Humphrey stood in the middle of the trailer, spinning around, gathering details until he became dizzy. Although the trailer’s door was open, the air in here felt warm, isolated. It seemed to be contaminated. Humphrey started toward the back, sneaking like a ninja, taking great precision in his steps to avoid every object on the floor. A metal pipe had been installed against the feet of the wall. Humphrey kneeled, gripped the metal pipe, and yanked. He felt it loosen. It was slippery. His gloves were covered in grease and black stains. He started at his gloves for a few seconds, having trouble accepting their new appearance.
He yanked again, harder. The metal pipe came loose. Humphrey flew backward against the kitchen table’s rear leg. It snapped with the sound of a broken bone, and metal pots tumbled to the floor.
“Fucking rats,” the now awakened anteater muttered.
Humphrey hid behind the stove’s side. He inspected the greasy metal pipe. It was thin but good enough.
For the greater good, Humphrey thought. He heard the anteater walk into the trailer now. Humphrey stood up, both hands grasping the metal pipe. The anteater jumped. For a second, Humphrey guessed that the anteater tried to decide if he was dreaming or not.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You have an appointment.”
“The hell I don’t. I didn’t call a plumber.”
“No,” Humphrey agreed in a sympathetic voice. “I scheduled the appointment for you.”
The anteater rubbed his eyes. “And what appointment would that be?”
“Black,” Humphrey grinned.
The metal pipe caught the whistle of wind as it flew over Humphrey’s shoulders. As it came down toward the anteater, Humphrey saw confusion in his eyes, as if his brain was too slow to process what was happening. The metal pipe struck his head. Humphrey heard a loud crunch. It reminded him of biting into a cracker. And now he felt hungry, as well as thirsty. Another crunch followed. Then the sound became wet, as if Humphrey was striking a puddle of rainwater.
He set the metal pipe down on the sofa, among the magazines, not wanting to throw it on the floor, adding to the mess. He washed the grease off his gloves. He used soap to fully get rid of it. He didn’t bother to use a towel to dry them off. Instead, he waved them over the anteater’s body. To Humphrey, the anteater looked like a big tomato with a crack down the middle, bursting out thick redness and white fragments of skull, resembling tomato seeds.
He decided to search for the car keys. He shut the door, closing off the image of a body to any outsiders. The blood poured underneath the door, down the outside steps, becoming one with dirt. Humphrey inspected the cracked tomato, closer now. Blood bubbled from his head, resembling foam from dishes stained red.
All these lonely dishes, Humphrey thought. All this time, you left them to simply be. You didn’t think you had it in you to wash them. Well, anteater, you did. You had enough soap inside of you to wash this entire field. You probably sat on that chair out back day in, and day out; looking up at the blue sky, looking for meaning. You were staring right at the answer to all your troubles all along. Were you aware of that? Or did the alcohol blind you? Well, you’re free of your troubles now. And your soap will cleanse this field.
Humphrey looked for the keys. Above the couch, there were small cabinets. Most of their knobs were missing, and the anteater had taped them shut. Humphrey peeked inside of every single one. Most of them only contained paperwork. In one, the anteater kept Christmas decorations.
Once he had searched them all, he was mindful to tape them shut again. He walked across the floor, still avoiding all the objects, playing a game with himself. If he were to touch one, bad luck would follow. Humphrey shoved his heads underneath the body, not knowing if the warm liquid he felt was anteater sweat or blood, and lifted. The anteater was heavy, but the blood surrounding him acted as butter, or lubricant, making it easier to turn him around. The anteater rolled over on his back. One eye was shut; the other was half-shut, still twitching. The eyeball glowed white. Humphrey felt a rush of anger. He searched through the checkered shirt. In the left front pocket, Humphrey found a pair of cracked sunglasses. Humphrey put them back, gently. He searched the other pocket. He felt something soft and brought it out. It was a half-smoked cigarette.
Humphrey sighed. “You know, these are bad for you. Trust me, I’m a dentist.” The anteater replied with a soft sound from his eyelid, still twitching. “Where does an anteater keep his keys?”
