SCANNER JUNKE

Rain twisted the world outside the window, turning people on the street into ghostly apparitions. Ahead of the Honda, an array of flashing lights cut through the night, a beacon for those who would come. Those like Luther.

It was hopeless. He couldn't see a thing. Disgusted, he rolled the window down, letting the rain bite his face, and within moments he was miserable, but at least he could see. He could see the crowd of onlookers, shivering on the sidewalk. He could see the barrage of emergency vehicles jutting from the curb. And at the streets edge, under the twisted branches of a towering oak, Luther saw the body. It lay silent in death, shrouded in a crimson sheet.

A river of raindrops streamed across his face, numbing his cheeks with their bitter cold. He rubbed his hands between bursts of warm breath. Watching. Waiting.

There was commotion ahead.

Thirty yards to Luther's left a young paramedic hopped from the passenger seat of the yellow vehicle and walked casually to the rear. He cursed the rain as he opened the double doors and unlatched the gourney.

Luther's eyes drew a path from the ambulance to the body. He smiled. They would likely come within a few yards of the Honda, giving him a clear chance to see the wound. He wanted to see the wound. The wound was important.

He chuckled to himself before pulling a bic from his shirt pocket. He bit the cap and pulled it free. With the plastic piece wedged between his yellow teeth, he searched the pages of his tattered book.

As he hunted for an empty page he admired the others. He had added several entries in the last two weeks alone, making this month his most productive in years. Of those fresh pages, three were devoted to the young mechanic from Dainsville. He followed the broken script, reliving the scene as he read. As the words passed through him, he saw the young man's startled glance, his sunken chest, and the crushed cement block who's pieces lay scattered beneath the fallen car. Luther smiled in fond remembrance.

Not all of the wounds had been so massive, but most were just as deadly. The cop's sudden death at the Stop 'N Go remained Luther's favorite. It was vivid in his mind.

He had pulled into the convenience store after hearing the scanner shriek with the voices of panicked officers, cursing as they pleaded for backup.

An armed robber waited inside, and was growing desperate by the minute. Luther had just brought the car to a halt when the store window shattered. The officer was crouched on his knees, checking the chambers of his pistol when the bullet struck. A cloud of red spray exploded in the air. Luther watched in awe as the man grabbed the gaping wound in his neck. He tried to scream, but a broken gurgle was all he could manage. The unmistakable look of acceptance fell across his eyes. He knew he was gone, but he struggled in vain as his life withered away.

The letters trailed. An empty page jumped at Luther, driving the lingering sights and sounds from his mind. He watched the street, hungry for details that would let him relive this drama in the days and weeks to come. Details like blood.

Blood was a good sign. A blanket of red covered the street tonight. Luther imagined a swarm of bullets stinging the victim, or perhaps a series of violent knife thrust had ended this life. Some of the best wounds were knife wounds, and he had seen some fine examples. There was that one--the bouncer. He flipped through the pages as quickly as he his cold hands would allow. His fingers caressed the awkward script before freezing on the page.

"Ah!" he whispered. This was it. This was the one. Luther quickly remembered the 300 plus pound bouncer, moaning as he cradled his insides on the dirty sidewalk. The man had been the loser in a skirmish over a young bar-girl. Luther had beaten the police to the alley where he found the victim holding his stomach with a bloody hand, ignorant of his deadly wounds as he wrestled his attacker. Luther saw the color drain from the man's face before his grip weakened and he collapsed to the sidewalk. The killer bolted. His footsteps disappeared in the distance as the man began to cry, adding tears to the river of blood. The blood--Oh God. Luther had never seen such blood. It poured from the helpless man like a macabre waterfall and refused to stop until the moans fell quiet and the heart lay still.

"Hey!"

Luther's trance dissolved. He closed the book and squinted through the darkness. A face appeared. Luther gasped and his posture stiffened. "Yes officer?"

The cop's face hovered in the window frame. Luther guessed if he stood straight he'd be a tall, imposing figure, but his height was dilluted as he leaned against the car.

"You live around here?"

"No, officer."

"Visiting someone?"

"No, just goin' for a drive. Thought I'd stop and wait out the rain."

"Well you picked a bad spot. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"Yes, sir. No problem, Sir. No problem at all." Luther draped one hand casually over his journal while the other lunged for the ignition. The officer gripped his arm as the car boomed to life.

"What's that?" the cop asked, pointing to the notebook.

"Paper...just paper." Luther shuffled in his seat as the officer studied him carefully.

"Then you won't mind..."

"Oh--Oh no. No, not at all."

Luther inhaled before handing him the journal. The officer kept his hands in the car as he leafed through several pages. He grimaced. His eyes left the page to focus on Luther, and then to the police scanner mounted on the dash. "So you're one of those damn peepers, huh?" Luther watched the book fly past his face, landing in the passenger seat with a muted thud.

"I-uh, no. Well I...It's not--"

"Shut the hell up, pervert!" Luther did. "Listen," the officer whispered as he leaned further into the car. "If you like this stuff you follow me, ok? You just follow me and you can stare all you want and get it over with, all right?"

The officer ignored Luther's nods as he turned and marched across the street.

Stunned and confused, Luther shut off the car and stepped into the rain.

After a short walk that seemed like miles, the men halted with the corpse at their feet. "Well go on," the officer said. "You're a peeper--peep."

Luther's glance fell to the shroud below. His mind raced. This was wrong, very wrong, but there was nothing he could do. This was his hunger, his life. He was a junkie and death was his drug. He had to see the body. He had to.

He turned to face the officer. He was gone.

Luther was alone with death.

He stood for a long moment before peering anxiously over both shoulders and then to the ground below. He knelt gently, his open hand hovering mere inches from the body.

His teeth clenched tightly, sending waves of pain through his jaw and into his skull. He ignored them, bringing his hand closer, until at last, he touched it, and when he did he touched it more. It wouldn't hurt him now. It's just a sheet. A harmless, bloody sheet. He let the folds gather between his fingers and tilted his head to the rain. He wanted to wait. He wanted to absorb it all at once, to let the full experience flood his senses in one great moment. His restraint shattered. He pulled hard. The warm, sticky feel of fresh blood flooded his palms. His lungs filled, and his eyes opened painfully wide. His heart drummed a mad, punishing beat, when at last, he looked.

Nothing.

Only the dark grey asphalt of the empty street.

The cold rain needled his astonished face, as he dropped the sheet to the ground. The world seemed behind the foggy window again, distorted, disjointed. He stood alone, trembling when the voices came.

"What a shame." the officer said to a young man in greasy overalls. Luther found them standing beneath the oak. For a long moment they just stood and stared. First the two, then a third--a tall, gruff figure who emerged from behind the tree. Luther felt his knees weaken at the man's bitter gaze, staring not at him, but through him at the body that wasn't there.

That's when he noticed.

Luther's eyes narrowed as his mouth fell open. He turned to run, stumbling through the dark.

He squeezed his hands against his head, but it was useless. He couldn't deny his horror. He couldn't deny the jagged flesh dangling from the officer's neck;he couldn't deny the sunken chest, the leaking stomach.

He tripped in panic, falling hard to the ground. The warm, sticky sensation of fresh blood filled his palms once more. He faced the sheet again, whimpering in madness.

"Please...oh God...Please...."

The young man bent over Luther, head tilted, curious.

"How was it done?" he asked.

"Oh--probably an axe." the gruff one said, raising the cold blade high. As the handle came to rest above him, his bowels spilled to the earth.

Luther stuttered as the blade descended.

There was no time to scream.