He laughed. "Okay, fine. You know what I like."
She walked from the backdoor to him, her nose close to his. "Yes, baby, I do." She kissed him quickly on the lips and then turned to walk back.
He grabbed her with his free hand, drew her close and kissed her hard. When he was done, he drew back.
She was flushed. "And that'll get you everywhere later," she whispered.
As she walked away, she turned to smile at him over her shoulder. The gesture made everything seem so normal, as though he hadn't spent the last couple of days in the nut-hatch.
Trey sighed and turned back to watch the sun. It was completely below the houses, nothing left but a fading glow.
"He changed," Alan had said.
The boy hadn't been able to explain it in any detail, but he had been close to saying something important. Trey was sure of it.
Bells. Distant. Trey swung his head toward the sound. It was getting closer, louder. Trey stepped toward the house and then stopped. The grubby man's lined, wrinkled, and angry face jumped into his mind. He shook it aside, clenching a fist.
"Not, now," he whispered.
The image left him, the world snapping back into reality. Heart thrashing in his chest, he went into the house and headed to the front door.
He peered through the tempered and warped glass. The world beyond seemed jagged and out of focus. The bells grew louder. Trey reached for the door knob and stopped.
"The Ice Cream Man. Traveling the blocks again? This late?" His skin tingled with electricity, heart still slam-dancing away.
"If you go out there," a voice inside said, "you're going to panic again." Trey's fingers began to loosen from the metal knob. "You're going to pass out in another fit. Or worse."
"Face. Your. Fears," Tony Downs' voice said in his mind.
Before Trey could stop himself, his fingers swiveled the knob and the door creaked open. That inside voice, the child within, screamed in fear. Trey stepped through the open door, closing it behind him. The bells were deafening. Across the street, Dick was already on his front porch, glaring at the oncoming van. Trey continued walking down the front deck and onto the driveway. He didn't bother looking up the street. Instead, he focused on Dick, watching as the man turned to follow the van's approach.
The bells. Trey closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them. In his peripheral vision, the cream-colored van came into view. Trey felt blood pounding in his ears, his electrified skin, and the buzz of fear. But he stood his ground.
The van was in full view. Ice Cream Treats. Sandwiches. Yummy! Trey smiled. The blood red words and images of children being tortured were gone. He blew out a long hiss through his teeth and watched the van head to the cul-de-sac.
"Nothing, nothing, nothing," he thought.
The van rounded the cul-de-sac, the bells blasting loud enough to hurt his ears. But he didn't care. The van. It was nothing more than an ice cream van. Plain and simple. Trey watched as it passed him again. The passenger side window was dark. Trey's smile faded. Glowing yellow eyes stared at him from the van's cab. He felt dizzy, but managed to stay on his feet.
"Hey!" Dick's voice said above the din. Trey turned his eyes to the front of the driveway. The big man strode toward him, a warm smile on his face. "You're back!"
"Yeah," Trey said, extending his hand. Dick's grin was infectious. "They let the cuckoo out of the nest."
"Uh-huh," Dick said. His smile faded a little as he pointed to Trey's arm. "How's the arm?"
Trey looked down at it. The pain from hitting Tony had subsided quite a bit, but it still ached. "Doing okay, I guess." He raised his eyes to Dick's and smirked. "You just want to know if I can still play disc golf, don't you?"
Dick laughed. "That obvious?"
"Hell, yes." Trey put his good arm on Dick's broad shoulder. "And this time I'll have an excuse for sucking."
"No you won't," Dick said. "Not like it's your throwing arm." He turned toward the sound of the ice cream van's bells. The van had moved off the T and was heading deeper into the neighborhood. "Fucking. Hate. That. Thing."
"Yeah," Trey agreed.
Without turning, Dick asked "You feel okay? You looked a little wobbly."
Trey shrugged. "No, I'm all right. I just--" Trey dropped his eyes. "I just need time."
Dick nodded and turned back to Trey. The smile on his face had returned. "All you need, bro. I'm here, okay?"
