by Jason Parent
“What? Of course.”
“You’re back on Monday?”
“Yep,” he said.
“Your raise will go into effect then. You’ll see it reflected in your next paycheck.”
“Thank you.”
She winked. “Don’t mention it. You see, Clive, we’re a team. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.”
That hardly seems fair, given the area of her back versus mine. Clive smiled politely, keeping his thoughts to himself.
“Now, go get ’em, tiger!”
As Clive left the judge’s chambers, which usually felt like walking out of a bear’s den a little worse for wear, he couldn’t help but think that the fucking head spider had kept her promise. Maybe Chester was merely his long-hidden ambition, finally manifesting itself in the form of an eight-legged, long-toothed, multi-eyed, opaque insect.
I’m not an insect, and I know what you’re thinking.
“Dude, give me a second,” Clive whispered, covering his mouth with his hand. He walked by Connie’s desk toward the restroom, sending her a smile as he passed. “I’m not having this conversation with you in public.”
When he was safely within the single-toileted men’s room, he locked the door behind him. He thought about having a seat on the oft-used throne. Then he thought better of it. He paced the short length of the urine-stained floor, tugging at the stubble forming on his chin.
See? I told you I’d get you a raise and a promotion. You’re on the fast track toward success, kiddo. I’ll take you places you never dreamed of going.
“I never dreamed I’d be talking to a spider living in my head, either. Don’t be so cocky. It was a lousy ten-cent raise.”
Yeah, but that’s per hour, my friend. It’ll add up quickly. Watch. After only ten hours of work, you’ll be able to buy yourself a double cheeseburger at Mickey D’s. Eleven hours, if you count tax. Oh wait… McDonald’s raised its prices. Sixteen hours, then. Besides, we had a deal.
“Oh, please. Ten cents ain’t nearly enough to make me feel good about you living in my head. We had a deal, you say? Who are you? The devil? Did I just trade away my soul for a measly ten cents?”
Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t.
“That’s ominous,” Clive said. “Is that supposed to scare me? I have a fucking bug living in my skull. How much worse could Hell be?”
A lot worse. Clive, I did what I said I’d do. Why can’t you appreciate that?
“Ten cents, Chester. Ten cents! And the trade-off? How do I know you’re not screwing up the wiring in there?”
It’s already screwed up. Trust me on that one.
“Well, you’re right. It must be. A talking spider? I must be losing my mind. And I saw you too. Hallucinations to boot. Maybe somebody slipped me something. Maybe I dreamt you.”
You know I’m real.
“I know I think you’re real. But don’t insane people always think their crazy delusions are real?”
Probably.
“You’re not helping. Plus, I’ve seen many spiders over the years. None of them have ever spoken to me before.”
Maybe you just refused to listen. I had a difficult enough time getting your attention. Besides, I’m no ordinary spider. I’m one in a trillion, a rare specimen indeed. One might say, otherworldly.
“What, like from outer space? You know, that might make sense. Who knows what kind of life forms are out there? We would be naïve to think that we were all alone in this endless universe. Maybe you flew down in a miniature spaceship to observe and report back to your spider leader. Maybe you were sent here to destroy us all.”
Are you finished? I’m not an alien, idiot. I don’t even know why I’m entertaining this conversation. I was roaming this earth long before a half-assed, retarded sperm somehow found its way into one of your mom’s eggs. Like I said, I’m special.
“That’s stating the obvious.” Clive fell back against the wall, gasping as the breath collapsed out of him. A thought brought him back to Chester’s earlier statement, and for the first time, Clive feared the afterlife. “Are you the devil?”
Strange question. Where did that come from? Oh yeah, the whole soul thing. I thought you weren’t religious.
“Strange events call for strange explanations. You didn’t answer my question.”
If I were the devil, would I tell you that I was? And why would I waste my time with you? But if it makes you feel better, no, Clive, I’m not the devil. I’m something far older. And I’ll still be here long after you’re dead and buried.
