Watch Them Die

by Kevin O'Brien

“All right, I’ll stay put,” Joyce agreed. “I didn’t have a lot of social plans set before seven-thirty this morning anyway. Tell Dreamboat Ben I’ll be here—waiting for him.”

  After Hannah hung up, Ben asked if she really needed Joyce to baby-sit today. “Aren’t you leaving in about two and a half hours?”

  “Oh, I forgot.” Hannah rubbed her forehead. Then she poured herself another cup of coffee. “Force of habit. Well, I want Guy to say good-bye to her anyway.”

  “A lot of good-byes this morning,” Ben remarked.

  He’d tried to talk Hannah into letting him go with her. But Hannah’s mind had been made up. She and Guy were traveling by themselves. They needed to cut all ties and disappear.

  Nevertheless, Ben had made her promise to contact him tonight and let him know that she and Guy were okay. She could call or leave a message for him at the Best Western Executive Inn, where he’d made reservations for the evening.

  They watched the local six A.M. news for an update on Kenneth’s death. It was the fifth featured news story. “Police investigators are still baffled over the cause of a yacht explosion last night on Lake Union,” the pretty anchor-woman announced. In a box behind her, Seattle police were shown on a tugboat, raking in bits of floating debris. “So far, investigators have recovered the remains of two passengers who were aboard the yacht. The boat was a twenty-nine-foot Sloop rented from a Westlake marina chartering company. According to KING-Five News sources, police are very close to identifying the victims. But the cause of the blast is still a mystery. Stay with us for continuing coverage….”

  Hannah was leaving town just in time. If all went well, by this afternoon she would be in another city, checked into a hotel under a different name. She might even persuade Guy to take a nap, and catch a little shut-eye herself.

  Guy woke up at seven-fifteen. He had no fever, and not even a remnant of chicken pox on him. He was brushing his teeth when Ben left to pick up Joyce.

  Hannah stood in the bathroom doorway and watched him on his tiptoes at the sink. He wore a plaid robe over his pajamas.

  “Honey, we’re going on a trip today,” she said, folding her arms. “It’ll be fun, kind of an adventure.”

  “Is Ben coming too?” Guy asked, his mouth full of Colgate.

  “No, honey. Ben has to stay here and work. It’ll just be you and me.”

  Hannah watched him overfill the bathroom tumbler with water and rinse out his mouth. Some of it got down the front of his robe and on the bathroom floor. Hannah took a hand towel and wiped him off. “Now, we’ll be in a taxicab for a while today,” she explained, crouched down in front of him. “So I want you to tell me if you’re feeling tired or sick or anything. Okay?”

  He rubbed his eye. “Okay, Mom.”

  “Joyce is coming over in a couple of minutes, and I think you’re well enough to give her a big hug. Make it a great big one, because you won’t be seeing her for a while.”

  Guy was still in his pajamas and robe, sitting at the kitchen counter and eating his Capt’n Crunch, when Ben returned with Joyce. She made a fuss over the fact that Guy was out of bed and looking well again. Then she noticed the suitcases in the hallway. “What’s this?” she asked. “Is somebody going on a trip?”

  “C’mon, Guy,” Ben cut in. “I’ll help you get dressed.”

  Hannah waited until Ben took Guy back into his room. “Actually, Guy and I are taking off for a couple of weeks,” she explained, pouring herself more coffee. “Some friends of mine in Yakima wanted us to come visit—”

  “Well, do you think it’s okay for him to travel, honey?” Joyce asked, setting her purse on the counter.

  “The doctor said Guy should be all right as long as he takes it easy. What do you think, Joyce? I mean, you’ve had kids with chicken pox. He looks pretty healthy now, doesn’t he?”

  “I suppose he’ll be okay,” she muttered, obviously confused. “Isn’t this all rather sudden?”

  “Yeah, it’s been crazy,” Hannah said, walking around the counter. She retrieved a large box she’d loaded and set beside the suitcases in the hallway. “I was cleaning all night. I do that before taking a trip. Anyway, I want you to have these things, sort of a thank-you for working overtime this week.” Hannah placed the box on the sofa.

