by Evans, J R
He flipped open the lid to the cigar box on the desk. Uncle Quent’s gun felt heavy as he gripped the handle. He held it up in front of his face. The simple weapon suddenly seemed impossibly complex. He pulled and twisted different parts until the cylinder suddenly clicked out to one side. It was empty.
He grabbed the phone and dialed three digits.
“Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”
The voice on the other end of the line seemed too far away to be of any help. “9-1-1, please state your emergency.”
Matt blurted it all out. “The guy! The killer guy! I think he’s here! He killed something! There’s blood! He has Christy!”
“Is this a medical emergency? Is somebody injured?”
They weren’t getting it. Not fast enough.
“Sergeant Dwayne Murdock! Get him! Tell him Christy’s in trouble!”
“Are you calling from a safe location? Are you in immediate danger?”
“No. Yes. Also, I have a gun. But no bullets.” Matt looked inside the cigar box again. No bullets in there. “Where can I get some bullets?”
“The police department has been notified.”
If Uncle Quent had a gun, there had to be bullets somewhere. “Bullets . . .”
“Units are on their way.”
Matt grabbed the handle to the top draw of the desk. Pencils, pens, and ancient pink erasers jumped as he yanked it open. “Bullets . . .”
“Please try to remain calm.”
He opened another drawer. All of his new paperwork, but no bullets. “No. Not there . . .”
“Please stay on the line, sir.”
He opened up the bottom drawer. It looked empty, but he thought he heard something rattle when it slid open. “Where would I be if I was a bullet?”
The voice on the line was starting to lose its cool. “And please don’t do anything with that gun.”
Matt felt something hard and round hidden in the corner of the drawer. He held up the bullet in triumph.
“Found one!”
35
Adam stood with his back to the X-shaped thing in the center of the room. It looked like something you might tie somebody up to before you started torturing them. This whole room looked like a torture chamber. Adam didn’t get it. He knew people paid to come in here and be tied up. It had something to do with sex. But sex was supposed to make you feel good. He knew that much. He even knew what it looked like when people had sex. He figured he’d be nervous enough just kissing a girl. If one had a whip, he’d probably run away. Maybe that’s why they tied you up first.
“Here. Hold this.” The guy with the knife handed him a book.
Adam looked at it. It looked like a fairy tale book for kids. There was a big tree on the cover with a sleepy-looking owl perched up in the branches. The tree was in a garden full of flowers, fruits, and vegetables. A woman was smiling at a flower she had just planted. It looked a little bit like the woman Adam had seen earlier when the walls started vibrating.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s the thing you have to hold so I don’t hurt you,” said Foster.
Adam’s mom was on the leather bench in front of him. She was lying on her back, naked. She had one leg pressed over the other and her arms crossed over her breasts. The eye makeup she was wearing streaked back toward her ears. She wasn’t really crying, but every few seconds a tear would roll out from the corner of one of her eyes and trace a path to the floor. From this angle she had to tilt her head back to look at Adam.
“Honey, please just do what he says,” she said.
“Listen to your mother,” said Foster, who arranged the book so it was lying flat in Adam’s arms. Then he opened it up to a page in the middle. A scene sprang to life as pop-up paper trees and flowers lifted up from the pages. The tree that rose up from the center had a rope swing dangling from one of its branches. A woman in a white dress sat in the swing, and when the tree popped up into place, it set the swing in motion.
Foster looked at the book in Adam’s arms and held up his thumbs and pointer fingers like he was framing a picture. He nodded and turned back toward Adam’s mom.
As Foster walked away, Adam said, “I don’t think he really wants to hurt anybody.”
Foster paused halfway to the bench. He turned back to look at Adam and then pointed with his knife to the dead man on the ground. “That’s not true. I wanted to hurt him.”
Adam tried to keep his eyes on the floor, but he still had to say something. If he didn’t, Foster would just do what he’d come here to do.
“I guess so,” he said. “But the woman you speak to. The one in the garden. She’s the one who wants you to hurt these women.”
Foster continued to walk to the foot of the bench. “She doesn’t want to hurt them. She wants to help them. But she can’t, so she needs me.”
“She’s using you,” said Adam. “I told you. She only cares about what you can give her.”
Foster seemed to ignore that. He looked down at Adam’s mom and frowned. Then he gently pushed her leg to the side so that they were no longer crossed. He did the same with her arms. He didn’t stare at her breasts or even between her legs. He just kind of tilted his head from side to side like he was looking for something.
“Hmm . . .” Foster pulled a pen out of his back pocket. It was a big, fat, blue marker. He flicked the cap off with his thumb. The room almost immediately smelled like blueberries. He knelt beside the bench and leaned down to talk to Adam’s mom.
“Now don’t move,” he said. “If you move it might mess up the line. If that happens I’ll have to go find somebody else. But I would have to cut you both first. I can’t have you messing this up. I already messed up once today.”
Adam’s mom swallowed and gave a slight nod of her head. She was shaking a little.
“Here,” said Foster, “I’ll help you.”
