Crucifax

by Ray Garton

  At night, when the wind was blowing in precisely the right direction, one might hear the ghostlike riffs of an electric guitar and the pulse of a drum drifting upward like a breeze from some of the manholes around Ventura and Whitley. If one moved close enough to the old building on the corner one might hear lusty peals of laughter from somewhere inside. If one peered through the cracks in the boarded windows, one might glimpse the shimmer of golden eyes in the darkness.

  But the sounds of the boulevard were loud and ceaseless and, mixed with the sound of rainfall and blowing winds the noise from inside the building was indistinguishable.

  For five weeks, Crucifax and the group of teenagers that grew around them went unnoticed….

  Fourteen

  October 13

  The walkways of the Sherman Oaks Galleria flowed with the usual after-school crowd the way veins and arteries flow with blood.

  Teenagers were perched on benches, leaning against handrails, some talking and smoking, others waiting for friends, while still others were there just to see and be seen.

  Sugary music played softly from hidden speakers while rock music pounded from a record store. The smell of hot dogs and nachos mingled with the aroma of fresh baked goods.

  Escalators silently carried shoppers between floors, and in the center of the mall a glass elevator slid up and down a shaft that was bordered by bright white lights.

  In the doorway of a toy store, a stuffed bear was displayed amidst a dozen plastic red-gummed snapping teeth that clacked and jittered endlessly. The bear's arms, mouth, and eyes moved in stiff, mechanical motions as it happily greeted passersby: "Hi, there! I'd like to be your friend…"

  When the Cookie Jar was in sight, Jeff seated himself on a bench to think a moment. He could see Lily through the window; she was waiting on two small old women carrying shopping bags.

  She wore a white visor with the store's name on the bill and a smock with a colorful rendering of an old-fashioned cookie jar on the front. Her sun-streaked brown hair was cut in a pageboy that revealed her slender neck and perfectly framed her unblemished, pug-nosed face. One of the old women leaned over the counter to speak to her, and Lily smiled brightly, her big eyes widening with interest.

  A week ago, Brad had pointed her out to him at an afternoon assembly.

  "Look!" he hissed. "There she is."

  "Who?"

  "The girl from the Cookie Jar. In the Galleria. 'Member? We went there a few days before school started, and she talked with you? Lily something."

  "What about her?"

  "Well, she liked you. She talked to you. You didn't even have to start the conversation. A girl like that pays attention to you, you pay a little back. You've gotta ask her out."

  "I do, huh? What if I don't want to?"

  "Then you better see a doctor right away."

  Lily and Jeff were in the same biology class. A few days after the assembly, they dissected frogs in the lab. She was assigned the table directly across from him. He watched her as she manipulated her scalpel over the dead frog, watched her pug nose curl in disgust and her lips pull back in a sickened scowl. She looked up from her frog, their eyes met, and she shook her head, her shoulders bobbing with silent laughter.

  After class, she caught up with him in the hall and said, "That is so gross! Don't you think so?"

  "I don't mind it so much."

  She laughed. "Guys never do."

  Jeff walked Lily to her next class that day, and by the time they got to the classroom, they were both laughing.

  Since then, he'd been considering asking her out; but holding a pleasant conversation with a girl and asking that same girl out on a date were two entirely different things.

  I'd like two of the oatmeal cookies, please, Jeff thought, oh, and by the way, would you like to go out with me?

  The very thought made him blush. He fidgeted on the bench, looked around, and took a deep breath, trying to tell himself he wouldn't be that clumsy. He looked up absently at the second-story balcony, thinking the worst she could do was say no, and that would be it, when he froze, completely forgetting about Lily.

  There was a man leaning on the balcony rail, arms folded, ankles crossed, staring at him with a relaxed smile. He wore a long steel-gray coat that fell past his knees and had long, spiky platinum hair, and he was staring directly into Jeff's eyes.

  Jeff turned away for a moment, saw the old ladies leaving the Cookie Jar, then looked back up at the balcony.

