Crude Sunlight 1

by Phil Tucker

  Eric had sat himself down at his desk, sinking into a rotating wooden chair and turning to gaze at them as they entered. He had an intense gaze, eyes fever bright, and he sat with an easy languor that verged on indolence. Twisted locks of beaten bronze gleamed in the lamp light, and his skin was pale and as fine as china.

  "You know," said Eric, looking up at Thomas, "I had expected you sooner."

  Thomas slipped his hands into his pockets and nodded slowly. A cold anger flared within him, but just as quickly it ashed. He once again felt older, worn, and suddenly the dark house seemed not impressive and desolate but sad, pathetic.

  Julia stepped out around him, picking her way carefully over the detritus of socks and plates that littered the floor, and sat on the edge of the bed, only to frown and stand again.

  "Why didn't you contact me, Eric?" asked Thomas.

  "I didn't see the point, to be honest," said Eric, and smiled sadly. "I guessed you were too busy in New York, and wouldn't believe anything I had to tell you. So I didn't waste my time, or yours."

  "Talking to me about Henry would not have been a waste of my time," said Thomas, and then paused, suddenly bitterly furious at himself. He should have had this conversation with Eric months ago. "Do you know where he is?"

  Eric slowly spun himself from side to side, using his feet as anchor points. He leaned back and studied Thomas, who was surprised to see that he had the beginnings of a paunch.

  "Listen, I think it's very touching for you to be doing the whole concerned brother thing, but it's a little late. Maybe back in October, you know, while Henry was still around. That might have been a good time to come down here and talk. But now?" Eric shook his head.

  Thomas stared at Eric, who met his gaze easily with haunted gray eyes. He's trying to provoke me, Thomas thought. Relax.

  "Look," he said. "I'd appreciate your telling me what you know. But I understand if you don't want to talk to me. If that's the case, I'll leave, but you can count on my calling the cops and asking them to come pay you a visit. Then you can try to explain to them why you dropped out of school right after Henry disappeared, which happened, what, shortly after your girlfriend broke up with you over him?"

  Eric frowned, his mock amusement vanishing, and leaned back in his chair like some petty bureaucratic official seeking to deny a reasonable request. Thomas watched him, strove to keep his face neutral, and waited while Eric attempted to figure out a response.

  "You won't believe me," said Eric, and Thomas knew that he had won. He moved over to the bed and lowered himself onto its edge. Feeling suddenly like the FBI agent Julia had accused him of being earlier, he leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  "Try me," he said, and glanced up at Julia as she lowered herself to sit next to him. Eric frowned, and Thomas saw that he was desperately tired. Purple ringed his eyes and his face was gaunt with strain. Something was eating away at this him, Thomas realized, something awful. The silence stretched out, and Eric kept looking at Thomas and then the floor and then back and then away again, till finally he simply stood up, springing from his chair to stride out of the room.

  Thomas turned to Julia, eyebrows raised in surprise, but she was staring after Eric.

  "Should we follow him?"

  Julia slowly shook her head. "No, I don't think so." Her voice was subdued, the previous fire gone, sounding sad, worn. "He's changed." Julia turned to face Thomas, and he was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting. "He used to be... different." She shook her head and looked back at the empty door.

  A few moments later Eric walked back in, a large green bottle tucked under one arm, three dusty wine glasses in hand. He looked at neither Julia nor Thomas but instead busied himself with setting the glasses down and uncorking the bottle. It was sealed with thick red wax, Thomas saw, as if homemade. When the cork finally popped out, Eric turned and showed it to the two of them.

  "Fermented banana wine," said Eric, who then turned back to pour an inch or so in each glass.

  "Are you still brewing that crap?" asked Julia, but there was no aggression in her voice, merely a sad fondness.

  "It's not crap," said Eric, his response automatic, hollow. He turned and extended a glass to Julia, who took it. Eric studied her face, and then turned to hand a glass to Thomas. The yellow liquid was pungent, and smelled strangely sweet and acrid at the same time.

