What Hides Within

by Jason Parent

  “Relax, Kevin. I haven’t sent you that far. And like I said the first few times, I’ll be there if you bring me what I asked for.”

  “I did bring it. Every time.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Kevin. I told you, I see everything. It’s like I’m in your head. So do me a favor. Be a good boy, and dig it up for me. Conceal it nicely, and bring it Saturday.”

  “What makes you think I won’t use it on you?”

  “Hence, the public place, jackass,” the stranger said in that condescending tone that made Kevin fume. “Do you really think it’s smart to threaten me? Just be there. And bring it.”

  The phone went dead. Kevin wished his caller would do the same. Yet he couldn’t deceive himself into thinking he didn’t deserve this. He knew he deserved worse. That was his burden to carry. Who was this stranger to judge? Kevin had judged himself completely. He didn’t need the help of a stranger.

  He got up and snagged a pair of work gloves, the same pair he had worn on that early autumn day. He’d meant to burn them, but they kept proving themselves useful. Once again, he had some digging to do. It was unavoidable. The prospect of unearthing the very symbol of his shortcomings, the violent reminder of an equally violent mistake, made Kevin’s heart tremble.

  Some things should stay buried.

  CHAPTER 29

  C

  live waited briefly outside Morgan’s door before ringing the doorbell. She’d sounded hysterical over the phone. Her speech was rambling and interspersed with crying. He hadn’t heard her like that since her golden retriever passed away several years earlier. It took her months to shake off that loss, and she could never get herself a new dog. She was steadfastly loyal to her fallen fur baby. Only her loyalty to Clive seemed to trump.

  That was, until she started sleeping with Derek.

  Clive unrolled his fingers, not recalling when he had rolled them. Why does she need to see me so badly? What could have made her so vulnerable? She wasn’t close to anybody like she was to that dog… except maybe me… and Derek? Clive sneered. He grumbled as he pressed the doorbell.

  After a moment, Morgan answered the door. She looked worn ragged, her hair in tangles, her face sullen and sunken. Tears blotted her cheeks. Her clothes matched her appearance, frumpy and unkempt—sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, one of Clive’s. Even as a hot mess, she was hot.

  Their eyes met. Morgan’s trembled, the dams threatening to break. She looked away and collapsed into Clive’s arms. He could feel the dampness of her cheek against his chest. He didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around her.

  “What happened, Morgan? You’re never like this.”

  She wouldn’t respond. Instead, she held him tighter. There, in her doorway, they remained in a quiet embrace. Her vulnerability excited Clive—a rare circumstance in which he was in control. Then he remembered Morgan sharing a similar embrace with that bottom-feeder, Derek. It sparked his jealously. Still, he held her firmly.

  When her sobbing stopped, Morgan pulled away from Clive, never making eye contact. She slid her fingers down the side of his arm to his hand. Taking hold of his index finger, she escorted Clive to her sofa, letting the front door swing shut on its own.

  On the couch, Morgan kissed his cheek and snuggled under his arm. The two settled in comfortably, like they were always meant to be that close.

  “When was the last time you spoke to Derek?” she asked.

  “That motherfucker!” Clive yelled, throwing Morgan off him and leaping from his seat. “Did he do something to you? Did he touch you?” He roared with rage. “I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”

  “No, Clive. You’ve got it all wrong. Please, sit back down.”

  Clive paced a bit then calmed just enough to sit. His mind was difficult to rein in. It leapt to unsubstantiated conclusions, promulgated by an unknown darkness within him. His suspicions were beyond his control.

  “Clive, Derek’s dead.”

  Clive’s sneer curled into a devilish grin. “You’re kidding.” He stopped grinning as he realized she wasn’t joking. “That can’t be true. I just talked to him…”

  When had he talked to him last? A week ago? More? He couldn’t remember. It had been longer than usual. “How?”

  “They didn’t say. Apparently, he died in his sleep. They found him in his bed.”

  “Who’s they?” he asked.

  “The police. Well, I think someone said his mother found him.” Morgan’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “Clive, he’s been dead for days. The cops said he died sometime early Sunday morning. They found him lying on his bed, still in his pajamas. They didn’t get to him until yesterday.”

