What Hides Within

by Jason Parent

  Victoria stared at her father, who was slumped over in a chair beside her mother’s hospital bed. Did he even know she was there? Her father had been an absentee parent, unable to come to grips with her mother’s fate. He buried his face in his hands, hiding his tears. His body shook with every sob. Victoria wished he would recognize that the grief wasn’t the only thing he had left. He had her. Do I matter to him anymore?

  She stood across the room, away from her parents. Her presence seemed inconsequential to both. She fiddled with a tattered Raggedy Ann, dug out from some forgotten toy chest in her closet, a remnant from her early years, which had been filled with the love and happiness of a family—in the full sense of the word.

  Her mind was a blank slate, her stare as glazed as the cold-glass, empty eyes of the doll’s. Only eight years old, she couldn’t comprehend or cope with her sudden dismissal.

  Victoria understood the abstract concept of death better than most kids her age, but she’d never seen its ugly hand take hold of someone so close to her. She repressed her sadness, though her life had lost that sparkle of childhood—the playfulness and love an eight-year-old girl is supposed to radiate.

  She studied her father, who wouldn’t acknowledge her. Did he still love her? Would he still care for her? Even in her youthful innocence, Victoria recognized that with her mother’s death, she would lose two parents.

  Her mother’s breathing slowed. Her sporadic coughing failed to rouse her from her deep sleep. Long, soft breaths exited her lungs. Even the careful listener would not have detected her inhalation. The zigs and zags on the EKG monitor grew farther apart. The mountains and valleys began to level. Eventually, they disappeared entirely. Rachel slipped slowly away in her sleep. It seemed a painless and peaceful exit.

  Sensing her mother’s passing, Victoria studied her father. His head remained buried in his hands. Hospital staff arrived, but her father refused to leave his wife’s side. Victoria watched as they forcefully removed him from the room so they could go through the motions of revival. He screamed, his anguish heartbreaking to all present except Victoria. Pushed away and locked out of the hospital room, he watched through the checkered-fiberglass, rectangular window in the door, screaming, wailing, and pounding.

  Victoria sat dejectedly on the floor in the corner, still disinterestedly playing with her Raggedy Ann. Nobody noticed her, just like her parents didn’t notice her anymore. She sat there unheeded, stoically watching the hospital staff’s wasted efforts. She would be strong like her mother always was. She would not cry. Never would she cry.

  CHAPTER 33

  A fter the mall, Kevin couldn’t stop running. He hadn’t slept more than an hour at any given time, napping in parks and hiding in shadows. He was a murderer and had finally been found out. The police would be searching for him. They would eventually find him. He didn’t know where, or even how, to hide. Even if he did, he had no place to go. He wondered if he would be better off turning himself in.

  With the Boston Herald on his lap, Kevin’s eyes fluttered open and shut. He slinked into a cushy chair in some all-night coffee shop near Quincy Market. A white, young, adult male, he didn’t stand out in the college crowd. No one among them gave a damn about him—latent racism working to his advantage.

  Kevin took a giant swig of his four-dollar espresso. It burned his throat as it made its way into his stomach. Normally, he strayed from such fancy, pretentious coffee, the kind you saw Hollywood types sipping at outdoor cafes on Rodeo Drive with arrogant artists and literary fops. But his days were growing late, and he figured he should live them up. The taste of the good life was overrated, yet the espresso grande or venti or uckingfay igbay or whatever it was gave him the second wind he needed. He could run some more. He could run as long as his legs would obey.

  Still, only the most careful planners or the extremely lucky got away with crime. Kevin couldn’t even get away with stealing a pack of condoms from a convenience store when he was sixteen, never mind pulling a knife in public. And his other crimes? He hadn’t meant for those to happen. But that didn’t matter. What was done was done. His deeds were far too severe to warrant a lackadaisical investigation. He’d have to wait to see how it played out. The most likely outcomes were too unpleasant to dwell on.