Foster put down his pen and took her wrist. He bent it backward over her head where there was a strap waiting. She gripped a bar that looked like it was there just for that purpose, and Foster did up a buckle. He did the same with her other arm and then her ankles. Finally, he placed a strap with a rubber ball between her teeth and tightened it to the bench so her head couldn’t move much. More makeup mixed with tears.
Adam felt himself shaking. He could try to run. He wasn’t strapped to anything. But he probably wouldn’t make it very far. He would have to get past Foster to the door. Foster had locked the door and turned on the do-not-disturb light. This side of the door didn’t need a key—he would just have to turn the latch—but it would still slow him down. Adam didn’t want to leave his mom, though. If he ran, she would die.
Foster knelt down again, this time by one of her ankles. He picked up his pen and looked like he was about ready to start drawing on her. Then he paused and looked up at Adam.
“You’re wrong about her,” he said. “That woman you saw? She’s the only one who cares about me.”
When the pen touched her toe, Adam’s mom tightened her grip on the bar. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a little sound around the ball in her mouth, but otherwise she didn’t move.
“How can you tell?” asked Adam.
Foster kept his eyes on the line he was drawing. “Trust me, nobody’s going to cry when I leave this place.”
“I mean, how can you tell that she actually does care about you?”
“She saved me. She could have let me die. Instead, she showed me her home. She invited me to come join her. She wants me there.”
“Why would she do that?” Adam asked. “She doesn’t even know you.”
“She’s like me,” said Foster. “She was rejected. By . . . by everybody who mattered. So she made a new home for herself. It’s beautiful. It’s a place where things live and grow. She needs people to help take care of it.”
From where he was standing, Adam couldn’t see all of the line Foster was drawing. He saw the line spiral around his mom’s ankle and then snake up her calf. Foster
slowed down when he got to her thigh to make a pattern. It was a new one to Adam. More complex than the patterns he drew on the wall of the clubhouse. He thought he shouldn’t be watching this, not when his mom was naked, but his eyes kept getting pulled back to the line and the patterns.
“Are you sure any of this is real?” asked Adam.
“Of course it is,” said Foster. “You saw it, too, right? You walked the forest path.”
Adam’s eyes kept losing focus when he stared at the patterns for too long. There was also a faint buzzing in his head. That was a sign that he should take one of his pills.
“Yeah,” said Adam, “but I’m off my meds. I get tremors, and I say things that don’t make sense. It doesn’t mean I believe everything I see.”
“Maybe you should,” said Foster.
“I can see that my mom is scared. She doesn’t want this. Were the other women scared, too?”
“Everybody is afraid of change. We’re giving them a gift. They can start their lives over. Wash away all their regrets and bad decisions. Be with somebody who cares for them and gives them purpose. Once they get to the garden they aren’t afraid anymore.”
The buzzing got louder. Adam thought he could also hear birds chirping. The blueberry scent faded, and he smelled other things on a wispy breeze that almost wasn’t there—flowers, water, and warm earth. He thought Foster could smell it, too. He looked toward Adam and the book. Foster could obviously see something that Adam couldn’t. When Foster looked at it, he seemed nervous.
“You’re scared, too,” he said. “My mom never makes me feel afraid . . . on purpose.”
His mom tilted her head a little and tried to look at him. Her eyes were wet. She tried to mouth something, but it was hard to make out what it might be. He thought it was I love you.
Foster looked up at her. Her chest was heaving in silent sobs. He used his free hand to steady his other. “Stop crying. You’re gonna make me slip.”
“She tries to make the world seem less scary,” said Adam. “She wants to be with me.”
Foster rubbed his eyes and then continued drawing. “Does she?”
Adam’s own voice sounded like an echo. “She’s given up everything for me. She doesn’t ask me for anything.”
Now he could see what Foster was looking at. Roots lifted the dirt underneath Adam’s feet. He backed up a little and bumped into something rough. The large wooden cross was no longer behind him. Instead, a twisted tree trunk stretched up from the floor. Bark flaked off like dry, dead skin. Thick branches reached and spread out, hiding the ceiling. Hanging from one branch was a large swing the size of a love seat. The woman from the book was sitting in it. Next to her were two other women in white sundresses. They stared forward with milky-blue eyes.
She spoke to Foster. “Don’t listen to him. He has always been with his mother. He takes her for granted.”
Adam closed the book and turned to look at her. “No, I don’t. At least, I try not to. She’s all I’ve got.”
The Woman in the Garden looked at him first out of the corner of her eye, and then she turned her head to stare straight at him. If she was surprised to see Adam, it didn’t show. Foster was surprised. He stopped drawing, his line broken.
“Do you think her life is better for having you?” she asked Adam.
“I . . .” Adam wanted to say, Yes, of course, but he couldn’t.
The Woman in the Garden stood up from her swing. As she stepped onto the ground, paper flowers unfolded around her feet. The other women stayed where they were. An owl landed on the branch supporting the swing, fluttering down from somewhere above.
“A hug good night doesn’t make up for years of whoring yourself out. Do you really think this was her plan? That she wanted to live like this? She could have been anything she wanted, but she gave herself up for you.”
Adam’s voice cracked a little when he spoke. “I don’t think you can plan on loving someone. You just love them.”