Humphrey tried to think in simpler terms, as he did when he stared at the blue blanket of our sky. The answer was in front of him, but his human complications made him look beyond. In his mind, he tried to simplify the location of the keys. And with that thought, he went outside, closing the door behind him. He leaped like a frog over the pool of blood outside, which expanded with rapid drops of red from the trailer. He heard conversation from what seemed like a few trailers behind him.
One glance at the blue sky and one hand on the white truck’s handle; one prayer, and one jerk was all it took. The white truck was unlocked all along. A foul odor almost knocked him on his back. It caught Humphrey by surprise. After all, this was a vehicle, not a place for gymnastics. The truck reeked of sweat. In proud footsteps, he walked back to the trailer and grabbed an unused bottle of dish soap. He squeezed out soap all around the truck’s interior. He also used some of the red soap, for good measure. The smell wasn’t exactly pleasant. It hadn’t overlapped the smell of sweat, as he hoped it would. Instead, the two smells made love and became a mix of both.
The keys were in the ignition. Humphrey turned them once, twice, a third time. The car gave an incredible roar. Humphrey drove off in a bathtub full of bubbles. The chemicals in the anteater’s dish soap apparently made the bubbles blue, instead of white.
Humphrey was happy.
10
“How did the police find us?”
“Mom and I reported you missing to the police. They didn’t think we were convincing enough, considering the fact that we only heard from you once a week and it hadn’t been a week yet, at the time. Despite what they said, we kept pushing them. While I was on the phone with an officer, he told me that if I really was worried then I should buy tracers, always pinpointing locations for myself and my family. I still don’t know if he was trying to be funny or not. Anyway, I asked him if it would convince him that I truly was worried if I bought one, and he gave a smug reply. ‘It might,’ he said. So I bought one.
“It’s a small circular metal thing, which you wear as a bracelet or a necklace, or whatever. I sort of became overprotective. I imagined how I would feel if the same thing happened to Emma or Samuel. The thought was unbearable. I bought three of them: one for me, one for Emma, and one for Samuel. They were cheaper than I thought they’d be. Samuel kept his in his car. I kept mine in the back pocket of my jeans. I was wearing it the same day that man came.”
“Humphrey,” Axel said, ashamed to know the name.
“Uh-huh. I still carried it when I arrived at whatever that place was.”
A flash of silver glimmered across his vision. “Do you still carry it now?”
Susanne made a frown. “No; I lost it when he dragged me along the floor. It’s a good thing that I was dragged across a carpet. Otherwise, it would’ve made a sound like a coin dropping. I don’t even want to think about what he would’ve done, then. It was also dark—I’m lucky that he didn’t find it.”
“Do you think that Samuel called the police?”
“I do. He was supposed to come home late that day. I’m guessing that he made the call when he came home, and noticed that I was missing. God, Axel, Emma was so frightened. I can’t stop thinking about her crying face. I saw it. It was the last thing I saw of her when—“
Susanne stopped talking. She began to swallow her emotions, trying to hold back her tears.
Axel grasped her shoulder in his palm. “Hey,” Axel said. “It’s okay. I suppose we all hold back our emotions in this family. Mom did it when dad left.
You know, sometimes I wish we would’ve been older when that happened. All of us were too young to understand, and we were all too occupied with ourselves.”
“I know,” Susanne whispered.
“And you did the same thing with John Gordon.” He gave a friendly push with his shoulder. Susanne smiled. Her eyes carried individual suns. “And then I did it. I withdrew from all of you. I got so used to holding back my emotions that I even did it when I was alone. I forgot how to let them out after keeping them inside for so long. Eventually, I didn’t know how to feel anything anymore.”
Axel felt his throat began to tickle. “Anyway, my point is that I want you to know that I’m here for you. And when we get out of this, I will continue to be here for you.”
