by Dan Dillard
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Tanya, like can ya?
Her body was new to him. A woman’s body where there was once a girl. He had explored that body when it was seventeen years old. Rusty had learned almost everything he knew about women from her when they were still students at Smithville High. Her hair was dark brown back then, long and thick and it always smelled like fruity shampoo. He liked to get lost in Tanya’s hair when they were together. Liked to twist it in his fingers while she lay on his chest or snuggled up to him to watch a rented VHS movie.
As she approached, he saw her hair was now highlighted with blond streaks and over processed. Everything about her was different except for the face. Tanya’s face was still beautiful.
“My god, Russ, come give me a hug,” she said, waving him toward her.
Vicky contorted her face in obvious disapproval. She stood up and held her hand out to shake. Chris stepped in between them. “Vicky, this is Tanya.”
“Pronounced like can ya,” Tanya said.
Some things never change.
He was lost in her face. Lost in all those years, all of the heartbreak, all of the wonder. Robyn disappeared even though she was less than six inches away from him. Then Chris made it worse.
“Tanya and Rusty were inseparable back in the day. I was sure they’d be married and have a dozen kids by now.”
“Hi Tanya,” Rusty said, now standing and reaching out for her. She hugged him tight, but it was quick and it was over. It was a because-I-have-to hug. A sister hug. She smelled of cheap hairspray and cigarettes and her hair felt like wool against his cheek.
She patted Rusty on the shoulders as if he was a business client or a cousin she hadn’t seen since the last holiday gathering. Tanya was handling him. He was a formality, just another check in a long line of boxes there at the reunion. If he watched, Rusty bet Tanya would hug and greet every person in the room, and she would greet them the same way.
Tanya looked at him the way a mother looks at her child when she sends him off to his first day of school. Then she smiled—a finality—before turning to Robyn.
“Hey Tanya,” Robyn said and they side hugged, with air kisses at each cheek.
“I just love your little restaurant,” Tanya said. “I feel so guilty we haven’t caught up, but I’m so busy all the time. I’ll come in next week. We’ll chat.”
“I look forward to it,” Robyn said.
Then, Tanya was gone. Rusty watched her go and for the first time in twenty years, he didn’t want to chase after her. He felt like he’d been flipping channels and found a movie he had loved as a kid, but when he started watching it as an adult, it was stupid. Once magical, Tanya like can-ya was no longer a thing. She was a fad.
Robyn put her hand on his knee and Rusty became oblivious to the music, the muffled conversations and tinkling of glasses. He looked up at her and stuck his beer bottle in his mouth. It was empty and Rusty grunted in defeat. Robyn was still watching Tanya as she made her rounds.
“She won’t come to the restaurant,” Robyn said. “I’ve had that very same conversation with her four or five times since I moved back. Shit just spills out of her mouth and she never cleans it up. I’ll never understand that. If you say something, you should remember it and you should keep your promises.”
“Yeah,” Rusty said. He looked at Robyn, realizing he’d blanked her out while Tanya was there. Realizing Tanya was not the ideal he’d kept in his head all those years. She was just another woman who didn’t know or care about him. He wished her well, but Robyn cared, and Robyn was present.
“Hi Rusty!” someone said from a table away. A woman. She was waving. He didn’t recognize her but smiled politely and held up his hand.
“I need to pee,” Vicky said.
“I’ll join you,” Robyn said and kissed Rusty on his cheek. He touched her face and nodded to her. As they ladies walked away, he saw Tanya again, making her rounds, hugging and hand shaking and laughing. Checking boxes. Fulfilling a quota.
“Hey. It looks like it’s just us for a bit, ol’ buddy. How about that Tanya, huh? Think those tits are real? I mean you’d know. She busted your cherry didn’t she? Hell, everything about her is different. I’d like to get a hold of that for a couple hours.”
“You sure Vicky would allow that, Padre?” Rusty asked. “Maybe she’ll set you up a threesome.”
“That would be hot. I think Vicky might be into that,” Chris said.
Rusty served up his best you’re-full-of-shit look. Chris shrugged and looked back over his shoulder at Tanya. “Tear…it…up,” he said. “Sure you wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“So you and Robyn?” Chris said.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“That’s great, man. I’m happy for you.”
