Body Language

by James W. Hall

  “Well, for one thing, he almost drowned yesterday. Have you forgotten?”

  “I think he’s learned his lesson about swimming in the ocean. Didn’t you, Lawton? Didn’t you learn not to swim out beyond the surf?”

  Lawton stepped over to the couch and regarded her a moment, then held out the camera to Alex.

  “This is for you, sweetheart. It’s a present. So you’ll have some lasting impressions you can look back on someday. Memories to last a lifetime. I know how much you’ve been wanting a camera. And this one is very good and very simple at the same time. All you do is look in the lens and you see the picture, full-size, brilliantly clear, while you’re making it. It’s the latest thing. Uses Kodak one twenty-seven film. What starts as a hobby can sometimes grow into a career.”

  She took the camera from him.

  “Thank you, Dad.”

  “I even got the yellow box it came in and the instruction pamphlet and everything. Did I tell you about the herbalist I met? Two blocks over. Tupelo Street. She’s a peach. Says her name is Grace, but she might be lying about that. She doesn’t look like any Grace I ever knew. But then, you never know about women. Women can fool you sometimes.”

  She got Lawton into the new pajamas he’d picked out. Blue and yellow with a Hawaiian motif—parrots and surfers and fire-spitting volcanoes.

  He climbed into bed and tugged the bedspread up to his chin. Alex perched on the edge of the mattress.

  “Have I been bad?”

  “No, Dad. You haven’t been bad.”

  “Why am I being sent to bed early?”

  “It’s ten o’clock already. That’s your bedtime, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You aren’t sleepy?”

  “I suppose I’m a little tired. It’s been a big day. Lots of new things. I met a very nice woman today. I’m warning you right now—I may just marry that woman.”

  Alexandra shifted on the bed, leaning toward him. She lowered her voice.

  “Listen, Dad, something’s happened. I’m going to have to go back to Miami to take care of it.”

  “You don’t like it here?”

  “It’s fine here, but I’ve got to go back.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving. No, sir, I like it here a whole lot. I mean, it’s not Ohio, but then, what is? Tomorrow, I’m going to start taking herbs so I can get my memory back. That’s what Grace said. She’s an herbalist who lives on Tupelo Street.”

  Alex sighed. She looked back at the closed door, bent forward to see if Jason’s shoes were visible at the crack. They weren’t.

  She turned back to Lawton and spoke in a hush.

  “We’ll get somebody to stay with you while I’m gone. I’ll just be away for a few days.”

  “So go. Who’s stopping you? I’m a big boy. I don’t need a guardian.”

  She looked back at the door again. Kept her voice low.

  “I need to ask you something, Dad.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Yesterday, when you went swimming …”

  “Was it yesterday? Yes, yes, that’s right, yesterday.”

  “Did you swim out too far? Is that what happened? And Jason came along and saw you and swam out and saved you. Is that how it went?”

  “If you say so.”

  “But I want to know. Is that what happened?”

  “Damn it, Alex. You’re always testing me.”

  He shut his eyes and pressed his lips together in a silent pout.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. But I need to know this. I need to know what you remember. If the story Jason told about what happened is the truth.”

  He opened his eyes again and smiled slyly.

  “You don’t trust that boy?”

  “I want to. God, I do.”

  “He’s seems all right to me. And, oh, by the way, I heard you two in there last night and again this afternoon, going at it pretty good. You might want to try to be a little quieter from now on. These walls are pretty thin. Not that I minded or anything. It was all very pleasant really. But it’s just not exactly proper for a father to eavesdrop on his daughter’s lovemaking. Even if it is unintentional.”

  She shook her head, and a smile escaped her.

  “Okay, we’ll be quieter. I promise.” She bent forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Her name is Grace. After I married her, I took her to Miami to raise a family. We’ve come up here on vacation. Going to stay the whole month of August. Can’t really afford it, but what the hell, you only go around once.”