“Not if I squish you.”
Are you always so hostile? I don’t mean you harm.
“How can I know that? Why else would you want to be inside of me?”
Observation. It’s what I do. I enjoy it. I watch, and I weave. It’s a rather simple existence.
“And what plans have you woven for me?”
You make your own fate, Clive. I’m merely a secret voyeur that you’re stuck with for a while. You do what you want. You can choose to take my advice or not. You can choose what you will be or not be. It’s not always about good and evil but about how grey you can become before you start turning black. And me, I’m just here to watch… for now.
“Well, if that wasn’t the biggest load of uninformative horseshit I’ve ever heard.”
Ah, yes, Clive. You always want things so straightforward. What I am may be beyond your comprehension. Chester wheezed, a heavy sigh for a small creature. In the hollow spaces of Clive’s head, the sound echoed.
Let me tell you an old Navajo creation fable that pays homage to my kind. According to the tribe’s teachings, a great spider created the earth and its people. On its web, all life was interconnected, intricately interwoven in glorious harmony. Mother Spider, as they called her, took an interest in mankind. She bestowed upon man her thread and, with it, the gift of creative wisdom.
Don’t worry, Clive. I’m no megalomaniac. Well, maybe just a little. But creation stories are, for the most part, just that, stories. Nevertheless, I can bestow that same gift upon you.
“What the fuck are you going on about? Who gives a shit about Navajo fairy tales? What I want to know is, what are you supposed to be ‘watching’? And ‘for now’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Think of me as a stowaway. I’ll move on when the time is right. You have my word.
“And in the meantime?”
Hopefully, you’ll come to grips with my presence. If you do, I’ll help you enjoy your remaining days in this world. Who knows? Your afterlife may prove to be a real bitch.
“Okay, comments like that are unsettling.”
Chester’s laughter sent a wave of electric-razor-sized vibrations through Clive’s congested cranium. Its high-pitched resonation was now a recognizable sound to Clive. Her amusement at his expense did little to ease his weary mind.
“Your company hasn’t been enjoyable,” he continued. “The raise doesn’t even outweigh the scar. Not even close.”
An unfortunate event that could have been avoided had you listened to me in the first place. We’ve been through this. Get over it.
“Easy for you to say. Nobody cut open your head. But fine. You got any more brilliant ideas?”
One, but—
“But what?”
I don’t think you’re ready.
Clive waited in nervous anticipation. Finally, he could take the silence no longer.
“What? What am I not ready for?”
Connie.
“What about her?”
You could have her if you want her. I can make her like you.
“She already likes me. We’re friends.”
You want more than that.
“Maybe.”
Clive, don’t bother trying to hide things from me. I know what you’re thinking even before you do. She wants more from you too.
“What are you talking about?”
Boy, you sure are slow at times. The bottom line is this: if you want her, she’ll be
yours.
“Are you kidding me? I’d do anything to get her. I’d even sell my soul.”
What makes you think that’s still yours to sell? Regardless, do as I say, and she’ll be cradled in your arms by the end of the week. What you do with her will be up to you.
“You do that for me, and I’ll be forever grateful.”
Are you sure that’s what you want?
“It’s all I want!”
What about Morgan?
“She’ll be fine with it. We aren’t like that.”
I guess you know best, Clive. It seems like she’s with Derek now, anyway.
“You’re wrong about that.” Even as Clive said the words, he couldn’t feel conviction behind them. Derek and Morgan had been acting weird lately, spending lots of time together. And Chester had proven to be highly knowledgeable thus far, with no motive to lie that Clive could discern. The seed of doubt had proven fruitful. With a little more care, it would undoubtedly blossom.
Like I said, Chester whispered, you know best.
CHAPTER 19
“S
o, what did he say?”
“He offered me baseball tickets.”
“That’s it? Are you serious?” Morgan sounded truly shocked. She rolled around a chunk of fatty bourbon chicken with her fork, seeming much more interested in what Clive had to say than her mall Chinese food.
“Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it,” Clive replied, tossing his low-grade-meat-filled taco aside in disgust. “Is this all we do? Eat? No wonder I’m getting fat.”
“Look at me,” Morgan said in the motherly voice that let Clive know she meant business. “The man cut you open for nothing, and all he offered you was baseball tickets! You need to see a lawyer.”
“I know, right? His nurse, Rosa or something, was so eager to tell me all about it. I couldn’t believe it, but when I went to question Landenberg, I knew right away it was true. It was like he knew why I was there before I even opened my mouth. But I guess what’s done is done.”
“I knew it! Damn it, Clive! You’ve got to stick up for yourself. You can’t just let people walk all over you.”
Clive averted his gaze. He ran his fingers across the length of the fresh bandage. The tissue was soft, tender beneath it.
“It’s going to look awful until the stitches are removed and the hair grows back. It’s difficult enough to keep the bandages in place. Taking a shower is a real pain in the ass. I’ve already been through like eight of them.”
“Are the voices gone at least?”
“Yes.”
Clive’s pause was short but significant. Did Morgan notice? How could he possibly explain to her the other woman in his life, his stowaway friend? No, Chester needed to remain his secret.
Morgan stared intently at Clive, he assumed to provoke elaboration. She’d get none. Clive wasn’t ready to talk.
“That’s good,” she said. “Now have some fucking self-respect and get yourself a lawyer. What he did to your head isn’t right.”
“She’s right, you know.”
Clive turned his head slowly to confront the eavesdropper, half-expecting a nosy cleaning person whom he had a mind to tell off. But when his eyes met those of the woman who’d spoken, his mouth stumbled for the words. He lost his train of thought, mesmerized by the dark beauty before him.
“Maybe you should mind your own damn business,” Morgan said.
Clive wondered if she was jealous or just redirecting her anger. Her voice summoned him back from his enchanted gaze. The woman turned to Morgan, and Clive jumped on the opportunity to examine the rest of her features. A not-so-cursory glance later, Clive reckoned the stranger was only a few years older than he. He liked what he saw, even if Morgan’s comment had made the woman’s face cold and fierce. Her charm, however, turned out to be fleeting.
“And you are…?” Clive asked in his most debonair voice.
“Samantha Reilly, but you can call me Detective Reilly. You’re a tough man to get a hold of, Mr. Menard.”
“Not really,” Clive answered.
The word detective had turned his lust into dust. He was minimally intrigued by her presence but preferred not to know the reasons for it.
Detective Reilly glanced at Morgan, who stared back with a breadstick in hand. She gnawed on its end, seemingly without attentiveness, her eyes focused intently on their imposing visitor.
“Would you mind excusing us for a moment?” Reilly asked.
Morgan’s face flushed red. Clive could see the strain in her knuckles as she balled up her hands into tiny fists. He was touched by what he took for overprotectiveness.
“It’s okay, Morgan,” he said, rubbing her hand with his.
With lips pressed flat and a hard stare, she exited the booth. “I’ll go make a phone call, I guess.” She sighed, lingering as though she expected Clive to ask her to stay. Then she drifted out of sight.
When she was safely out of earshot, Clive addressed the detective. “What’s this all about, Detective?”
“I left you my card. I expected you’d call me. When I didn’t hear from you, I tried to think of why you might want to avoid me.”
“I got your card, and I would have called,” he lied. “I just didn’t get around to it yet.”
Clive had no desire to speak with cops, least of all a detective. He had no idea what she wanted, but if there were a problem that could be taken care of without his assistance, he’d sooner have it that way. He had no reason to distrust cops, but then again, he had no reason to trust them, either, especially those like Detective Reilly. Sexy, sultry, and in control, hers was a more commanding presence than he could handle.
“What can you tell me about Kevin Ventura?”
“My roommate? Not much. Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“Have you noticed anything strange about him lately?”