One corner of Trey's lips raised in a smirk. "Yeah, you fat fuck. You're always there."
"Ha," Dick said. "Juvenile. Very, very puerile." His grin grew wider. "I'm proud of you. Never thought you'd descend to my level."
"Well," Trey chuckled, "was bound to happen sooner or later."
The sun's glow had finally disappeared from the sky leaving the street shrouded in deep shadow. Headlights broke through the gloom.
"Guess dinner's here," Trey said as Carolyn's car pulled into the driveway.
"Yeah," Dick said. He clapped Trey on the shoulder. "Let me know about disc golf."
He walked back down the driveway, saluting Carolyn as she pulled the car into the garage. Trey watched him go, the smile still on his face.
Chapter 42
The morning walk to school, the return to routine, was somewhat cathartic. He'd managed to keep from passing out after seeing the Ice Cream Man the previous night, but he'd still seen something that wasn't there. When Carolyn and Alan came home with a bucket of fried chicken and all the fixings, Trey had put it out of his mind.
He'd listened with interest, catching up on Alan's days at school and Carolyn's stories about her pain in the ass client, or "The Jackass" as she referred to him.
Alan had laughed at that. When the boy started braying like a donkey at dinner, Trey had nearly spat a piece of chicken across the dining room table.
Even Carolyn had been laughing when she told Alan to stop it, all three of them giggling at the dinner table like nothing had happened the last few days. None of them mentioned his time away and Trey had been glad of it.
That night, he'd dreamed of the grubby man. But he hadn't screamed. He'd been back in the dank, pitch black, shit smelling closet, his hands rummaging through turds and puddles of piss to find anything with which he might cover himself.
Trey had awakened with a start, but was surprised to find he wasn't sweating or screaming. Instead, he felt drained.
In the bedroom's darkness, the monotonous sound of the heater broken only by Carolyn's soft snores, Trey flexed his fingers, playing the chromatic scale.
The grubby man had let him go. The grubby man had gotten what he wanted-- complete submission.
Trey wondered what had caused the man to fracture into that beast. Parental? Something later in life than childhood?
Trey knew if he saw the man, he'd remember to ask him before he killed him with his bare hands.
"That could have been Alan," he thought, "instead of me.
Fast forward all these years, and that sonofabitch could still be out there, another child trapped in a closet, sitting in its own feces, hungry, terrified, and cowering in the darkness. Another child.
He had shivered then, rolled onto his side, and pressed his naked body against Carolyn's. Within moments, he was on the verge of drifting off.
Tony Downs' voice spoke in his mind: "Face. Your. Fears."
As he closed his eyes and headed toward deep, dreamless sleep, he'd smiled.
It was the best sleep he'd had in a long time. He was almost late in getting Alan up for school and out the door. The two of them walked fast through the dark, brisk morning to the school.
Alan was bundled up against the morning chill, but Trey's teeth chattered as the air bit through his light jacket.
There were more parents that morning than he had seen in quite a while. He meant to ask Alan what was going on, but figured he just hadn't gotten Alan to school this late in a long time.
Rather than walking back the same old way, and to warm up from the chill wind, Trey woun
d around the school toward the wood-lined path that snaked through the neighborhood. The subdivision, a little more forward-thinking than most, had actually left most of the forest intact around it, as well as through it.
People could walk for miles around the perimeter of the subdivision, hidden by tall pines and oaks. Although they kept the edges and the path itself neat and tidy, the rest of the green belt was unmaintained and as wild as they could keep it. It was one of the reasons he and Carolyn had moved there.
Although the oaks had long since shed their leaves to the forest floor, the pine tree branches still obscured the path; it was difficult to see through the tangle of green and brown to the road just beyond. Hearing the cars, however, was easy enough. Sometimes, late at night, he'd walked the path in the dark, marveling at the silence and stillness of the forest when no cars prowled the streets.
