Lance Brody Omnibus

by Michael Robertson Jr

“So is it true?” Susan asked, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms beneath her broad chest.

  “What?” Lance asked.

  “Can you help us?”

  Lance chose the honest answer. “I can try.”

  Susan, whose face had been hard and unreadable most of the time Lance had known her, offered a grin and nodded her head. “At this point, that’s all I want. Somebody to keep trying.”

  Lance got the feeling that suddenly the woman’s hard exterior was softening, and the resurfacing of her brother’s disappearance was weighing heavily on her.

  “It’s been so long,” Susan said, and now Lance was certain her eyes were forming tears. “But I’ve never given up hope.”

  Lance had been down similar roads before and hoped his face did not betray his knowledge that he was almost certain all these boys were dead—Chuck Goodman included. His mission was to find out why, and to save future victims. The answers would give families closure, but it would not bring their brothers and sons back. God, how Lance wished he could change the past.

  Susan took a deep breath and composed herself, wiping under her eyes with her index fingers and offering a small chuckle. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not usually one to blubber all over the place.”

  Lance asked Leah, “Should we talk here, or go somewhere else?”

  “Wait,” she said. “You haven’t told us what happened to you yet. How’d you end up in a police car, and how did it wreck?”

  Lance shook his head. “No time right now, but trust me when I tell you it’s bad news, and people—the police, for starters—are probably looking for me. So is it safe to stay here, or not?”

  Leah considered this. “Let’s go to my room behind the office. That way if somebody does show up looking for you, I can show them your room and they can see you’re not here. Maybe they’ll think you ran off, skipped town, whatever.”

  Lance nodded. “Fine.” He grabbed his backpack and followed the two girls out the door, hoping there wouldn’t be a Westhaven police cruiser sitting in the parking lot, waiting like a snake ready to strike.

  The sky had grown cloudy, and the air had cooled. A strong breeze rattled through the motel’s overhang, and Lance shivered at the memory of the wind that had knocked him back last night. But the parking lot was empty except for Susan’s 4Runner and the Honda Civic he had assumed was Renee’s. As they walked the short distance to the office, Lance glanced to his left and saw the paper mill’s smoke curling up to meet the incoming gray clouds.

  Inside the office, a middle-aged woman with long black hair graying at the roots was behind the counter. She looked up from a paperback she’d been reading and, upon seeing Leah, straightened up. “Hey, Leah, I didn’t think you’d be back till later.” The woman’s face reddened softly, as if she’d been caught breaking the rules. She added, “I finished all the items on your list. Didn’t take long.” She laughed nervously. “Been a slow morning.”

  The woman’s eyes were tired, and Lance wondered when the last time she’d gotten a full night’s sleep had been. The dark circles said it had been a while. Her fingernails were painted red, but it was a sloppy job, and the black zip-up hoodie she was wearing had a few obvious stains on the arms and chest. She looked like a woman hanging on for dear life.

  Leah smiled, and instantly the woman’s face relaxed. Lance, special as he was, knew it didn’t take his gifts to be affected by the warmth Leah exuded. “Thanks, Renee. I appreciate it. But, hey, why don’t you go ahead and go home for the day? I can handle it from here. I’ve got some things to work on.”

  Renee’s face fell, and it looked as though she was searching for something to say. Leah beat her to the punch. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay you for the whole shift. My treat—for all the hard work you do around here.”

  Renee smiled, and though her teeth were coffee-stained and an upper molar was missing, there was no denying the appreciation it carried.

  “Go on, get out of here. Go spend some time with your kids. Get some rest.” Leah nodded toward the door, and Renee thanked her again and again and then was gone without so much as a simple introduction to Lance and Susan.

  When the office door closed behind Renee and the Civic’s engine rustled to life, Leah said, “Daddy would kill me if he knew I’d just let her do that.”

  “It was nice of you,” Lance said.