  Alexandra took a long breath, let it out slowly.

  “Okay, Dad, listen. Just try for a second to remember what happened yesterday. Can you do that for me?”

  “Sure. How hard could that be?”

  “You were swimming. You were in the water. What happened then? Did you go out too far? Did Jason see you and swim out?”

  “Hell, how am I supposed to remember every little thing? If you say that’s what happened, fine. Who am I to dispute it? Even if it does sound damn suspicious.”

  “Why is it suspicious?”

  “How would I know? It’s your version of things. But why the hell would an old man swim out so far? Unless he wanted to drown himself, stop being such a burden to his loved ones.”

  Alex stared into his milky eyes for a moment, then bent forward and laid her ear against his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

  “You’re no burden, Dad. You’re no burden at all. I love you. I’d do anything to make your life better. Don’t feel that way, please. I love having you around, spending time with you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  He moved his hand to her head like he’d done when she was fevered as a child. Cupping his palm around her forehead as if to draw the heat from her skull.

  “Grace is an herbalist now. I never knew she had such an interest. But I’m glad she’s developed it, because herbs just might be the ticket to cure these damn forgetful spells I’ve been having.”

  Her father’s hand was cool against her forehead.

  “That would be wonderful, Dad. I’d like to meet her.”

  “Sure. I’ll introduce you. She’s a schoolteacher, you know. Teaches tenth grade back in Miami. And we’ve got a daughter, too. Alexandra. Pretty little girl with a wonderful imagination. She’s out there in the sand every day playing, building her castle, and there’re about a hundred people who live inside it, and Alex knows every one of them by name. Can tell you a story about each one. She’s amazing, the imagination she has. A hundred people. Blacksmiths and soldiers and handmaidens and plowboys. She’s got a first and last name for every one and a complete history. Jill McGowan, the minstrel. Bart Raymond, the evil count.”

  With her head against his chest, Alex said, “I’d forgotten that.”

  “Forgotten what?”

  “About the people in the castle.”

  “Oh, yeah, there’re lots of people. It takes a ton of folks to run your average castle.”

  “I’d totally forgotten.”

  “Yes, yes, don’t I know how easy it is to forget things. All too easy. Believe me, I’m an expert on the human memory. I made quite a study of the subject a few years ago. Read books and articles. Yes, sir, I’m a regular expert on memory. All kinds of trivial info.

  “Take the Greeks, for instance. They’re the ones with Lethe, that river of forgetfulness. Fall into that river and you were a goner. Stick a toe into it and you could wipe out your whole damn childhood. And they had a goddess, too, Mnemosyne. Mother of all the muses. She and Zeus created them together—the poets, the musicians, the painters. They reported directly to the goddess of memory, and they were under orders to make up stories and songs so human beings wouldn’t forget the important things, so it all would be passed on from one generation to the next. That was the goddess’s job—to supervise all the renegade artists, make sure they kept the heroes alive, the heroes and the legends.”

  Alex sat up slowly and peered into her father’s eyes. They
were barely open. He was drifting away, vision blurring, but the words still came in steady succession, growing faint and slow like the last few rotations of a Victrola record.

  “My daughter, Alexandra, I don’t know how she does it, remembering everybody in that castle. From the king right down to the toilet scrubber. She has a history for every one. She’s something else, just amazing. I’m awful proud of that girl.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  On the front porch, Alex settled into the rocker next to Jason’s. The street was shadowy and all the houses she could see were dark. A breeze was coming from the northwest, a flood of more cool Canadian air. Geese honking just within the range of hearing. All the seasonal migrations about to begin again.

  “You’re very tense, Alex. Very far away.”

  “I am,” she said. “About as tense and far away as I’ve ever been.”

  “What’s going on? What is it?”

  “I’ve been thinking about things. Who I am, what I’ve been doing.”

  Jason was quiet.

  “I’ve been running all my life,” she said. “Retreating, avoiding. That’s the pattern. I learned it early and I kept at it. I’m a pro now. A full-time dodger.”