That was the end of their conversation. An absence of twenty years had culminated in a conversation about a fantasy threesome. It was honest, though. Nice to know Chris thought enough of Rusty to talk that high school shit. The conversations he had in Chicago were scripted. People talked about things they were supposed to talk about. Politics, world news, world views, health fads and art films. They talked about sports in the way a biotechnologist might discuss the gene sequence of sickle cell anemia. It all felt like work. Chris, while simple and still driven by his crotch, was at least honest.
On the loudspeakers, Starship built a city on rock and roll. Chris’s fingers tapped on the table in rhythm, ever the percussionist. “Buddy, I’m feeling a little parched. Grab you another beer?” he said. Rusty nodded and Chris bounced over to the bartender for two more bottles.
Rusty glanced around the room at the others. Some danced, some talked. Several couples separated themselves and lined the walls, or sat on the pull-out bleachers. Most found their old groups and were busy showing pictures or taking pictures. There was laughter.
He turned his head back to Chris who was carrying four beers instead of two. He was stopped short of their table by a couple Rusty didn’t know. The three laughed and Chris dodged any further interaction by pointing to Rusty, then the table, and then holding up the drinks. The couple nodded, smiled and moved along.
Starship ended and REO Speedwagon began. Piano, singing, then a bold entrance of guitar and drums. The kind of song Rusty gagged on in school. He thought of Robyn and their conversation in the car. He thought of the love they had made the night before. He thought of their walk on the pier. It wasn’t the tune from Top Gun, but it was a slow dance and when she came back, he intended to take her up on it and not leave any room for Jesus as the chaperones used to say at school dances. He wondered if they still said that.
Robyn and Vicky entered the gym after a visit to the restroom. Both of them were giggling like old friends with an inside joke. Vicky danced her way back toward the table and as Rusty watched, she tried to coax Robyn to let loose a little, and Robyn—while smiling—declined.
She’s not a dancer. She’d told me that. But she owes me a slow dance.
Rusty stood to greet her, to give her a hug and maybe a kiss right there in front of the entire population of the graduating class of Smithville High School, 1985, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“Russell Clemmons,” the voice said.
Rusty turned around and stared into the somewhat haggard face of Greg Stafford, police sergeant. Greg was not smiling and he was in uniform. A uniform that was dusty and there were dried smears on his face and hands that could’ve been mud or grease or blood. It was difficult to tell in the poorly lit gymnasium.
“Hey, Sergeant, what the hell happened to you?” Rusty said.
“I need you to step outside with me for a minute. I have some questions and I can’t hear myself think in here.”
Rusty looked back toward Robyn who hadn’t seen the officer yet. Chris had walked out to meet the ladies and was dancing with his wife, still holding the four beers, bottlenecks interlaced with fingers. Robyn laughed at them from a few feet away.
“Sure. L
et me just tell my date,” he said. He held his hand up and waved in Robyn’s direction. After a few seconds of bouncing like an idiot, she saw him. REO Speedwagon gave way to “Run to You” by Bryan Adams and Rusty stepped toward her. The hand was back on his shoulder again.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Greg said.
His grip on Rusty’s shoulder was firm and unyielding. Rusty shrugged out of it and looked back at the policeman.
What is it with this guy? Is his face gray? I can’t tell. I know it is, but I can’t tell.
“What’s going on, Greg? You look like hell,” Robyn said. She set a pair of Coronas on the table and put her arm around Rusty.
Chris and Vicky danced in front of the DJ stand. Another couple joined them, then another. It was an embarrassing site.
“Sergeant Stafford was just telling me he needed to speak to me outside. I guess he has some questions. I need to smoke anyway. Do you want to come?”
“Sure,” Robyn said.
“That’s good. I need to speak with you as well, Robyn,” Greg said.
As they followed him out, Rusty looked back at Chris who was bouncing with the music, looking at him and holding his hands out in a pose that said, where you going? Rusty tapped his watch and held up four fingers and a thumb to indicate he’d be back in five minutes.
Once the doors to the gymnasium slammed shut with a loud pair of CLANKS, they passed the registration table where quarterback Phil was no longer sitting, and left the building. Greg walked behind Robyn and Rusty. When Rusty stopped at the main entrance, Greg gave him a slight shove.
