Halloween

by John Passarella

  Unfairly, she glared at the gangly scarecrow, “You think?”

  “Let me get that,” he said, scooping a triangular chip under the back of the phone and carefully bringing it to the surface. “It’s slipping! Grab it!”

  Having already taken several paper napkins from the stack at the end of the table, she reached forward and snatched the phone off the chip before it fell again. “Thanks,” she said, hoping she sounded more civilized than when she’d snapped at him.

  “Good luck,” he said. “I don’t think a bag of dried rice is gonna cut it.”

  “Definitely not,” she said, pinching the phone between her thumb and index finger and letting excess cheese drip from the phone into a napkin palmed in her other hand. “See you in history,” she called absently as he walked away with his chips and dip.

  Before she suffered further embarrassment in front of her classmates, she wiped off as much cheesy goo as possible, tossing the wad of soiled napkins in the trash can, then made her way outside, away from the dance, and away from Cameron, who had turned into a royal jackass right before her eyes.

  Allyson exited the gymnasium through the back onto the school’s football field. The home-team bleachers were built over the cinderblock fieldhouse that housed restrooms on either side with a large equipment storage room in the middle. On the sides of the building, large round decals depicted the mascot for the Haddonfield Huskers, a fierce-looking, half-shucked ear of corn, with twin sections of the peeled-back husk forming arms ending with clenched fists.

  Standing under the Husker decal beside the ladies’ restroom, Allyson tried without success to get her phone to work. She’d already removed most of the cheese from the front. Peeling off the case, she cleared the back, but some of the cheese had seeped into the open ports. Her battery level was low, and the charging port was a mess. She doubted she could make a good connection if she tried. And she might short out a circuit board in the phone, frying its electronic brain. More cheese had oozed around the buttons of the phone and may have seeped into the narrow gaps around them. The more she examined it, the more convinced she became that someone in a tech support department would have to disassemble the phone to clean it properly. Even then it might not work.

  At that moment, Cameron followed her onto the field, jogging up with his knitted beret in his hands. “Allyson!” he called as he approached. “Wait up!”

  From his jerky movements, the goofy look on his face, and the lack of focus in his gaze, she could tell he was drunk. And she had literally zero patience in reserve to deal with him right then.

  “You just put it in a bag of rice,” he said with a lopsided shrug, like it was no big deal. “It’ll be fine, right?”

  “That’s for water damage,” Allyson snapped. “Not goopy cheese!”

  “I’ll fix it.”

  “How?”

  “Figure something out,” he said. “Make it good as new.”

  Sure, no problem, she thought. You’ll just magically fix it. “I leave you alone for literally two minutes and you go right into talking to the one girl that stresses me out. Then you break my phone?”

  “Listen,” Cameron said, dialing down his buoyant tone. “I’ve had too much gin. I told you. Kim was talking to me. She came up to me. I’m trying to be respectful that she still has feelings. I’m sorry. She already has eating issues and I don’t want to make it worse. What am I supposed to do?”

  Tired of the drama, Allyson glanced down at her phone. “It’s ruined,” she said. “It’s totally sticky with fucking melted cheese in it.”

  Lowering the phone to her side, she walked along the sideline of the football field, toward the nearest gate in the fence, ready to call it a night. Ready to go home.

  “Good!” Cameron exclaimed, running to catch up. “Now we actually have to talk to each other.”

  Without a football game in progress, the field seemed like a dark island, isolated from the commotion of the dance—although she could still hear the bass and drumbeat of the music playing in the gymnasium. Across the field, the electronic scoreboard was a dark monolith. Beneath the scoreboard, plywood and vinyl sponsor banners attached to the fence reflected ambient light but their messages were shrouded in darkness. With only the moon overhead, even the white-painted yard lines remained indistinct from their low vantage point. The overall impression Allyson had was of quiet intimacy. And maybe that gave her a little perspective to hear him out.

  “Seriously,” Cameron continued. “Let’s have some fun. Please. If we don’t, this is a totally degrading experience. I’m serious.”

