Children of Chicago

by Cynthia Pelayo

  “I’m proud of you,” she said, “You belong at University of Chicago.”

  “I’m glad the university hired me. It saved me the trouble of having to move.”

  She had heard about his tenure from her dad. Bobby was brilliant.

  “Did you get any other offers?”

  “A few out East, but Chicago, she never lets you go.”

  The idea that he even applied outside of Chicago made her chest ache.

  “What do you need help with?”

  “I’m doing some research and need some help with folklore...”

  “Folklore?” Bobby raised his eyebrow. “You want to talk about folklore?” He stifled a laugh.

  She understood the animosity. One night while they were still living together, Lauren was studying the placement of a body in relation to where it had been found in a red line station, just feet away from where it would have been crushed by the train otherwise. The murder did not occur there, that they knew, but why move the victim to the train station? That had been what troubled her. As she studied the image, the nude, limp body of a woman, Bobby broke her concentration.

  “Duffy and the Devil!” Bobby shouted from behind his laptop screen. “That’s the variant I was looking for and couldn’t find.”

  “What?’ Lauren was confused, ripped away from the dank smell of the cold subway, the roar of the passing train, and the slumped, bruised and battered woman’s body at the foot of the escalator.

  “Rumpelstiltskin. You know?”

  No, she did not know and did not really care, because at that point in her life, her need for fairy tale knowledge had been store away.

  He continued. “The devil in Duffy and the Devil plays essentially the same exact role that Rumpelstiltskin plays in his fairy tale, and I got images of one of the original copies. Look.”

  He lay down a manila folder right beside her laptop.

  “Can you not right now?” She closed her eyes for a moment and told herself not to scream at him. When she opened her eyes again, he was standing there with a look of confusion on his face. He had no idea what he had done so very wrong. He interfered with her concentration. He interfered with her work. “I’m in the middle of something important, and I don’t have time for...fairy tales,” she snapped.

  “Right, because no part of my work is important.”

  “It’s fucking fairy tales, and I’m trying to catch a killer!” She did not even realize she had stood up and was shouting, inches from his face. “Fairy tales are not real. None of them are real. What you’re doing...it’s just pointless.”

  It was as if she had shattered a glass between them. Each stood still for fear something else would break, that something else they said would cut. Bobby quietly reached for his folder and moved to the door. “Do you remember what you told me on one of our very first dates?”

  She rolled her eyes. She did not want to talk about this.

  “You asked me if I believed in the possibility that any of these stories could be true. I said perhaps some aspects of them. There’s a little bit of truth in some of the stories that the Grimms brothers collected. These stories were collected by word of mouth, sometimes across small, rural towns in Germany hundreds of years ago. Many of these people believed what they were talking about. These stories explained what dark things happened in the forest at night. These stories explained why some people left and never came back, why some people were jinxed, and others were blessed. And I think there’s some part of you that’s terrified talking about fairy tales, and I want to know why.”

  “I’m just tired,” she said, hoping that would explain why she said what she said and that this argument would just end.

  “Tell me why you asked me that?”

  Lauren refused to answer.

  He took his folder, closed the door, and it was then she knew this marriage had to end, especially before more questions arose and he got hurt.

  Lauren looked up to the ribbed vaulted ceiling in the church. Within the ribs were medallions. Bobby had told her long ago that these medallions represented emblems of the universe, the object of human study. Repeated in the nave were images of the sun, moon, stars, air, water, fire, and then there were the angels with their musical instruments. There was an angel with a tambourine, one with a drum, another with triangles, one with a horn, and then one playing a pipe.

  “If something doesn’t involve saving someone’s life or finding some bad guy, then it’s not good enough for you,” he shifted his position on the pew.

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “But, you’re not really. You’re sorry that you have to do this. That you have to go through the motions, apologizing for something you’re not really sorry about because you need information. You use people, and the problem is I don’t know if I can even be mad at you because you do it to help other people. And now you want my help, and there’s nothing I can do or say other than okay. I’ll help.” His voice cracked, and her cheeks felt hot, and she almost regretted calling him, but he was all that she still had. Washington would be gone forever in days, and Van, well, what kind of partner was he considering he did not trust her?

  Lauren wanted to diffuse the anger, and so she asked him something she thought he might want to talk about. “Sorry, forgot to ask how your girlfriend was...”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend, I don’t date my students. We were on our way to a department party, and I bumped into her at the grocery store. I offered to drive her to the event. You left so fast you didn’t let me explain.”

  She nodded. She was happy about that but did not want to admit it. Before he could say anything else, she returned to her purpose. “Fairy tales...” she said.

  “What do you want to know? It’s a pretty broad subject. I teach four sections of it to undergraduates and graduate students.”

  “Is there any importance to their settings? And, are there any places in Chicago that are similar? If that makes any sense.”