  Mystified, Joyce started to shift through the items, which included, among other things, a quilted blanket she adored and always pulled out on cold nights, a framed photo of Guy, Hannah’s tea kettle, and a Waterford vase she clearly coveted.

  “I can’t take any of this,” Joyce said, her eyes welling up. “Honey, I’ve told you before, this is Waterford. It’s worth at least three hundred dollars.”

  “And I’ve told you, I got the vase for twenty at a flea market. I know you like it, Joyce. Make me happy and take it, okay?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.”

  “Well, force yourself,” Hannah said, setting the vase back in the box.

  Joyce stopped to glance around the living room. “Where are all the family pictures?” she asked.

  “Oh, I—put them away,” Hannah answered. “I didn’t want them to get sun-faded.”

  Joyce studied her for a moment with her sharp, old eyes. “You’re not coming back, are you?” she whispered. “You’re on the run again. You have to move on.”

  Hannah numbly stared back at her. “What—what are you talking about?”

  Joyce smiled sadly. “I’ve been taking care of Guy for nearly two years, honey. I pretty much had it figured out the first week. You’re in some kind of trouble, aren’t you?”

  Hannah couldn’t say anything.

  Joyce put a hand on her cheek. “It’s none of my business what it’s about. I know you couldn’t have done anything really bad.” Her eyes were tearing up again, and she let out a sad laugh. “Y’know, I’ve always been afraid you’d suddenly have to leave—for whatever reason. Oh, shoot. This sure crept up on me pretty fast. Well, I’m glad you gave me a chance to say good-bye, sweetie.”

  Hannah didn’t try to deny it or argue with her. She just hugged Joyce, and whispered, “I’ll miss you.”

  Ben and Guy reemerged from the bedroom. Guy was dressed in jeans and a rugby shirt. He didn’t seem to understand why Joyce was crying. But at Hannah’s urging, he gave her a hug and a kiss.

  Carrying the box of keepsakes, Ben left with Joyce to escort her home.

  Hannah switched on the TV for Guy. Then she retreated down the hallway to the bathroom. She closed the door, sat down on the edge of the tub, and cried.

  The three of them took a cab to the bank. Hannah had a little over fourteen hundred saved up. She didn’t expect to run into any trouble closing the account, but the teller had to check with the manager about something. Hannah waited, and nervously tapped her fingers on the countertop.

  Ben was supposed to stay in the taxi with Guy. But after a minute, the two of them walked in and went up to one of the other teller windows. Holding Ben’s hand, Guy waved excitedly at her. Smiling, Hannah waved back at him. The two of them looked like father and son.

  She continued to wait, and began to wonder why it was taking so long. Had they discovered that her driver’s license was a fake? It had never stopped them before. Then again, she’d never emptied out an account with them before. What if they were calling the police on her?

  Finally, the teller returned to her window. He made her sign something to close the account, then counted out her money.

  Ben finished up at his window a minute later, and they started back to the parking lot, where the taxi was waiting for them. Guy was happy because the teller had given him a lollipop.

  “Well, I’m set for the week now,” Ben said, as they started toward the taxi. “How much did you get?”

  “Fourteen hundred and change,” Hannah murmured. She rolled her eyes. “Kind of kills my plans to spend tonight in a suite at the Four Seasons.”

  Later, as the taxi turned down her block, Hannah almost expected to see police cars in front
of her apartment building. But there were none.

  Ben paid the driver and asked him to wait. He carried Guy piggyback up the three flights of stairs. Guy ran inside ahead of them. Ben stopped her in the doorway. “Don’t forget,” he whispered, taking hold of her arm. “I really need you to call and let me know you’re okay.”

  She nodded. “I will, I promise.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “It’s two thousand. I wish it were more. And don’t give me a goddamn argument, because you and I both know you need it.”

  Hannah took the money and slipped it into her purse. She let out a cry and tried to turn it into a laugh. “Why couldn’t I have met you five years ago?” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Because I was busy getting married,” he said.

  “So was I,” Hannah whispered. Then she kissed him.

  For a moment, they held each other in the doorway. Hannah didn’t want to let go.

