The Association

by Bentley Little

  He sounded good, Barry admitted. Hell, if he didn't know better, he'd probably believe the story.

  "It wasn't just one lone criminal. We have also been harassed by the association," Barry said. He pointed at Calhoun "You and your cronies have fined us and intimidated us and repainted our house and re landscaped our property."

  The president smiled sympathetically.

  "Do you deny citing us for violating a rule that bans minorities from staying in Bonita Vista?"

  "Homeowners' associations do necessarily have rules and regulations that all of its residents must follow."

  "Illegal, discriminatory rules?"

  Calhoun looked at Geddes. "Life is a little different within a gated community, particularly one that is located in an unincorporated area, where the homeowners' association must furnish the sort of services and protection ordinarily provided by government agencies. Are you familiar with homeowners' associations at all, Agent Geddes?"

  "I live in a gated community," Geddes admitted.

  "And do you like it?"

  "I wouldn't live anywhere else."

  Calhoun nodded. "Then you know what I'm talking about." He gave Barry a tolerant smile. "I'll be the first one to admit that they're not for everyone. Some individuals don't respond well to the stringent requirements for membership. But associations maintain standards that are necessary for the good of the community. That is what we do here. But to extrapolate from that that we are involved in kidnapping or other illegal activities is frankly ludicrous."

  There was a lot more that Barry wanted to say, but Geddes was already closing his notebook. He raised a silencing hand as Barry started to speak, then thanked Calhoun for the interview and started toward the door, indicating that Barry was to follow.

  The lights went off as they reached the exit, and he turned to see Calhoun seated at the table in exactly the same position as when they'd arrived.

  He shivered.

  "So?" Barry prodded as the door closed behind them. He knew the answer already but felt obligated to ask.

  "I'm sorry," Geddes said as they walked back out to the car, "but I'll be recommending that we concentrate our efforts on searching for an outside suspect, a person or persons with a specific grudge against your friends. I do not believe that Mr. Calhoun is in any way involved in these disappearances--if they are disappearances--and I

  don't think that your homeowners' association is responsible for or complicitous in whatever crime may have occurred."

  "They--"

  The agent held up a hand. "I understand your antipathy toward the organization, but I think you have allowed it to cloud your judgment.

  The idea that your homeowners' association is behind the kidnapping of your friends makes no logical sense and there is absolutely no evidence to support it. As Mr. Calhoun said, the proposition is ludicrous.

  This doesn't mean that we won't make every effort to locate your friends. Of course we will. The majority of our cases are missing persons, and it's very rare that we do not close our cases. This branch of the Bureau in particular has a stellar record in this area."

  He stopped walking. "We know our job, Mr. Welch. And we're good at what we do. We'll also keep you apprised of any and all developments in the case. But I have to be honest, and I'm telling you right here and now that you're barking up the wrong tree."

  / wouldn't live anywhere else.

  Barry looked at the agent, then nodded and started toward the car. "I

  understand," he said.

  And then it was all over.

  Or at least it seemed to be. No progress was made in finding their friends, but a week went by with no fines or charges or intrusive action. And then another. And another. It was as though things had gone back to the way they were that first month, and Maureen found it easy to pretend that all was well. She helped Barry repaint the house brown with forest green trim, and they went into town and cleaned out his office, where, miraculously, everything was as he had left it. She also picked up a few clients from her E accountant web page.

  And she was pregnant.

  She was not positive at first. Her period always varied a day or two, and once it had even been a week late. But when two weeks had gone by and there were not even any signs of imminent menstruation--no bloating, no oily skin, no PMS--she knew that she was pregnant.

  She'd had a feeling from the beginning that this time it was the real deal, but she didn't want to jinx it so she'd said nothing to Barry.

  She was still not certain what his reaction would be. Irrespective of the chaos around them, she was not sure he was ready to be a father, not sure, despite his protestations to the contrary, that he ever wanted to be a father.

  But she told him in bed on the night of the fourteenth day.

  "I have news."

  "Good or bad?"

  "Under the circumstances, I'm not sure." She looked at him. "I'm pregnant."

  "Are you positive?"

  She nodded. "My period's two weeks late."

  "That's great!"

  He hugged her tightly. She hadn't realized how anxious she'd been, wondering and worrying about his reaction, and she was filled with a deep grateful joy at his obvious excitement. They ended up talking far into the night and, afterward, making love.

  Corban had only one doctor, a general practitioner, and even if there hadn't been animosity between Bonita Vista and the town, neither of them would have been willing to entrust the health of their baby to him. So the next morning Maureen got on the Internet, did some research, and found the name of a respected obstetrician over in Cedar City. It was a long drive, but it was worth it, and they made an appointment to see Dr. Holm two days later.

  Everything went well. Because of her age, she was technically in the high-risk group, but the doctor said she was healthy, practiced good nutrition, and had been taking the proper vitamins even before conceiving. She would have to have ultrasounds and anamnio , but he didn't foresee any problems. The only worry he had was that she was not immunized for rubella. German measles was known to cause serious birth defects, and he advised her to stay away from crowds, to not fly in airplanes, to not attend movie theaters or amusement parks, and to steer clear of recent immigrants who might carry the virus.