  “Running away from what?”

  She looked at him. There was a buzz in his voice, an undercurrent of impatience or irritation.

  “I’m whining,” she said. “I’m coming down with a bad case of self-pity.”

  “Running away from what?” His voice still showed that strain.

  “Running away from everything.”

  Jason gazed out at the street, where a dog was sniffing the shadows.

  “You take pictures of crime scenes, for God sakes. That doesn’t strike me as avoiding anything. That’s looking right into the eyes of some pretty bad shit.”

  “I look, I see, but I don’t cause anything to happen. I photograph the crimes, that’s all. I’m just a looker, a watcher. A goddamn voyeur. I’ve done it all my life, and if I’m not careful, it’s the way I’ll always be.”

  “So? What’s so bad about that?”

  “It’s passive. It’s dead. It’s letting other people decide my fate. It’s abdicating, Jason. That’s what’s so bad.”

  “What’re you supposed to do, buy a cape and a sword and go questing for justice?”

  She was silent.

  “You want to swap lives for a week?” he said. “Try answering the phone all day, taking stock orders. Buy, sell. Sell, buy. That’s guaranteed to boost your sense of self-worth in a hurry. A lackey. A grunt. A nothing.

  “Hell, Alex, for my money, the whole thing with controlling your destiny is overrated. Whatever happened to the Zen of letting go? Like what we do on the mat. Using your opponent’s momentum, turning his strength and aggression against him. It’s the same idea.”

  “That’s apples and oranges, Jason. Fighting isn’t the same as living. What applies on the mat doesn’t apply out here.”

  “Sure it does. You’re either a victim or you’re not. There’s no middle ground.”

  She studied him for a moment, wanting to tell him, knowing she couldn’t.

  She turned her eyes back to the empty street. The dog had snuffled away.

  “I’m tired of waiting to be attacked, Jason. Always on the defensive. Looking over my shoulder, listening for footsteps, weighing every situation for its danger potential. That’s no way to live.”

  “Well, I admit, when you put it that way, it sounds pretty bleak.”

  She laid a hand on his arm.

  “Something happened to me when I was a girl. Something bad.”

  Jason stared down at the moonlit planks of the porch.

  “It involved this kid, Darnel Flint?” Jason turned his head, looking off toward the beach. The moonlight seemed to be gathering there, a white glow beyond the dunes.

  “That’s right. Darnel Flint. He was a neighbor boy. He was older.”

  “And he molested you.”

  Alexandra sat back in the rocker. She heard the crunch of sand beneath the blades of Jason’s chair like small bones fracturing.

  “Look,” she said. “I’m sorry, Jason. But I think I need to be alone for a while. Do you mind?”

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “I was rushing you, finishing your sentences. Don’t stop. Please. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Jason. I’m just not ready to talk about this yet.”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  “I don’t trust myself,” she said, and looked at him, but in the frail light, his eyes were unreadable.

  “Look, Alex. I didn’t mean to bully you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Really, you were fine. I just don’t feel like going into it right now. I need some privacy for a while. That’s all.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then said, “You want me to go to a motel?”

  “No, no. Just for an hour or so. Maybe you could take a walk on the beach, go have a drink or two at Bud and Alley’s. I need to make a phone call, that’s all. A business thing.”

  “You’re sure? You’re sure you don’t want to finish talking about this? I’ll just sit here and listen. No interruptions this time, I promise.”

  He turned to her, reached out and rubbed his thumb lightly down the line of her jaw, but she stiffened at his touch, and he drew his hand away.

  “Thanks,” she said. “But no, not yet. I’m not ready.”

  His mouth twitched as if he was fighting off a rash response. He kept his eyes on hers as he rose to his feet.

  “I guess I’ll prowl the beach, then. An hour? Is that enough?”

  “An hour’s fine.”

