by David Beers
“Yeah. It’s late.” She took a sip of her drink. John wasn’t sure what she had in it, only that he desperately wanted a drink of it, but couldn’t even ask. Harry had made it impossible for him to have alcohol in front of his whole family, regardless of how little of a lasting effect it had. Instead, John sipped a glass of water that sat on the table next to him.
The pool lights were on, letting it glow beautifully beneath the sky.
“Diane talked to me tonight,” Alicia said.
How long had they been avoiding all of this? Everyone, all night, hadn’t mentioned his mother’s grave or the awkwardness around the whole past week or so. Harry hadn’t even showed up tonight. He’d been talking up a storm earlier in the day, when Diane noticed. And John acted absolutely stupid in how he handled it, sitting there like some kind of invalid with the television muted.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“She said you’re having some problems. She didn’t know you didn’t go to mom’s grave.”
“And you were sure to tell her, huh?” John said.
“I didn’t know you hadn’t. I didn’t know I shouldn’t.”
Both were silent for a few moments, neither looking at each other.
“Is something going on?” Alicia said finally.
“I don’t know why everybody thinks that.” He knew he shouldn’t have said them as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew exactly why everyone thought it and so did Alicia.
“Maybe because you’re acting like you used to. Maybe because you didn’t come home until the early morning a few nights ago.”
John shook his head. Diane had told her. “What else did my wife say?”
“She’s scared, and I am too.”
John looked at the pool. He was simply glad Harry wasn’t here, because having this conversation with him hanging around wouldn’t have been possible.
“Why didn’t you come to the gravesite?” Alicia asked.
“I don’t have any answers for you,” John said. “I don’t have anything to tell you that’s going to make what I did better. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Alicia looked at him. “What happened that night I picked you up?”
John blinked, half not believing she asked the question. Five years ago he got in a jam and had no choice but to call her. To pick him up on the street. She never spoke about it, not until now, and he lived his life as if it hadn’t happened. Now here she was, asking about it—after all these damn years.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
No one said anything for a few minutes. John stood up, grabbing his glass of water, intending to go to bed.
“You’re going to lose everything,” Alicia said. He turned and looked at her but her eyes were fixed on the pool. “Whatever it is you’re hiding, or running from, you could tell us and we could help. If you don’t though, all of this will fall away. You’ll be left with nothing but yourself and whatever it is that’s so dark about you.”
John stared at her, wanting to say something, but found that he knew no words. He went inside to his bed, but couldn’t find sleep for a long time.
Diane opened her eyes and only saw darkness around her.
She never woke up in the night. Well, almost never. It took her mind a few seconds to warm up, to recognize her room and the windows letting the moonlight cascade in.
She woke up when her bed was empty, when she lay in it alone. Something about John’s absence always communicated with her unconscious mind, rising up to her consciousness until she woke.
Diane turned over in bed and saw only space where John should have been.
She blinked a few times and moved her hand over to his side of the bed, making sure that her eyes weren’t betraying her. She felt only the cold sheets beneath her fingertips. Diane sat up and looked around the room, trying to peer into the bathroom. The door was open but no lights on. No sound coming from it either.
“John?” she said.
No answer, just the heater blowing air in from the vents.
Diane reached to the nightstand and turned the light on. The room was completely empty and from what she could see of the bathroom—which was almost everything—he wasn’t in there.
She got up from the bed, went to the bathroom and grabbed her robe. She put it on and then walked out of the bedroom, moving through the house quickly, looking for her husband. She peeked into the kids’ bedroom, but he wasn’t there. Wasn’t in the living room. The kitchen. Outside.
John wasn’t here. At all.
She went back to the bedroom, nearly running through the house and grabbed her phone. She found John’s number and called.
The vibration came from the other side of the bed. His phone sat on his nightstand, buzzing.
Diane slowly let her hand drop to her side, and then let the phone fall to the floor. She walked over to John’s vibrating phone and picked it up, hitting end to her own call.
She searched the thing for thirty minutes and found nothing. Not a single text or email or call that lent any clue to where he was.
Not here in the house with his family. That’s all Diane knew.
“Where the hell were you?”
John opened his eyes, Diane’s voice shocking him out of sleep.
He blinked and turned over to see his wife standing at the bedroom door. Anger written across her face as if someone had actually used a magic marker to scrawl it on her forehead.
“What?” he said, his mouth sticky with sleep.
“You weren’t here last night, and now you are. Where did you go?”
John didn’t think he heard her right. He couldn’t have because he didn’t understand anything she said.
“What?” he said again, feeling stupid but not able to think of anything else.
“Listen to me, John, because I don’t want to keep repeating myself. Where the fuck did you go last night?”
John sat up, breaking eye contact and pulling himself up against the headboard. “Diane, I don’t know what you’re saying right now. You’re not making any sense.”