  The stranger had not moved. He was still watching Jeff. After a moment, he moved away from the rail and walked along the edge of the balcony, his eyes still on Jeff, the hem of his coat fluttering around his legs.

  The glass elevator rose swiftly to the second floor, and its doors slid open.

  The man stepped inside and smiled down at Jeff through the tinted glass.

  After the doors closed again, the elevator began its descent. It seemed to move more slowly coming down than going up, and as the man's face drew nearer, grew larger, Jeff's chest grew tight, as if his lungs were filling with water, and his fingers clutched the edge of the bench until his knuckles burned and, as the elevator came to rest on the first floor Jeff jolted to his feet and moved quickly toward the Cookie Jar, glancing over his shoulder in time to see the man step out of the elevator.

  Jeff pushed into the shop. As the door lazily swung closed behind him Jeff stared out the window, his breath coming hard, and watched the man seat himself on the bench facing the store.

  "Hi!"

  Jeff spun around, startled, and tried to smile at Lily.

  "It's Jeff, right?" she asked, pointing an uncertain finger at him.

  "Yeah," Jeff said, walking toward the counter. He scratched his head, as if he could scratch from his mind the image of that man sitting outside the shop.

  I don't know him, Jeff assured himself, he wasn 't coming for me, this is stupid, I don't know him….

  The breathless panic he'd felt a moment ago slowly melted from his chest.

  He rested his elbows on the countertop and said, "How's the cookie business?"

  She shrugged. "Pays for my gas, but other than that, I'd almost rather be at school. Hey, how was the biology quiz yesterday? I had to go to the dentist."

  "It wasn't bad. If you did okay on the dissection, you'll do fine on the quiz."

  Her face withered. "But I didn't do okay on the dissection! You know that," she laughed.

  Lily glanced over his shoulder toward the window.

  "Don't worry too much about it," Jeff said.

  "Want a cookie? On the house."

  "Sure."

  "Chocolate chip?"

  He nodded, and Lily took a cookie from a tray in the display case, wrapped it in a napkin, and handed it to him.

  "Thanks."

  She looked over his shoulder again and frowned slightly.

  "You know that guy?" she asked.

  Jeff bit into the cookie. He didn't want to turn around; he knew what he would see.

  "That guy at the window," Lily went on. "He's been looking at you. Smiling."

  Jeff's mouth became dry, and cookie crumbs began to cake to his lips.

  "Just take a look," Lily said.

  Looking over his shoulder, Jeff saw the man standing at the window, his long arms folded across his chest. Quickly turning back to Lily, Jeff said, "No, I don't know him."

  Lily continued to frown at the window.

  "He's weird," she said. "I've seen him hanging around here a lot lately. He goes up to people and starts talking to them like he knows them, and I don't think he does. You ever seen him before?"

  "Uh-uh." He chewed the cookie some more, tried to work up some spit so he could speak. "Good cookie."

  Her eyes returned to him and she smiled, but only for a moment. She looked out the window again, and her eyes clouded.

  "I wish he'd either come in or go away," she muttered.

  "Ignore him, and maybe he will." But Jeff wasn't so sure. He felt cold, as if he wer
e standing in a draft, and he was ashamed of his sudden urge to bolt from the shop, to get out of the Galleria as quickly as possible, as if its walls were closing in on him and he would be crushed if he didn't leave" immediately.

  "Something the matter?" Lily asked.

  He blinked, shook his head. "No, I was just thinking—"

  Here it is, Jeff thought, this is it, you've already started, you can't stop now.

  "—that maybe tonight, if you're not busy, we ought to go to a movie or something."

  Her face brightened just a little, but enough to make Jeff heave a silent, inward sigh of relief.

  "Yeah, I'd love to," she said, "but I can't. Not tonight, anyway."

  "Okay. Just thought I'd ask." He wrapped his forced smile around another bite of the cookie.