  Cameron stepped in front of her, walking backward to face her while they talked. Rather, while he talked, and she listened. He looked heartbroken, frustrated. All his flippancy had vanished. Maybe he was coming down from his gin-induced drunkenness enough to express genuine emotion instead of trying to excuse his bad behavior. Maybe Kim’s flirtation had meant nothing to him.

  She stopped, smiled despite herself.

  Cameron leaned in for a kiss.

  A bright light flared, shining in their eyes—a spotlight mounted on one of two patrol cars that had pulled up beside the football field. Both cars parked outside the gate, with two cops emerging from each one, all of them shining flashlights into Allyson’s or Cameron’s eyes.

  “What the hell?” Cameron whispered.

  The police response seemed way out of proportion to a couple of students leaving a school dance. Allyson wondered if they thought she was buying drugs from Cameron. Or engaging in some other illicit activity.

  “Maybe they think we’re planning to rob a bank,” Allyson said, smiling while shielding her eyes with the back of her hand. “We are dressed as Bonnie and Clyde.”

  Fortunately, as the cops approached, they lowered the flashlights a bit, and Allyson tried to blink away the afterimages from the bright bulbs. She noted the names under the two badges of the cops closest to them, Ronin and Andrews.

  The other two cops waited near their cruiser, ready to lend assistance if needed. Allyson had a hard time envisioning a scenario where she and Cameron would present a problem two seasoned police officers couldn’t handle. Despite their Bonnie and Clyde costumes, they weren’t criminals and were unarmed.

  “You guys gotta clear out of here,” Officer Ronin said. “Party’s over! Gotta clear out!”

  “Curfew has been put into place,” Officer Andrews added. “It’s not safe! You guys need a ride home?”

  Nothing had been announced at the dance, at least not while Allyson had been there. And Cameron hadn’t mentioned anything. “What’s happening?” she asked the police, genuinely curious. “Why aren’t we safe? Why do we need to go?”

  “Because I fuckin’ said so,” Ronin replied, apparently not a fan of civilian curiosity. Sometimes people in authority hated having that authority questioned. Not a good trait, as far as Allyson was concerned, for a suburban cop. “It’s not safe to be on the streets. We need you to get home. Now.”

  After the cop’s profane response to her innocent question, Allyson shut down. “We were just leaving—”

  Cameron interrupted her. “No, we weren’t,” he said defiantly, his judgment impaired by alcohol. Or maybe he always had a problem with authority figures. She hadn’t known him long enough to know his opinion of the police. “Dude. We’re in the middle of a fight and we were at the point of a breakthrough when you shined that goddam flashlight in my face! Why you gotta be dicks?”

  “Cameron!” Allyson said. Don’t poke the bear, Cameron!

  The two cops exchanged a look, then directed their attention to Allyson.

  “You okay, ma’am?” Ronin asked her.

  “Who’s your smartass friend? Come here!” Andrews said to Cameron.

  Do they think Cameron is harassing me? Assaulting me? That he’s an abusive boyfriend and that I’m in trouble?

  “It’s no big deal,” she said quickly, hoping to defuse the situation. “Just an argument. A simple argument.”

&
nbsp; As Andrews took a step closer, recognition flashed on his face. “Cameron Elam? Of course. Elams always running their mouths. It’s been about forty-eight hours since we got a complaint about your compound.”

  “Oh yeah?” Cameron asked, purposely belligerent.

  “You figure out which one is your mom yet?” Andrews asked, smirking. “Kids eating out of a dog bowl. That’s a pretty dress you got on. Your moms dress you up like that?”

  Ronin and Andrews laughed.

  “They’re costumes,” Allyson said, forcing a smile. “For the dance. We’re—”

  “I don’t give a shit, ma’am,” Ronin said, not taking his gaze from Cameron. “This one’s trouble. Pure and simple.”

  “Weird family,” Andrews said. “Weird kid.”

  Cameron glowered at them. “Go fuck yourself.”