  “Okay, then.” He gave her an anxious smile. “I’ll count the stars, give you the latest tally. What’s fallen, what’s still there.”

  She rose and kissed him on the cheek, and when he was gone, she went back inside and sat on the couch, staring at her ghostly reflection in the glass door.

  After a short while, she lifted the phone, dialed Dan’s number. When he answered, she took a quick breath and said hello.

  “Where are you, Alex? Tell me where you are.”

  “Dan, don’t make me hang up.”

  “You know,” he said, “I could’ve traced this call. Gotten a court order, just based on what you told me this afternoon.”

  “I know that, Dan. But you didn’t, did you? You didn’t do that. Because you trust me.”

  He paused a moment, then in an exasperated voice said, “I had a sit-down with the goddamn shrinks again. Called them in from their golf games.”

  “You told them about the son of a bitch spelling my name.”

  “I told them. They didn’t buy it at first. Fought like hell. Said it was just a bizarre coincidence, the bodies laid out like letters. They said we were reaching, fabricating, imposing our own bullshit on these dead women. But that didn’t last long. They didn’t like it one goddamn bit, but they came around eventually. Now they want to talk to you, ask you some questions.”

  “I bet they do.”

  “So, come on, Alex, spit it out. I want to know what you’ve been thinking. Who this fuckhead might be, what this is all about.”

  “I’ve been thinking, yeah.”

  “Cut the coy shit, Alex. I’m running out of patience.”

  “I’d like you to do me a favor.”

  “Oh, would you now?”

  “Look something up for me, Dan. Run a couple of names. See if you can find current addresses, employment, that sort of thing.”

  “A couple of names. And who would they be?”

  “Darnel Flint, Sr., approximate age, sixty. Last known employer, Coca-Cola. His wife, too, if they’re still married. Even if they’re not, I want her maiden name, her whereabouts. And the daughters, too, Molly and Millie, and a son, J.D. The boy would be twenty-four, twenty-five years old; the girls would be twenty-nine. They attended Norland Elementary about eighteen years ago. That’s all I know. You got that?”

  “Not the family dog?
”

  “You can do it, Dan. I know you’ll do this for me. You want all that again?”

  “I got it, I got it. I don’t know what the fuck it’s about, but I got it.”

  “It may be nothing. But I need to know anything you can find out. Employment records, current addresses. Anything at all.”

  Dan was fuming silently.

  “So tell me about the psychologists,” Alex said brightly. “When they finally came around, did they have any insights?”

  “One or two.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Based on the crime scenes so far, they’re saying this guy is compulsive to the tenth fucking power. A goddamn nut for detail. He’s got to do it all just exactly the same way, caught in a loop, a ritual or whatever.”

  “We knew that already.”

  “The point is, with that makeup, it’s more than likely he’s going to try to finish the cycle.”

  “Spell my name all the way out.”

  “That’s right. Three more. D-R-A. The fucker’s locked onto his own personal monorail, can’t get off, no matter what. According to the shrinks, that is. But I’m not so sure. I’m thinking if he knows we’re onto him, if he knows you’ve finally gotten the message, maybe that’ll change things. Maybe that’s his goal. Just to get your attention, spook you. That might cool him off.”

  “I wish it were true, Dan. But no. I think he’s warmed up now. He’s having a good time. He’s damn well going to try to finish the thing he started.”

  “Fuck it. I knew you’d say that.”

  “Anything about Stan?”

  “Not yet. But we’ll find him, don’t worry. Faxed his picture all over the state. The FBI’s in on it; the TV’s going with his photograph on the evening news. It’s all out there on the airwaves. Brinks is offering a hundred thousand for his capture. That should get things percolating. But he hasn’t cropped up yet.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone I had the cash?”

  “Like I said, Alex. Based on the evidence I’ve provided from your statement, Stan Rafferty is the prime suspect in the robbery. Find him, find the money. That’s how we’re proceeding, and that’s why Brinks is offering a hundred thou for his capture.”