  Eric lowered himself back into his chair and took his own glass, swirling the liquid around and around the inner curvature of the glass, gazing down into its depths with abstracted concentration. Julia was watching him closely, and Thomas, seeing a conflicted look cross her face, was struck by the fresh realization that these two had once been lovers.

  "Well," began Eric, finally looking up at Thomas, "I don't know how much Julia's told you." He glanced over at her, but she was looking down at her wine now and missed the look. "We had a big falling out, the three of us, back in November. We... well, it doesn't matter. Julia stopped spending time with us. With both of us. I guess I don't blame her."

  Julia looked up again. Her expression was reserved now, hard. Her eyes were bright, and Eric meet her gaze for a few seconds before ducking his head and then looking back at Thomas. "Anyway, Henry and I were getting pretty involved with this urban exploration thing. It became... a competition between us. After Julia left it became a way to prove who was the better of the two. Who would dare more, go where the other wouldn't." Eric paused, looked down at his wine. "I guess you could say we weren't really friends by that point. It didn't make sense even then. But we were trying to... I don't know.

  "That was late November. We had a couple of run-ins with the cops. We were going into some pretty restricted places, and without agreeing on it, started going back to places we had almost been caught in order to risk more. I was grabbed once, and Henry took off, staring at me over his shoulder as he ran. I managed to wrestle free, but, well. Things got pretty bad after that. We'd only meet to plan the next run, and wouldn't talk much. That was about finals time, though neither of us were really studying much."

  Thomas nodded, and lifted the glass to his lips. It smelled strong, and he tilted the glass so as to just take a sip. It was sweet, similar to liqueur.

  "Well, we decided around mid-December to head back to the State Hospital." Eric looked at Julia, "Try and go down all the way."

  Thomas sat forward, setting the wine glass aside. "The State Hospital?" He felt his pulse quicken. Remembered the dark photographs. The fleeing figure. "What was down there? What did you guys find?" He looked from Julia to Eric, who were sharing a complicit stare, till Julia broke it by shaking her head and leaning back.

  "I don't know what we found," said Eric quietly. "How do you know about the State Hospital?"

  Thomas shrugged, "I saw some photographs on Henry's bed--" He paused and felt his face flush. Could distinctly feel Julia's presence by his side. Could remember with exquisite detail the photograph of her lying on the bed, in the near darkness, naked and pale and smiling at the camera. At Henry. He cleared his throat, "There were some shots of the tunnels below the hospital. And one of somebody running in the distance, I think, though I couldn't quite make it out."

  "That was a photograph Henry took of Jimmy," Eric finally said, "The first time we went in November. We heard some strange noises as we went in, but Jimmy heard something down there at the end that scared the hell out of him, and he took off. Henry snapped a picture of him and then ran after him. Julia and I tried to keep up, but we almost lost them. Then something freaked Henry out, freaked him out bad, and he ran past us, and up the stairs and out of the Hospital. We found him outside, and when we calmed him down, he insisted on leaving straight away. So we headed out."

  "And you guys don't know what he saw?"

  "He told me a little about it later," said Julia. "He said something about a woman. About a woman, and some kind of darkness under a tree. It didn't make any sense, and he started getting upset, so I changed the subject." Both Thomas and Eric stared at Ju
lia, who shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. "That's all he said. I decided he had simply had a panic attack of some kind and dropped it."

  "Well, it was his idea to go back," said Eric. "He was acting very strange toward the end. Manic, almost. We went back, broke in again. Went the same way we went the first time. Down those stairs, and into the first level of basement rooms, and then down and down."

  Eric paused and drained his glass of banana wine in one swallow, biting his lower lip as he turned to pour himself a second glass. His hands were shaking.

  Thomas felt a sudden flare of impatience. "All right, can you just jump to the end and tell me what happened?" Thomas felt them both stare at him, and realized that he had spoken more sharply than he had intended. "Just," he said, sitting back, forcing himself to relax, "Just tell me what happened to Henry. Please."