  The coffee fueled his cynicism along with his energy. Clive must have ratted him out by then. Of all people, Clive had been his tormentor. The hows and whys didn’t matter to Kevin anymore. Only the whos mattered. And even if Clive kept his promise and kept his mouth shut, the police would still be looking for Kevin. Funny that. They tended to take an interest in knife-wielding psychos at Providence Place.

  What was I thinking? Kevin’s chin crashed against his chest, the weight of his thoughts too heavy for his brain to carry. He slouched in his seat. I wasn’t thinking. This is all his fault!

  His mind shifted toward consequences. He didn’t want to go to jail. No one ever did. He knew what would happen to someone as fragile as he, and a child killer at that. He wouldn’t be in for more than a day before his teeth were knocked out and his asshole expanded to the size of a half dollar. That was if his cellmates let him live. He wondered what his bitch name would be and hoped it would be Vanessa. If he had a choice, he’d pick Vanessa. He always liked the name.

  No, prison wasn’t an option. What other options were there? Certainly, he didn’t have the courage to take his own life. The only suitable option was the unrealistic one of not getting caught. That meant taking out the prosecution’s star witness, Clive Menard. Or die trying. Either way, it was better than prison. Yeah, his mind thought of consequences… and revenge.

  Kevin took a heaping gulp of espresso and rose to his feet. He would head to South Station. He had just enough money for a bus ticket. He’d ride a Greyhound to Fall River. After that, he would be out of cash, so he’d need to be quick. He’d seen enough movies to know that bank withdrawals and credit card transactions left paper trails, even if he didn’t fully understand how. It was time to take his fate into his own hands. It was time to go home.

  Carrying the same plastic bag he’d had with him at Providence Place, Kevin tossed out his beverage and ventured from the coffee shop into the dank, soulless city. He pulled the hood of his grey sweatshirt over his forehead. It protected his ears from the cold and his facial features from the prying.

  As he took his first step toward the bus station, Kevin’s doubts yielded. He had made a decision, even though he hadn’t been sure he could act upon it. With each step came greater conviction. He knew what had to be done. His hands were steady. His heart was firm. His mind was set. He marveled at his capabilities when it meant his own survival. Things needed to change. He couldn’t survive with the current status quo being what it was. So, he was going home. Home to kill Clive.

  CHAPTER 34

  C live waited outside in the cold, wondering if he should knock a third time. His breath froze as it left his mouth. A partially unzipped fleece jacket afforded him little protection from the harsh November winds. He dreamed of warmer weather, remembering the sun-soaked kayaking season. A season spent on the water with Morgan. A season sans spiders.

  You can’t get rid of me.

  “Chester, don’t you think I know that?”

  You don’t want to anyway.

  Clive shrugged. He knew Chester was right. He liked the company. Chester was a truer friend than Derek had ever been. And instead of always trying to nail Morgan the way Derek did, Chester helped Clive get the girl. Perhaps too many girls, he thought.

  Still, he didn’t know if he was okay with a murderer living in his head. If he wasn’t, was there anything he could do about it? He knew what Chester could do to him if she so chose. He knew he was at her mercy, a thought that made him downright squeamish, fearful even. Yet she never took advantage of her power over him. And she had bettered his life, made him see who was truly important and, apparently, who was disposable.

  Morality rarely entered into the equation. If he acquiesced in Chest
er’s crime, did that make him equally culpable? I can live with that, he decided. I think.

  He had so much to think about, but life had been too hectic for him to consider the misdoings of his stowaway friend. Derek and Rachel were both dead. His roommate had pulled a knife on him. In Rhode Island, the police had a warrant out for Kevin’s arrest. Clive questioned whether Massachusetts cops gave a damn about their sister state’s warrants. If they were looking for Kevin or had caught him, Clive would be the last to know. No one told him anything.

  So, he was forced to hole up with Morgan, to hide away as though he were the bad guy. Not that he minded. The biting wind turned his thoughts to her warm bed and the heat of her embrace.

  His shivering brought his mind back to the here and now. He felt foolish standing outside in subfreezing weather, not knowing if anyone would answer the door. People were already starting to spend most of their time inside warm homes. Clive was beginning to think he should do the same. Then he heard the dead bolt release.