  “The taxicab’s waiting,” Ben said, finally.

  Guy came from his room. “Ben, do the ex-a-sketch with me!” he cried.

  “Well, why don’t you get started on a picture, then show me?” he said, stepping into the apartment. “You and your mom have to leave pretty soon.”

  Guy perched on the sofa, set the Etch A Sketch on his lap, and furiously started working the dials.

  Hannah took one long, last look at the living room, and she fought the tightness in her throat.

  “If you leave a message at the Best Western for me,” Ben whispered, “don’t forget to give the name you’re registering under at your hotel. If you think someone’s been following you, I’ll come out there and stay with you and Guy; whatever we need to do.”

  Hannah just kept nodding.

  “I’ll be following Gulletti again today,” Ben said as he moved the suitcases near the door. “He’s probably camped out at Starbucks right now. That’s his Friday morning routine. I’ll know if he starts to follow you.”

  The phone rang. Hannah wasn’t about to pick up.

  “Guy, honey,” she spoke over her own greeting. “We have a long drive ahead. So why don’t you go tinkle? Even if you don’t have to, give it a try.”

  Too wrapped up in his Etch A Sketch, Guy wasn’t listening.

  And Hannah wasn’t listening to the answering machine—until she recognized Tish’s voice.

  “Are you there?” Tish was saying. “Han, it’s kind of an emergency. I can’t believe this is happening—”

  Hannah stood frozen for a moment. She imagined her video-killer making good his Vertigo threat, using Tish as his Kim Novak.

  She snatched up the phone. “Tish? Are you okay?”

  “I’ve had better mornings. Listen, Han, I don’t know what’s going on, but we lost Seth this morning.”

  “He quit?”

  “No, honey,” Tish said. “I mean, we lost him. He’s dead.”

  “What?” she whispered.

  “He didn’t show up for work this morning,” Tish continued. “So I called his place, and got a cop. When I explained who I was, he told me what had happened. He wanted to know if I could help them out with next of kin. It looks like Seth killed himself.”

  “My God,” Hannah murmured. “How did it happen?” She already knew, yet she heard herself asking.

  “He broke into that church a few blocks up the hill from here. It happened early this morning. He went up into the bell tower, then jumped.” Tish sighed. “Christ on a crutch, what’s going on with this store’s employees lately? First Scott gets sick, then Britt dies, and now this new kid—it’s crazy.” She paused. “Hannah, are you still there?”

  “Yes,” she replied, in a stupor. “I—I’m here,” she managed to say.

  “Okay,” Tish said. “Well, call me heartless, but I need you to fill in for him today. I know, it’s awful of me to ask, and you’re not supposed to come in until eleven. But I’m here alone with a stack of new videos and DVDs I have to catalogue. There’s no one else. You’d really be saving my ass, Han.”

  “Um, I’m sorry, I can’t,” Hannah said. “In fact, I was about to call you. I can’t come in at all today. Guy’s sick, and his baby-sitter just phoned. I have to stay put.”

  “Oh, no,” Tish groaned. “I wish I were in hell with my back broken. Well, I hope Guy feels better. Try to get another sitter, and come in if you can—even for just a little bit. Oh, crap. I have people lining up. Gotta go.”

  Hannah heard a click on the other end of the line.

  “What was that?” Ben asked. “Did something happen?”

  She turned to Guy. “Honey, were you listening to me? I want you put down the Etch A Sketch and go to the bathroom. Now!”

  Guy scowled at her. Setting aside his game, he hopped off the sofa and stomped down the hall. He slammed shut the bathroom door.

  Hannah rubbed her forehead. “Seth is dead,” she whispered. “Just like Vertigo. It happened early this morning at that church near where he lived. They seem to think it was a suicide….”

  She relayed to Ben everything Tish had told her. “So—ah, the cops are in his apartment right now?” he finally asked.

  Hannah nodded. “They were there when Tish called a while ago.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe they have a lead. I’ll go see what I can find out. Seth’s roommate could be there. He might know something.” Ben glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s nine-thirty. Do you want to stick around for another forty-five minutes? I might come up with something concrete. I understand if you want to hightail it out of here. It’s your call.”