  Clive recalled that he hadn’t spoken to Derek since Friday. It wasn’t uncommon for Derek to disappear for a while only to reemerge with overly embellished tales of his glorious sexual conquests. Had he thought about it earlier, he probably would have assumed Derek had been busy, or getting busy, with Morgan. He was glad he hadn’t thought of it earlier. Those two together wasn’t something he preferred to think about. But the last time he saw his supposed friend, Derek and Morgan had been intimate right in front of him. At the time, Clive had wished him dead.

  Some wishes do come true, he thought. Clive gasped at the realization. He had wanted Derek out of the way. He hated Derek for violating Morgan. She was his and no one else’s. Derek needed to disappear. Derek had been in the way. Now, he wasn’t.

  His thoughts invoked strange possibilities. He remembered going home after witnessing the two making out on her doorstep. He couldn’t remember leaving his apartment after that, so he assumed he must have just gone to bed. Yet he couldn’t be certain what he’d done. He couldn’t remember most of it. Why couldn’t he remember? Could I have actually had something to do with this?

  “Was he murdered?”

  “I don’t know, Cli. Maybe. If so, the cops weren’t going to tell me.”

  “Why’d they call you, then?”

  “Maybe they wanted his friends to know. I have no idea. His obituary will be in tomorrow’s paper.”

  “Maybe they wanted his girlfriend to know,” he muttered under his breath.

  Morgan stiffened. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, give it up, Morgan. I’ve seen you two all over each other.” Clive’s frustration grew. He’d been waiting for the chance to confront her about Derek. There were so many questions for which he needed answers. The one he asked, however, was the most spiteful. “How could you sink so low?”

  Morgan slapped him hard enough to turn his head. His cheek stung from chin to ear. He grinned and gritted his teeth as though he’d taken some sinister delight in it. Indeed, he had.

  “You think I slept with Derek?” Morgan shouted. “You stupid, ignorant, obnoxious little… urrrr! Where the hell do you get off accusing me of that? Where’s your head at, Clive? I’ve been in love with your sorry ass for years. Are you truly that dumb or blind that you haven’t noticed?”

  “Yeah, what a way to show your love for me—by fucking my best friend. I saw you two all over each other last Friday.”

  “I flirted with him to make you jealous, douche bag.” Morgan’s anger was subsiding, the sadness creeping back in at the corners of her eyes. The bite in Clive’s remarks had begun to take their toll.

  He tempered his contempt.

  “It’s not like you cared, though,” she said. “You were too busy with that bimbo from work to even notice.”

  Clive’s voice lowered with Morgan’s. “I saw you two on Saturday. I saw you kiss him.”

  “Where? What are you talking about?”

  “I came by here last Saturday. You kissed him on your front porch.”

  “You’ve been spying on me?”

  “Of course not! I just came by to… thank you for the party,” he lied. “Anyway, don’t try to turn this around on me. I didn’t have my tongue down your best friend’s throat.”

  “I didn’t kiss him. I was smelling his cologne. He wore
this awful shit one time, and I was checking to see… oh, never mind, Clive. It’s a long, dumb story. The point is that I never kissed, fucked, blew, jerked off, or did anything else sexual or even remotely intimate with Derek. Use your brain, Clive. You know me. I didn’t even like Derek. Yes, I’m sad he’s gone, but my tears, Clive, are for your loss.” She wiped her eyes. “Not that you deserve them.”

  Clive scratched his chin as he looked for the lie in her eyes. Morgan stared back, her gaze shifting but sincere, hurt but compassionate. She wasn’t one to lie to him. He could feel his own heart soften a bit.

  “I wanted him to die for what I thought you two were doing.” Clive was close to tears. Guilt swelled up from his stomach into his throat, choking him in his own remorse.

  Morgan started to rise. “You don’t know anything about his death, do you?”

  Clive gritted his teeth. Any feeling daring to release itself was quickly subsumed by Morgan’s preposterous inference. He couldn’t have had anything to do with it. So he didn’t remember the night. He must have fallen asleep early. He would have remembered something like killing Derek.