“What? Come on, is that necessary?” Rusty said. Then he stepped outside and looked around. From where they were, he could see the traffic was backed up on Howe and he heard sirens in the distance. The stench he’d only just noticed before—like something in his peripheral vision if the comparison could be made—was now front and center. It reminded him of being downwind of the paper mill in the neighborhood where he’d grown up. A sickening, sour smell. Overhead, a massive flock of birds, or maybe several flocks of birds filled the sky, heading north. It sounded like millions of them. The sound of the squawks was dense. If it had been daylight, he wouldn’t have been able to see the sky, but that evening, he only caught glimpses in the light of the streetlamps. The beat of so many wings crescendoed into a fluttering hum, waned, and they were gone. Rusty stared upward in amazement. Robyn stared upward in amazement. Greg stared at Rusty.
“I need to know your whereabouts this afternoon, Mr. Clemmons.”
“He was with me, Greg,” Robyn said. “He’s been with me since last night. And what’s this Mr. Clemmons shit?”
Greg looked at her, then back at Rusty. “I don’t know exactly.” He wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “What I do know is that he showed up, and Thomas beat Shrimp to death. Then I speak to him at NAPA and now Bill Shockley is lying in the morgue with half his head gone.”
“What?” Rusty asked. “What happened?”
“You tell me,” Greg said.
Rusty and Robyn had no such information. They stared at him in amazement. Rusty lit one cigarette, then another and handed it to Robyn.
“You were with him all day?” Greg said.
“No,” Rusty said. “She has some errands to run. I went over to Rosalie’s and got breakfast and then went for a walk.”
“Where did you walk?”
Rusty didn’t want to mention Jack Everett just in case it had been a dream. He didn’t want to hear that Jack was dead or pressing charges for getting punched in the face and thus link him to another recent violent death.
“I walked along the waterfront and finished my coffee. Then I went back to my room and napped before the reunion. Robyn met me at the motel around 4:00 and we grabbed some food. Showed up here around 6:00.”
“Did anyone see you on this walk?” Greg said.
“You can’t mean this, Greg. You don’t think he had anything to do with any of this, do you?” Robyn said. Then she looked at Rusty and he saw it on her face.
She isn’t sure—not completely. How could she be? We only just met.
“I don’t know what I mean. While I was at NAPA lookin’ at Bill’s brains, another call came in. It was Sue.”
“My Sue?” Robyn said. “What happened to her?”
“She’s fine, well physically fine. Travis Langford hung himself from his tow truck in her driveway. She found the body.”
“Travis? Tow truck?” Rusty said. He pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit another one, inhaling deeply. Robyn grabbed the pack from him and shook out one of her own.
“You knew Mr. Langford?” Greg said.
“Yeah. Well, no. I mean he towed my car in from out of town. He’s the one who dropped me at Bill Shockley’s place.”
Greg crossed his arms. He looked at Rusty and something like rage boiled on his face. Slow at first, in eye twitches and small lip movements. Then, as Rusty lifted his cigarette for another drag, Greg gripped his forearm knocking the burning butt to the ground. He spun Rusty around pulling his arm up behind him in an unnatural way. Rusty called out in pain. Greg shoved him against the wall of the old school and leaned his weight against him.
“Stop it! Greg? What are you doing?” Robyn said.
“You’re under arrest,” Greg said, pulling cuffs from his belt and slapping one bracelet on Rusty’s left wrist before shifting position and connecting the other bracelet.
“This is bullshit,” Rusty said. “Fucking bullshit.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Greg said. “I can ensure you will be.” In a three part motion, he unsheathed the baton from his belt, snapped it out and cracked it across Rusty’s neck, sending him to the ground in a lump.
Robyn shoved at the policeman. “Stop it! Stop it, you asshole!”
“Watch your mouth or you can sit in jail with him,” Greg said.
“But he hasn’t done anything,” she said.
“We’ll see.”
Greg yanked Rusty up to a standing position and shook him. “Wake up, I didn’t hit you that hard.”
Rusty tried to put a hand to the back of his throbbing head but the handcuffs prevented it. “I’ll sue you for everything you ever had or will have,” he said.
“You want another round?” Greg said dragging him toward the cruiser.
“Take me with you,” Robyn said. “Let me go with you.”
