Johnny Gruesome

by Gregory Lamberson

  Matt led Eric and Rhonda alongside the ambulance now parked in the driveway. He had instructed Rhonda to move her car to the curb upon his arrival.

  “And that’s exactly how you found him?”

  Eric nodded. “Yeah, surrounded by those empty bottles.”

  Matt squinted at the cars passing them, curious eyes peering out at him. “Well, I guess that isn’t much of surprise, is it?”

  “No, sir.”

  Matt offered them a mild smile. “You two had best be getting home. Your folks will be worried after what happened today. Thanks for your help.” He turned toward the house, then stopped and turned back. “Oh, Eric, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  Eric tried to hide his surprise. “What’s that?”

  “Last week, when I pulled you and Johnny over?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Johnny wasn’t wearing his seat belt.”

  Eric stiffened. “So?”

  “When we found his body the other night, he had it on.”

  Eric’s mind raced. Gary had strapped the seat belt on Johnny to keep his corpse upright behind the Death Mobile’s steering wheel. Stall, stall, stall. “I don’t understand.”

  “It just strikes me as strange, is all. Johnny was reckless. I don’t believe he’d voluntarily wear that seat belt, especially if he’d been drinking and acting as crazy as you kids say he was. Did he have it on when you saw him?”

  Is he trying to trick me? “I don’t remember.”

  “Well, if you do, give me a shout, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  As Matt headed toward the house, a van with a giant number seven stenciled on its side pulled over to the curb. The van’s side door slid open and a female newscaster hopped out. Holding a microphone in one hand, she waved with the other.

  “Chief Crane!”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Eric said to Rhonda.

  Chapter 25

  Eric hung his coat in the foyer closet and stepped out of his shoes. Entering the living room, he saw Karen alone on the sofa, the crackling flames in the fireplace highlighting her features.

  “Hi,” she said in an almost inaudible voice.

  Before he could answer, his mother entered through the dining room. “Who was that who drove you home?”

  “Rhonda.”

  Pat raised her eyebrows.

  “Charlie’s dead,” he told both of them. The words sounded harsher than he’d intended, and Karen sat up, turning rigid.

  “What?” Pat said with genuine alarm.

  “I found him in his living room. Chief Crane thinks he drank himself to death.”

  Karen looked stunned.

  Pat moved closer to Eric and touched his arm. “Honey, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, locking his eyes on Karen.

  Pat followed his sight line. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you two alone.” With a puzzled expression, she returned to her domain.

  Eric sat in the chair opposite the sofa, on the other side of the fireplace.

  “Poor Charlie,” Karen said, sounding congested. She looked around the room, her red eyes avoiding his gaze. “You have a lovely home.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Her jittery eyes settled on him.

  She’s on something.

  “I’ve been getting phone calls.”

  He stared at her. Congratulations.

  “Whoever it is doesn’t say anything and he won’t stop.”

  “Don’t you have caller ID?”

  “The display just says ‘wireless caller.’”

  “You’re not the first person to get prank phone calls. Call the cops if you’re worried.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  She drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “The calls started right after the funeral.” She lowered her voice. “What if someone knows what we did?”

  Eric matched her tone. “That’s impossible. You’re just being paranoid.”

  “The calls only come when I’m alone. Whoever it is knows my mother’s work schedule.”

  “Maybe it’s Gary.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  Eric felt his jaw tighten. “We’ve both seen what he’s capable of doing.”

  “I know that you guys have never gotten along, but I always thought you were just jealous of each other’s friendship with Johnny.”

  “Some friend he turned out to be.”

  She rubbed her arms. “I’m scared.”

  “Then talk to Gary.”

  “I’m here to see you.”

  Turning his head, he gazed at the fireplace. “Eric—?”

  The flames crackled and popped as Pat returned. “Karen, you’re welcome to stay for dinner if you’d like.”

  Standing, Karen pulled on her coat. “No, thank you, Mrs. Carter. I have to get home.”

