The Buried Book

by D. M. Pulley

  You gotta outsmart ’em, she’d said. You know this place better than any stranger, right? What do we do when there’s a fire? Remember?

  Jasper shook his head.

  Sure you do. What are those ladders for outside the windows? What are they called? Think, baby.

  Fire escapes?

  That’s right. You can climb out any window on the east side, and there’s a ladder. Strangers don’t know about them. Understand?

  Jasper had nodded even though he was fairly certain she’d gone crazy. The fire escapes were old and rusted, and he was scared of heights. And he’d been confused. She’d always told him to go find Mrs. Carbo if he needed help, and no one ever came to their door.

  Except once, he realized. He’d been much younger. There had been a soft knock, and he had whispered through the closed door, Who is it?

  The detective’s heavy steps rumbled past the bathroom door to the bedrooms. “Jasper? I can’t help you unless you answer me, boy.” His voice sounded angry.

  Jasper spun around to the window in the bathtub wall and pulled back the yellowed linen. Outside the glass, the black iron railing of the fire escape hung in midair. Staring through the metal grate, he could see the sidewalk twelve feet down. Jasper swallowed hard and unlocked the window.

  Down the hall, the door to his bedroom slammed open, and he could hear the detective sifting through the debris and moving furniture aside in the room next door. He lifted the window sash as quietly as he could. Its counterweights clanked inside the wall. Cool morning air hissed into his face, billowing the shower curtain behind him. He slid his suitcase onto the fire escape and climbed out onto the metal landing on his hands and knees.

  Fear sent jolts of electricity through his limbs as he pulled himself up onto the rickety platform. Behind him, narrow stairs led up to the third floor and then onto the roof. In front of him, an iron ladder reached up into the sky, leading nowhere. It took several moments for Jasper to figure out it had been lifted up off of the ground. Its rails were attached to wheels. He grabbed a rung and gave it a gentle tug. It didn’t budge. This is a huge mistake, he thought, looking back through the open bathroom window. He was disobeying a grown-up. He was running away from a policeman. But it was worse than that. There was blood everywhere. Maybe they’ll think it’s my fault. Maybe someone died. Maybe it was her. His knees buckled under him.

  There was a pounding on the bathroom door. An angry voice bellowed, “Jasper?”

  No. It’ll be okay. Jasper forced himself back up. The detective will know what to do. I’m just a kid. As he slid the window shut behind him, he heard the locked doorknob on the opposite side of the bathroom rattle violently.

  “Son of a bitch!” the detective muttered.

  Bam!

  It sounded like a kick to the door. There wasn’t any time.

  Jasper threw his suitcase from the second-floor landing down into the alley below. It popped open on impact. He nearly lost his nerve.

  Bam!

  Jasper jumped onto the raised ladder as hard as he could. The lowering mechanism slowly screeched to life as the rusted wheels began to turn. Jasper grabbed the side rails and slammed his feet down on the rung over and over, dropping the stubborn ladder farther and farther until it screamed to a halt two feet above the sidewalk.

  As he leapt to the ground, a window over his head slammed open.

  “Jasper!” the detective shouted from the bathtub. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, boy?”

  Jasper kept his bruised face turned to the pavement and didn’t answer. He gathered up his mother’s diary and the rest of his things into his suitcase and took off running down the alley. As he rounded the corner onto South Main, he glanced back at the window. The detective was gone.

  Jasper could hardly feel his legs as they carried him to the next block. This is crazy. He was going to get caught. His father would never forgive him. There was no place to hide. A police siren would scream up behind him any minute. He was a criminal. They would probably throw him in jail. They might even give him the electric chair.

  He sprinted past Mickey’s Convenience, the dry cleaner’s, and Sampson’s Auto Repair. All the shops had “Closed” signs hanging in the windows. It was a Sunday. He wanted to scream for help, but the street was empty. He turned the corner and bolted down the next street and then the next.

  The signs and awnings became a blur of colors as the wind fell out of him. He couldn’t run anymore. The suitcase hung limply from his hand as he staggered down the sidewalk. He had no idea which street he was on.

  A block ahead, a door stood open. Jasper gathered another deep breath and barreled toward it. He didn’t stop to read the sign. Inside was a small shop with pictures of ladies on one side and a tall wood counter on the other. There was nowhere to hide. The women plastered across the wall leered at him with dark eyes. Many were bending over and some were lifting their skirts. He stepped back aghast and bumped into the counter. The bell on top jingled softly.

  A snort came from the behind the counter.

  A bleary-eyed old man stood up from his chair. A cigarette dangled from his lip with a long column of ash hanging from its end. “Can I help you?”

  “Uh, yes. Excuse me, sir. Do you have a bathroom?” Jasper panted.

  “Does this look like the public restroom, boy? This place ain’t for kids. Beat it.” The long ash fell onto the countertop. He didn’t seem to notice; he just waved Jasper to the door and plopped back down again.

  Jasper nodded, glancing back at the ladies on the wall. The man was obviously right, but there was nowhere else to go. Somewhere out there, Detective Russo was waiting for him, and he was furious. He would take him to jail or an orphanage or wherever really bad boys go. He’d never find his mother or his father now.

  The ladies on the wall glowered at him as he sank against the counter and put his head in his hands.

  A noise came from behind the counter. There was some mumbling and then another snort. It took a second for Jasper to register the sound. The clerk had fallen back to sleep.

