by Rowan Hanlon
So, therefore, she wasn’t so much doing this for herself as she was for Ray. His death needed to be vindicated. That bastard needed to suffer for killing her beloved. And Clara was ready to do it.
After she’d gotten home from the hospital, she had asked her father, who was an expert marksman, to help her buy a gun, then to help her learn to shoot it. He did so without hesitation, happy that “at least one of my girls is interested in my hobby.” The first step was getting a license to carry a weapon. After that was done, they went to a gun shop, picked out a gun, a small one, then her father took her to a shooting range. She was crack shot and hit her first target, gaining admiration from her father, who told her she was the best damned woman shooter he’d ever seen. The comment made her smile because that meant she could always be armed and always stand a chance against anyone who might want to harm her. She could defend herself. She would not be so helpless. The gun, and the license to carry it, did make her feel safer.
Her father taught her everything he knew about guns—from how to hold the weapon should she ever have to “sweep” an area, to how to clean the gun. “Always clean your gun after you fire off a few rounds,” he told her. “It’s important to keep that chamber clean. Got it, Clara?”
“Got it, Dad,” she’d said and smiled at him. He smiled back, giving her a look that told her he was very, very pleased that his daughter was armed and ready should anything untoward happen.
She always carried her gun with her, along with several rounds of bullets. She had a concealed carry permit, too, so she could go anywhere with the gun. Sloan had told her she had the same license and “plenty” of guns she kept in her SUV. She had grown up shooting guns with her father and didn’t have to take lessons. She had told her once, “If only I’d had my gun with me that day. But I was headed to the gym. You don’t take a gun into the gym. But, God, how I wish I had that day.”
The day Sloan had shown up at her house had been a turning point in her life. While Clara was ready to take down her captor with her newfound gun skills, she had no clue as to how to find him. When Sloan divulged how she had “a friend” helping her look for their captor, Clara hired a private detective to help her, as well. And she could well afford it. Ray had left her a very wealthy woman. In addition to being a highly paid musician, he had taken out a huge life insurance policy on himself a few weeks after they were married. When he gave it to her, he had said, “I know this isn’t the most romantic thing a man can do for his wife, but, honey, I want to know you’re taken care of if and when I die.”
She had shaken her head at him and said, “I can’t believe you! I don’t want to think about you dying! That’s bad luck, Ray!”
“That’s superstitious,” he said.
“No, it’s not,” she told him.
“It is,” he said and gave her cheek a quick kiss. “Like it or not, you gotta plan for the future.”
“Then plan on giving me a baby,” she said and crossed her arms.
“Soon enough,” he said. “Soon enough.”
Clara sometimes wondered if the reason he held out on having a baby was because he knew he wasn’t going to be around. Maybe he sensed something, though he would call her superstitions about things, like how she would put an “X” on the windshield if a black cat crossed the road in front of the car. He had said that was “just damned crazy.” But maybe he’d had a premonition about it and just never said anything. In way, she liked to think that because, if they had a baby when all this happened, what would have happened to it? Would that bastard have harmed the baby? Would he have left it alone? Would anyone have found it for days? How long did it take them to find out she was missing and that Ray was dead on the kitchen floor?
It, actually, hadn’t taken very long at all. When Carl Fitzgibbons, the manager of the singer who had the “hissy fit” that day, called Ray to tell him she was ready to work again, he’d gotten his voicemail. When Ray didn’t call Carl back, he called again, still getting his voicemail. This concerned him and he called Clara’s phone and got her voicemail, too. That’s when he excused himself and drove out to their house.
“From the outside,” Carl had told her mother and father. “Everything looked normal. I went to the front door and rang the bell. No one came. Then I noticed it was getting dark and no lights were on and when I looked into the garage door window, I saw both of their cars were there. I hollered out to Ray and then to Clara and they never answered and so I went around back. Then I looked in through the French doors on the patio and couldn’t see anything. Well, they were unlocked and I went in and then I saw him and I just broke down crying. I ’bout died. Me and him’s been friends all our lives and to see your buddy on the floor like that is enough to make a man break down. Of course, I hoped he was alive when I went over to him but he wasn’t. He was dead. And then I started to holler to Clara. That’s when I realized she wasn’t there.”
It was a surprise to everyone that he hadn’t killed her, too, with the force of such a blow from the bat, which was nowhere to be seen at the house. The house then became a crime scene. After the police were done with it, about a month later, they let her mother and sister come in and clean up. And they had kept going every few days to make sure “everything was good and ready” for her when she returned home.
“I never doubted it for a minute,” her mother said over and over and whenever she had the chance. “I knew you’d come home, Clara. I just knew it.”
But even they had to admit they were surprised when she said she wasn’t leaving her home. She had no intention of ever leaving it. She knew she’d never find another man like Ray and she didn’t want one. She just wanted to stay in her house so she could be reminded of what she once had. It was a good, good time in her life and she wanted to honor it by staying in the house she and her husband had lived in together.