  Without looking at them, Eric said, “She’s expecting a phone call.”

  Matt steered his cruiser along Van Buren Drive. As he passed the expensive homes, he noted the private snowplows did a much better job here than Greg Haines did with the village plow in his neighborhood. But then, everything was at least one level better here in the Heights. He turned into a cul de sac and the Kumler home came into view. Roger Kumler owned one of the most successful contracting firms in the county, so it came as no surprise to Matt his home dominated the neighborhood. Two and a half stories high, with cathedral ceilings, balconies, and wide, curved windows. A stone fence outlined the landscaped property. As Matt turned into the circular driveway, he saw a two-story, three-car garage.

  That’s bigger than my whole house. He felt neither envy nor bitterness. At that moment, the last person in the world he envied was Roger Kumler. Switching off the engine, he climbed out of the Pathfinder and crossed the shoveled walkway to the two-door entrance. He rang the bell and waited, surveying the other homes in the cul de sac. No teachers or cops lived here.

  The door opened and Roger stood in the doorway, dressed in a suit with no tie, the top button of his shirt unbuttoned. His wavy salt-and-pepper hair needed combing and his eyelids looked heavy. Without saying anything, he stepped back from the door, admitting Matt.

  “Thank you, Roger. I’m sorry about Todd. How’s Doreen?”

  “She’s upstairs, sedated.” Roger closed the door but hovered near it.

  I guess this is as far as I go, Matt thought.

  “It’s nice of you to finally come in person, Acting Chief. I thought you were only going to send your subordinates to see me.”

  Matt had dealt with demanding citizens before. “Roger, I apologize. I sent Ben to give you the news earlier because I had to take Darryl Bower into custody. I didn’t want to risk any screwups if it turned out he killed Todd. Unfortunately, he passed his polygraph test with flying colors.”

  The corners of Roger’s mouth turned down. “Polygraphs aren’t reliable.”

  “No, they’re not. But Walter Kaplan, who administered the test, believes Darryl.”

  “Do you?”

  Matt sighed. “Yes, I do. But we found a decent amount of marijuana in his basement locker at the school, so we have cause to hold him in custody overnight. He’ll probably make bail tomorrow, depending on how high the judge sets it.”

  “Judge Bannis is a friend of mine. I assure you he’ll set maximum bail.”

  I’m sure he will. “Darryl may be innocent.”

  “Just for the moment, let’s say he is. If that’s the case, who murdered my son? My only son. I need to know the answer to that question. I need to be able to look my wife in the eyes and tell her that our son’s killer has been brought to justice.”

  “I understand that.”

  “If this Bower cretin is innocent, what are you doing to find the animal who butchered my boy?”

  “Everything I can. My entire department is working overtime, including the part-timers. I’ve canceled all vacations until this has been resolved. We’ll work aro
und the clock until we catch Todd’s killer.”

  “Do you have children, Chief Crane?”

  “No, sir. I can only imagine what you and your wife are going through right now.”

  Roger shook his head. “You can’t even do that.”

  Matt couldn’t disagree.

  Through the living room window Karen watched her mother back out of the driveway. She turned off the ringer on the living room telephone, then raced into the kitchen and disabled the one there. She ran upstairs to her mother’s bedroom door. Just as she closed her fingers around the phone on the bedside table, it emitted a shrill ring that made her flinch.

  “Damn it!” She jerked the phone from its cradle, switched off its ringer, and slammed it down. “There, you bastard!” Marching into the hall, she slammed the door behind her.

  In her bedroom, she opened her music box and removed the foil packet. She opened it with hurried motions, spilling the tiny rocks and crumbs onto the bureau. Using a playing card—the Queen of Hearts—she chopped the coke and divided it into neat lines. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she snorted two lines through a straw she’d cut in half, then tipped her head back, waiting for the high to kick in.

  Instead, a high-pitched electronic scream filled the room, causing her to jump with a startled spasm. She exhaled, angry at herself for overreacting, and unfastened her cell phone from her belt.