  “It’s about fucking time,” he said through chapped lips. He kept his voice low enough to avoid detection.

  The door slowly opened, revealing little Victoria in her pajamas. Her hair was gnarled and tangled. The bags under her eyes were a deep purple, almost ghoulish. She looked neglected, and Clive knew that she was. Her manner was the same as it had been at the two wakes, the funeral, and the post-funeral reception—indifferent, expressionless, uncaring. Clive knew Victoria cared. She just didn’t know how to show it. She needed some way to let it all out before it fucked her up inside. Clive prayed it wasn’t too late.

  “Hi, Uncle Clive.”

  “Hi, Victoria. Is your daddy around?” A silly question, Clive thought. At least, he certainly hoped it was.

  “He’s in his room. Come on in.”

  “Thank you.”

  Clive entered the former homestead of his late sister-in-law. He couldn’t help but think how much bigger it must be compared to her new place of residence. His niece stood by him, barely reaching his waistline. Clive rested his hand on her shoulder, his awkward way of showing her affection. She seemed unfazed by it, for better or worse.

  “It’s over here,” Victoria said, lifting a dead-tired arm like a zombie in a cheesy old horror movie. A wasted effort—Clive knew his way around.

  His heart sank as he headed toward Kyle’s bedroom. Lying on the bed of a dead person seemed morbid. Clive shook off his stupidity, wondering if anyone else thought like he did.

  What’s Kyle supposed to do—remove everything in the house that reminds him of Rachel? There’d be nothing left. The house would be an empty shell. Like Kyle. Maybe he’d be better off someplace else.

  Clive sighed. He hesitated at the bedroom door, which hung partially open. The crack was too small for him to see inside, save for a narrow, vertical sliver. He knocked on the door. “Kyle?” When no response came, he called again. “Kyle? You in there?”

  Clive waited another eight seconds before pushing the door open. Upon entering, he found his brother sunken into his bed as though he’d been lying there for days. Maybe he had.

  Kyle was even more disheveled than his daughter. His eyes were open, yet he didn’t seem aware of his brother’s presence. His tattered white T-shirt was wrinkled and stained. His boxers were dangerously close to revealing parts of Kyle neither Clive nor Victoria needed to see. One sullied sock clung to his foot in a desperate attempt to remain on. Its partner was missing in action. Beside Kyle, a bottle of Wild Turkey sat nearly full atop a bureau, a half-filled glass of the alcohol next to it.

  Well, at least he’s using a glass, Clive thought, searching for the silver lining. He didn’t drink that much, either. He walked toward his brother and frowned, realizing his initial assessment was faulty when he stumbled over an empty bottle of Hennessey carelessly tossed near the doorway.

  “Kyle? Are you okay?” Clive sat at the end of the bed, hesitating a moment at the thought of dead-people cooties.

  Kyle didn’t so much as stir.

  “Kyle?” Clive tapped his brother’s leg. “I came by to check on you. By the look of things, it was probably good that I did.”

  Kyle didn’t respond. Clive sagged, not knowing how to handle the situation. They were the type of brothers who constantly ragged on one another, not the type to console. He needed a response, some acknowledgment that they were still family, some sign of life from the grieving.

  “Man, look at you! You’re a goddamn mess!”

  “Leave me alone,” Kyle mumbled. He remained motionless, refusing to avert his stare from the ceiling.

  “You’ve been out of it for days. How long do you plan to keep this shit up? I know it’s hard, but you’ve got a daughter to think about too, you know.”

  A hushed, deep sigh exited Kyle’s lungs, the calm before the storm. “What do you know about it? ‘I know it’s hard,’” Kyle mimicked. “You don’t know shit, Clive. Get the hell out of my house.”

  “Kyle, I’m here to help.”

  Finally, Kyle moved. Unfortunately for Clive, his brother’s movement came in the form of a heel thrust into his temple. He fell off the bed, his brother’s remaining sock falling on top of him.

  Clive lingered on the carpet, stunned. He took a moment to collect his wits.

  You want me to take care of him too? Chester laughed when she asked the question, but Clive knew she was serious.

