by Tim McBain
Phillip dabbed daintily at the corners of his mouth and then folded his napkin, placing it on the table.
“Well?” he asked.
Chloe picked up a crumb of bacon leftover from her cheese fries and popped it in her mouth.
“What?”
“You practically dragged me here as your hostage.” Chloe rolled her eyes, but he continued. “I assume there was a reason for it.”
“You saw a clown. I saw a clown. Don't you think we should compare notes?”
“First of all, I saw clowns. As in plural. As in five of them.”
She waited for him to go on, but he did not.
“What's the 'second of all?'”
“Nothing! I saw five clowns. That's it.”
She slid her phone out of her pocket and set it on the table. A greasy smear was left behind when she swiped the screen. Before proceeding, she licked her finger clean.
A map appeared.
“Show me where you saw them.”
Flicking his finger over the map, Phillip scrolled until he found what he was looking for. “Here.”
Chloe leaned closer to take a look.
“That's only a few blocks from where I found Rick's bag.”
“Who's Rick?”
“My... friend,” she said. She'd almost made the mistake of adding boy in front of friend. “He never made it home last night, and then I found his bag just abandoned a couple blocks from his house. I figured the clown thing has to be connected.”
She jabbed at the screen with a black fingernail.
“Rick's bag was here. I saw one somewhere over in this area. You saw them here. They aren't very far apart.” The map zoomed out. “And look. There are all those woods right there. Maybe they've got some kind of... I don't know... clown lair hidden in there.”
She waited for Phillip to say how ridiculous that sounded. Clown lair? Had those words actually come out of her mouth?
Instead, he nodded. “Yeah. OK. That would make sense.”
When he didn't say more, she stated what she felt was the obvious.
“We should go check it out.”
Phillip recoiled as if she'd physically pushed him.
“Absolutely not. This is a police matter, obviously,”
With one eyebrow raised, Chloe tilted her head and stared him down, not speaking.
“I assume you've filed a police report about your missing friend. It is your civic duty.”
Vinyl creaked as she pressed her back into the cushion.
“Right, and that worked out so well for you. You know everyone thinks you made it up.”
Phillip closed his eyes and waggled his head back and forth. “That's a simple misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding that could be cleared up if we go out there and find proof of this evil clown activity.”
His head kept on shaking, lips pressed together in a line.
Chloe leaned in and lowered her voice, trying to sound grave. “Is it not sometimes a citizen's duty to take matters into their own hands, if that's what it takes to keep the public safe?”
Phillip's head stilled, and he squinted at her.
“I feel like you're twisting my words,” he said, rubbing a knuckle along his jaw. “But I suppose if we found some hard evidence that we could take to the police, something that would convince them to take us seriously... that would be judicious.”
Chloe slapped her hand on the table top.
“See? That's what I'm saying. Super judicious.”
Chapter Twelve
October 30th
3:26 PM
The engine idled and cut out as Chloe parked the car next to the playground where she'd last seen Rick.
The day felt different now. When they were talking about it in the restaurant, it had seemed more like an adventure. But now that they were out here, out where it felt a little desolate despite being in the city, there was something more ominous about the whole thing.
She climbed out and closed her door more gently than usual, not wanting to slam it for some reason. There was a dull thunk as she locked the doors and pocketed the keys.
The two swings in the playground moved freely in the breeze, and Chloe couldn't stop herself from imagining a pair of ghost friends sitting in them. Rick's ghost? Nope. Stop thinking about creepy stuff. Besides, she thought, Rick's ghost wouldn't be playing on a damn playground. He'd be trying to figure out a way to get his non-corporeal hands on cheap beer and underage booty.
The wind kicked up, rustling through the dry leaves. A metal road sign shuddered in the gust, emitting an eerie whine that sent a cold shiver up her spine.
Chloe felt jittery. Too many Coke refills at the diner. She pulled her hoodie tight around her body and zipped it all the way up to her neck.
Midway between the playground and the squat, she stopped and pointed at the ground.
“This is where I found the bag.”
Phillip nodded, then began circling the area, eyes on the ground. When he reached the chain-link fence that bordered the sidewalk, he dropped to his knees and began sifting through the pile of dead leaves collected there.
Chloe jammed her fists in her hoodie pocket.
“What are you doing?”
He paused only briefly to give her a patronizing look before he returned to sweeping the leaves away.
“Uh, looking for proof. Isn't that the whole point of us being out here?”
The tip of Chloe's tongue jabbed at her lip ring and wiggled it to and fro.
“And what exactly do you think you're gonna find down there? Clown droppings?”
Phillip scoffed.
“It's called trace evidence. Have you ever even seen an episode of CSI?” Leaves swished under his hands as he pawed at them. The way he used both hands to clear them away reminded Chloe of someone swimming the breast stroke. Phillip continued. “You're the one that dragged me out here on this flippin' goosechase.”
Before she could come up with a witty retort, Phillip gasped and froze.
“Oh geez. Oh my good gravy.”