  Leah nodded. “I feel so bad for her. Sweet woman, but she’s made some bad choices. Great worker, though. Can always count on her. Amazing, when you consider she’s got three jobs. I wish I could pay her more.”

  And that was the end of that. Leah took a look around the office, tidied some things up behind the check-in counter, and then headed to her bedroom. Lance and Susan followed.

  The small television was on, but the screen held nothing but static. The volume was turned down completely. “Ugh, I hate it when this happens,” Leah said, walking over to the set. “Thing turns on by itself sometimes and always just hits an empty channel like this.” She reached to hit the power button.

  “Wait,” Lance said, his voice dry, his pulse quickening.

  Leah froze, her hand an inch from the power button.

  Lance stared into the black-and-white static of the television screen and watched as the gray outline of a figure revealed itself, popping in and out of focus in a strobe-like fashion. Just a gray mass at first, and then edges shifted and aligned and became more defined, falling into their correct place.

  It was the dead boy from the bathroom mirror, staring back at Lance with those intense black eyes. Only now … now, Lance would swear the face looked… sad. Pleading, almost. Lance wanted to reach out and touch the screen, wanted to talk to this ghost in the machine. But just as the thought hit him, the figure vanished, replaced by more blurred static.

  “Okay,” Lance said. “You can turn it off now.”

  Leah turned the television off and stared at Lance. Susan shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to do.

  Lance thought about the boy’s face, about the new sense of sorrow he seemed to pick up on. Then it hit him. He looked to Leah. “Do you have a picture of Samuel?”

  19

  Lance had asked Leah if she had a picture of her brother before he’d fully realized what he’d done. He was now desperate to see what Samuel looked like, but he knew that seeing the picture and then possibly being forced to explain his request in front of Susan Goodman was not something he should do right now. With Leah, in private, maybe. But not with Susan. Nice as she was, and regardless of how trustworthy Lance assessed her to be, there was no way he was going to share his biggest secret with two people in one day. It was too risky. Plus, he and Leah had bonded, formed more than just a hey-can-you-do-me-a-favor relationship. Lance was certain of this, and he figured Leah could feel it as well.

  “Yeah, of course I do,” Leah said, taking two steps toward her dresser.

  Lance spoke quickly, trying not to sound panicked. “Okay, cool. Show me later, okay? I want to talk to Susan.”

  Leah stopped and met his eyes and—boom—just like that, she got it. “Yeah, you’re right. Susan’s already done more than she thought she’d do today. Right?” Leah gave the woman a playful swat on the arm and sat down on her bed, motioning for Susan to join her.

  Susan’s eyes shifted between Lance and Leah, clearly understanding that there was something more going on than she realized, but either she didn’t want to understand or she just respected whatever the two of them were up to. God bless her, Lance thought.

  Susan laughed, though it sounded forced. She sat on the bed, her weight sinking down into the old mattress. “No biggie. I have to work the game tonight anyway.”

  There was silence then. Outside the wind picked up again, and the building shook and rattled with a particularly strong gust. Lance’s mind again floated to his attack the night before, and that jump-started his train of thought.

  Lance’s size had always intimidated people. Whether on the basketball court,
or just in everyday life, when you were six-six, people noticed, and with this size came an unwarranted air of power and authority. Lance didn’t really understand it, but he accepted it. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t used this to his advantage on an occasion or five. But this wasn’t one of those times when he wanted to intimidate. Susan Goodman was a good woman who, like Leah, had suffered a great loss, and she might have some information that could help Lance keep others from having to experience the same thing. He needed Susan relaxed. He needed her to open up to him.

  Lance closed the door to the bathroom and then sat down on the floor and leaned against the door, his long legs stretched out in front of him like he was just hanging out with some buds, about to shoot the breeze for a while.

  Susan Goodman stared at his basketball shoes.

  “Size fifteen,” Lance said, grinning. “And, yes, they’re real.”