  Andrews extended his flashlight toward Cameron. “What did you say?” he asked, any trace of humor now absent from his tone. “What’chu say to me?”

  They were baiting him. Why couldn’t he see that?

  Cameron clenched his fists at his side, one squeezing the knit beret in his hand as if he wished it were a weapon. “You say anything about my family again and I’ll—”

  “I know exactly what you’ll do,” Andrews said. “Assault a police officer. You’ll sit on the roof of your garage and throw fuckin’ rotten eggs and potted meat at me like you did last time.”

  Allyson hadn’t realized they had rough history together. And, obviously, cops unwilling to tolerate any hint of someone questioning their authority, or who interpret natural curiosity as a personal affront, wouldn’t have a problem holding a grudge long enough to exact payback when the opportunity presented itself.

  Cameron wouldn’t back down. Staring Andrews in the eyes, he said, “I was twelve years old and made you look like a bitch in front of your entire department.”

  To Allyson, the whole exchange felt like watching a car accident in slow motion. Though stunned by what happened next, she couldn’t claim surprise.

  Officer Andrews grabbed Cameron’s arm, spun him around and slammed him to the turf hard enough to crack his ribs. Cameron grunted in pain, struggling futilely as the cop pressed a knee into his back. “Keep resisting, pal,” Andrews said. “Give me an excuse to break your arm.”

  Allyson noticed movement from the fieldhouse and turned to see Oscar running toward them, his cape flowing behind him. Farther back, a dozen costumed classmates approached, curious but showing some caution due to the police presence. Some had cellphones out, held up to record whatever happened next. With the police acting irrationally and so confrontational with Cameron, the cellphones might provide enough deterrent to get them to back down. Her classmates would have a record of everything the cops did to Cameron.

  With Oscar sprinting toward them, Allyson marveled that Ronin didn’t pull his gun and threaten to shoot him. Or at least taser him. Oscar stopped beside Cameron, who lay face down on the turf, grimacing in pain and frustration. Clearly, he was pissed. Embarrassment didn’t factor into it, even with a group of his classmates closing in. Right then, embarrassment might have helped him keep his cool. But he continued to twist and try to get out from under Andrews’ knee and the painful grip on his arm.

  “Cameron?” Oscar said in a casual tone, despite the apparent seriousness of the situation. “What’s up, dude? Are you being misunderstood again?” To Andrews, he said, “This is a heartbreaking case of mistaken identity, Your Honor.”

  Andrews ignored Oscar and looked over his shoulder at his partner. “Take him in,” he said. “He’s drunk off his face on school grounds. We don’t have time for this shit.”

  Allyson stared at the cops and then at Cameron in disbelief. This night keeps getting better. First Cameron flirts with Kim. Then he ruins my phone. Now he antagonizes the police and gets himself arrested—after I practically begged him to ignore their insults and shut the hell up. What is wrong with him? Hell, what’s wrong with me? How did I miss this?

  “Are you serious?” Cameron asked hoarsely. “Are you fucking serious? Allyson!”

  Biting her tongue, Allyson turned away. The next thing she said to the cops might result in adjoining cells for her and Cameron.

  When Allyson remained silent, Cameron called, “Oscar?”

  “Who’s the little bitch now?” Andrews asked Cameron.

  “Oscar!” Cameron shouted. “Get her home safe, man.”

  “Party’s over!” Ronin shouted, loud enough for the congregating students to hear. If he expected them to disperse without explanation, he must have been disappointed in their lack of movement. “Curfew is in effect. Go home immediately or we’ll take you all in and have your parents pick you up at the station. Bet they’ll like that. Understood?”

  Allyson heard a few grumbles of discontent, but most of the students began to walk away.

  As Andrews slipped handcuffs on his wrists, Cameron yelled to Oscar again, “Get her home!”

  A few of Allyson’s costumed classmates lingered—those most suspicious of authority figures, she imagined—continuing to film Cameron’s arrest, but once Andrews led him toward the police cruiser, the diehards walked off the football field.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Oscar said to Allyson, “before they arrest us as accessories.”