  She called all her friends from California, then dragged Barry up to see Liz.

  When she answered the door, their friend looked old and tired. She'd seemed fine when Maureen had gone up to the house with Lupe and Danna, but now all of the life seemed to be drained out of her. With Barry's arm around her midsection, Maureen put on a cheerful front and gave the glad tidings. She'd hoped Liz would be happy for them, excited by the news, but the dour expression that seemed to have been permanently etched on the old woman's face did not change. "What are you going to do about it?" she asked shortly.

  Maureen frowned, uncomprehending. "What?"

  Liz gestured around the hillside. "Couples are not allowed to have children in Bonita Vista."

  "That's not true. The Williamses have kids. And I've seen teenagers at the tennis courts."

  "The no-children rule is fairly new and those people were grandfathered in. But everyone who moved here within the past three years is forbidden to either procreate or adopt."

  "I never saw that rule in there," Barry said, his arm tightening around her.

  Maureen hadn't either, but the case of the ever-changing document had never been solved, and they still hadn't had time to go through the massive volume that housed the revised G, C, and Rs . She had no doubt that Liz was telling the truth.

  "There was a man here a couple years back," the old woman said, her voice flat and unemotional. "Dent Rolsheim . He had two kids by his first wife back in Phoenix but she had full custody. He'd remarried and moved here and was fighting it, pouring every cent he had into trying to get his kids back. Finally, the case went to court and he was granted joint custody, with the wife taking them for the school year and Dent taking them for summers and holidays. The day after he picke
d up the kids and brought them back here, they disappeared. All of them. Dent, the kids, the second wife. Gone. No one ever heard from them again."

  Maureen felt the grip of panic around her heart. "What if the association tries something like that when our little guy's born?"

  Barry's jaw tightened. "Don't worry," he said. "We won't let them."

  "Them?" Liz said, raising an eyebrow. "Us."

  She slammed the door in their faces.

  The Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions Article VI, Membership Rights, Section 3, Paragraph D:

  Children are not permitted to live within the boundaries of Bonita Vista or on any of the Properties herein, the sole exception being those persons under age eighteen who were already living with their families prior to the institution of this restriction. Should any couple decline to take suitable steps to resolve the conflict between an unapproved adoption or pregnancy and this Declaration, the Board has the authority to void the adoption or terminate the pregnancy in the manner it deems most appropriate.

  They were awakened in the middle of the night by the phone ringing, and Barry grabbed it angrily, sure it was someone from the association attempting to harass them.

  But it wasn't.

  The voice on the other end of the line belonged to his brother-in-law, Brian, who was calling because Sheri had been in a serious accident and was in Intensive Care. Barry's sister and her husband lived in Philadelphia, where both of them worked the night shift at the post office's distribution center. Less than an hour ago, Sheri had gone out to get some sandwiches at an all-night deli and had been struck by a car while walking across the street. The driver had neither slowed nor stopped, and it was only the fact that the deli cashier had seen the accident and called 911 that she was alive at all. As it stood, she was in critical condition and her prognosis was not good.

  "Get over here," Brian sobbed. "She needs you, man."

  "I'll be there as quick as I can."

  He clicked off the phone and looked over at Maureen, stunned. "Sheri was in an accident. Hit and run. Brian says it's bad. There might be brain damage. She also might need a kidney and I'm the only family member with matching blood type. They want me to fly over for tests."

  It hadn't hit him until he spelled everything out for Maureen, and he suddenly felt as though he couldn't breathe. Tears welled in his eyes, and he concentrated hard so as not to cry, knowing that if he started he would not be able to stop.

  He wiped his eyes. "Pack enough for a week," he said. "I don't know how long we'll be there, but it's better to be prepared. We'll drive up to Salt Lake and see what's available, wait for standby if we have to."

  Maureen was already shaking her head. "You heard what the doctor said.

  I have no immunization for rubella. I can't fly on a plane with all that recycled air. Who knows what kind of passengers will be on there?

  I'm not going to jeopardize the baby."

  He nodded in acknowledgment, though the meaning of her words was only now filtering through. It was as if everything was on delay, as though words had to travel great distances to reach his brain.

  In the back of his mind was the idea that the association was responsible, that they were behind the accident and had planned this all out in order to separate him from Maureen, but he knew that was not possible.

  Was it?

  "You're going to stay here?" he said.

  "Yes. But don't worry about it. Get ready and go. Sheri needs you."

  "I don't think--"

  "I'll be fine. Nothing'll happen to me."

  "At least stay inside," he told her. "Don't even go out in the yard.

  Keep everything locked up and barricade the doors until I get back. Put a towel over-your lap when you go to the bathroom in case they've installed new cameras and make sure you sleep in pajamas. Change and take your showers in the dark and do it quick in case they have infrared."