  Susan looked up, looked back to Lance’s shoes, and then up again. Then she busted out with a laugh so loud and infectious the three of them were in near-tears in a matter of seconds. When the laughter died down, Susan wiped the tears from her face and all at once grew very solemn. She took a deep breath and said, “Chuckie wore a size fourteen. I always joked he could be a clown if football didn’t work out.”

  Lance gave her a minute to relish her own memory of her brother, then he softly asked, “Tell me about him. What was your brother like?”

  Susan became a burst pipe, spewing anything and everything about the late (presumed) Chuck Goodman.

  Chuck and Susan didn’t seem to have had the same relationship that Leah and Samuel had enjoyed. Susan admitted to using her power as the older sister to torment Chuck—Chuckie—when he was a young child, and she’d continued the job well into their adolescence. As Chuck had gotten older, he’d started to tease and torment back. But at the end of the day, the harassment between siblings had been mostly of the playful nature, and the two had genuinely loved and respected each other.

  “He punched a guy once,” Susan said, looking past Lance and seeming to stare at the wall as she spoke. “For me, I mean. We were in the high school parking lot, and some guy said my ass was—how did he put it? ‘Too big for my britches.’” She laughed. “Chuckie walked right up to the guy—some sophomore who thought he was hot shit because he dipped on school grounds and drove a pickup truck that clearly compensated for a tiny dick—”

  Boy, she remembers this very clearly, Lance thought.

  “And then Chuckie said, ‘That’s my sister,’ and socked the guy in the gut. Poor kid hit the ground and gasped for air for what felt like five minutes.”

  “Did he get in trouble? Your brother?”

  Susan and Leah both laughed then. “You kidding me?” Susan said. “Football players at Westhaven are like the celebrities out in LA that get arrested for DUIs and picking up hookers. It brushes right off.”

  Lance nodded. He understood. He’d been granted such privileges as a basketball player in high school. Not that he’d used it to get away with being a troublemaker, but there were definite perks to being a well-respected high school athlete. Just ask one.

  Lance asked, “Was Chuck good at football? Like, could he play in college, even if just Division 3?”

  Susan thought about this for a moment, looking up to the ceiling and closing her eyes.

  When she finally looked down and opened her eyes, Lance watched as the tears began to stream down her face and his heart melted. “We always called him superstar, my family did,” Susan said. “We built him up, acted like if he kept working hard and stayed passionate, he could make something of himself with football. We all encouraged him because he just loved it so damn much.” She paused. “But honestly, no, he wasn’t great. He was just … big. I mean, look at me. My parents are big, and they made two big children. Not fat, mind you—though I could afford to lose a few pounds—but just … wide. Stocky. Large frames. Chuck lifted weights to put on muscle, but he was big without it. But he wasn’t quick. His footwork was always sloppy, and his reflexes were nothing to write home about. His size is what served him well on the team. If he got in your way, he was hard to move. But I don’t think that would have cut it at the next level.”

  Lance said nothing, just nodded.

  “But he always tried hard,” Susan sniffled. “Every day he did his best.”

  Lance hated to continue the questioning. It made him feel like a detective. But, in a sense, that was what he was. “No other trouble at school, or at home? Leah told me about your family’s store, about it having to close.”

  Susan nodded. “Yeah, that was a tough time. I had already graduated and was taking classes at the community college, so I wasn’t too concerned about Daddy saying the family was going to move. I had means to survive around here on my own. But yeah, Chuck was pissed. He didn’t want to leave his friends, and he certainly didn’t want to leave the football team. I think even then he knew that whichever new high school he ended up at, he might not make the team. Chuck wasn’t stupid. He knew his own limitations, even if we tried to give him a big head.”

  Lance waited to see if there was more, but when Susan didn’t say anything else, he asked, “But was he upset enough to run away?”

  Susan looked at Lance like he was stupid. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? The last thing on earth Chuckie wanted to do was leave his friends and team behind. My brother did not run away. I don’t give a shit what the fucking police said. These small-town Podunk bastards don’t even know which end of the gun to point out.”