But at that time of the morning, the road was filled with commuters heading to work. The hum and growl of engines made the forest buzz. Trey wanted to take a deep breath of morning air, but knew it would taste like the end of a tailpipe. He had to wait until the path deviated further away from the road.
Eyes. Were those really eyes he kept seeing in the ice cream van? Yellow? Crimson flames within them?
Trey stopped in the middle of the path and closed his eyes. He calmed himself, willing his heart to slow, breathing deep despite the horrid tang of the car exhaust.
Eyes. The eyes.
He pictured the Grubby Man. His eyes had stared down from behind a long nose, wrinkled in one place and slightly off center. It had been broken before. The eyes had been wild and crazed, but they were green. Normal.
The Closet Man, was not a boogeyman, nor was the fucker in the ice cream van.
Trey shivered again as the wind rushed through the path, the bare branches clacking together like skeletal applause. He opened his eyes, staring down the concrete path.
Eyes. Bright yellow eyes with crimson--
"What the fuck is it about the eyes?"
He continued walking. Up ahead, the path hit a T intersection. The neighborhood was filled with the damned things. He'd have to cross the street before continuing down the trail.
A rather stout woman stood at the curb ahead, fiddling with something on the stop sign. Trey slowed. She was dressed in very heavy clothes and shivered despite them. Stray strands of blond hair darted out from beneath a blue, woolen cap.
A pile of poster-board squares sat at her feet, gently lifting and collapsing in the wind. He stopped, watching as she picked up two of the squares and stapled them together below the red octagon.
"Good morning," Trey said, still some feet away from her. She turned toward him with a start. Her eyes were red as though she'd been crying. From the streaked make-up that looked at least a day old, he thought that was a pretty good guess. He raised his hands. "Sorry, ma'am. Didn't mean to scare you."
She nodded. "Have you seen my son?" she asked, picking up one of the poster-board squares and handing it to him.
Trey looked at it and frowned. The sign had a black and white picture of a large boy wearing an angelic grin. Below the picture were his age, one year older than Alan, his height, 3 inches taller than Alan, and his weight, at least 30 pounds heavier than Alan.
Trey stared at the picture. "I think I may have seen him at the school."
Her face brightened, the weariness disappearing in a look of desperate hope. "When did you see him? Today? Yesterday?"
Trey paused. Fuck. Should have thought about that before I said it. The poster-board in front of him said the kid, James Keel, had been missing since Wednesday evening. He shook his head.
"I'm sorry. I meant I think I've seen him in the past. When I pick up my son."
Her face fell. With a slow nod, the look of despair returning, she cast her eyes downward. "Yeah, okay," she said. "Can you do me a favor?"
Unsure what to say, Trey nodded back to her.
"Will you keep an eye out for him?"
"Yeah," Trey said. An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them. "Um, when did he go missing?"
She looked at the poster-board, and then looked back up at him. "Just like the sign says."
It was difficult, but he somehow managed not to roll his eyes. "I mean when exactly. Was he at school?"
The woman nodded. "He was at school all that day. And then--" She swallowed hard and wiped a tear from her cheek. "He never came home." She raised an eyebrow at Trey. "Do you walk your boy to school?"
He nodded. "To and from, nearly every day."
"Were you there that day?"
He opened his mouth and then closed it. No, lady, he thought, I was in the booby hatch getting my shit together. "No. I was, um, on business for a couple of days."
"Okay," she said in a whisper. "Just wondered."
"I'll talk to my son, though," he said. "I mean someone must have seen something."
She nodded. "The principal's going to talk to the kids today, ask them if they know anything."
"Good," Trey said. "Look, I'm sure we'll find him, Mrs. Keel."
"Helen," she said.
"Helen. I'm Trey Leger," he said, offering his hand. She shook, but still didn't meet his eyes. "Helen," he said, waiting until her eyes met his. "We'll find him."
"Sure," she said. "I have to post more signs."
"Do you need help?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No. This keeps me busy." She wiped another tear away with her chapped fingers. "I want to be home, waiting for his call, but I know I'll go crazy there."
"You forwarded it to your cell?" he asked.