  To remove all doubt, he replied, “No, Morgan. I stayed home Saturday night.”

  “I thought you said you saw him here.”

  “I know what I said, Morgan. I did see him here. Then I went home. That was the last time I saw him. So obviously, you were the last one to see him… alive, anyway.”

  “He left here before nine. Who knows who he saw or where he went after that? And if you must know, we were booking a paintball party for you. He came—”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “Fuck you, Clive. I already told you I never slept with Derek. I didn’t kiss him, either. He came here. We did what we had to do. He left. End of story.”

  “Whatever. Nobody knows how he died?”

  “Maybe his heart gave out on him.”

  “At thirty-one?” Clive asked.

  “Happens all the time, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, at some point last Saturday night, after he left you here, he went home and died in his sleep. Why couldn’t I just as easily assume you had something to do with Derek’s death as you seem to assume I did?”

  “Because, Clive, unlike you, I don’t have a motive.”

  A wicked smile curled on Morgan’s face. She looked at Clive differently then, her tears giving way to something mischievous. Clive found it oddly appealing.

  “Did you seriously want Derek dead because you thought he was with me?”

  Clive turned away, ashamed. He wouldn’t give her the pleasure of an affirmative answer, though he was sure his body language revealed all. “I didn’t want to kill Derek,” he blurted, unsure of whether that was true. “He was my best friend! One of the few friends I have. Yes, I was… bothered when I saw you two together. I went home to be alone.”

  Well, alone with Chester, Clive thought. Wait a minute… Chester! Wasn’t that the night Chester went silent? Where the hell was Chester?

  That familiar howling, high-pitched squeal coursed through Clive’s skull. Chester was laughing. I was wondering how long it would take you to make the connection. Do you know how hard it’s been to keep my mouth shut? There’s a load off my chest.

  Chester’s mirth sent tremors through Clive’s brain. It was louder, more potent, than before. His nose began to bleed, pressure building inside his skull. His migraine dulled the world around him.

  “You!” Clive shouted. “You did this!”

  Morgan crossed her arms and pouted. “How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t know our secret meetings weren’t secret. Derek and I just wanted to do something nice for you. That’s it. Nothing else was going on. Clive, are you listening to me?”

  Morgan’s words trailed off into silence. Confusion, anger, bitterness, and futility battled for supremacy within Clive, but there was something darker, much darker that demanded release above them all. He barely noticed Morgan gently caressing his shoulder.

  “Clive? Are you okay? Jesus, Clive. Your nose is bleeding. I’ll get you some tissues.”

  Clive reached out to stop her from leaving, but he was too late. Chester’s incessant laughter clouded his mind and slowed his senses.

  I only did what you told me to do. You said you wanted him out of the way. Now he’s out of the way.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Clive hissed.

  Really? Don’t delude yourself. You knew damn well what you were saying. You knew damn well the feelings you had behind the words when you said them. And you knew damn well that this would happen. If you choose to blind yourself to who you are, then that’s your prerogative. You may have fooled yourself and everyone else, but you can’t fool me. You wanted Derek dead. You just didn’t have the balls to do it yourself. Chester’s laughter intensified, echoing through Clive’s brain. But I was more than happy to oblige you!

  “No! Ahhhh!” Clive fell limp to the floor, paralyzed by the deafening noise in his head. His eyes rolled back. His body seized. Soon after, his thoughts went blank, his brain unable to function at any human level, taken over by a malevolent being, a creature of pure darkness.

  Morgan returned with a wet face cloth. Seeing Clive on the floor, she rushed to his aid. After helping him to his knees, she pressed the warm towel to his upper lip.

  Pain shot through her wrist. Clive had it clenched in his grip like a vise, and he wasn’t letting up. The cloth dropped from her hand. Wincing, she looked into Clive’s eyes. Something animalistic resided behind his cold stare, something vicious and empowered. When Morgan met it, she was terrified but exhilarated. Such strong emotions, such passion, all for her. She owed him the same. Morgan saw the chaos behind his mask. And she wanted him all the more for it.