  "I thought they stopped taping us after you took out the camera."

  "Maybe they did and maybe they didn't. But just to be on the safe side, act as though your every move is being watched." He took a deep breath, looked at her. "Maybe we should drive. Then we could both go."

  "To Philadelphia?" Her voice softened. "She might not make it, Bare.

  I don't want to upset you, but you need to get out there now."

  "You're right," he said numbly. "You're right." He thought for a moment. "Why don't you come with me up to Salt Lake? You can stay in a hotel until I get back. That way you won't have to be here alone."

  "I'll be fine."

  "Maybe not. You said--"

  "I'll be fine," she repeated. She kissed him. "Get ready. Go."

  He called her from the airport and then from the hospital when he got there. Things were looking up a little, he said. Not much, but a little. There'd be no need for a kidney, and it appeared likely that she'd pull through--the crucial period had passed--but the doctors were still uncertain as to whether or not she had suffered brain damage.

  For Maureen, the day was long. She recalculated an estimated tax schedule for a client in California whose used record store income was below the initial projection, but that was it for real work. She spent the rest of the morning and the afternoon listening to music and rereading an old Philip Roth novel, waiting for another call from Barry. He phoned again that night. Sheri's condition was unchanged.

  They talked for nearly an hour before Maureen gently told him he should go to bed, it was ten o'clock on the east coast and he needed the rest.

  He hung up, after promising to call again in the morning after he visited the hospital.

  She hadn't done much today, but she was tired, and Maureen went to bed after checking all of the locks and placing a chair under the knob of the front door. Despite what she'd told Barry, she did not feel comfortable remaining here alone, and she wished now that she had agreed to go to Salt Lake City.

  Why had she stayed? What had made her do such a stupid thing?

  Made her?

  Now she was thinking like him.

  Made her.

  The thought was impossible to dislodge once it had crept into her brain. It really had been a stupid decision, and she could not for the life of her recall the logic or reasoning behind her choice.

  Barry was the one who liked noise, who needed to fall asleep with the television on. By herself, she would have ordinarily gone to bed in a silent house. But tonight she was grateful for the voices and the light, and she fell asleep listening to the canned laughter of an unfunny TV show.

  She was awakened after midnight by noises. The timer had long since turned off the television, but the house was not silent. From upstairs came loud taps and creaks and a subtle, persistent rattling. She wanted to pretend she didn't hear them, to pull the covers over her head, plug her ears, and force herself back to sleep. But she couldn't feign ignorance knowing that someone might be creeping through her house. She was responsible for two now, and it was her job to protect her home and child.

  She reached over, flipped on the lamp atop the night stand.

  A man stood in the doorway holding a coat hanger.

  The scream that tore from her lips seared her throat with its intensity and she could not suck in enough air to sustain it, but she continued screaming nonetheless.

  In three quick strides, he was next to the bed.

  And he was smiling.

  Still screaming, Maureen shoved off the covers and scrambled to the other side of the mattress. She intended to throw open the window and jump out through the screen, but a strong hand grabbed her left ankle before she had even made it off the bed. She kicked out with both legs, trying to hurt him, trying to connect, but her feet hit only open air, and then she was flipped onto her back.

  The man was wearing a business suit. He was not someone she recognized or had ever seen before, and the impersonality of the attack made it that much more frightening. She knew why he was here and who had sent him, and she also
knew who had informed on her.

  Liz.

  She tried to sit up, ready to scratch his face and claw out his eyes, but he punched her in the stomach, and as she gasped for air and clutched at her midsection, he straightened out the coat hanger.

  "Article six," he said. "Section three, paragraph D."

  "No-o-o-o!" she screamed.

  Grinning, he shoved her legs apart.

  And a crimson blotch exploded on his chest.

  His eyes widened, and he straightened up, twisting around as he tried to clutch at his back, making a sickening gurgling noise deep in his throat. He'd dropped his coat hanger, but he made no attempt to retrieve it. Instead, he lurched to the side as a high, keening whine escaped from his mouth.

  Liz stood behind him. She pulled out the knife she'd plunged into his back and shoved it in again, higher. No blood bloomed on his shirt this time, but Maureen could see it spraying behind him, coating Liz's arms, soaking the dresser and carpet. He fell on the bed next to her, jerking spasmodically. Maureen pushed herself over the foot of the bed, rolling onto the floor, and when she looked up again he was still.

  Liz remained in place, covered with blood, hands at her side. "I'm sorry," she said, and she started to cry. "It's my fault. I'm sorry."

  Maureen stood and hugged her friend.

  "I was weak. I couldn't help it. I went to them." By now she was sobbing. "I just wanted it to stop."

  Maureen looked at the body on the bed, Liz's knife still protruding from the back of his suit jacket.

  "I didn't tell them," Liz said, wiping her eyes and smearing the blood on her face. "Honest. You have to believe me. I knew they knew, but I wasn't the one who told them."