The Mentor

by Lee Matthew Goldberg

  “Now, why would this man want to kill the alley cat that hangs around your house?” Detective Ruiz asked, his left eyebrow floating up to his hairline.

  Kyle broke down the highlights of everything that had happened over the past week. The book. The stalking. The thinly veiled threat. And finally Jamie’s undergarments stuffed where the cat’s heart used to be.

  “We see no signs of forced entry,” the detective added.

  “I leave this window slightly ajar sometimes, for Capone, the cat.”

  Ruiz and Jones gave each other a look that clearly said dumb ass.

  “I will remind you, Mr. Broder,” Ruiz began, “that you live in a first-floor New York City apartment facing a back alleyway. It probably isn’t the smartest idea to leave a window open for burglars.”

  Jones crossed her arms. “This girlfriend of yours, can we talk to her? Was she also here when you found the cat’s body?”

  “No…” Kyle said, immediately lying. He didn’t want Jamie involved at all. He figured it wouldn’t be good for the police to know that he kept this from her and they had sex after he discovered the massacre. By morning light, Kyle felt pretty grimy about not telling her. But it was as if he’d been possessed by what he’d seen, with no control over his actions.

  “If you read the book this guy is writing…” Kyle said. Both cops were inching toward the bedroom door, and he could feel he was losing them. “Real sick and disturbing stuff.”

  “Do you have this book?” Jones asked, exhaling through her nostrils. It was clear both of them had bigger crimes on their plates to worry about.

  “A coworker of mine has it now, but I can get it to you—”

  “That’s unnecessary for now,” Ruiz said, a meaty hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “We’ll contact the local sheriff’s station in Killingworth, and they’ll stop over to have a talk with your former professor.”

  “I don’t know what he’s capable of,” Kyle said, his teeth chattering. The window was still open and the October air had gotten bitter and cold.

  “We’ll keep you posted,” Ruiz said, “but usually these things have a logical explanation to them. The cat probably took your girlfriend’s underwear and met with a rabid raccoon outside.” He moved toward the door, but Kyle grabbed his arm. This surprised both of them.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Kyle said, and let go. Jones was looking at him screwy, her hand resting on top of her holstered gun. Did they think he was crazy? Or that—God forbid—he killed the cat? Ruiz’s raised eyebrow seemed to verify this. “I have a really bad feeling.”

  Ruiz rubbed his nose. “Look, it sounds like you and this guy got into it with each other. If you have clear evidence that he’s come after you, you contact us right away. But right now, man, what happened ain’t enough to do anything more than what we’re doing. And trust me, sometimes we create scenarios to be worse than they actually are.”

  “I’m not creating this—”

  Jones had already left the room, uninterested in Kyle’s pleas anymore.

  “I ain’t saying you’re making shit up. There is clearly a dead cat in your alley and it’s clear you cared for this cat, but that your old professor cut out its heart as a warning for not publishing his book? Man, that’s a new one for me.”

  Ruiz tucked his notebook back in his front pocket and gave Kyle a pat on his arm. “We’ll show ourselves out,” he said. “We’ll be in touch if the police in Connecticut are suspicious in any way.”

  Kyle heard the front door slam. He walked over to the window and took a final look into the alleyway. Animal control had arrived and was inserting Capone into a plastic hazard bag and the blood-soaked panties into another one.

  He shut the window so hard that the animal control guy gazed up in fright.

  * * *

  WILLIAM DECIDED TO jog home from Bentley College that afternoon. He left his clothes in a day bag in his office, changed into shorts, sneakers, and a T, and cut through the backwoods trails. He fought through the pain in his bum leg, actually enjoying its sharp burn. Halfway there, he passed by Devil’s Hopyard with the soul-stirring urge for a detour. So he went inside.