  Who could it be? she wondered. No one had called her cell in days. Staring at the number on the display, she furrowed her eyebrows.

  No. Not possible. Johnny’s home number!

  But no one lived there anymore. Someone had to be playing a sick joke on her. Switching off the ringer with a frustrated cry, she dropped the phone. It bounced off the carpeted floor and flipped over. She shook with anger. Who would play such a cruel joke on her? And why?

  A loud cracking sound outside her window caused her to spin around. Another tree limb, weighted down by ice, had snapped off the oak tree outside her window and had clawed at the side of the house on its way to the ground, accompanied by a downpour of icicles. Her heart beat faster, and she told herself to relax. The silence that followed soothed her wild emotions.

  Then a sudden vibrating sound on the floor made her gasp. The cell phone rotated on the floor like a windup toy, the digits on its display blurring. She must have accidentally set it to “vibrate” instead of shutting it off. The phone moved in concentric circles at her feet as she screamed.

  Chapter 26

  Carol dropped her terry-cloth robe to the floor, stepped into the running shower, and pulled the vinyl curtain across the rod. Hot water sprayed her body and steam engulfed her, opening her pores. Closing her eyes, she allowed her muscles to unwind. The day’s events had left her nerves frazzled, and she needed a few minutes of relaxation.

  What I really need is a drink, she thought. But Matt wouldn’t be home for at least another two hours, and she rarely drank alone.

  Poor Matt. She knew the pressure he must have been under from Tony Anzello and the town council. Todd had been seventeen, not quite an adult. Other communities had suffered the murders of children, massacres even. But not her town.

  She had lived in Red Hill most of her life. She’d left for four years to attend Syracuse University, and another two years to get her master’s degree in New York City. Although she’d found Manhattan life exciting, she preferred the slower pace of a small town. So she came home.

  And in no time at all, she started seeing Matt. He’d been a senior in high school when she was a freshman, and she remembered him as a local football hero. Matt had never left home. He’d graduated from Red Hill Community College, and after two years of trying his hand at various occupations, had joined the police force. Being a police officer in Red Hill primarily required an ability to deal with people from different economic backgrounds: the college kids who liked to party, the blue-collar workers who blew off steam in the taverns, and the wealthier families that had always enjoyed privileged status and benefits. Matt’s easygoing style had served him well, which is why Walt Butler had chosen him to serve as interim chief. Matt had mixed feelings about taking over for his mentor, whom he regarded as a father figure. His own father had died from a heart attack when Matt was only eleven. Thinking of poor Walt wasting away in the hospital reminded Carol of Johnny, and then Todd again; too much sadness to cope with all at once.

  She turned off the water, opened the curtain, and reached for a towel. As she dried her flat stomach, she thought about motherhood. Since earning tenure at the school a few months ago, she and Matt had decided to have a child. But he had been preoccupied with his new position, even if the promotion was only temporary at this point. They both knew that if he secured the spot, they would be better able to provide for a family.

  Stepping out of the tub, she pulled on her robe and tied its sash. Steam swirled around her, and she could not see her reflection in the mirror. She crossed the cold tile floor and opened the door, allowing the steam to escape into the adjoining bedroom. Stepping before the sink, she used the towel to wipe the mirror clear. She gazed at her reflection and ran one hand through her hair, which curled whenever she washed it.

  She opened the medicine cabinet and removed a tube of moisturizer; the winter winds posed a constant challenge to her skin. As she closed the cabinet, the reflection of the overhead light fixture danced across the glass like a UFO in the sky. She squeezed the pink lotion into one palm and rubbed her hands together.

  In the mirror, she saw the reflection of a shadow on the bedroom wall behind her. She’d never noticed it before, and as she wondered what caused it, it grew denser. Her heart stopped beating for a moment, and even as she wanted to laugh at her overactive imagination, the shadow formed the shape of an elongated person. She knew with terrible certainty she was no longer alone in the house.