“Suit yourself,” Greg said. He shoved Rusty in the backseat and popped the locks for her to get in front. She slid in, frantic, her hands shaking.
Greg cranked the motor and drove across the parking lot to the street. He flipped his lights on and honked. The stopped traffic parted slowly, cars inching forward or backward just enough so the police car could squeeze through. A chorus of car horns rang from up and down the clogged street. People shouted at the cruiser. “Can’t you do something about this?” and “What the hell is going on?” were popular questions. The side streets were also jammed and so he drove across curbs, over lawns and through the shrubs that separated the businesses. When Greg gunned the accelerator to break through a picket fence, Robyn shrieked.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rusty shouted. The car rocked and bounced and moved over another lawn making a bee line for the police station. The wheels spun and spurted gouts of sand and then caught and propelled the vehicle along. Overhead, another giant flock of birds was escaping.
“Shut your mouth, Clemmons,” Greg shouted. “You’re in enough trouble.”
When the ride was over, Robyn had to catch her breath. Rusty knew she was scared, but of Greg. Of the situation. Rusty feared something else entirely. Aside from the stench and the rash of murders and suicides, he saw something in the woods between a pair of the houses they had passed. Greg’s eyes had been on the road and Robyn’s on Greg. Rusty’s eyes were on something walking that was made of bones and no meat. Something that sane people only imagined. He saw several of the walking things he couldn’t get hi
s mind to admit. They were crawling into one of those houses through a broken window. There were more at the next house. Another one walked across the street behind them.
After bringing the car to a halt in front of the station, Greg pulled Rusty out of the back seat and shoved him ahead, gripping his arm up under the armpit. Robyn hurried behind them. There was an explosion in the distance and the muffled sounds of screaming. Greg didn’t hear or he ignored the noises. He shoved Rusty onto the sidewalk and into the front door to the station house.
Inside, Sandy Rollins looked frantic. The handset was to her ear and lights flashed along the edge of the telephone as if every line was either on hold or ringing.
“Greg, what’s going on out there?” she said. “Crazy people are calling in. Threats, assault, suicide, murder, looting. I’ve heard everything from skeletons to demons.”
Greg walked past her, but she kept talking.
“Car accidents, domestic complaints, breaking and entering. I don’t get paid enough for this.”
“Shut up, Sandy. Just shut up. Can’t you see I’ve got him?”
“You’ve got who?” Sandy said.
“This is the guy responsible,” Greg said and rushed past her. Robyn tried to follow, but he stopped her with a flat palm to the chest. “No. You can sit out here. No further. Do you understand?”
“Take it easy,” Rusty said.
“You think that man is responsible for this whole mess? It’s like war out th…”
“Shut…up…Sandy. Just shut up for a minute so I can think,” Greg said.
Robyn shook her head and her flushed cheeks showed her anger.
“Come on, hon. You can sit out here with me,” Sandy said. An older woman with chocolate brown skin and greying hair. Rusty recognized her as the other woman in the bakery the morning before he spoke to Jack Everett. She had a sweet face.
“What is wrong with him?” Robyn said.
“I don’t know. Lord knows this little town can drive folks crazy. You just stick with me. Greg will come around. He’s a good man. Just stressed is all.”
In the back, Greg unlocked the handcuffs and shoved Rusty into one of three small cells and slammed the door so it latched with a metallic CLANK. The cells hadn’t been updated since the 1970’s. Iron bars separated three cells from a narrow hallway. Inside each was a cot with a toilet.
Rusty leaned on the bars and leered at Greg. He rubbed his wrists and the back of his head. “This is wrong and you know it. Your head isn’t clear. I did all that? Think, man.”
He didn’t dare mention the skeletons or the sick smell he’d noticed since he got into town. He also didn’t dare mention the personality changes he’d seen in Bill Shockley.
And Jack Everett. And Travis.
Greg only stared at him and paced back and forth in front of the cells.
“Well hello, neighbor,” said a familiar voice.
Rusty looked to his left and saw Thomas Bledsoe lying on a cot with his arms behind his head as if he was relaxing. His eyes were wild, black, and he smiled wide as if he hadn’t a single care.
“Shut up,” Greg said. “You have nothing to say.”
Thomas sat up. “Oh, but I do,” he said. “I have lots to say.”