  Eric shook his head. "I don't know, Mr. Verkraft. We went down there, into the lower basements. We were together right till the very end, when Henry started hearing whispers, or something. He was very afraid, and I finally had enough and told him we should get out of there. It had stopped being about proving ourselves and just become, well, really disturbing. Henry started acting really strange, started yelling out. I tried to grab him, but he shook me off and started running again like the first time. I ran after him, thinking he was having another panic attack, but I lost him."

  Eric stared down at his wine, raised the glass to take a drink only to set it down heavily on the table next to him. His pale face had grown waxen, and he stared down at his thighs.

  Thomas shook his head slowly, not understanding. "Then... then why didn't you tell the cops? A search could have been mounted. They could have found him. Why didn't you go to the police?"

  Eric looked up, and Thomas saw desperation in his face. "Because I heard things too, all right?" His voice was suddenly raw, wounded. "Because I could still hear Henry at the very end, and he was like, he was begging, just begging to be left alone, and this voice kept responding, just sort of whispering back, saying things in this funny accent, sort of crooning at him and reassuring him, and then Henry just started sobbing, and I ran the fuck out. I ran the fuck out, and I--I just kept running, and--shit, all right? Fucking shit."

  Eric's eyes were wounded holes, and he stared at Thomas, challenging him, his whole frame shivering. Julia rose to her feet, hesitated, hung back, began to move forward, but then Eric turned savagely away. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, fine, so just, I don't know, go tell the cops, or whatever, but just leave, all right?"

  Thomas rose slowly, "Eric, listen, I think--"

  "Just get out, all right? Really, get the hell out."

  Julia stepped forward, causing a dish to rattle as she kicked it in the gloom, and Eric jerked away from her, shaking. There was something feral in his face at that moment that caused Julia to recoil. After a frozen moment she shook her head and walked out the door.

  "All right, we're leaving. We're leaving. Okay?" Thomas stood and stepped back and out through the door. He watching Eric cautiously as the other stood up, mouth open, breathing heavily, and then with three quick strides he reached the door and slammed it shut.

  The darkness of the landing was sudden, and Thomas remained still, shocked.

  "Let's get out of here," said Julia, her voice numb, and Thomas heard her turn toward the stairs. He turned and followed.

  Julia strode through the kitchen and shoved the kitchen door open. It rebounded jerkily off the wall and slammed her forearm as she blew past it, leaving it to judder and shake on its hinges.

  "Julia!" Thomas stepped out into the yard after her, but she didn't stop. He glanced up at the filthy windows that looked down upon the yard, and thought he saw the suggestion of a pale face watching them, but then it was gone and he broke into a jog, rounding the corner and trying to catch up with the girl. She was crossing the street, and then to his surprise he saw her stride past the parked car and keep going.

  "Julia!" he yelled again, running after her. She was moving fast, not running but stretching her long legs, and when he reached out to grab her elbow she spun around and shoved him hard in the chest with both hands. Thomas staggered back and stared at her. Her face was pale, her eyes wide.

  "Get the fuck away, all right?" Her voice sharp, furious, wild.

  "Hey! Hey, what the hell? Julia!" She stood tightly coiled before him, fists clenched by her side, and then he saw tears gathering in her eyes and she spun away again and took a half dozen steps away before faltering and coming to a stop.

  "Julia, hey. It's okay. Come on, let's... let's just get out of here. I'll buy you a coffee or something. Hey." He took a tentative step forward.

  "Just... just leave me alone, okay?" Flashbacks to Eric's room, his wounded eyes, his bloodless lips. But where he had been frenzied, Julia sounded desolate.

  "At least let me give you a ride home." Thomas straightened, took a step back. He coughed, cleared his throat, and turned to glance at the façade of the white house across the street. "I'm not leaving you here in this neighborhood."

  She stood still, fists balled by her side, looking down and to the side, the tension palpable in her frame. Then, slowly, as if letting something go, she relaxed her hands. She passed her sleeve across her eyes and then ran her fingers through her short hair, holding her head for a moment as if seeking to clamp down a headache before turning and looking at him.