"Yeah. If he calls, I'll get it."
The silence between them stretched out. Trey wanted to hug the woman, tell her it would be okay.
"I have to get back to work now," she said. She reached down, picking up the remaining poster-board squares. "Nice to meet you, Trey." She walked down the road's sidewalk, heading toward the neighbor- hood entrance.
Trey watched her go, wondering just how many street lamps and stop signs she'd already visited that morning.
He picked up his feet and continued down the path. Did his parents go through something similar when the Grubby Man had kidnapped him? Did they cover the neighborhood with posters? He couldn't remember. With both of them dead now, he'd never know what happened.
He crossed the street and headed deeper into the forest area. The wind still managed to bite him through the heavy growth, but he'd stopped shivering. Another twenty minutes and he'd be home. He hoped James Keel would be home soon too.
Chapter 43
The morning led to afternoon. According to the thermometer hanging from the pine nearest the house, the temperature was 52 degrees.
Trey sighed. The damned thing always lied. It was in the shade all year round so it never managed to be accurate during daytime. The bright sun had been unfettered all day, free to cast its rays upon the world.
Remembering just how cold he'd been that morning, Trey bundled himself in a fleece and shrugged into his leather jacket. Once he started walking, he was sure it would get too warm.
He stretched his back. He'd spent the day in his chair pouring through dozens and dozens of emails. Responding back to his client regarding a work stoppage was always tricky. Also, the folks in Bangalore were pissed he hadn't explained why he'd dumped their code. It never ended.
Another file of code cleaned up. Another round of passed tests. Getting back into the routine was good, but every time he stopped running the code through his head, Helen Keel popped into his mind.
James. That baby-fat, angelic face staring back at him from white paper. Was Helen done posting all those signs in the neighborhood? Had she moved on to other neighborhoods?
He walked out the door and into the sunlight. As soon as he started walking down the road and toward the school, he knew he'd been right about dressing too warmly. He sighed to himself, putting one foot in front of the other. A few cars passed him on the road, stay-at-home Moms and Dads hea
ding to pick up their kids. He didn't understand why more of them didn't just walk.
The school became visible through the trees. Trey looked toward the far end. The ice cream van, its bells silent and panel door closed, was parked just beyond the trees. In a few minutes, it would open and the Ice Cream Man would wait for the children to come streaming out of the school.
Although Trey had a difficult time imagining anyone buying ice cream on a day like today, there was always the candy.
He walked up through the parking lot. Cars lined the street at the side of the school, crowding the turnabout beneath the awning, engines running. There were no other adults standing at the curb near the playground. Trey frowned. Had he missed something? Or...
Trey nodded to himself. As he had walked to the school, every stop sign, yield sign, and "Slow Children At Play" sign had been plastered with the Keel poster. The Boogeyman was among them. Everyone was certain of it. Kids would walk in large groups, be forbidden from playing outside without adult supervision. They would be carted everywhere when possible.
He turned to look at the ice cream van. He saw nothing behind the tinted driver side window. But that wasn't surprising. The Grubby Man would-- Trey shook his head. "He's not the Grubby Man," Trey whispered. "He's not."
The school buzzer sounded, the insect-like drone drowning out the low collective rumble of idling engines. Trey watched the van's side panel rise. The Ice Cream Man locked the hinges into place. As before, the shadowy darkness of the van's interior made the man appear spectral.
"Not," he told himself, "the grubby man."
He heard the sound of swinging doors and the sudden cacophony of conversation.
"And here come the kids," he said aloud. The smile on his face felt awkward. The children weren't running. They weren't streaming toward the ice cream van the way they did last time he was there.
His brow furrowed.
Through the crowd of children, he spied Alan. While the rest of the kids walked fast, either toward the parking lot to meet their parents or toward the playground, Alan walked with a slow, deliberate pace. Trey smiled. His son looked less than happy, but at least he was there, safe and sound. "Hey, kiddo," Trey said as Alan approached. "How was your day?"
Closet Treats Page 13