  Clive stood Morgan up and pushed her against the wall. She shrieked, startled by the sudden aggression, her breaths growing shorter as her heart beat faster.

  “Clive, don’t,” she faintly protested as she slid one leg up the back of his. She didn’t want him to stop even though she could feel something wrong in it. She liked the fact that it was wrong. Her teeth dug down into her lower lip as she tried to hold back her own animal nature. She reached for his belt buckle.

  But Clive was in control. He spun her around, sandwiching her between his body and the wall. He tore off her clothes, stretching the fabric, his fingernails clawing into her flesh. She could feel him hard against her then inside her. Tinged with pain, she welcomed every thrust. She had never before been so afraid and so impassioned. Never before had she dreamed Clive could be so virulent—that he could hurt her, want her, take her, be hers. Never before had she felt so alive.

  As her face pressed into her living room wall, she smiled. She had won. Finally, Clive was hers. She loved it, and she loved him. And if it took Derek’s death for her to get Clive, then so be it.

  CHAPTER 30

  D

  ead people didn’t bother Reilly. She’d seen too many to remember, had done her fair share of poking and prodding. But those who chose to spend their lives surrounded by the dead—to earn their livelihood carving up cadavers and draining their blood like wasteful vampires—those types were beyond her comprehension. Reilly could deal with the dead, but she couldn’t stand their caretakers. So when the medical examiner called her at the precinct, requesting her immediate attention, Reilly needed to coax herself into doing her job.

  She got to the morgue a little after six in the evening, having stalled for nearly an hour. As she walked into a building as lifeless as the majority of its occupants, she felt out of her element. She followed a man in scrubs into the “ice block,” her name for the room in which the medical examiner and her staff kept their human filing cabinet. The term described the demeanor of those still living in that room perhaps more than the dead themselves.

  An unrecognizable body lay sprawled out in a shallow vat atop a flat, metal examining table. Whatever privacy the decedent had coveted in life had been desecrated. He lay there naked, subject to com
passionless scrutiny down to his most private of parts. Any indecencies he had done in life would be revisited upon his corpse. His body would be sliced and diced, inspected and dissected, and by one without a hint of pity or even false concern.

  What do the dead care, anyway? They’re dead.

  “How are you, Detective Reilly?” Dr. Rosetta Hawthorne ate a cucumber sandwich beside the horribly disfigured cadaver. She lifted her pinkies as if to prevent them from getting dirty, a strange habit for someone who spent her day digging through organs.

  The body lay in what appeared to be a giant clear-plastic foot tub similar to the kind dirt-conscious people stepped into before entering a pool. His face was contorted, the pain of death wrenching it into something Halloweenish. Flesh, muscle, and hair were missing in patches, leaving the bone free to breathe. Most of the eyes, nose, and throat were gone.

  Looking at that mess, Reilly feared she was being exposed to some rare flesh-eating parasite. Something was eating away at the body. She had no desire to be its next meal.

  “I’m here, so things can’t be going that well,” Reilly said.

  “Humph. I see your point. I haven’t seen you since that little girl was brought in. Terrible, that was. How’s that case going?”

  “Well, we have a suspect. Ironically, he’s a suspect in another, bigger investigation, so I’ve had to back off him. Not sure how the two crimes fit together, if they fit together at all. Shouldn’t be long before we get him, though, if he’s our guy.”

  “Good, good. Do you have anything on the mayor’s death?”

  “The guys from Boston are looking into that one. I’ve been out of the loop for quite some time.”

  “Boston? You mean, FBI? It’s big, then? I knew it was related to all those other explosions. Do you think he’s some kind of political terrorist?”

  “I have no idea.” Reilly was beginning to lose her patience. She hadn’t come down there to be interrogated. She didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary. Mayor Sousa’s death was public information. People across the country knew about it and the explosions, the national news being otherwise slow that month. Of course, Reilly was smack-dab in the middle of all the shit. Fall River was once again newsworthy. If Dr. Hawthorne wanted to know about it, all she had to do was pick up a newspaper.