  He nodded and then said, “While it’s not an enchanted forest, our city parks are probably the closest you could get to one. An enchanted forest contains...well, enchantments. Daniel Burnham recognized the power of green spaces, which is why he spread our great parks across the city like a necklace. Walt Disney knew the power of magic, and he was born right here in Chicago. The man is responsible for packaging fairy tales to the masses. And forests are even a common feature in his animations. The dark places. They can be found in the oldest of fairy tales. They’re a representation of things unknown, of transformation. Forests also bring about a sense of adventure, wonder, refuge, dread, and danger.” He stopped. “Aren’t you going to write any of this down?”

  “Don’t need to,” she raised her phone. “I’m recording it.”

  “Isn’t it illegal to record somebody without their consent?”

  Lauren shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “You’re just like him, you know. He did a lot of things that bent the law in his favor.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “When you were working, who do you think was with him? I spent a lot of time with your dad. He needed someone to tell all of his old stories to who hadn’t heard them dozens of times before.”

  “He hated me. He blamed me for all of them...”

  “No, he didn’t. None of it was your fault. Some people are cursed with more tragedy in their life, and I’m sorry that’s been the case for you...”

  “But why a forest?” She placed her phone back in her jacket pocket. “Why there?”

  “In many of these stories people don’t go to the forests because they necessarily want to. Strange things occur in these places. Odd people live in these areas. The forests are home to fairies, witches and monsters. They can sometimes be places of refuge. The hero in many of the Grimm’s tales goes into the forest. These places are sometimes considered beyond the realm of human experience, and so act as a place of transformation. The kids found in Humboldt Park, you cou
ld consider their location to be as close to a forest as possible.”

  Lauren fought back a smile. “Nice, making that connection and all.”

  “It’s been all over the news, and you’ve always gravitated toward bigger cases if you could.”

  He started to speak again, but he closed his mouth and shook his head.

  “What?”

  “Lore,” he paused. “There are similarities. You can’t ignore that.”

  “Coincidences.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  She closed her eyes because for just a moment she did not want to believe there was a connection, an eerily similar connection.

  When the memories would come to her, they would come to her in snapshots, vivid, unsettling snapshots. Her cherubic-faced sister, all curls and big eyes screaming, arms outstretched, her body physically begging for help.

  No words.

  No sound.

  Just the image of her sister and...water.

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “So. Some people still remember. For those that don’t remember, I can’t imagine it’s too hard to find out at least some details about what happened to Marie.”

  “Most of those details were sealed, at least to the public so as not to taint the investigation with any fake leads.”

  “Lore, some people know you’re a detective. Some people know you’re working this new case.”

  “Bad things happen at that lagoon all the time,” she said with finality. “And you’re not allowed to do that. You’re not allowed to pick apart my life.”

  “You’re right. You asked me to help you, and I’m here to help you.”

  Lauren thought back to the notebook and then asked, “Monsters then...a lot of these stories have monsters?”

  “You could say that. Monsters. Ghosts. Demons, Boogeymen. Tricksters.” Bobby paused. “I don’t see what fairy tales have to do with murder.”

  “This helps. Tons. Trust me.”

  Bobby lifted the cuff of his shirt, checking the time on his watch.

  “If you have to go, go,” she said.

  “I have a few more minutes. What do you plan to do with the house?” He asked.

  “Keep it, but somehow remove all memory from it. It’s home. I just need to clean it. I haven’t gotten to my dad’s room yet.”

  “The offer stands. I can tackle that for you, so you don’t have to. And…this case,” Bobby said, “if it’s too much, maybe you should move away from it.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Really, Lore? The book? The lagoon? Maybe these kids dug up something about your sister, and I don’t know, are copying it. People do sick things.”

  She gave a dry laugh. “You sound like my partner. It’s not the same. Just a bunch of messed up kids.”

  “Your dad tried to protect you from all of this.”

  “Tried? Just because you were around for a short time doesn’t mean he really tried. How hard did he really try looking for my mother?”

  “Years went by,” Bobby said. “He had to move on. He tried. He never forgot. He never stopped looking for her.”

  Lauren closed her eyes and shook her head, seeing her mother standing at the stove, staring at burned cookies and laughing. She would grab the packaged ones on the counter and laugh harder. She always fixed everything. Bobby did not really know what it was like those last few months, living with a father dying of Alzheimer’s who blamed her for her missing mother, murdered sister and the death of his second wife. Every time she would walk past the door to his bedroom, which he always had to leave open, he would shout: “Get the golden key, Lauren! The golden key! You’ll find her with the golden key!”

  “This, right here, right now, this isn’t about me. I would like for everyone to stop saying that. My questions are about a recent crime that took place, that we still don’t have all the answers to.”

  Bobby’s phone began to chirp. “Class calls. If you want to wait...”

