We Are Always Watching

by Hunter Shea

  “Yet, here we both are,” James said.

  “Back at the scene of the crime.”

  James went to the refrigerator to grab a can of soda. He’d always been like that, able to make himself right at home. It used to drive Matt’s parents up a tree.

  “You know who I ran into?” Matt said. “Andrea Lender.”

  James wiggled his bushy eyebrows. “The hot babysitter who was warm for your form?”

  “I didn’t have a form when I was ten.”

  James chuckled. “True. You were always a late bloomer. How’s she looking?”

  “Old. Older. Just like the rest of us. She invited me to her house for cocktails.”

  “Don’t go without a chaperone. You remember all about stranger danger, right?”

  Matt swatted his arm. “She doesn’t live too far from here. Hope I can avoid her.” And he hoped she was avoiding him. Something in the way she looked at him screamed stalker!

  “So, where’s your son? You say his name was North?”

  “West,” Matt corrected him. “Kim Kardashian is not his mother. Thank God. He’s outside somewhere. Kid’s a bookworm. He reads horror, the more twisted the better. Debi used to worry that exposure to all that craziness would turn him into a serial killer. He’s way better adjusted than we were at his age. The most horror we saw was Ms. Jullian’s underpants that day her skirt fell down when she was at the blackboard.”

  James wagged a finger at him. “That’s right! Now I remember.” He shivered. “I divorced Annie, my first wife, because she wore granny panties.”

  The soda later became a beer, and even though it was pressing ninety degrees, Matt didn’t feel the encroaching heat in the kitchen. Thanks to James, he was a kid again, at least in memory.

  Matt hadn’t had a beer in well over a year. It was the last thing he needed. At the moment, he didn’t give a frog’s fat ass if it brought on the spins.

  At one point, James grew serious and said, “I’m real sorry about your mom. Man, she was a saint.”

  Matt was taken aback. “All she ever did was roll her eyes at you.”

  “Saints are not the most fun to be around. But she tolerated me, and she didn’t pull a Lorena Bobbit on your dad. To me, that makes her a saint. I kind of looked at her as a second mom, albeit one of very few words.”

  “She really liked you. She said as much the day you left. She said, ‘You know, I’m going to miss Jimmy. He was a good kid. A little brash, but you evened each other out.’”

  James put his hand over his heart. “That really means a lot. No joking. Is she over at Oakland Cemetery?”

  Nodding, Matt said, “Yep, right with all the other Ridleys. My dad will be the last to go there. I’ve already got a sweet land deal in the Bronx. Got a great view of a nice pond and Duke Ellington’s grave.”

  “You shitting me?” James said, sucking foam caught in his mustache.

  “Nope. I tried for Miles Davis, but all of the real estate was taken.”

  They drank in silence for a bit. James went to the window. “Maybe it’s the beer talking, but how about we visit your mom? I’d like to pay my respects properly.”

  At first, Matt thought it was just about the strangest thing his old friend could think of. On the other hand, he’d been hoping to do the same thing himself ever since they’d gotten here.

  “You okay to drive?”

  James patted his ample belly. “It’ll take more than three beers to throw me off my game. I know it’s weird, what with us having fun and all, but after what you said about her, I just want to see her, metaphorically. As I get older, I realize I have to do things while they’re fresh in my mind or else I’ll never remember or get off my ass to do them.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. Let me call West inside.” He tried to stand, but ended up plopping back down in his chair. “Three beers is more than I’ve had in total since my accident. You’re going to have to help a brother out.”

  “Sweet. Now I get to drag your drunk ass around, just like we had planned to do when we were in college.”

  James brought him to the back door, a beefy arm around his waist. Matt called out for West as loud as he could.

  His son replied, “I’m right here, Dad. I can hear you.”

  Right here was under the shade of the picnic table. Sure enough, he had a book in his hand.

  ***

  James seemed like a nice guy. He was pretty funny.

  And he provided a perfect distraction, taking West’s mind off of Faith for a while and getting them away from that creepy ass house.

  On the way to the cemetery, he shared a slew of stories about him and West’s dad when they were teens. His father cringed during a couple of them, especially the one about dropping a cherry bomb in the school toilet, but there was always a smile close behind.

  “You used to cut class?” West said.

  “Only gym, and only when it was the last period of the day. We were both on the baseball team. We didn’t need gym to get us in shape.”

  “That’s not what Mr. P thought,” James said. “A month of Saturday detention got our asses back in the gym, I can tell you that. Oops, sorry.”

  “West is fourteen. He’s heard far worse.” His father turned back in his seat, tugging on an earlobe. “I’ve heard you and Anthony when you think no one is around.”

  West felt himself redden. He and Anthony cursed like guests on The Jerry Springer Show when they were together, minus the bleeps. They were careful never to let the f-bombs fly in the presence of their parents or other adults. At least they thought they’d been.

  “It’s perfectly normal,” his father added to lessen his embarrassment. “You should have heard me and this guy when we were your age.”

  James chuckled. “Everything we learned we got from watching Eddie Murphy and George Carlin on HBO.” He flicked the blinker on. “There it is.”