She laughed, a high and shrill noise that sent goosebumps up John’s arms. “I’m not making any sense? We have a party last night and you disappear at four in the morning. I’m the one that’s senseless. Jesus Christ, John. I can’t do this. Where were you?”
John raced through what he remembered about last night. Eating dinner. Talking. Everyone drinking wine. He and Mark playing darts downstairs for a bit. The conversation with Alicia outside, and then he had gone to bed. That was it. He didn’t have any idea what she meant about him not being here last night. He was here the entire night.
“Diane, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, looking over to her.
She shook her head, opened her mouth to say something, but only shook her head again. She walked out of the room.
Harry came to the bathroom door.
“She seems pissed,” he said.
“What’s she talking about?” John said.
“It would appear, from my vantage point in the bathroom, that she is upset you left last night.”
“I didn’t go anywhere, Harry.”
Harry stepped out of the bathroom and walked across the room. He grabbed the bedroom door handle and closed it. “John, you’re too smart to not figure all this out by now. How do you think I understand so many details about what we’re going to do? I have to take over sometimes, and I did last night.”
“You what?”
“You’re like a retarded owl sometimes, instead of saying ‘who’, you say ‘what’ repeatedly.”
John threw the blankets off himself. “You’ve been taking control of me? That’s what you’re saying? You took my body out last night?”
“Of course. I have to start looking for our next project, John. I know you won’t do it. You’ll sit there and stare at the muted television all day if I let you. Someone has to do the leg work if we’re going to be successful at this.”
&n
bsp; “What did you do?” John said.
“I just took a gander around Dallas, that’s all. Nothing that I haven’t done before.”
“Oh, Jesus,” John said, not in any way taking the Lord’s name in vain. He was calling for Him, wanting Him to intervene in someway. God, if you’re here, tell me this is a dream. Tell me this whole life is a dream.
“No dream, my good man. If I were you, I’d come up with some kind of story for her about what happened last night. Telling her you don’t know is going to lead to questions that we’re not going to want to answer.”
“You have to leave, Harry. You have to leave right now.”
“Sorry, sir. That ain’t happening. Now do you want to hear what I’ve been cooking up for us? I think you’re going to like it.”
“Fuck no! I don’t want to hear anything about it. Just leave me alone!” John stood up from the bed and walked past Harry, opening the door and leaving the bedroom.
“We made the goddamn paper, John.”
Harry sat on the couch with the Sunday paper spread in front of his face. “This isn’t good, man. This isn’t good at all. I’d hoped we would have a few weeks before they found that body. I mean, you dragged the damn thing out into the woods.”
John stood at the back door, looking out to his backyard and pool. Diane took the kids to football practice without saying anything to John. Just simply put them in the car and left. Now he and Harry occupied the house—just two guys looking to murder someone.
“The article mentions what happened last time,” Harry said.
“What happened last time? You mean where I killed a cop? Is that what you’re talking about because it’s hard to know when you use such coy language, Harry.”
Harry looked up from the couch. “You don’t have to be a jerk … yes, they mention the cop.”
“Do they say who is working this case? Any quotes?”
“Just the police chief. Nothing from the detectives. The reporter is leaning pretty heavy to it being you; I mean, not your name, but the same person who killed at that spot last time.”
“That’s good, huh? Really what we want to be happening,” John said.
“It’s not that bad. This has happened before. We’re not going to be able to murder someone and no one find out. You cleaned up; they don’t have anything to use.”
John sighed and turned around. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Afraid not, buddy,” Harry said as he turned the page. “Are you ready to talk about who’s next?”
John looked at Harry, though Harry focused on the paper. What was left of his hair hung lazily over his forehead; a large scar ran from his right eyebrow up to the crown of his head. Not a single piece of hair grew over that crevice riddled piece of flesh. His right eye drooped some, as if Harry was always about to fall asleep. Harry didn’t sleep though. Not unless you counted the past five years, which Harry most certainly would if asked.
Is this what you want me to do, God? Do you want me to follow this thing into oblivion? Because I don’t know how much of a choice I have anymore.
But as always, God remained silent.
“Who do you have in mind?” John said as he let go.
22
Present Day
Larry lived alone, and that was the one major reason Harry liked him. Harry had liked a lot of people over the time he and John shared their life (despite what John may have thought about that), but he wasn’t sure he ever liked someone as much as Larry.
Larry and Harry.
He got a little kick out of that. It added to the spark Harry felt between the two of them.
For much of John’s life, they did their deeds and then hid the body. They used Lake Tribec recently, but before that there were other spots. Remote locations where the chance of someone finding a body was less than had they killed in the city. Which was fine. Smart, really.
Larry, though … he offered a new space to work in, and Harry really liked that.
Because if Harry was being honest, things were growing just a bit boring. He and John had gone down this path before, too many times, and Harry wanted to venture out just a little.