  “I can’t.”

  “I can text you a list of things to look at. Some websites, stuff for you to read through. It may help, and I can call you and talk through them...”

  She smiled and felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’d like that.”

  The book, she thought. She needed to ask him about the book.

  They both rose from the pews, and as they walked out of the chapel, Bobby asked, “Was there a specific fairy tale you were researching?”

  “The Pied Piper.”

  He looked stunned, blinking rapidly. “That’s a coincidence.”

  “Why?”

  “The Newberry Library, they just put together a small collection, an event really, on just that, the Pied Piper of Hamelin.”

  She pretended to sound surprised. “It seems like a really niche topic.”

  Lauren’s throat felt dry. Memories came rushing back in a series of pictures, cut and pasted onto each other. It had been many years, and still, those pictures came flooding in. Children. School desks. A teacher standing in front of a yellow school bus. Images of neighborhoods folding past as they drove. A red brick building. Holding onto the iron railing as she walked up marble steps. Green carpet. Books on heavy wooden shelves. Oil paintings of people from another place and another time watching over their moves. And then, the book.

  “That’s what they do. It’s a research library, and they often hold specialized events.”

  “Is it possible to get a look at it? You must know someone there that put it together.”

  “If you think it would help.”

  She smiled. “There’s actually one specific book in the collection that I’d like to see. The oldest.”

  Bobby shook his head from side to side slowly. “That’s the question you wanted to ask all along.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll make sure you get to it. I’ll call a friend. She owes me a favor.”

  “She?” Lauren did not mean to do that. She did not mean to imply anything.

  “Her name is Valery. She’s lovely, and so is her wife. She teaches part-time in my department but is on leave this term. They’re expecting a son.”

  “You didn’t have to...”

  “I did. I’m not with anyone. Haven’t been, and I don’t know if you don’t realize this, or if you’re ignoring it, but I left because that’s what you wanted me to do. When you are ready for me, I’ll be here.”

  They walked together in silence down the aisle. Together, but apart. He asked where she’d parked, and she pointed to her car. Without hesitation, he took her hand as they walked, and she let him. He stood next to the door for a moment, perhaps calculating what to say next.

  She closed the car door and rolled her window down to say goodbye.

  “I’ll call you,” she said, starting the engine.

  “I’m sorry...”

  She did not know what exactly he was sorry for. Maybe he was sorry for even meeting her and getting involved with her life that just seemed like a black pit, dragging everyone around her into a state of sadness and despair. She did not know what to say other than, “Don’t be.”

  When she motioned to him that she was going to raise the window, she spotted the gold band on his finger. He still wore it. Hers had been tossed in a drawer, something she did not want to look at or acknowledge, but something she knew was there in case she needed it.

  CHAPTER 24

  “All cultures have boogeymen. We don’t know where they originate. We like to think from stories.” Bobby said as he paced back and forth behind the podium he rarely used in this class. He preferred to stand, walk about the front of the classroom, or sit behind the desk.

  “We can only look back to the oldest recorded story. But then we have to ask ourselves, what is the oldest story? Because the written word did not come until later.” He clicked the remote, but realized he had reached his last slide. He had been speaking for most of the lecture. Class was almost over, but he needed t
o stress these next few points.

  “Stories were originally sang, or simply just told.” He stood behind his chair, hands on the seat back. “Think about the troubadours, those loyal lyrical poets who went from town to town. Not all of their stories were centered around music and poetry. Many sang about real people and places, telling news from their travels. They also shared fantastic tales about adventure, heroes, princesses, knights, dragons, and magic. What, if any, of those stories the troubadours shared were too grim to be repeated? What, if any, of those stories were too horrific to share? What if some of those troubling tales remained in those towns because townspeople feared that the story was too evil?”

  He looked about the room, feeling the energy deflate as eyes fell away from him.

  “Because,” he raised his voice “there was a belief that telling these horrific tales gave it power—motivation to morph into something more wicked—something beyond a story, beyond a thought: a virus.”

  “What is the oldest known fairy tale?” He asked the class, and a few people guessed names, but he picked out the correct answer from the audience.

  “The Smith and the Devil,” correct. It’s a very simple premise. The iron smith sells his soul to the Devil in exchange for supernatural powers. The Smith eventually uses those same powers to trap the Devil, which I suppose the Devil should have seen coming. The Brothers Grimm are given much credit for the fairy tales they compiled in Kinder-und Häusmarchen in 1812, but fairy tales go farther back, thousands of years before that. “The Smith and the Devil” likely stretches back 6,000 years. Why have they remained with us so long, evolving, shifting, but still, the premise is the same? Because of the combination of the fantastic and the ordinary. “Beauty and the Beast” is a story about a man magically transformed into a monster. That’s the fantastic. The ordinary part of that story is that it’s just one about family and love.”