So, therefore, she was ready to catch her killer, the one who’d taken her life and shit all over it. She was ready to gun him down and watch him bleed. And no one was getting in her way. And if they tried? She had more bullets in her purse and she knew how to disable a person without killing them. She just hoped no one would get in her way, because, if they did, they’d be in for a world of pain.
The Banality of Evil
Sloan was impatient. Because she also lived in Atlanta, Jeremy Clemmons’s apartment complex was not that far from her condo. So, she took to tailing him. She’d park outside his apartment and wait for hours for any activity. He’d leave to go to work around seven-thirty in the morning. He wouldn’t return until much later, sometimes around six or even seven in the evening. This allowed her a glimpse into his private space. After putting on a pair of gloves, she didn’t hesitate to go in, using a slender screwdriver to jimmy the door open.
The ground floor apartment was the standard fare, builder basic type. It was a studio with a sleeper sofa pushed up against the wall and a big TV on a lowboy dresser directly in front of it. There was a set of slider patio doors that led out to a small sitting area. He had neighbors beside him and above him.
Sloan walked over to the dresser and opened the drawers, which were stuffed with clothes, mostly undergarments and t-shirts. There was a whole drawer full of graphic tees. She bent down and sorted through the tees, noticing they looked like shirts one would buy at the mall because they bore semblance to pricier vintage ones. She held a few up then placed them back, then dug into the drawer, searching for a gun or a weapon of some sort but she found absolutely nothing. She stood back up and started to shut the drawer but realized she’d disturbed the order.
“Fuck!” she hissed, not knowing how the shirts went. She chastised herself for being stupid, then bent over and folded the shirts in the manner she thought they’d been folded in before. The one on top looked suspiciously like another one and she couldn’t remember if it was under or on top. Which one? She groaned and pulled it out, then glanced at it. It read: “Almus Bait and Tackle, Sunrise, Florida,” with a marlin in the midd
le of the logo. The shirt was almost threadbare and was faded to a soft blue, as if this was his favorite shirt and he couldn’t part with it. She hated that he loved something as much as he evidently loved this shirt and she wanted to toss it into the sink and set it on fire. But, obviously, she couldn’t do that.
She folded the t-shirt, placed it on top, then shut the drawer, hoping she had put everything back just right. Then she turned to the small kitchenette, which was just plain and kind of depressing looking. She decided to skip it for now and instead went into the bathroom, which was also plain and depressing looking and didn’t notice anything odd there, either. She looked under the sink at all of his toiletries, noticing he had a lot of bottles of cologne still in the box, still in the mylar wrapping. She figured these must be gifts of some sort and shut the door.
Just outside the bathroom was a small closet that was jammed packed with his work clothes. His shoes were jumbled up on the floor beneath.
He also had a laptop computer set up on a small dining table. Sloan went to it, sat down and turned it on. It was password protected. She did not attempt to get in because it might have locked the computer up and then he would have sensed something was up.
As she looked around, she decided to take a few pictures with her phone and, as she did so, she became a little confounded. Even though she knew Jeremy Clemmons was the man who had abducted her, looking around his rather sad little apartment, something was amiss. However, she could not put her finger on what that something was. She realized she had assumed she would find muddy shovels, or even a machete. She had assumed she’d find a pair of muddy boots or even a pair of hiking boots somewhere in the apartment. And not one black hoodie. Not one! But then again, he could have just tossed everything he wore once he finished a “job.” Or, if and when, one of his captives escaped.
Sloan stared into his refrigerator and just saw normal things. No heads or toes or fingernails, which she’d always assumed he’d kept as a trophy. Nothing human. Just some milk, some beer and some orange juice. And a twelve pack of soda, still in the refrigerator pack.
There was just more of the same normal things in the cabinets—bread, cereal, some candy bars. No drugs or medicines. Just a small bottle of multi-vitamins.
Such was the banality of evil.
“How could this be?” she muttered to herself. “It’s just too fucking normal.”
She left the apartment more confused than when she entered. And she got back on Jeremy Clemons’s tail. A few nights later, she followed him to a nightclub. She stayed in her SUV, a black Range Rover, as he went in alone. What was a guy like that doing going to a nightclub? Did he pick up a victim here or there at one? She couldn’t think of a reason why he would do something like that. He certainly wasn’t erring on the side of caution, that was for sure.
Sloan sat in her SUV for a few minutes, thinking that she should go home, call Clara and tell her they should just give everything they knew over to the authorities. They could bust him and stick him in jail and then it would be over. Maybe, just maybe, she could get on with her life. She’d always planned on moving to the Cayman Islands when it was all said and done. No one would know her there and, maybe, she’d get lucky and might be able to meet a man. She didn’t rule this out. She was smart enough to know that eventually biology would take over and she might want to develop a relationship someday. She sure didn’t want another one with any of her exes.
She was about to start the SUV and go home when she saw something odd. There was a tall, very well-dressed woman making her way into the club. She was wearing a scarf around her head and walking quickly, clinging to her purse. She looked slightly ridiculous, especially going into that club, which was a rather low-rent sort of place. It was almost like she was in disguise.