  "Maybe some other time," she said quickly. "Like this weekend. See, I've got this friend. Maybe you know her— Nikki Astin? I'm supposed to see her tonight. We used to be best friends. But this summer she got involved with this religious group. Calvary Youth? She's found Jesus," she said with a roll of her eyes, "and now she's like… well, a different person. No parties, no dating, and she hardly ever sees any of her old friends anymore. Anyway, she wants to have dinner with me tonight. I figure she probably just wants to convert me, you know? Spread the gospel, and all that. But it's been so long since we've talked, I'd just like to see what's going on with her. Tell you the truth, I'm a little worried about her." She looked over Jeff's shoulder again and whispered, "Jesus, he's still there."

  Jeff tried to keep her attention away from the window, hoping the man would go away.

  They talked a while longer about the Calvary Youth, about school and the odd weather, and when Jeff was finished with his cookie, he thanked her again and prepared to leave.

  Lily took a pen from her pocket and scribbled something on a napkin. "This is my phone number," she said, handing it to him. "Call me tomorrow night if we don't talk at school, and let's make plans. I would like to see a movie with you."

  As good as that made him feel, it was difficult to smile through his apprehension; he didn't want to go out into the mall.

  "Is our friend gone?" he asked, wiping the crumbs from his mouth.

  Lily peered over his shoulder, looked left and right, and said, "Yep. Gone."

  They exchanged goodbyes and, after tucking Lily's phone number into his biology book, Jeff left the Cookie Jar, turned right, and headed for the exit.

  "Any luck?"

  Startled, Jeff stepped away from the deep voice, nearly dropping his books.

  It was him, the stranger, his shiny hair fluttering around his head as he walked beside Jeff.

  "What?" Jeff blurted.

  "You were asking her out, weren't you?"

  "I was… well… yeah."

  "She say yes?"

  "Well, she said maybe this weekend we'd—" Jeff stopped and faced the man angrily. "That's none of your business, I don't even know you."

  "Just trying to help," the man said with a slinky shrug.

  Jeff started walking again.

  "I don't think she's your type, anyway," the man said, coming after him.

  "What do you know about my type? Leave me alone."

  "You know, I think I've got just the girl for you."

  Jesus, he's a pimp, Jeff thought. He saw a security guard standing on the other side of the walkway and veered toward him.

  "Blond," the man said, "with the prettiest eyes, man, the most gorgeous fucking eyes you've ever seen. Big and brown. She needs someone like you. A knight in shining armor to fight for her honor. Sort of a"—he chuckled—"big brother."

  Jeff stopped and faced the man, suddenly filled with an icy mixture of fear and anger.

  "I knew you'd be interested," the stranger said, his smile creasing the pale skin around his golden eyes. "I can arrange it. A real dream come true"—he winked—"if you know what I mean."

  Jeff felt sick, confused, and afraid. "Stay away from me," he said quietly as he spun around and hurried away.

  "My name is Mace."

  "I don't give a fuck who you are, just leave me—"

  "You shouldn't say that until you know what I can do for you."

  "There's nothing you can do for me, whoever you are, so just—"

  "Maybe not today."

  Something about the tone of his voice—perhaps it was the confidence with which he spoke, as if he knew everything there was to know about Jeff Carr—made Jeff turn to him again.

  "But there's a big storm comin', friend," Mace said, curling his right thumb and forefinger into a circle and slipping his left middle finger in and out, in and out with a soft, breathy cackle.

  "Oh, Jesus," Jeff groaned, hurrying away, nearly breaking into a run, confused by the lead-heavy feeling that overcame him, as if a part of his mind had fallen away to reveal a black, endless pit that was never meant to be seen.

  When he got outside, he drank in the chilled air, stopped on the sidewalk, and looked up at the sky.

  The gray clouds had grown darker.

  … big storm comin'…

  Rain speckled his face and began to fall with a snakelike hiss all around him.

  Fifteen

  Erin Carr was on her knees searching through a box she'd pulled from the hall closet when she heard something move within the walls behind her.