  A sliver of sun remained along the horizon when he entered, the place pretty empty. Instinctively he knew exactly where he wanted to go, heading into the park’s heart in its upper left region. The area hadn’t been kept up for years, the weeds growing tall and unruly. A dilapidated shack tilted into the wind, barely accessible because of a surrounding obstacle course of fallen trees and overgrown vegetation. He’d written about it recently, a crucial part of the text. He’d spent some time there again to get the description just right. After drilling the sight of it into his mind, he backed away and ran at top speed for the last few miles home.

  Reaching his block, he intended to head into the basement to do some boxing but felt his cell vibrating.

  “Hello?” he said, out of breath, clutching his heart as sweat pooled from his face.

  “William?” The voice sounded abrupt and demanding.

  Kyle? He almost asked, steeling himself for whatever Kyle’s response might be.

  “This is Brett Swenson at Burke & Burke. We met when you stopped by the office the other day.”

  “Yes?” William asked, swallowing a lump of phlegm that had been building in his throat.

  “Kyle gave me your manuscript, and I have to say it’s pretty brilliant.”

  “Yes?” William said again, choking now. He held the phone away from his mouth and got himself together. His heart was beating so fast it felt like his body was glowing, that he could just take off and fly away.

  “What a literary voice you have!” Brett said. “This professor is a sadistic motherfucker, but a villain for the ages. Stephen King would be proud.”

  “Stephen King read it?” William gulped, sitting down in the middle of the street, the world spinning around him.

  “What? No, he didn’t—well, maybe he will, who knows? Could you come down tomorrow to talk in person? Nine in the morning works for me. Do you have any more pages?”

  “I do. Many.”

  “Bring me whatever you have because I really like what I’ve read so far. I think I might be a better fit than Kyle for Devil’s Hopyard. He’s overloaded right now anyway.”

  William couldn’t see anything because of the tears blurring his vision.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice shaking.

  “Truly impressed, my man. See you tomorrow.”

  Brett hung up. William lay back on the street, the pavement cold underneath his head. He stared at the sky, an iridescent purple with clouds like thin bands of cotton and a moon on the rise. He let out a howl loud enough to cause a dog in the distance to bark along with him. He knew Devil’s Hopyard was something special and magical, and FUCK KYLE for ever making him doubt that. To be a writer meant learning what criticism to take and what to shrug off. Clearly Brett—who was higher up than Kyle—understood the book’s promise where a more inexperienced pair of eyes had been unable to see its genius.

  William sat up, feeling invincible, and that was when he noticed the sheriff’s car parked in his driveway.

  * * *

  ENTERING HIS HOME, William spied Sheriff Morris Pealey sitting on his couch with a cup of tea in hand. The sheriff had scraggily whitish gray hair, a handlebar mustache, and ice blue eyes. William had dealt with Pealey over a matter a decade ago, and the two maintained a polite small talk relationship, usually running into each other at Gussie’s General Store, which both tended to prefer to the giant Stop and Shop.

  Sheriff Pealey had aged since William ran into him last, probably pushing close to seventy years, a hair away from retirement, but he’d always said that would be his death. His wife, Ann-Marie, had passed some years back, and the town was his family, being responsible for cleaning up its undesirables and helping it become a destination for commuters. New York City prices kept skyrocketing, and people were becoming open to a two-hour commute if it meant they could have a nice backyard f
or their kids. Pealey had enjoyed seeing his town’s expansion and the fact that he’d be busier than ever thanks to its influx of new residents.

  “Sheriff Pealey, to what do I owe this visit?” William asked as he stepped into the living room. Laura caught his eye, seated on the couch next to Pealey, a cup of tea jittering in one hand while the other fiddled nervously with her cross necklace.

  “Sheriff Pealey wants to talk to you about what you were doing on Sunday,” Laura said, her voice shrill.

  “Sunday?” William asked, clicking his tongue.

  “I told him we were in the garden the whole day!” Laura said, placing her tea down to remove a wet tissue from her sleeve and giving her nose a good blow. “Sheriff, it’s probably the last chance we have for my squash blossoms before the season ends. William was putting his green thumb to use all day.”

  She took a deep breath, pleased with what she had said, and gave another blow.