  “No. Please, let me handle this.”

  Clive was furious, but he cut his brother some slack in light of his recent loss. He brushed himself off. As he did, his hand came into contact with a fresh wet stain on his khakis. He prayed it was Hennessey and not Kyle forgetting to use a toilet.

  “All right, asshole. I’ll go. Give me a call when you’re ready to stop being a drunken jerk.”

  Clive hustled out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Victoria waited outside. She had watched the incident unfold, yet her blank expression hadn’t wavered.

  “Is Daddy going to be okay?”

  Clive grimaced, unsettled by the innocent question and the lie he was required to answer it with. Victoria’s burdens were too many for a girl her age to bear. He tried his best to be a good uncle.

  “Sure, hon. He’ll be fine. He just needs rest.”

  Clive glanced around the home. Dirty dishes were strewn all over the kitchen, a few errant ones actually making their way into the sink. Empty beer cans were everywhere else. It looked as though Katrina II had hit, and FEMA was caught with its pants down.

  “Have you eaten?” Clive asked, realizing that things were far worse than he’d thought, and Kyle’s drinking was just the tip of the iceberg.

  “I have Cocoa Puffs, but I ran out of milk.”

  “Grab your jacket. We’ll go get something to eat.”

  “Where?”

  “Is there anywhere you want to go?”

  “Friendly’s?” she asked.

  “You want ice cream even in this cold weather?”

  “I like ice cream.”

  “Then Friendly’s it is. We can pick up some milk for you on the way home.”

  “Do I have to change out of my pj’s?”

  “I’ll make a deal with you. Go change your shirt, and you can keep the bottoms on.”

  Victoria stared at Clive as though she were sizing him up. He shrunk beneath her gaze, not knowing what she could see in him or whether he’d pass inspection. After considerable thought, she apparently found him acceptable.

  “Okay.” Victoria started toward her room, but she halted before taking more than a few steps. Turning back to Clive, Victoria paused, her eyes shimmering as they hid her emotions. “Are you going to take care of me now?”

  “Yes, Victoria. I’ll help your daddy out whenever either of you need me to. He’ll be fine soon, though. I’m sure of it.”

  The response didn’t seem to convince Victoria, but it did seem to satisfy her. She hurried off to change her shirt.

  You do know she’s your burden now. You
sure you can handle that responsibility?

  “I’m a new man, Chester. I have Morgan, potential for job growth, and my health. It’s time I grew up. Family needs me.”

  I’m touched, Chester mocked. You think you’re all grown up, Clive? You can’t even take care of yourself, never mind a little girl. Take me, for example. I wouldn’t currently be in your head if not for your own stupidity.

  “Well, you are in my head, so maybe you should be more supportive. Victoria’s our burden now. If you aren’t going to help out, why don’t you just get out?”

  Still insisting you want me gone? If that’s true, why don’t you do something about it?

  “I had brain surgery!”

  True, but that was before you knew what I am. You like me, Clive. You need the company. You lack self-reliance. Without me, you’d be nothing, inconsequential. I make you special. You’re going to need my help, both in taking care of her and in stopping you from destroying yourself.

  “More gloom and doom from the talking spider.” Clive was unfazed, his spirits high. After all, just because everyone else’s lives around him were falling apart didn’t mean his was going to. So he’d lost a pseudo-friend and a sister-in-law he barely knew? He preferred to forget the dead and focus on the living. So he’d had unsuccessful surgery to remove a murderous bug from his brain? So what? Clive felt great. He was living his life his way. Work and chores were something he did when he felt like it. He was getting laid on a regular basis. As far as he was concerned, he had his shit together.

  “I have a homicidal arachnid living in my head, my best friend and brother’s wife are dead, and yet, I’ve never been happier. Give me your worst, Chester. I can take it.”

  Derek got my worst. You don’t want that.

  “Is that a threat?” Clive asked without a hint of concern. “I don’t know your game, Chester. But if you wanted me dead, you could have done that weeks ago. I think you stick around because deep inside that nasty, vile exoskeleton of yours is a little heart with a place in it just for me.”