AHMM, January-February 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  They were still talking about the Christmas Club when I got back.

  "This is more than a little sick,” I informed them.

  "Right you are, Doug,” Harry agreed. “But just so that you know, Janice and I have further refined the task at hand. All members of the club have one year to complete their assignments—from the end of one Christmas party to the beginning of the next."

  Harry and Janice were grinning like idiots. “You are both drunker than I thought,” I told them.

  "Not as drunk as we plan to be,” Janice responded.

  "To the Christmas Club!” Harry interjected, raising his glass high in a toast.

  Janice immediately lifted hers and clinked it against Harry's. “To the Christmas Club!"

  They both stood waiting for me to join my bottle to their glasses. “Oh, live a little!” Harry finally told me.

  "Or die trying,” Janice added, still smiling.

  I sighed and lifted my glass, wondering if this would end things so we could return to our usual chorus of grumbles and complaints. “To the Christmas Club!” I clinked my Christmas ale against their wine.

  And thus began the year that changed my life.

  * * * *

  I didn't even think of the club when I first heard Carol had died. I mean, who would? It was late February, and I hadn't wasted a thought on the Christmas party for two whole months. I got most of my information from Harry over the phone.

  "Harry, I just heard. Did Carol really die?"

  "Yes, the poor old girl slipped and fell on the ice in front of her brownstone. She was twenty feet from home, but nobody inside the house noticed what had happened. A commuter found her on the way to work and called 911. I wouldn't be surprised if a dozen others walked right passed her. You know how people are."

  "That is just terrible,” I said. “Do they know what killed her?"

  "Cracked skull and swollen brain,” Harry answered.

  "That is just terrible,” I repeated.

  "Don't get too worked up,” Harry said with a laugh. “She was still an evil, incompetent witch. It's too bad she had to die, but it's going to be a lot nicer around here without her."

  I was shocked into silence. I had always respected Harry for his outspokenness, but there were limits to acceptable impropriety. I mean, I hated Brad, but that didn't mean I would gloat if he died.

  With sudden horror I remembered Harry's joke at the Christmas party. It had been a joke, hadn't it? “Harry, you don't think—"

  "I'm sorry, Doug, I've got to go. Can I count on you to go to the funeral with me? I'm sure I'll be expected to go, and I don't want to go and pretend I'm all broken up about this alone."

  "I don't know, Harry,” I protested. “Do you think Janice—"

  "Good idea, we'll get the whole Christmas Club to go. Look, Doug, we'll talk later. The VP is calling me now."

  I hung up and stared at my phone. Surely Harry didn't think Janice had done this, but why else refer to the Christmas Club?

  Feeling some genuine trepidation, I punched in Janice's extension in Human Resources.

  "Janice Crawford."

  "It's Doug. Did you hear about Carol?"

  Janice laughed. “Oh yes, I guess I'm off the hook now."

  I felt relief and apprehension simultaneously twining about each other in the pit of my stomach. “So you didn't..."

  Janice laughed again, even more delightedly than the first time. “If you have to ask, I'll never tell."

  I wanted to put the phone down, praying she was making a joke, but frightened that she was not. Instead, I asked her about the funeral.

  "Oh no,” Janice protested. “Tell Harry that's against the rules. The Christmas Club only meets at the president's Christmas party. I don't have to go to Carol's funeral."

  I hung up the phone with my belly churning. Harry and Janice had always shared an odd sense of humor. It was part of the reason they got on so well together and didn't fit in with anyone else. But laughing about an old woman's death seemed beyond the pale, even for them.

  I resolved to skip the funeral, but Harry won me over in the end.

  He didn't return the favor.

  * * * *

  Brad died in August in another bizarre accident.

  I was at work when I heard the news. Brad was on a two-week vacation, summer session had finally come to an end, and I was enjoying the quiet that precedes the storm of incoming freshmen. Suddenly, Dean Aims appeared in my office. He was quite pale and standing unsteadily. My first thought was that he was having a heart attack.