  Hannah bit her lip. “All right,” she said finally. “You go on. I’ll stay a little while longer.”

  The taxi that had been waiting for Hannah was now letting Ben out at the big Tudor house on Aloha Street. Ben had expected to find a couple of police cars parked in the long driveway. There were six of them. Dozens of onlookers stood in front of the mansion, many of them craning their necks to get a peek at the garage. Ben couldn’t imagine an apparent suicide attracting so much attention. Seth hadn’t even died on the premises.

  Ben wondered about the roommate. Was he dead too?

  He threaded his way through the crowd. “Do you know what happened?” he asked one young woman, who looked like a college student.

  She shrugged. “This guy offed himself or something.”

  Ben felt someone nudge him. He turned to face an overweight, middle-aged man with copper-colored hair and a hint of eye makeup. He had a miniature schnauzer on a leash. “The young man who lived above the garage there killed himself this morning,” he whispered. “He jumped from the tower of that church up the block, you know, Sacred Heart?”

  Ben nodded.

  Touching his arm, the man looked Ben up and down. “But that’s only part of it,” he said. “Looks like he videotaped a bunch of people, then murdered them.”

  Ben frowned at him. “What?”

  The chubby man nodded conspiratorially. “I hear he kept photos and videotapes of his victims, women mostly. The police found it all in the garage apartment back there—along with some video equipment and God knows what else. Can you imagine? Right here in our neighborhood?”

  “No, I—I can’t believe it,” Ben murmured.

  “Do you live around here?” the man asked.

  “Excuse me,” Ben said. He made his way toward the mouth of the driveway, where a husky, mustached patrolman kept the people back. The cop was talking to a stocky man with red hair. Ben recognized him from last night. He owned the Tudor house.

  “Did something happen to Seth Stroud?” he asked loudly.

  The cop turned to frown at him. “Who are you?”

  A few other people were looking at him, too. “Um, my name’s Jack Stiles,” he lied. “I’m in Seth’s film class at the community college.”

  The man with the red hair squinted at him. “Film class?”

  Ben nodded. “Yeah, he’s a teaching assistant fo
r a film class over at the community college.”

  “Well, that’s news to me,” replied the owner of the Tudor house. “Seth worked at Bourm’s Lock and Key on Fifteenth.” He turned to the cop. “I don’t understand this. One of you guys said this morning that his boss from the video store called him. Something’s screwed up here. I was his landlord. I know how he made a living.”

  “What about his roommate?” Ben asked. “Have you talked with him?”

  “What roommate?” the man said. “You must have the wrong guy.”

  Bewildered, Ben stared at him. None of it made sense. He’d searched every inch of that garage apartment just last night, and hadn’t found a thing. And now it seemed Seth Stroud was two different people.

  The cop took hold of his arm. “Listen, Mister—ah—Stiles,” he said. “I need you to stick around. One of our detectives will want a statement.”

  Ben quickly shook his head, then took a step back. “Hey, you know, you’re right. I must have the wrong guy.”

  “Just the same, I need you to stay put, Mr. Stiles—”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” Ben said, giving him a curtailed wave. Turning away, he weaved through the crowd. All the while, he thought someone might grab him. He finally broke free from the swarm of people and walked at a brisk clip. He kept expecting to hear a police whistle or someone yelling at him to stop.

  Ducking into an alley, he cut through someone’s yard, then ran several blocks. Ben looked over his shoulder. No one was following him; at least, he didn’t see anybody. He spotted a pay phone in the window of a coffeehouse, and hurried inside.

  Catching his breath, he dug into his pocket for change. No quarters. There was a line at the counter. He stepped up to the front. “Could I just get change?” he asked.

  “End of the line, bub,” the skinny young man at the espresso machine said, barely glancing up.

  Ben pulled a five-dollar bill out of his wallet. “Look, five bucks,” he said, still out of breath. “I’m exchanging this for two quarters.” He dropped the bill in the tip jar, then took out two quarters.

  “That’s pretty cool,” the young man said, nodding.