He saw himself in the glimmering reflection of her tears. The tension in her face relaxed, and she cried. She wanted to wipe her tears, but couldn’t. “And I’m going to be here for you,” she replied, in between sobs. “I’m sorry that I never tried to be there for you in the past—“
“Don’t say that, Susanne. I would’ve taken it the wrong way, anyway. I would’ve seen it as forced, or something silly like that.”
She smiled. It didn’t last long.
“Do you know what I think?”
“What?”
“When we get out of this mess, we should have the most emotional family dinner of all time. Fuck it. Let everyone just release everything.”
Susanne laughed. “That sure would be a first.”
“What do you think Duncan would talk about?”
“He would talk about snails.”
Axel repeated the word as if it was foreign to him. “What do you mean snails?”
“He’s been working on plants and stuff in his backyard, ever since you went missing. He seems to be really into it. It wasn’t long before he started complaining about snails, though. Apparently, they’re eating all of his crops. I believe he referred to them as ‘The Slimy Turds of Satan.’”
They both created an echoing loop of simultaneous laughter. For a moment, both of them forgot about the straitjackets. During that laughter, both of them felt free.
They continued to talk about pleasant memories. Susanne recalled all those nights the siblings had gone to the attic, carrying blankets and flashlights, sharing stories of the supernatural. Axel talked about their old neighbors when an engine approached. It gave a rocky sigh, before dying. A car door opened, creaking with sounds of age. Footsteps walked around on the grass, moving up toward the driver’s seat of the hospital van.
Humphrey strapped on his surgical mask; feeling better than ever, he reached beneath the seat and grabbed the pistol. If he could whistle, he would. The backdoors were unlocked. Axel noticed the darker tint of the sky. It still carried light, but evening approached.
“Who wants to take a bath?” Humphrey asked.
Axel and Susanne stared at the bubbles swimming around Humphrey’s legs and waist. They said nothing.
“I hope you brought your rubber duckies.”
11
Sergeant Henrik Hummer’s patrol car cried with sirens during the last miles toward Birch. Dispatch had reported a homicide on the outskirts of the small town. Henrik, already on his way there, was first to arrive on the scene. Night loomed when he arrived, and his sirens could be seen from a distance. A child, who didn’t know any better, tugged on the arm of his mother outside of Bertha’s Groceries and asked if he could visit the carnival.
Henrik approached a gathering crowd—all of them full of morbid curiosity. “Alright,” he said. “Break it up, people, police business. Let us do our job.” Mumbles rose, and the crowd slowly walked away. Many looked behind their shoulder more than once.
A man sat on the lawn, wearing a worn out green baseball cap. His hand cupped around his mouth. He pulled his cap down as he spotted Henrik, shielding his tears. “That there is dear ole Garret Stewart. He was the best of friends, mister.”
“And what is your name?”
“Gary Hoss.”
“Were you the one who called this in, Gary?”
“Yes, sir, that would be me.” His words turned inaudible into the cupped hand, which now tightened.
“Come again?”
Gary Hoss pointed at himself.
Henrik nodded. He was writing in his notebook when a large woman rushed outside from her trailer. “I SEEN HIM!”
“VERONICA, GET BACK HERE!”
She stood on Henrik’s left, hunched over and panting. “You saw what, ma’am?”
“There was this guy, sneaking around and—“
An even larger man burst out of the same trailer. He grabbed her. Henrik stopped him. He saw circular wounds, resembling bubbles, covering the man from forearm to shoulder. Henrik couldn’t tell if the original color of this man’s tank top had been white or yellow.
“You’re intervening with police business,” Henrik said. “I apparently have a witness here.” He turned to Veronica. “Am I correct on that?”
“Correct as correct can be,” Veronica replied.
The man stood tall. “I don’t care who you are. You’re intervening with my personal business. Now scram.”
Henrik smirked. He shoved the man into Garret Stewart’s trailer. Gary Hoss uttered a loud cry. “WERE YOUR ARMS THE RECEPICANT OF ALIEN SHIT?” Henrik bellowed. “I CAN SEE WHY YOU’D MAKE A GOOD TARGET. NOW I SUGGEST YOU SCRAM, PARTNER, BEFORE YOU DEAL WITH MY SHIT AS WELL!”