  “I might have to have you come by my place this spring,” the sheriff said to him, stroking his mustache. “Ever since Ann-Marie…” He stopped, his clear blue eyes misting over.

  “I remember the creamed spinach that she’d bring to pot luck luncheons at the church,” Laura said. “Everyone always wanted more.”

  “Yep, gardening was her specialty,” Pealey said, his head hanging low.

  “What’s this about, Sheriff?” William asked, wanting to get this over with so he could dash upstairs to write, the glorious phone call from Brett still swirling in his mind.

  “Oh, probably nothing,” Pealey said. “Seems like you pissed off an old student of yours and he thinks you had something to do with his cat dying.”

  William let out a bark of a laugh, loud enough to startle Laura.

  “I’m sorry,” William said. “Did you say his cat?”

  “Well,” Pealey began, removing a notepad from his front pocket. He licked a finger and turned a page, grimacing from the rheumatism in his joints. “Apparently, Mr. Broder in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn, is accusing you of breaking in and harming the cat that lives in his alleyway.”

  “Absurd,” Laura said, squeezing at her wet tissue. “Just absurd.”

  William nodded patiently. “Ah, I know who that is. Kyle Broder, right?”

  Pealey glanced at his notepad. “That would be the one.”

  “A disturbed boy,” he said to Laura, who nodded in sync. “He was a student of mine ten years ago and got into drugs at the time. He was even arrested for it. You can check his records.”

  “I will,” Pealey said. “Name doesn’t ring a bell, but there’s certainly been a couple of Bentley students who caught the wrong side of the law over the years.”

  “Anyway, we’ve been in touch recently,” William began. “I was the boy’s mentor. Anyway, it’s clear he’s not healthy. But accusing me of killing a cat? And an alley cat, did you say? That’s ludicrous.”

  “That’s what I thought when the call came through, just wanted to stop by and get your side of it.”

  “We were in the garden all Sunday,” Laura added. “I can show you the squash; in fact, I could give you some leftovers mashed with cinnamon. We had it for dinner yesterday.”

  “That would be lovely, Laura, really.”

  “One moment,” Laura said, and darted into the kitchen.

  “Sorry about this, William,” the sheriff said.

  “Not a worry, Morris. I just hope the boy is all right. He seemed in a really dark place when we last spoke. If there’s anything I can do?”

  Pealey shook his head. “I find it’s best to steer clear of these types. Sometimes helping out can be the worst thing. You know the saying: We bite the hand that feeds us.”

  “Sure do,” William said, forcing a smile.

  Laura returned with a Tupperware container full of orange mush.

  “Now, stick this in the oven,” she said, handing it over. “Nuking will dry it out.”

  “Aye, aye,” Sheriff Pealey said, standing. “Sorry to bother you, folks. You have a good night.”

  William walked him to the front door. “You too, Sheriff.”

  Pealey headed to his car, gave a salute good-bye, and drove off. When the car rolled out of sight, William dropped his smile and swallowed the ball of bloody spit that had collected in his mouth from gnawing on his tongue like it was a piece of meat.

  Kyle had struck a counterattack by contacting the police, even after William had apologized by leaving a lovely fruit basket from Zabar’s. This just meant that he couldn’t play nice anymore.

  15

  WILLIAM STAYED UP writing for the second night in a row and dashed out forty more pages, his personal best. This was a crucial part of his novel—where a big reveal happened—and he was glad he was able to finish it for Brett by the morning. At sunrise, Laura politely knocked on his office door asking if he wanted a fresh fruit smoothie. For a second, he didn’t recognize who was speaking or where he was. That often occurred when he was in the thick of a spell. He’d left his body many times before and returned momentarily out of sorts. He gripped his desk table as a feeling akin to the spins tossed him around before he finally became still. He shut down his computer and managed to croak, “Make it strawberry.” He heard Laura’s feet scurrying away.