  A floorboard creaked.

  She stood rooted to the spot. “Matt?”

  The shadow expanded, separated, and filled the doorway.

  Not a shadow, and not Matt, but someone dressed all in black, with long dark hair.

  Oh, my God.

  As terror gripped her chest and throat, she spun around, bumping her left hip against the sink. Her eyes focused on the intruder and for an instant she doubted her sanity. Johnny Grissom stood before her with a leering grin on his face. His dead face.

  She wanted to believe that the events of the last week had never occurred, that Johnny hadn’t died and she hadn’t attended his funeral. But the blue-gray pallor of his skin and the purplish splotches on it made such pretense impossible. She felt her jaw slacken, and a pathetic groan escaped her throat. She wanted to scream but she could not force her vocal cords to function. Instead, she twisted her head from side to side.

  Johnny’s cold eyes looked her up and down and she saw pleasure in them at her agonized discomfort. His mottled right eye twitched wider than his left, and his thin lips had achieved a sensual cruelty only hinted at in life.

  “Hello, Mrs. Crane.”

  Carol’s heart pounded in her chest and she felt tears welling in her eyes. Johnny’s voice sounded hoarse, as if he’d been screaming. He reached into a jacket pocket and for a moment she feared he intended to remove a weapon. Instead, his hand came out with his fingers clawed around a shiny red apple, which he held out to her.

  “I brought the teacher a present.”

  A putrid odor filled the bathroom: the stench of death. Carol pressed herself against the sink, rigid with fear. How on God’s earth was this possible? Unable to take her eyes off her dead pupil, she summoned the courage to speak.

  “How—?”

  “You don’t want my gift? That’s too bad.” He took a juicy bite out of the apple, which he then set on top of the toilet tank. “You never did like me, did you?” He chewed and swallowed, juice trickling over his dead lips. “Well, I’ve always liked you. I’ve been dying to see you again.”

  “Oh, God!” Carol dug her fingers into the sink’s Formica countertop u
ntil her fingernails threatened to snap.

  “God has nothing to do with this.”

  Her eyes widened in horror. “You’re dead … You’re supposed to be dead … Why aren’t you dead?”

  Johnny stepped forward. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  Realization crashed down on her like a downpour of broken glass. “You killed Todd …”

  “So what? He had it coming. So do a lot of other people in this town. But don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Uh-uh. You’re too fine for death.”

  She swallowed. “Then what do you want?”

  He flashed black gums to her. “You know …”

  Carol recognized the lascivious expression on his face. She had seen it in Michael Milton’s office the day he suspended Johnny for beating up Todd. The lustful look in his eyes made her want to die.

  “I want a kiss.”

  Carol’s heart skipped a beat. “A kiss—?”

  Johnny nodded. “A simple little kiss. Every boy should kiss at least one older woman, and I’ve had a crush on you since freshman year. Give me what I want and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Carol shook her head. “No. No. No. No …”

  Johnny peeled off his leather jacket and allowed it to slip to the floor, his muscles sliding beneath the bluish skin on his arms. Carol saw only one way to escape. Launching herself off the sink with both hands, she bolted forward, attempting to squeeze between Johnny and the door. He snared her left arm and spun her toward him.

  She pounded on his chest. “Noooooooo!”

  Burying his fingers in her hair, Johnny jerked her face toward his, pressing his cracked lips against her mouth. She twisted free and clawed at his face, her fingernails leaving deep furrows in the waxy flesh on the right side of his face, from his eyebrow to his jaw. Pink fluid trickled from the wounds like blood. He tore her robe open with a swipe of his hand.

  “You bastard!” Carol kicked his thighs with her knees, trying to impact his groin.

  Pulling her even closer to him, Johnny mashed her breasts against his chest. She screamed and he kissed her again, jamming his rotting tongue between her teeth. Her scream became a guttural squeal as he forced her back against the sink.