  "Doug,” he said, as I leapt up from my desk to come to him. “Have you got something hard to drink in here?"

  "Are you all right, sir?” I asked, as I helped him into one of my interview chairs.

  "Something to drink,” he said again.

  I decided this was not a clever trap and fetched a half full bottle of Jack Daniel's from my lower desk drawer. I put a dirty glass on my desk and poured two inches of whiskey into it. Dean Aims took the glass from me without looking at it, so I guided its edge to his lips.

  The taste of the whiskey brought him back to life. He filled his mouth and forced the alcohol down. Then he looked up at me and said, “Brad Norton died this morning."

  My heart clenched in my chest. “What?"

  The dean took another swallow of whiskey. “He fell off his roof and broke his neck. A neighbor found him when she brought her kids back from the pool."

  "I can't believe it,” I said, but of course I feared I could too readily believe. After all, Harry was on vacation this week too.

  I reached for the whiskey and drank straight from the bottle. “Did anyone see it happen?"

  The dean shook his head. “Apparently not. He was working on the backside of his house and fell onto a concrete patio. The neighbor's back yard joins Brad's, or he might still be lying there."

  "I, I, wow..."

  "I know,” the dean said, staring into the remaining whiskey in his glass. “I really liked Brad."

  He got to his feet, looking steadier now, like the whiskey had really braced him. “It's going to be hell around here without Brad—especially with the new year about to begin. I hope I can count on you to help pull us through this."

  "Of course, sir."

  He looked at his empty glass for a moment, then handed it back to me. “Thanks for the drink."

  I watched him leave my office, but I was thinking about Harry and Janice.

  * * * *

  I attended Brad's funeral alone. There were other university employees there, but I didn't sit with them. Harry was still on vacation at the Jersey shore. Janice, of course, refused to come.

  The church was full to overflowing. Brad was a Roman Catholic like me. And he evidently had a lot of friends. I guess the man I saw mistreat students day in and day out was different than the man who left the office and went home each evening.

  It was a hard day for me. I was feeling guilty and scared. The Christmas Club was supposed to be just a bad joke, but now two of the three people Harry had targeted were dead. Admittedly, both deaths looked like accidents, but wasn't that part of the sick plan?

  I tried to imagine how Harry could have done it. Sneaking up from the shore to New Milford wasn't as easy as it used to be. There was E-ZPass on the parkway and turnpike, though it wouldn't be that hard to find an alternate route if Harry was willing to drive a little longer. But how could he have gotten to Brad on the roof? How could he have even known Brad would be working on his roof that day? It had to be just a bizarre accident, but after Carol's unfortunate slip on the ice six months ago, I couldn't believe it. Two deaths were just too bizarre to be a coincidence.

  Harry must have been watching Brad, trying to figure out how to get to him, when he saw Brad climb onto the roof and realized that that was his opportunity. How exactly he had followed Brad onto the roof and pushed him off without being spotted, I couldn't figure out. It seemed terribly risky.

  The priest was telling us to �
��Go in peace” when a new concern suddenly struck me. Surely Harry and Janice couldn't think I was planning to kill Sam for them. Could they?

  * * * *

  "Two down, one to go,” was the first thing Harry said to me. He had a wide grin on his face and sported a fairly impressive tan. I'd have expected his bald pate to burn, but somehow Harry had avoided that painful and embarrassing fate.

  "I don't think that's funny,” I told him.

  Harry's smile was undiminished. “Yes it is! First Carol, now Brad, both apparent accidents—I'd say the pressure is on. Wouldn't you?"

  "I'm not going to kill Sam,” I told him.

  Harry held his hands up in mock horror. “Of course not, these are just accidents.” He lowered his hands and grinned even more broadly. “So have you figured out how you're going to do it?"

  "Harry!"

  He took a step back, raising his hands again. “You're right! Don't tell me! Best if I don't know!"

  "Harry!"