“Shit!” Sloan hissed, suddenly recognizing the woman. She hurriedly got out of the car and raced to her, grabbed her by the arm and shook her head. “Oh, no, you don’t!”
Clara turned to her, her eyes flashing. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I should ask you the same!” she hissed.
“Don’t fuck this up for me, Sloan,” she said. “Now get out of my way.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked her.
Clara shrugged. “What does it matter to you?”
“You can’t just go in there like this!” she told her, shaking her head at Clara’s foolishness.
“Why can’t I?” she asked. “I’m dressed for the club. I can go in if I like.”
“You’re not going in there to dance,” Sloan said and grabbed her arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Stop it!” Clara said and jerked her arm back, but Sloan wouldn’t let it go. “I mean it, Sloan!”
Just then, they heard a group of people coming out of the club. They stared at each other, then, without saying a word, turned and Clara followed Sloan to her SUV and they got in.
“I can’t believe you!” Sloan snapped.
“I can’t believe you!” Clara snapped back.
“Well, whatever,” she said. “You are in no way prepared to deal with this.”
“Bull. Shit.”
“Shut up,” Sloan hissed and turned to her. “And what, exactly, were you going to do?”
“I was just going to watch him,” she said. “That’s all.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Sloan asked.
“Why didn’t you call me?” Clara replied and raised her eyebrows. “Huh?”
“No reason,” she mumbled just as her cell rang. She picked it up from the console and looked at the number. It was Hadley. She showed it to Clara, who narrowed her eyes. She swiped the screen and said, “Hi, Hadley.”
“So, you two were just going to cut me out, weren’t you?” she hissed.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sloan asked and stared at Clara who shook her head in confusion.
“I see what you’re doing,” she said. “I see how you are.”
“Come on, what are you talking about?” Sloan asked. “I don’t have time for this…” She trailed off and was astounded to see Hadley standing on the sidewalk beside her SUV. She ended the call and rolled down the window. “Oh, hey,” she said. “I guess we’re having a reunion.”
Hadley got into the backseat, then slammed the door shut. “Of all the low-down things you could do to a person… I said I was in! I said I wanted to be part of it! And here you two are sneaking ahead of me!”
“It’s not like that,” Clara said. “Actually, I went out on my own, as well as Sloan did. We just now met.”
“I busted you,” Sloan told her. “You were following him into the club!”
“Yeah, whatever,” Clara muttered and took the scarf off her head.
“And what are you doing wearing that?” Sloan asked. “You’ll attract more attention that way.”
“I don’t know!” Clara said, getting exasperated.
“Well, whatever,” she replied, turning in her seat to stare at Hadley. “How long have you been following him?”
“A week or so,” she said. “You?”
“A month or so,” Sloan replied. She turned to Clara and nodded for her answer.
“Same as you,” she said.
“You’ve been in town this long and you didn’t tell me?” Sloan asked, feeling a little hurt.
“It’s not like that and you know it,” she said.
“And we’ve talked nearly every day,” Sloan said.
“I just think it would be better if only one of us went after him,” Clara said. “That way, if something goes wrong, then we don’t all get fucked. That’s all.”
“Huh,” Sloan muttered. “Well, have you found anything new and interesting out?”
“I haven’t,” she replied. “What about you, Hadley?”
“Me either,” she said. “I just kind of watch him and it gets boring. You know, at first, I just couldn’t even handle it. I’d have panic attacks and… Wel
l, then, as time went on, I began to wonder just how this guy could have done all that to me. He’s so boring.”
“I felt the same way,” Sloan said. “His apartment is just sad. And no knives, no guns, no muddy boots. No pliers. What does he do with the stuff?”
“I guess he just throws all that away once he’s done, or something,” Clara said, then turned to her. “You went into his apartment?”
“I did,” she said. “Believe me, you missed nothing.”
“I want to go,” Hadley said, as if she’d missed out on some extraordinary event.
“Believe me, you don’t,” Sloan said, then grabbed her phone, turned it on and retrieved all the pictures she’d taken. “Here,” she said and handed her the phone. “This is it.”
Hadley swiped through the pictures, shaking her head.
“What is it?” Clara asked.
“Just looking at this,” she said and paused looking at the pictures to stare at her. “It’s like he lives this very boring life. Like, he never had an original thought pop into his head.”
“I know what you mean,” Sloan said. “I just don’t… It’s like it makes no sense. And he’s at the club? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Clara said, then pointed out the window. “Fuck! That’s him!”
Sloan saw him and they all hunkered down. She peeked over the steering wheel to see him getting into his car and then starting it, then he pulled it out of the parking lot and drove away.
“Should we?” Sloan asked and stared at Clara.
“Well, we’re here, so why not?” she replied.
“Hadley?” Sloan asked.
“I’m with you, girl,” she said.
“Then buckle up, ladies,” she said and pulled on her seatbelt. Clara and Hadley did the same and Sloan started the SUV, then pulled out and got behind Jeremy’s car, keeping her distance and allowing other cars to pull in front of her. She followed him carefully, never letting him out of her sight. He drove several blocks, made a sharp right and headed to the interstate.