  He entered Burke & Burke emboldened. When he said his name to the front desk girl, she responded that Brett would see him right away, always a good sign. He walked down the ’60s-inspired hallways, checking out the book spines and imagining Devil’s Hopyard gracing the shelves soon. Brett was on the phone when he stepped into his office. Brett held up a finger and William sat down, the thick manuscript resting on his knees.

  “Gotta go,” Brett said into the phone. “An important author I’m looking to sign just walked in.” He hung up.

  “Important author, huh?” William said. “I could get used to hearing that.”

  Brett picked up his copy of Devil’s Hopyard and did some curls as if it was a dumbbell.

  “I am so into this, William. Couldn’t put it down.”

  William told himself to play it cool, but inside he was exploding. “I’ve written another hundred or so pages.”

  “Since we spoke?”

  William nodded. “Well, forty since then. Your call really inspired me. Everything just flowed once I knew I had a shot at being published. Especially after the last week of Kyle hating it.”

  Brett blew a raspberry. “Kyle has a lot to learn. He’s not always able to see a book’s true potential.” He leaned in closer. “If you ask me, he got lucky with Sierra Raven.”

  William chuckled at that.

  “But with Devil’s Hopyard…” Brett crumpled up some stray pieces of paper into a ball and tossed it at the garbage can, missing. “I can’t say I’ve ever read anything like it before. It has the chance to really break out.”

  “I always thought so. I’m aiming for a bestseller with this.”

  “Oh, yeah, bestseller, definitely. Let me ask you, William, where did the idea come from?”

  William cleared his throat. He’d prepared this speech before, revealing only what was necessary, for now.

  “I wanted to write the diary of a madman. But over the course of the book, I want the readers to begin to understand his madness and sympathize with his struggle because we’re all a little mad, are we not? We’re all so close to slipping, to acting out our most debased fantasies, but we stay grounded for fear that society will condemn us. Well, I am not afraid to show what we are capable of.”

  Brett was nodding like a bobblehead. “So true, so fucking true.”

  “We never really know what’s going on in someone’s else head. We are all enigmas. For example…” William removed his cell phone and placed it on the desk. “This is what your coworker has been saying behind your back.”

  He pushed Play. They heard Kyle’s voice say, Brett has a talent for poaching clients rather than finding them on his own.

  William hit Stop and placed the cell phone back in his blazer pocket. “
It’s been bothering me that Kyle was saying such degrading things about you. That was just the tip of the iceberg, by the way.”

  “I see,” Brett said, sucking at his teeth. “Thank you for sharing this.”

  “You’re giving me such a great opportunity. I couldn’t in good conscience keep it to myself. Kyle is not the same person I once knew. I think this early success has gone to his head.”

  From the way Brett scowled, William knew he was not the type to let things slide. It was obvious Brett and Kyle had a tense work relationship that he could use to his advantage. Burke & Burke was too small a place for all three to coexist; one of them would eventually have to go. William knew which target he had in his sights, a justification for the way he’d been treated.

  “So what happens next with the manuscript?” William asked. He had to ask twice, since Brett was unresponsive, probably caught up in plotting Kyle’s demise.

  “What was that? Oh, yes. I have to get the big boss to sign off, but this is a done deal, William. Mr. Burke has been waiting for exactly what you just brought me.”

  “Do you want the new pages?”

  “Hit me with them.”

  William passed over his manuscript. “I should be finished with the entire book soon. And the ending … let me tell you, the ending is going to be spectacular.”

  * * *

  KYLE SHOWED UP to work a few minutes late, the F train once again fucking him over. He stopped at the front desk, waiting for Amanda to look up from painting her nails, today seaweed green.

  “You really express yourself through your nails, don’t you?” he asked.

  She reached out and took his hand. “You have very nice cuticles for a dude.”

  “I get manicures.”

  “Why am I not surprised? Care to let me give you one sometime?”

  Amanda sat upright in her seat, pushing her cleavage toward him. She had flirted with him in the past, always very chaste, but today she seemed to be upping her game.

  “I’ll let you know when I’m due next,” he said, enjoying their repartee, a haven in the midst of these draining last few days.