  Considering she could smell alcohol on Oscar’s breath, they were more likely to arrest him for underage drinking or public drunkenness. With Cameron already in custody, and both cops in a foul mood, Allyson didn’t want to be responsible for getting Oscar arrested as well. Giving the police a wide berth, they backtracked past the fieldhouse.

  As Allyson headed toward the back gate, Oscar said, “Hold up. Need to make a pit stop.”

  Allyson waited, assuming he needed to use the men’s restroom on the far side of the fieldhouse, but he ducked under the back of the bleachers. “Should be right—ouch! Damn it! Banged my head…”

  “Oscar…?” After listening to him grunt and grumble, she said, “If you can’t see, take off the stupid sunglasses.”

  “Got it!” he called, backing out of the confined space.

  When he turned around, she saw his arm wrapped around an open case of beer.

  “Seriously?”

  “What? You know my motto,” he said, grinning stupidly. “No can left behind.”

  “In case you forgot,” she said sarcastically, “we lost Cameron. But I’m glad you managed to save your precious beer.”

  “They’ll release him after he cools off,” Oscar said. “The police give him a hard time because he—his family—is different. Police don’t trust ‘different.’ I think it’s in their handbook or something.”

  That might be true, she thought, but Cameron certainly added fuel to the fire by provoking the cops.

  As they slipped out the back gate, Allyson worried how to explain the evening to her parents. If they heard Cameron had been drinking, resisted arrest and got locked up, they might forbid her from seeing him again.

  Maybe if I keep quiet, they’ll never find out.

  Not so much a plan, she thought, as wishful thinking.

  31

  While relaxing with a glass of wine, Karen sat on the corner of her sofa, reading her book club’s selection for the month, a murder mystery with literary pretensions set in fifteenth-century Florence, Italy. The plot revolved around a Renaissance painter attempting to solve the murder of his patron. But the book was a doorstop, weighing in at close to nine hundred pages, and Karen had trouble keeping the names straight in her head. Apparently, the book had become popular enough to spawn a few sequels, the second book set in Venice and the third in Genoa.

  Wearing her Christmas sweater, she was determined to avoid thinking about the current holiday by focusing on a more joyful one. They’d had a couple trick-or-treaters, even though their house remained undecorated, the porch light extinguished. Mostly, the kids who rang the bell had traveled from neighboring school districts to maximize their candy haul. Local kids k
new better. With Allyson at the school dance, Karen had asked Ray to deliver the bad news to the wayward travelers. A few more hours and it would all be over… until next year.

  Karen flipped back a few pages when she realized her mind had wandered. Had Lorenzo stabbed Benedetto in the cathedral—or Bartolomeo? One of the two remained a suspect, the other a victim. And she couldn’t remember if Agostino was still alive or if he had been the one who discovered Francesca’s drowned body in the grotto. Obviously, her chosen form of distraction created distractions of its own, and she began to feel maybe she’d skip the book club discussion this month.

  “You’re awfully quiet in there,” Ray called from the kitchen. “Not spying on your daughter, are you?”

  “Spying? Moi?” Karen replied. “How could I possibly spy on my daughter? She’s at school and I’m curled up here with a book. A big-ass book.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Karen glanced at her phone on the coffee table. “Okay, okay, I may have looked for tweets, scrolled her timeline, checked her Instagram.”

  “And…?”

  “It’s frustrating,” Karen said. “Some pics at the school gate, but nothing since they went into the dance. I thought she was part of the connected generation.”

  “Maybe they’re having too much fun to post online.”

  Karen laughed. “No, seriously,” she scoffed. “The school must have a cellphone jammer.”

  “I’m sure that’s it,” Ray called. “And I hear the gymnasium is a massive Faraday cage.”

  “Ha, ha,” Karen fake laughed. “To be fair, I stopped checking after the first half hour. Giving my daughter some privacy. She can tell me all about it when—”

  CRASH!

  Karen almost dropped the glass of wine in her lap at the sound of pots and pans tumbling out of a cabinet in the kitchen. “Ray?”