for a tissue. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t say anything. I buried Bingo in the backyard, and I just—I didn’t say anything to anyone. I told my mom Bingo ran away.”
“There’s more,” Rachel told me.
Henry threw the tissue away. “Mitch got arrested. He, uh, beat up his girlfriend. Stabbed her, but she didn’t die. He showed up at my house, to hide, and there was blood all over his clothes. The cops caught him in my house, and I told them about Bingo. He started screaming at me, and the police took him away, and—I don’t know what happened to him after that.” He stared at the floor again, breathing hard, as if reliving the memory had exhausted him.
“What town were you in?”
He looked confused for a moment. “P-Park Ridge. Why?”
I looked at Rachel. She said, “Henry, Tom’s going to have to tell the police about Mitch. He has a friend—”
“No.” Henry’s face jerked up. “You can’t. Mitch will—he’ll—I can’t—”
“You’re safe here,” Rachel said, her voice protective and reassuring. “No one can get inside without—” She glanced at me. “Nothing will happen.”
“The police will just want to check out where Mitch is,” I said. “To see if there’s any connection. Chances are they won’t want to get you involved at all. I mean, even if you could identify Mitch from your dreams—”
“It’s him.” Henry was nodding. “He was humming that when he—when he killed Bingo. And those other people. I’m sure it’s him.”
“You can’t testify to that in court,” I told him. “Trust me, the police will want to leave you completely out of this. But with a name they can look for evidence, and you won’t have to get involved.”
Henry bit his lip until I was afraid he’d draw blood. Finally he sighed. “All right. I’ll—I’ll help if I can. I just can’t take any more dreams.”
“I know.” Rachel nodded. “Get some rest now, and—”
The door opened. It was Dr. Stenholtz. “Rachel? Mr. Jurgen? What are you doing here?” His face was definitely not pleased.
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