  "Damned mice again," she muttered. They'd had trouble with mice eighteen months ago, and the landlord had taken care of it quickly, assuring his tenants there would be no such problem in the future.

  Apparently he'd been wrong.

  Unable to find the spool of dark blue thread she needed to sew a policeman's uniform for one of her puppets, she'd taken the box from the closet as a last resort. It was filled with scraps of paper, scores of pens, pencils, crayons, paint brushes, a couple of outdated telephone directories, scissors, balls of twine and rubber bands, paper clips, and thumbtacks, and she hadn't even reached the bottom yet.

  While Jeff and Mallory were in school, Erin spent most of her time working on her puppets and talking with Fantasy Line customers. Not long after the kids got home, she'd go to work at the bars. Ten days ago, she'd started working three different bars besides the Playland: Thirsty Jack's, the Playpen, and the Wandering Eye. She was making more money, but working seven nights a week she had little time to herself and even less to spend with her son and daughter.

  During the short time the three of them were home together in the evenings, she realized the apartment was just as quiet as when she was there alone. Usually, Jeff and Mallory chattered like two old maids. She'd been too preoccupied to notice, but now, as she sorted through the box, she wondered if there were problems between them.

  The weekend was coming up. Maybe it would be a good idea if she made time for the three of them to do something together, go to a movie or play, have dinner.

  Erin found the spool of blue thread down in the corner of the box beneath several books of matches. She took it out and put it on the floor beside her and began to load the box up again.

  When she lifted an old copy of The Godfather to put back in the box, some of the pages fell out, their glue dry and cracked, and with them came a photograph.

  Half of the picture had been torn away. In the remaining half, a younger Mallory, about eight years old, was standing in the crook of her father's arm. She cradled Caesar, a stuffed dog she'd kept with her through most of her childhood. She was grinning with the kind of open-armed happiness Erin hadn't seen in her in years.

  Erin recognized the snapshot. It had been taken the summer they drove up to Monterey for a weekend. Jeff had taken it. The half torn away had shown Erin standing on the opposite side of her husband, his arm around her shoulders, her face bright with laughter. It had been ripped away, discarded, leaving a tattered edge where Erin had once stood.

  Her eyes filled with tears. She wondered when Mallory had torn her from the picture and what had been going through the girl's mind at the time.

  Erin reme
mbered Mallory stepping around her father after the picture had been taken and giving her mother a big, grunting bear hug that made Mallory puff her cheeks and clench her eyes shut.

  Erin closed her eyes and revived the sensation of Mallory's small arms encircling her, squeezing tight. Tears streaked her face as she pressed the torn picture between her palms.

  Since Ronald had left, the only time Erin and Mallory spoke was when they argued or exchanged hesitant apologies. It had been a long while since Erin had taken the time to remember how it used to be between them, and now that she had, she regretted it. Because it hurt.

  Erin knew Mallory blamed her mother for the loss of her father; she knew Ronald's absence hurt Mallory most of all, and she had to lay the blame on someone. But Erin didn't know how to bridge the gap that had grown between them. She didn't know how to convince Mallory that she, Erin, had been just as hurt, although not as shocked, by Ronald's sudden departure. Erin wanted to tell Mallory of the sleepless nights she'd spent in her bed wondering what she had or hadn't done to chase Ronald away without so much as a "so long" or an explanation. But whenever the two of them spoke, the most trivial exchanges turned into angry, bitter shouting matches. Their relationship had turned into a wound that was never given time to heal; the scab was torn off again and again.

  Erin dropped the picture back in the box, unable to look at it any longer, unable even to see it through her tears. She decided she had to do something, anything, about what was happening to her and Mallory. She knew that, as with a decaying tooth, any further neglect would only cause irreparable damage.

  As she got to her feet and scooted the box back into the closet she heard the sound inside the wall again, this time accompanied by a thick, muted squeak. Erin pounded a fist on the wall, hoping to scare it, and the gesture felt good. It was a small but welcome release of anger that, she realized, was not for the rodents in her wall but for herself.