  Oakland Cemetery wasn’t anything like the sprawling graveyards back in New York. The iron entranceway was devoid of rust, but it looked like it had seen its share of years. The entirety of the cemetery lay right before them. West figured there had to be less than a couple of hundred graves in all. The grass was lush and green, so someone was watering it. But it was a little overgrown.

  “Is this all there is?” he asked, moving up in the seat, wedged between his father and James in the front.

  “Yep,” his father replied. “Oakland is for the old families in Buttermilk Creek. I’m talking the ones that really reined in the farmland in the late 1800s. Each parcel holds a family plot, with main stones in the center showing the last name and the surrounding smaller stones for each person buried there.”

  There were no trees in Oakland Cemetery, or rolling hills or fancy statues. It was, in a word, utilitarian. The sun was directly overhead, so there weren’t even spooky shadows reaching from the old tombstones. In West’s limited experience, it was the least scary cemetery he’d ever seen.

  “Where’s Grandma buried?”

  His father pointed it out to James. “It’s to the right, in the back. That one with the brown sandstone.”

  James pulled as close to the Ridley plot as he could, helping West’s father out of the car and walking with him. West had smelled the beer on their breath and knew his father was a little looped. He decided he liked his father buzzed. He’d have to ask James to come over more often.

  A hawk cawed high overhead. West hoped it wasn’t feasting on something that had popped up from the century old graves.

  The Ridley marker stood over four feet high. The edges were chipped, the chiseled writing faded a bit, but they could still make out the big RIDLEY in the center of the stone. Surrounding it were very small stones, simple markers with first names and dates.

  “What the hell?”

  West froze. His fathered wavered a moment in James’s grasp.

  “What’s wrong,” West asked, moving around his father.

  Two of the headstones were covered in spray paint. He could still
make out the names underneath the looping, red scrawl. One was for Violet, his grandmother.

  The other was Stella’s.

  On his grandmother’s had been written – FOREVER UNDER OUR

  On Stella’s – WATCHFUL GAZE

  “Those motherfuckers,” his father literally spit out, seething. “Those goddamn motherfuckers.”

  “Jesus, I’m so sorry, man. Holy crap,” James said. None of them could take their eyes off the desecrated graves.

  West’s hands and feet went cold. It felt as if his heart had dropped into his stomach.

  No one was safe from the Guardians. Not even the dead.

  He heard James whisper, “They’re still around?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  After hanging up with Matt, all Debi wanted to do was grab a car and race home. She’d never heard him so angry before, and that was after two years of enduring his simmering rage.

  She wanted to be there with him. With West.

  God, he must be so scared.

  Even though Monika lived in a studio apartment in Pelham, last week she’d asked Debi to bring the family and stay with her after hearing about the Guardian insanity. Logistically, it would have been impossible.

  But right now, Debi didn’t care. Even if they had to sleep under Monika’s bed, it would have been preferable to spending another day in that farmhouse.

  She checked her watch. It was only 2:15. The bus wouldn’t be here for another couple of hours. Until then, she was trapped with an overflowing tide of emotions. The first tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked around to make sure no one saw, wiping them quickly with a tissue.

  Debi ran to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall.

  Her hands shook so bad, she almost dropped her cell phone on the unsanitary floor.

  She barely heard the door open and the clicking of heels. Covering her face in her hands, she let the tears run freely, struggling to keep as quiet as possible. Debi couldn’t stand women who cried in the office or back in school. She’d been around her share of steady weepers. She never saw men break down and cry when their days went sideways.

  Now she was one of those women – and she didn’t give a damn.

  There was a light knock on her stall door.

  “Debi. You alright?”

  She sucked in a big breath, tasting the salt of her tears. “I’ll be fine, Monika.”

  “That’s not the way you looked when you came in here, hon.”

  Sniffling, Debi said, “You really are everywhere.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  Debi turned the silver lock on the door. When Monika saw her sitting there, irregular lines of mascara on her cheeks, she rushed in to wrap her in a hug.

  That did it. Debi bawled into Monika’s shoulder, soaking the fabric of her cream blouse. She couldn’t help herself. It felt as if all of the stress and fear of the past year was pouring out of her.

  “What happened that’s got you so upset?”

  It took a couple of minutes to compose herself enough to speak without hiccupping in starts and stops.

  “It’s getting worse,” was all she was able to sputter.

  Monika smoothed her hair. “Is it Matt?”

  Debi shook her head. “The… the Guardians. They desecrated the graves of Matt’s mother and sister.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Are Matt and West okay?”

  “Yes. They’re with one of Matt’s old friends. He took them to his house. I just want to be there with them. Matt’s flying off the handle and I can only imagine how terrified West is right now. But I have to wait for the damn bus!”

  Unrolling the spool of toilet paper, Monika placed a wad in her hands. “Here, dry yourself up. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just stay right here. I’ll lock the door behind me so no one comes in.”

  Monika hurried away, the lock engaging with an echoing click. Debi got up and stood by the sink.

  You’re a mess. Pull it together.

  She ran some water, using the toilet paper to wipe off her makeup. Her eyes were red rimmed and glassy. No way to cover that up. At least the well had run dry… for the moment.