  The overbroad grin relaxed a bit so that Harry looked more like my friend again. He stepped in too close and lowered his voice. “Don't worry, Doug, you've got plenty of time. There's nearly four months until the Christmas party."

  Looking at the expression on my face made him laugh. “Still, maybe I'd better check with Janice on the penalties for failure of a member of the club to perform his duties."

  He laughed again and tapped his watch. “Time's ticking,” he said and strode off toward the elevators.

  * * * *

  Either Harry couldn't let a bad joke drop, or he really wasn't joking. Every time I saw him after that, whether near enough to talk or just passing in a hall, he would lift his wrist and tap his watch.

  Janice was no better. She smiled the only time I asked her about the club and said, “Doug, do you really think I could commit a murder?"

  The trouble was, I was halfway convinced that she had.

  * * * *

  My uneasiness came to a head when I ran into Harry and Janice in the cafeteria one afternoon in October. They were leaving as I was getting on line. It was the first time I had seen them together since the Christmas party last December.

  Harry actually spotted me first and ran over beside me. Janice waved from the entrance but did not follow Harry to my side.

  "Doug,” Harry greeted me, putting his hand on my shoulder as he came up next to me. “Glad we ran into you. Can't stay—we're both running to meetings—but we thought you'd like to know. The penalty we spoke about would have to be death. It's the only way the other members of the group would feel secure."

  With a cheery “Got to run!” Harry hurried back over to Janice, leaving me staring openmouthed after him.

  Janice lifted her left arm so I could see it and pointed to the watch on her wrist. They were both laughing as they walked off toward the elevators.

  I'm not sure how long I stood there staring after them. It was probably only a few seconds because no one cut ahead of me in line. I just couldn't believe that Harry and Janice had just threatened me. Yet I did believe it. They had murdered Carol and Brad, and now they were warning me that they'd kill me as well if I chose not to murder Sam.

  I turned back to my tray, mechanically collected a plate of macaroni and cheese, and filled a cup with Coke from the machine. I don't really remember paying for the meal. Nor do I remember eating it. Harry and Janice had murdered Brad and Carol. And they were thinking about murdering me. I simply didn't know how to deal with this situation.

  I couldn't go to the police because they thought Brad and Carol had died in accidents. And if by some miracle they did believe me and reopened the two cases, they'd probably charge me with conspiracy.

  No, I couldn't go to the police, and that meant to protect myself, I'd have to do the unthinkable. I'd have to murder Sam, or I'd have to murder Harry and Janice.

  * * * *

  Looking back, I wonder why I didn't consider killing Harry and Janice more seriously. After all, Sam might be a jerk, but he was also innocent. Janice and Harry were not. They were murderers who were compounding their crimes by threatening to kill me. Killing them first would be an act of self-defense, morally if not legally.

  But frightened of them as I was that autumn, Janice and Harry were still my friends. I liked them, and I sort of had a thing for Janice. There were also two of them, and if I couldn't get them together the survivor would be coming after me in self-defense. Maybe I was aware of all this subconsciously, but I never consciously analyzed it until much later. The simple truth is, I never seriously considered killing Janice and Harry. And I don't know why I didn't.

  Sam, however, was another matter entirely.

  * * * *

  It took only three weeks from the day I decided to kill Sam to the moment I ended his life. I could have done it more quickly, but I wanted to be careful. I had to kill him on the first try, and I couldn't afford to be caught doing it.

  I started by waiting for Sam in the lobby of our building and following him when he left work. I was relieved when he hurried directly to Penn Station. Following him would have been impossible if he'd gone to a parking garage. I don't own a car.

  I lost him for a moment after he entered the station, but caught sight of him again, making his way down to the subway. I followed after, struggling to keep him in sight. Rush hour funnels thousands of people through that station, and it was difficult to follow Sam and still keep my distance from him.