From her position, Phillip and the heap of leaves he'd scooped out of the way obscured her view of whatever he'd found.
“What is it?” She took a step closer and saw the red stains on the concrete. “Holy shit. Is that blood?”
Phillip scurried away from the spot, but Chloe moved in on it, crouching to get a better look at the splatters.
She let out a long sigh, realizing only then that she'd been holding her breath.
“Relax. It's just red spray paint.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because blood would have dried and turned brown by now. And look,” she pointed to a patch of graffiti on the wall of a nearby building. The tag was the same shade of red as the paint on the sidewalk.
“Phew,” Phillip said. He attempted to laugh, but it sounded forced. “Now what?”
Chloe pointed to where the path led further into the wooded area. And though golden leaves could be seen drifting to the ground like confetti, she couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding.
Their feet crunched over the path. The warm glow from the afternoon light filtering through the yellow and red canopy above them gave the forest an enchanted aura. Chloe started to feel silly at how spooked she'd gotten before. She got out a cigarette and lit it. A piece of stray tobacco stuck to her lip, and she brushed it off with a finger.
“So it's true, then?” Phillip said, as if continuing some prior conversation. “You're a witch?”
She snorted.
“People are so judgmental. You eat the heart of the frog you were dissecting for biology class one time, and everyone acts like you've gone over to the dark side.”
He stopped walking and just stared at her.
“Phillip, I'm kidding! Jesus.”
She tore a sassafras leaf from a branch and shredded it into tiny bits.
“Is this about me not saying Grace before? Just because I don't swallow all the bullshit like everyone e
lse doesn't mean I'm a witch. Or a satanist. Or whatever else they call me.”
Chloe shook her head, taking a long drag on the cigarette. She couldn't believe that even Phillip Turdholder bought into that crap.
Her mother was – not shockingly – furious over the head-shaving incident.
“What were you thinking? And what's going on down at that school of yours that kids can just shave their heads willy-nilly? Is anyone even watching what you're doing or is it a free-for-all?”
Chloe smirked. Willy-nilly. Such a mom phrase. The rant continued.
“Do you have any idea how long that's going to take to grow out? You look like a cancer patient! What am I going to tell people? This is so embarrassing.”
Chloe's anger – at first just a mild simmer – raged into a full boil. Of course her mother would make this about herself and about how Chloe was humiliating her. So typical.
“Why? Why would you do something like this?”
Chloe very calmly answered, “I wore your fucking outfit, didn't I? You said I got to pick how I wore my hair.”
Her mother's nostrils flared, and she jabbed a finger toward the stairs. “Your room. Now. You are grounded, missy. You hear me? Grounded!”
It was the first of many ineffective groundings. When Chloe came home with the most recent addition to her piercing collection – her lip – her mother hadn't even bothered.
“Put as many holes in your head as you want. What do I care?”
Chloe immediately imagined herself with a bullet hole in her forehead. Had her mother meant it to sound like that? Or was she only talking about more piercings?
In any case, it wouldn't have mattered if she had grounded Chloe. For one, she barely had anything to be grounded from. For two, the last three times she'd been grounded, it hadn't stopped her from sneaking out her window to go to shows or Rick's or sometimes to just walk around town at night.
At school, she heard many explanations for her shaved head. Her favorite was the one where she'd cut off her hair as a sacrifice to the devil. No one bothered to actually ask her the real reason. She supposed she wasn't totally sure herself back then. It had been a mostly impulsive act. When she took the razor that day, she hadn't even been sure she had the balls to do it. It was mostly a fantasy until the moment the vibrating shears took away a section of her golden hair. And then she knew she had to go all the way.
It was strange, really. She felt a power in her otherness now. Before, when it had been about her body, she'd despised it. But now, when it was more about her being a head-shaving weirdo, there was something comforting in the way people stared. She was in control. She had chosen this.
Of course there were moments of despair. She was still lonely and missed having friends. Having someone to sit with at lunch. Someone to text when the teacher wasn't looking. But she wasn't surprised at the superficiality of her peers.
But no one dared to look at her chest or try to grab her now. Her male teachers would barely look her in the eyes. It was a while before she realized that they were afraid of her.
When Chloe's hair grew out a bit, she dyed it black with a package of hair dye she bought from Walgreens. This further enraged her mother, who rushed her to a salon and told them to do whatever it took to get it back to Chloe's natural hair color. They over-bleached it, leaving Chloe with platinum locks.
“Better than that ghastly black. What are you, a Satan worshiper now?” her mother said on the drive home from the salon. “You shave your head, quit soccer and volleyball, and now this? What's gotten into you?”
Better, indeed, Chloe thought. She ordered more dye off the internet the next day, using the new platinum as a blank slate for a bright blood red. Her mother was practically hysterical.
“I am done. Done! Do you hear me? I have half a mind to send you to one of those boot camps so someone else can straighten you out.”
Back to the salon they went, where the stylist informed her mother that any further bleaching would likely cause Chloe's hair to break off or fall out. Her mother raged at them for a while before giving up.