  Monika was back five minutes later. She had a key ring on her index finger. “Here, take these.”

  “You’re giving me the bathroom key? I’m better. I’ll wait it out at my desk. Not sure how much actual work I’ll get done.”

  Monika gave a half-smile. “These are the keys to one of the company cars. Take it and get to your family.”

  She dropped the keys in Debi’s hands. “But those cars are only for the executives. I could get fired.”

  Resting a hand on her shoulder, Monika said, “Hon, who do you think controls who gets to drive those cars? Now, go to your desk, grab your purse and get out of here. And call me when things settle down.”

  Debi was at a loss for words. She hugged her friend, fighting back a new wave of tears, these of gratitude, and opened the bathroom door. Behind her, Monika said, “You’re all clear from here to the garage. Frank Daniels already left for the day. And remember my offer.”

  If Debi ever needed proof that guardian angels existed, she had it now.

  ***

  Matt had had the phone in his hand, just to drop it on the couch at least a dozen times in the past hour. James’s parent’s place was a comfortable faux cabin. His parents were retired psychologists. The living room was lined with stocked bookshelves. It screamed intellectuals reside here! The central air ran cold, but it was comfortable. James told him they were visiting some old colleagues and wouldn’t be back until after dinner.

  “I’m telling you, man, just call the cops.” James sat next to him on the couch. West was across from them in one of those rocking chairs you buy at Cracker Barrel.

  “Believe me, I want to.” He picked up the phone again, running his fingers over the 9 and 1 buttons. “They’re just going to tell me to contact the caretaker and take my statement. It’s not an emergency.”

  West spoke up. “It is if we tell them everything. Stalking is a crime. They’ve even been in the house!”

  Matt shook his head. “We both know that, but where’s the proof?”

  “The notes! What they wrote on the mirror in the living room and bathroom.”

  Matt cringed. He’d forgotten that he and Debi had spared West the details about what had happened in the bathroom. So when he explained it to James, West naturally heard every word.

  “West, what was on the mirrors is gone and we can’t definitively show the police that the notes we found were in the house.”

  James took a long swallow from a can of soda. “Maybe if those assholes see some cop cars around, they’ll get the hint that you’re not like your old man. You’re serious about putting a stop to all this. That could be enough to scare them off.”

  The lump of dread in Matt’s stomach burned like battery acid. He was dizzy, but his anger refused to let it take center stage like it usually did.

  How many times had he been in West’s shoes, begging his father to alert the police? He’d even threatened to run away if they didn’t. His mother always sat there stoically, cold fear visible on her face but refusing to say anything that would be counter to his father’s demand that they ignore the messages and move on with their lives.

  “No Fuckhead Faulkner is gonna run me out of my home!”

  “But I’m not saying we should run! We need the police to find them and arrest them.”

  “I said no goddamit! This doesn’t leave the farm.”

  Oh, how Matt had hated his father. Sometimes, he lumped him right in with the Guardians. Both existed to make his life miserable.

  Staring at his lap, Matt said, “It won’t make them stop. But it will make things worse.”

  “Worse than defacing your family’s graves?” James said. He’d been the only person Matt had confided to when he was a kid about the Guardians. That’s what you did with best friends, even when your parents made you swear never to tell anyone under penalty of unimagi
nable punishment. Matt needed someone to share his family’s dark secret. To his credit, James had kept it to himself. They’d even plotted ways to catch the Guardians, culling ideas and contraptions from Road Runner cartoons. The only problem at the time was that there was no ACME store to supply them with gadgets, anvils, and dynamite.

  Matt had told James almost everything, which really just amounted to ominous notes found outside the house. The intrusions into the house were a new twist.

  Maybe if he’d told his friend everything, he’d understand why Matt was conflicted about calling the police. He sure as hell couldn’t clue him in now, not with West a few feet away.

  Swallowing hard, Matt looked to his son, then his childhood friend. “There is a chance. Yes.”

  When his cellphone rang, all three of them stiffened.

  “We’re not too jumpy,” James joked, shaking his head.

  It was Debi.

  “We’re fine, Deb. Really. No, we’re staying at James’s place for now. He’s okay. You’re in a car? Whose car? Oh. That was really cool of her. Yeah. Yeah. We’ll sit tight until you get here.” He cupped a hand over the phone. “James, what’s the address?” Matt repeated it to his wife, who was crossing the George Washington Bridge.

  “See you soon.” He paused. “I love you, too.”

  “Mom’s driving?” West said, going to the window.

  “Her friend Monika got her a company loaner car. She should be here in a little over an hour. Maybe less, knowing her.”

  “And then what?” West asked. He fingered the blinds, flipping the slats so they opened wider.

  “I don’t know. Your mother and I will talk about it and decide together.”

  James rose from the couch, motioning for Matt to walk with him.

  “I’ll be back in a sec, West. You okay?”

  West nodded. “Can I turn on the TV?”

  “Absolutely,” James said, handing him the remote. “We’ve got satellite, so you only have about a thousand channels to choose from.”

  “You have Chiller?”