  "Yeah, okay." Her voice was drained, and she followed him numbly to the car, waiting distractedly by the passenger door while he unlocked the doors. Thomas felt a tangible sense of relief as he slid back into the Mercedes, onto the light gray leather seats, into the familiar smell and comfort of the car. The dark halls, the poorly illuminated bedroom and Eric's manic revelations seemed suddenly distant, manageable, faintly ridiculous. Thomas gunned the engine and felt the car thrum into life. He waited for Julia to put on her seatbelt, then slid away from the curb and back toward the city.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes, Julia staring out the passenger window and biting at the corner of her thumb, Thomas steering with one hand, the other resting on the gear stick. He glanced over at her occasionally, but she seemed oblivious to him, and he decided not to press her until she was ready.

  The city passed by slowly. Dilapidated buildings, ruinous lots, pawnshops and Laundromats. Everything in a slow state of decay. The sky was bleak and white above them, and the light seemed sterile and dead.

  "He didn't used to be like that," she finally said. Thomas looked at her. She was still gazing out the window, but had lowered her hands to her lap. "He's changed."

  "It sounds like he's been through some rough times," said Thomas.

  "Yeah. You're telling me."

  "What did you make of... the stuff he said about that last night?"

  Julia remained still, unresponsive, and Thomas was about to prompt her again when she spoke. "I don't know. It sounded pretty crazy to me."

  "Yeah," agreed Thomas, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "But it's still information. I'm going to tell the police. Perhaps they can find... something... down there."

  Julia turned and looked at him, her eyes hard and bright, her expression malicious. "After three months?"

  He frowned and looked back at the road, and this time it was him that opted for silence. She watched him for a moment longer and then looked back out the window.

  "Where am I dropping you off?" he asked.

  "The Campus Center's fine."

  "You have homework to do?" His own spike of maliciousness.

  She stared at him before answering, her voice curt, disdainful. "Yeah. I got homework to do."

  The car pulled up before the campus center, and Julia undid her seatbelt. "Well, I hope you got something out of all this."

  Thomas stared at the steering wheel, and a sense of futility rose up within him. What had he learned? What would he do now? Tell the cops, he supposed, and head back to New York.

  "Yeah. Hey, thanks for your help.
Really, I appreciate it."

  "No sweat." She opened the door and climbed out. Turning, she looked down at him, hesitating.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his business card holder and slipped a card free. "Here, take this. In case you need to get in touch with me in New York."

  She took it, glanced at it, looked at him. "I've already got your cell number."

  "Well, now you have my office number too. Call me if anything comes up, okay?"

  "Sure." She stepped back, pushed the door closed, and walked away.

  Chapter 5

  Thomas sat down at the café table and leaned back, feeling washed out, troubled, restless. The waitress came by, saw his distracted look, and walked right on by. Trying to at least look engaged, he picked up the lunch menu and stared through it, the words and images blurring out into nothing as he tried to figure out what to do.

  He had to get back to New York. He could feel the weight of the unread emails in his Blackberry, the dour anger and lecture his boss had stored up for him, the leaden and enervating steps he had to take to resolve this crisis with Michelle. The thought of his empty apartment drained him. He wished he could just sit here, in this cheerful little café, listening to Nina Simone play over the tinny speakers and enjoy the warmth. Forever.

  Thomas sifted slowly through Eric's tale, trying to imagine those final weeks as the two boys dared each other to further extremes. The darkness beneath those buildings, the run in with the cops. Jesus. Henry had been in much worse shape than he'd ever imagined. And what to make of Eric's account of that last expedition? The voice in the darkness. Henry sobbing. Eric's flight out of that building, and subsequent dropping out of school? Whatever had happened had severely scarred the boy. Three months ago. He was so late. If only he'd done more than just assume Henry had gone on a road trip somewhere. If he'd come down here himself and discovered all this information back in January.