A rumor went around that she had boiled and skinned her pet rat and used its blood to dye her hair red. She shook her head, almost laughing to herself. Seriously? She didn't even have a pet rat. Where the hell did they come up with this stuff?
As they got deeper into the woods, the sounds of the city vanished. Chloe could no longer hear traffic in the distance. It smelled good, too. Like rain and leaves and maybe even a little bit of dirt, but in a pleasant way. She thought about lighting another cigarette but decided against it. She wanted to enjoy the fresh fall air for a little while longer.
Her fingers discovered something in her hoodie pocket then. It was hard and round. Pinching it between her fingers, she pulled it free. She didn't immediately recognize the small, yellow sphere, but then she realized it was a Lemonhead that must have escaped the box yesterday. Sweet, she thought. Pocket candy.
She popped it into her mouth.
“So what else have you heard?”
Phillip swung his head around to face her. “Pardon?”
“About me. What other juicy gossip?” She held the candy between her gums and her cheek while she spoke.
“I hadn't heard the frog thing before, actually.”
“Yeah, I made that one up myself.”
“What? Why?”
“I don't know. Just seemed like something people would say about me. Or believe about me.”
They walked on, leaves crunching underfoot.
“I remember hearing something about you putting a hex on your math teacher for giving you a bad grade.”
“Right! I forgot about that one.” Chloe clapped her hands together. “Did you hear the one where I had a voodoo doll of the principal that I was using to get free hall passes?”
“I heard that it was a voodoo doll of the football coach you were using to make them lose their games.”
“Nice!” She chuckled. “I hadn't heard that variation. As if they need my help losing games. They suck enough on their own.”
“Oh, and then there was the thing with the hot do-”
Phillip's voice cut off, and Chloe watched bright pink splotches form on his cheeks.
“The thing with the what?”
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Forget it.”
“Because I thought you were going to mention the time I porked myself with some hot dogs at a party.”
She didn't think it was possible, but his splotches got brighter.
“That actually might be my favorite of all, really,” she went on. “I mean, how would that even work? Did I take the pack of franks to a bedroom so I could have some romantic time alone with them? Or did I just hop up on the kitchen counter and start going at it, right next to where people were doing keg stands and shit? Plus there's the nickname that goes with it. Oscar Mayer? Sheer brilliance.”
She sighed.
“Anyway, that'll teach me to crash a Cool Kids party.”
It hadn't even been her idea. For some reason, Molly thought it would be hilarious to go to a high school party, and Chloe just went along with it.
“It doesn't bother you that people say those things?” Phillip asked. The spots on his cheeks had started to fade.
“I'm used to it,” Chloe said with a shrug. “They're all losers anyway. Why should I care what they think?”
By the time they reached the other end of the trail, the sun was beginning to set. They'd found nothing.
“This is stupid,” Chloe said. “Did we expect there to be a bunch of clowns just chilling out here in the woods? And we're just going to stumble upon them? We're idiots.”
She turned around and started to head back the way they came.
“So that's it?” Phillip hurried to keep up with her. “We're just giving up?”
“There's nothing out here, man. Besides, it's gonna be dark soon. I guess we could try again tomorrow, but I don't know what we're looking for at this point.”
They walked on in silence. A bird trilled from the tangle of branches above them. Under the canopy of the trees, it grew darker by the minute. Chloe felt like they were walking through a big leafy tunnel.
“Maybe we could set some kind of trap,” Phillip said after several minutes.
“A clown trap?”
Phillip scratched the back of his head. “Well... yeah. I guess.”
“And what?” Chloe asked. “We use some cotton candy as bait? Elephant ears? Circus peanuts?”
She started to laugh, and at first, Phillip thought she was making fun of him, being mean, but he realized then that she was right. The entire thing was silly. He started to chuckle too.
“We are a couple of nincompoops, aren't we?”
Chloe clapped his shoulder, laughing harder. “Total nincompoops.”
Chapter Thirteen
October 30th
6:44 PM
Annie didn’t know that they could take her baby. The state. The Department of Child Services. She didn’t know it was even possible until the social workers came and got him.
Now she stood on the roof of the apartment building, and she looked down at the ground four stories below. If there were a high enough bridge in town, she’d have gone that route. Better to jump into the river or into the ocean. Some body of water. The sea below this building was made of asphalt, but it would do the job. She was certain of that.
Time heals all wounds. That’s what people said, but it wasn’t true. Some wounds were fatal, and all of the time in the world made no difference.
She’d been making a grilled cheese sandwich when the knocks rattled the apartment door, and she knew right away that these weren’t welcome knocks. In her experience, authority figures had a way of making their status known without saying a word. They broadcast it in their posture, in their walk, in their rapping upon peasant doors.
She cried after they’d gone, after they’d plucked him from his playpen. She cried and cried and cried, finding herself unable to stop. The sandwich burned, a black mess adhering to the frying pan, thick smoke crawling along the ceiling, stinking up the whole apartment, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.