  Sam finally settled in to wait on the uptown A train. He stood on the yellow stripe at the edge of the platform and leaned out so he could stare up the tracks into the dark tunnel and look for a coming train. I knew immediately how I would kill him. I might have been able to do it that first day, but I decided to be patient. I spent the rest of the week confirming Sam's pattern, and the following two building my nerve for the attack.

  * * * *

  I killed Sam Warren on a Wednesday afternoon one week and a day before Thanksgiving. It was the most abominable and exhilarating act of my first forty-nine years.

  Sam was leaning out off of the platform waiting for his train when I sidled up behind him. The lights of the approaching engine appeared in the tunnel and Sam straightened up, still standing on the forbidden yellow stripe. The loose throng of people suddenly packed in tightly around us as eager commuters stepped forward as the train approached. The engine erupted from the tunnel. The screech of brakes pierced the air. And I shoved Sam Warren hard with my right hand.

  Two seconds later, he was dead.

  * * * *

  The police investigated Sam's death. I guess that's standard when a man is run over by a subway train. The tragedy covered the front page of every city newspaper and was mentioned on all the local broadcasts, but by Thanksgiving Day the story, like Sam, was gone and forgotten.

  The death was ruled an accident.

  * * * *

  I was breathing easily again when I reached the president's Christmas party that December. I had had one truly terrible night worrying that the police would catch me, but after that a smug feeling of power and confidence began to infuse me. I had done it. I was in the club. I hadn't disappointed my friends.

  As they usually did, Harry and Janice had preceded me to the party. They both had a glass of wine in their hands. Harry was also eating mushrooms. Janice was already grumbling. “Can you believe it?” she was saying. “I mean, I've worked with her for years. Who would have thought that a temporary little promotion would turn mousy little Teri into Attila the Hun?"

  They greeted me by raising their glasses but did not break off their conversation. I silently toasted them back. This year's bottle was called “Winter Mix” and, if anything, was even more terrible than last year's Christmas ale.

  "I know what you mean,” Harry told Janice. “You think you know somebody."

  "Is there trouble with Jean now that she's got Carol's job?” I asked.

  "No, no,” Harry assured me. “Jean is an angel. We're really lucky to have her. No, I was talk
ing about Rick Stevens. Do you know him?"

  "Not well,” I admitted. “Works in your office, doesn't he?"

  "Assistant director of academic records,” Harry confirmed. “Did you hear he ratted me out? Went to the VP to complain I've been slipping out early and drinking my lunch."

  "You're not serious,” Janice said.

  "Yes, I am!” Harry snapped. “I treated that boy like my own son, and he does this to me. They want me to go for counseling, for Christ's sake."

  I shook my head, an idea beginning to take shape within me. I decided to test the waters. “I know what you mean. Life is certainly better now that Brad has left us, but I can't believe the kind of crap Dean Aims lets Katie Morgan get away with. I had always thought Brad was the whole problem, but now that he's gone Katie is really trying to outdo him. It's like none of them understands that we're here to help the students, not to make life difficult for them."

  We stood for a moment in silence, drinking our wine and our beer. Finally, Janice ventured: “I wish there was something we could do."

  "There is,” I reminded her.

  Harry and Janice looked over at me with interest.

  "It worked the first time, why not try round two?"

  Their expressions remained blank, which really irritated me.

  "The Christmas Club!” I said.

  Both my friends hesitated, then Harry started to grin. “For a moment there, you really had me going.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “I didn't know you had it in you, but after all the ribbing I've given you this year, I really had that one coming."

  Janice was still not smiling. “Doug, you knew we were joking, didn't you? You didn't..."

  Her voice trailed off. I didn't like the expression on her face. Evidently, she didn't like mine.

  Harry, however, was still smiling. “Janice, you don't think Doug could..."

  His voice trailed off also as he considered the possibility.

  I was considering too, trying to force a smile onto my face. Because if it was too late to convince Harry and Janice I was joking, then I would have to kill them too.

  Copyright © 2006 Gilbert M. Stack

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