The man shrunk in his stance. In a fit of anger, he slapped Veronica’s face. Henrik, in return, broke the man’s nose. He turned on his radio. “This is Sergeant Henrik Hummer. I’m on the homicide scene in Birch. I’ve just witnessed domestic abuse, over.”
Another patrol car pulled in on the field now, adding to the carnival lights. Fabian stepped out. He looked bewildered. When Henrik signaled for him to come over, he jerked his hat back and forth, not being able to find a comfortable position. Henrik whistled for him. He started in a nervous toddle.
Fabian gave a nod. “Sergeant, I’m not good with bodies.”
“I know you’re not. Do a favor and take this man into custody, will you? File him under domestic abuse.”
“You got it, sir.”
Fabian walked with confidence toward the man, who sat flat on the grass, grasping his nose with both hands. Blood ran down his forearms. Fabian brought the man’s arms behind his back and gave him his Miranda Rights.
With both hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, Gary Hoss walked with thought in Henrik’s direction. “Sir,” he said. “Garret Stewart owned an automobile. It’s missing.”
Henrik clicked his pen, preparing to write down what came next. “Can you give me a description of this vehicle?”
“It was a white truck. I couldn’t tell you what model or nothing. I’m not good with them cars, sir. I ride my bicycle everywhere I go, that I do. The truck wasn’t in great shape, though, I can tell you that much. It was covered in rust.”
“Did it have a pickup bed?”
“It did not, sir; just a plain ole white truck.”
“Four passengers, correct?”
“I believe so, sir.”
Henrik thanked him. He brought Veronica over to the side. “Now,” he said. “What did you see?”
Veronica’s face turned arctic pale in spite of the red and blue sirens reflecting off her. “I saw a man, sneaking around. I had never seen him before. You don’t think that he did this, do you?”
“That’s exactly what I think. What did he look like?”
Veronica said something under her breath. Her throat grew rasp with inner cries. Henrik put a hand on her shoulder. “Ma’am, listen to me. This man is extremely dangerous. I have a strong feeling that he’ll harm more people unless we catch him.” He tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Please,” Henrik said. “You’d be doing us all a great favor.”
Veronica pulled herself together. “He wore a blue uniform. I found it odd.”
“Why’s that?”
“W
ell, it wasn’t just the uniform that was blue. He also wore blue gloves, blue shoes, and by God, even blue socks. He looked like the sky.”
“Uh-huh,” Henrik said. He wrote all of this down. “What else?”
“I believe he had brown hair. It was either brown or black. He was taller than most men around these parts. His hair was rough, and it stood out in the back on both sides.”
“What would you determine his age to be?”
“I don’t know. I saw him from the side. I didn’t see his whole face. But if I were to guess, I’d say middle age.”
“That’s great, Veronica. Thank you. I just have one more question: why didn’t you call it in?”
“Sir, I’ve seen all kinds of weird things around here, and nothing has ever come of it until now.”
“I understand.”
Veronica started toward Gary Hoss. Dents in her skin were shown in the sway of her walk. She asked for a cigarette. Both of them smoked.
Henrik examined his notes.
He looked like the sky.
12
Underneath the shiny grins of the stars, Humphrey sat on the truck’s hood. Axel and Susanne sat next to each other, on a patch of cold sand. They were eating spaghetti from cans, which Humphrey had stolen from Garret Stewart. Well, Axel and Susanne were eating; Humphrey was slurping. A large circle of tomato sauce surrounded his mouth, reaching his dimples. Susanne thought that he looked like some kind of mad spaghetti wolf.
Humphrey wore his surgical mask on top of his head. It drew his hair backward. When he reached the bottom of his can, he tried to fish the remains out. Instead of leaning his head back with the can held high over his mouth, he performed a more unique method. Humphrey held the can low, eyes peering into it. He jerked it with haste. Remains of tomato and noodles splashed upward onto his face. His tongue accepted them wholeheartedly. Without wiping his face, he strapped on his mask.
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