  Again, Lance nodded. Then he went for the million-dollar question. “What about a girlfriend?”

  “Yeah, sure, he had a couple.”

  Lance and Leah both perked up at this, and Susan sensed their sudden interest, offering a concerned, “Why?”

  Leah turned sideways on the bed and pulled one of her legs underneath her. Facing Susan, she asked, “Was he dating anybody when he went missing?”

  Susan looked at Lance, then at Leah, and then she shook her head. “No … no, he wasn’t. He’d broken up with that Yates girl during the summer, right before football started up. He told me it was just a fling, anyway, and that he needed his head straight for Coach.” She laughed, a sad, weary laugh. “See what I mean? He loved that damn sport.”

  Lance felt let down, and he could clearly see Leah did as well. They’d wanted the answer to be yes. They’d wanted a name, a person to lay blame on and interrogate further. And then, as if their disappointment had sparked a rush of memory, Susan sat up straighter and said, “Although …”

  She looked down at the floor, her brow furrowed in thought. Lance stayed quiet, letting her work out whatever it was she was unraveling. When she finally looked up at him, she said, “He never said he was dating anybody, but there was the perfume.”

  “Perfume?” Leah asked, getting excited.

  Lance stayed calm. It was nothing, until it was something. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I used to stay up late, doing my homework at our kitchen table. Chuckie didn’t have a curfew—town this small, good kid like he is—it just wasn’t needed. Mom and Dad trusted him. In the last month or so before Chuckie disappeared, I can distinctly remember him coming home late—I’m talking one or two in the morning—looking half-stoned, and when he came through the front door and walked by me in the kitchen—I remember, God I remember like it was yesterday—I smelled a woman’s perfume on him.”

  Leah’s eyes darted to Lance, and he could see the fire in them, the flash of excitement that they might be on to something. Lance stayed realistic. “You ask him about it?”

  Susan shook her head and sighed. “No. I never did. I mean, I didn’t like to pry into Chuckie’s life. Tease him, sure, but I respected his privacy. He did the same for me.”

  “So it’s possible the perfume belonged to a friend, some girl who hung out in his social circle?”

  Susan made a face. “I … I guess so.”

  “But?”

  She
looked at Lance. “How much do you know about perfume?”

  “Let’s say zero, less.”

  “Right, okay.” Susan thought for a moment. “I guess the best way to explain is that the scent I smelled on Chuckie didn’t seem like something a high school girl would wear. It wasn’t all sweet and sugary and fun like a lot of the Bath & Body Works lotions and sprays. It was, I guess, more mature. It smelled more like something a woman would wear. Not a girl. Stronger, more floral.” When Lance said nothing, Susan said, “It smelled like something my mom would wear. That’s the last thing I can think to say.”

  On the one hand, Lance was deflated. They hadn’t really gained any new insight into what might be happening to the Westhaven boys. On the other hand, there was this one small connection: Samuel’s last words had been about going to see a girlfriend nobody knew about, and Chuck Goodman had come home smelling of perfume when his closest family had believed he wasn’t involved with anyone, having just gone through a breakup. Statistically, assuming Bobby Strang was truthful about Samuel’s parting words, two-thirds of the boys who’d vanished had a mysterious female presence linked to their disappearances.

  Lance, Leah, and Susan chatted a bit longer, and then Susan said she had to go. Lance gave her another hug and thanked her again for helping him with his injuries, and also for talking to them about her brother. At the door to the office, Susan stopped and said, “I don’t see how it’s possible, after all this time, but you’ll let me know if you find out anything, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” Leah said. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  Susan gave Leah a pained smile and then cast one final appraising glance at Lance before leaving. When her 4Runner was out of the motel’s parking lot, Leah turned to Lance. “What do you think?”

  Lance studied the clouds through the closed office door for a moment. “I think I’m ready to see that picture of your brother.”

  She nodded and took his hand and led him back to her bedroom.