Larry from Marketing allowed that to happen.
Lawrence Kolzet was his formal name, though Harry liked Larry from Marketing better. John didn’t know him yet, but Harry couldn’t wait to tell him. John carried around that Catholic Guilt everywhere he went, wearing it like a heavy coat regardless of the weather outside. He hemmed and hawed about everyone, but Harry knew—just as John did—that he was down for life. Hemming and hawing didn’t matter as long as John picked up that gun and did what he was made to do.
:).
Harry followed Larry for quite a few days. While John was lambasted by his family, Harry went to work. John would sit around and do nothing if Harry let him. They both wanted this, but John … he was lazy, Harry supposed. Without being pushed, he wouldn’t amount to a goddamn thing.
Oh, and don’t get Harry started on the God thing. That was perhaps the worst thing John ever thought up, thinking that somehow God would swoop down and deliver him from his affliction. As if. John just didn’t open his eyes. If God existed (and He didn’t), then God was as much to blame for this as anyone else. In fact, John truly couldn’t be held guilty, because all of this started long before he was even born. Wires crossing and different parts of the brain growing while others shrank; that all happened in the womb. That all happened under the direction of God’s hand.
Anyways, Harry could go down that road for a long, long time, if one were willing to listen.
Back to Lawrence of Arabia, or Marketing, or whatever.
The man lived alone. Not kinda sorta alone, in which he might have visitors—friends or lovers—come over from time to time. From everything Harry saw, the man spoke to no one outside of his eight to five at work. If ever an introvert had been born, Larry was that person.
Harry never had the chance to follow him home, but he did have the chance for a little breaking and entering when the rest of John’s house slept. He looked through the man’s house while he lay sleeping as well, trying to find a single reason that would make Harry think Larry wasn’t the man for this job. He couldn’t find anything, though. He even went through Larry’s phone—because the guy had no friends, he left his phone in the kitchen and didn’t bring it to bed with him. Guess how many calls Larry made the past month? Four. Once a week he called Domino’s. Looked like every Thursday night he had a pizza pie brought to him.
Harry couldn’t tell John these things, though—or at least how he found them out. John would lose his mind if he realized how much control Harry actually possessed some of the time. All of it necessary, though, if they were to pull this off without getting caught. And, to be honest, Harry was getting a little nervous about that. He didn’t like how quickly the police found the last body. He supposed it was pretty dumb to kill at the same place, because that immediately put the police back onto the same trail.
Still, killing in the same place was fun, had that cozy feeling of being at home.
And it might make this whole thing more interesting, by the end, because Harry didn’t really like the cop they let live. His name was Alan Tremock. Alan Tremock was a prick of the highest order, like if this was a church, he would be the High Priest of Pricks.
So, Harry wasn’t completely sad that Alan might be back on the case. Unfinished business, and all.
23
Present Day
Susan parked in the driveway this time, as opposed to the curb. She was alone, she and Alan deciding it best that she come talk to Mrs. Stinson one on one. She actually didn’t have to do much convincing; Alan recognized how close they had been to losing everything last time. Whatever else happened in Alan’s life, Susan felt sure he cared more about solving this crime than the rest. His career, wife, and even kids—all sat in the backseat until Alan … what? Avenged Teresa’s death? Hurt whoever hurt him?
Susan really didn’t know, but the question
s started mounting. She decided to go down this path with Alan. She believed in what they were doing, of course. They would find the bad guy and he wouldn’t hurt anyone else. The questions for Susan, though, weren’t centered on if this was right or wrong, but whether Alan was doing it for the right reasons. Would he be content with putting this guy away? Throwing cuffs on him and tossing him in the back of a cruiser? Or would he only be happy if he could put a bullet in the perp’s head?
Susan thought the answer to that question very important, perhaps should even decide whether they allowed Alan to stay on the case. But she wasn’t ready to ask him. Not by a long shot.
She got out of the car and closed the door behind her, then walked slowly up the driveway. Susan wanted to give the woman a chance to realize she was here, hopefully so that Mrs. Stinson could mentally prepare for what they were about to do.
Eventually, though, Susan reached the door and from there rang the bell.
“Hi, Detective,” the woman said as she opened the door.
“Hi, Mrs. Stinson.”
The woman sighed. “Time to get this started, I suppose. Come on in.” Mrs. Stinson stepped aside and opened up her house. Susan walked through the door, pausing to let Mrs. Stinson lead the way. “We can talk in the kitchen, if that’s okay with you?”
“That’s fine,” Susan said and followed her through the foyer. She glanced at the walls as they went, looking at the pictures this family deemed most important. Everyone smiling; some were of the whole family, kids included, others just Mr. and Mrs. Stinson.
Susan walked into a nice looking kitchen, well kept, with just the right amount of style put into it.
“Would you like something to drink?” the woman said.