“Nothing more than usual. I hardly see him. He keeps to himself. Can’t say I mind it that way.”
“He was a student at UMass Dartmouth, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, he goes there.”
“So you don’t know, then?” Reilly asked.
“Know what?”
“He was kicked out of school last semester for failing too many classes. He was on academic probation most of his time there.”
“I didn’t know that. I wonder what he’s been doing with himself all day.”
“So do we. Perhaps you could keep an eye on him for us.”
“And what exactly would I be looking for?” Clive asked.
“Any strange behavior or unusual activity.”
“Strange behavior or unusual activity? Isn’t that kind of redundant?”
“Are you unwilling to cooperate?”
“Cooperate with what? You haven’t even told me what this is all about. Has Kevin supposedly done something? Like I said, he keeps to himself. He watches Hannah Montana. If that’s not a crime, it should be.”
“Thanks for your help, Mr. Menard.” Reilly glared down her nose at him. “Call me when you have something useful to tell me.” She slammed her business card on the table and got up to leave.
“Detective, wait.” Clive grabbed Reilly’s arm as she passed him, gesturing for her to retake her seat. She tore her sleeve free as though his very touch offended her, yet she sat back into the booth.
“I’d like to help you, but I don’t know what you want me to do. As far as I can see, Kevin is antisocial, introverted. But he’s also harmless. Perhaps, if you told me what this is all about—”
“And risk jeopardizing my investigation? How do I know I can trust you to keep your mouth shut?”
“Scout’s honor,” Clive replied, raising his hand as if to pledge an oath.
Reilly smirked. “You were never a boy scout, Mr. Menard. I do my research.”
“I guess so!” Clive exclaimed, a little unsettled by the detective’s investigation into his private affairs. “How about I swear an oath on the Bible, then?”
“Yo
u’re an atheist.”
“Actually, I’m agnostic,” he said. Her intrusions made him fidgety. He played with his silverware to keep his hands occupied. Swallowing hard, he reached for his soda.
“We think Kevin Ventura may be implicated in the bombing of the University of Massachusetts, Dartmouth campus.”
Soda sprayed from Clive’s mouth like a sputtering faucet. Reilly recoiled in time to avoid most of the liquid shooting toward her, with her sleeve being the sole casualty.
“Somebody blew up UMass Dartmouth?” he shouted. Many heads in the restaurant turned his way.
“Do you mind keeping your voice down? It’s not like that isn’t common knowledge, but our list of potential suspects hasn’t been released.”
Clive’s face scrunched up like a slinky. “Aw, man. It came out my nose.” The carbonation tickled, but not in a good way. When he’d wiped all the soda from his upper lip, he leaned over the table and whispered, “When did it happen?”
“Three days ago. It’s been the main topic of at least ninety percent of all news broadcasts in the area. Whoever did it helped out the Democrats. There haven’t been any recent reports on the senator’s affair.”
“Who had an affair?”
Reilly leaned back. She seemed apprehensive, as if expecting more soda to come her way. Clive contained it this time.
“Do you live in a box?” Reilly asked.
“No, but I just got out of the hospital. All we had to watch were reruns of old soap operas. At least I finally found out who shot J.R. I can sleep a whole lot better at night now that that mystery is solved.” Clive shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t watch much TV.”
“Your recent hospital stay is exactly why we haven’t been looking into you as a possible co-conspirator, unless there’s something you think we ought to know about you.”
“It seems like you already know more than enough, Detective.”
“Hospitalized for brain surgery is a pretty good alibi. Not to mention, you had family with you almost the entire time. Still, you did go there too, didn’t you?”
“Where? The university? Yeah, I did… for, like, two semesters. I tried, but college wasn’t for me. So I dropped out.” Clive swirled the soda in his glass as the various pieces of information conferred by Reilly swirled in his head. Slow to connect the pieces, he was hit hard by the realization. “Wait a minute! You think Kevin did it? No way!”