“Enough,” she said. “This place isn’t for you. You don’t belong here.”
“Neither do they. Neither does he.”
“Leave,” she demanded. “Now.”
The owl screeched and flew at Adam. His vision went red as its talons squeezed around his eye.
36
Matt heard Adam scream through the door of the VIP room. He raised the pistol up in front of him. Now it seemed like such a simple machine. One handle, one trigger, and only one way for the bullet to come out. He also only had one bullet. No room for error.
He took the house key out of his pocket. His thumb pulled back the hammer on the gun until it clicked into place. He took a deep breath. And then another. And another.
“Hey, Matt. What’s going on?”
A jolt of panic and adrenaline shot through Matt. He turned to look behind him. It was Amber. She looked worried. He wondered how many people had heard Adam scream. He realized she was looking at the gun in his hand. Maybe that’s what worried her.
“Get everyone out. Now,” Matt hissed.
Amber stared for a second, then turned and ran for the parlor.
Adam started to scream again, but this time his own voice cut himself off. “Ahh! The-Lord-is-faithful-He-will-establish-you-and-guard-you-against-the-evil-one!”
Matt had to move. Now. He held the key up to the lock. He pushed but it wouldn’t go in. He tried turning it upside down but it still wouldn’t budge. The scratch of metal on metal sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard. He had to be doing something wrong. Then he remembered he had two keys. The big one was in his hand. The small one was still in his pocket.
His hands were shaking so hard, he almost dropped it as he fished it out. This time the key slid in, and when he turned it, he felt the bolt slide back. Thunk. Three quick breaths and he was in motion. He twisted the knob and threw the door open, pistol raised. He started to charge inside but had to stop short. There was a man standing right in front of him. The killer from the news.
“I heard the key in the lock,” said the man. Matt remembered the name below the mug shot on TV—Foster.
Matt tried to take in more details of the room, but all he could see was the box cutter in Foster’s hand. His finger slipped. The hammer fell on the pistol with a sharp metallic click. No boom.
Both men looked at the gun. Matt was confused. The simple machine was supposed to work. He’d put the bullet in the chamber directly in front of the hammer. Oh shit. The cylinder turned when the trigger was pulled. The bullet was in the wrong place.
Foster looked confused, too. “Did you just try to—”
Matt squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger over and over again. He flinched with each click, expecting an explosion and a splatter of blood. Click. Click. Click. Click. Then cloof!
It was much quieter than he thought it would be. Matt opened his eyes. There was a cloud of dust billowing through the air. Foster wasn’t covered in blood. He was covered in white powder.
Foster sniffed and then sneezed. “Aaachoo!”
Then he slashed at Matt with the blade.
Matt’s arms were up in front of him, so the box cutter just cut his wrist. At first it stung, then a second later, it felt like it was on fire. He stumbled back a step, his foot landing on something soft and squishy. Vanilla shake splattered as Matt tumbled back onto the floor.
He looked up at Foster, who just stood in the doorway for a second.
“Weird,” said Foster.
Then he took the key out of the lock and closed the door. There was another click as it locked from the other side.
37
“Police! Everybody get the fuck out of my way!”
Dwayne’s boot splintered the frame of the front door as he kicked it open. The door was probably unlocked, but Dani wasn’t going to fault him for that. She felt like kicking something too.
They got the call maybe five minutes ago and had driven through two separate front yards on their way over. They had already been in the sergeant’s car, hea
ding toward a high-rise condo complex near the Strip. They were supposed to be checking out a noise complaint, probably related to a fight. Most likely a halfhearted, drunken throwdown or maybe a domestic brawl, but after the failed operation at the orphanage, they were checking out anything that sounded potentially violent.
That had all been forgotten as soon as Dwayne heard the report from dispatch. His name was called out specifically. So was Christy’s.
They were first on the scene. Nobody came to meet them in the foyer, even after Dwayne broke down the door. The lights were dim, and slow, sultry music played from the parlor. Dani remembered seeing a few of the girls out on the sidewalk by the house, as well as an older guy, who was clearly a customer. He had stared right at Dani as she’d run up the steps with Dwayne. It was odd. Maybe he forgot he was doing something illegal.
Dani checked her watch. “Backup is still at least two minutes out.”
“Christy? Adam?” Dwayne yelled into the house.
Somebody answered from the hallway. “Down here!”
It was Matt. He was leaning up against the wall at the far end of the hall across from the VIP room. As Dani got closer, she realized he was covered in blood. He was clutching his wrist with the other hand, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good. Blood still trickled down his arm and dripped from his elbow. Dani crouched next to him, but Dwayne went straight for the door.
“Wait!” said Matt.
Dwayne spun around to look at them, and it was clear he had no intention of waiting.
Matt saw that and blurted out, “He’s got them both in there. Christy and Adam. And he already killed . . . what’s his face. The guy who keeps punching me.”
Dwayne slowly turned back to the door. Then he looked down. Dani followed his gaze and noticed the pool of blood he was standing in, along with some other kind of liquid. Dani took a second to look at Matt’s arm. That pool of blood wasn’t from him, but he was starting to make his own.