  Jasper peeked over the top. The man’s head had lolled back against the wall with the cigarette still stuck in his mouth. Looking frantically around the shop, he caught sight of a narrow doorway in the far corner. It might lead to the restrooms or to some place he could hide. The clerk would think he’d left.

  Biting his lip, Jasper picked up his bag and took a tentative step toward the doorway. The snoring just got louder. Inch by inch, he made his way past the counter and slipped into a dark corridor.

  Once he was out of sight, he breathed a little easier. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. The dimly lit hallway was lined with doors. There were ten of them. Jasper crept past several, debating which one to open. Out in the shop, he heard the ring of a bell.

  “Anybody home?” a deep voice asked. It was the detective.

  There was a loud snuff and snort before the clerk finally answered. “Yeah. Can I help you?”

  Jasper scrambled to the end of the corridor, searching for an exit. All the doors were shut.

  “I’m looking for my son,” the detective’s voice echoed down from the lobby.

  Son? Jasper stopped.

  “No sons here. This ain’t a kid-friendly shop, if you know what I mean.”

  “He’s lost. I saw the open door, and I thought he might have wandered in. Do you mind if I look around?”

  “Yeah, I mind. This ain’t a lost and found,” the clerk barked. “You wanna come in, you gotta pay just like everybody else.”

  “Perhaps I’m not making myself clear.” A loud thump reverberated down the hall.

  Jasper scrambled to the nearest doorknob. Locked.

  “Whoa. Hey, buddy. Take it easy. Take it easy . . .”

  A door opened next to him, and a woman’s heavily made-up face poked out of a pool of light. She locked eyes with Jasper for a beat and opened her mouth to yell. Her gaze darted from his bag to his black eye. Her face softened, and she
motioned him toward her.

  “There’s nobody back there, man. But go ahead. Help yourself.” The clerk’s voice sounded like someone had squeezed the air out of it.

  The woman whisked him inside.

  CHAPTER 21

  Where did you go?

  “Whatcha doin’ here, honey?” the woman whispered. She was wearing nothing but her underwear and a pair of black stockings full of little holes.

  “I don’t . . . I’m sorry, ma’am. I just . . . ,” Jasper stammered. The detective would be there any second. He could hear doors being opened down the hall. He peered up at her painted face and begged, “I need help.”

  “He do that to you?” she frowned and ran a finger next to his black eye.

  It was too difficult to explain, so he just nodded.

  “My pops used to do stuff like that too. Come here.” She grabbed him by the hand and led him through a dark room into another one filled with mirrors and glittery costumes. “Climb in. Quick.” She motioned him into a large locker. A red purse was hanging from a hook, and black rain boots sat at the bottom.

  He hesitated before standing his suitcase up on its side and climbing in next to it.

  “Don’t worry, honey. No one’s gonna look in here.” With that, she closed the door.

  Inside the locker, there was just enough room for Jasper to sit down on the edge of his suitcase. The steel box was pitch-black except for three narrow slats of light streaming in through the vent at the top. Her high heels clicked away from his hiding place. A moment later, the light went out.

  All Jasper could hear was his own shaky breath hissing in the dark. Fatigue set in as the adrenaline pumping through his veins ran out. For the moment, he was safe. He leaned his aching head against the wall of the locker and shut his eyes. The dried blood on the wall of his mother’s room flashed in his mind. His lids snapped back open. It’s not hers, he told himself over and over. But his father had called out her name the minute he saw the wreckage of their home. Althea!

  His breath became a deafening rasp, rushing in and out of his lungs as he tried not to picture the red handprint by the door. Take it easy, Jas, he imagined Wayne’s voice talking. Keep your skirt on. Everything will be alright.

  His father would be knocking on Mrs. Carbo’s door any minute, he told himself. There’d be hell to pay for running off, but it would all work out. It had to. The look on his father’s face the night before told a different story. Jasper shuddered. He’s gonna kill me.

  Muffled voices grew louder through the walls. It sounded like fighting. Jasper strained to hear but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. A door slammed open nearby, and the three stripes of light over his head flicked back on. Jasper sucked in a breath. One, two, three . . .

  “You can’t come back here.” It was the half-naked lady talking. A set of high heels clacked toward the locker.

  “The hell I can’t,” the detective barked.

  “I’m tellin’ ya, John. I ain’t seen him.”

  “Then you won’t mind me looking around. Will you?” The shadow of the detective passed by the locker vents.

  “Fine. Help yourself.” She sighed and lowered her voice to a purr. “But come on now, Johnny. Is that really why you wanted to bring me back here?”

  The detective’s feet stopped moving.

  “Bet your wife don’t do it as good as I can. Five dollars and you can find out.”

  “That’s a lovely offer, but I’m working. Open the lockers.”

  “Fine, but I can’t open ’em all. Some belong to the other girls.”

  Metal doors crashing open shook the box where Jasper hid. He nearly yelped as the one next to him slammed.

  “You the only one here?”

  “Yeah. Sundays are slow.”

  The handle to Jasper’s locker rattled. He covered his mouth to keep from whimpering out loud.

  “Whose is this one?”

  “That one belongs to Dixie. She ain’t here.”

  A flashlight clicked on and poured into the locker. Jasper crouched down as the beam of light danced over his head.

  “Come on, baby. You sure you couldn’t go for a little somethin’? I’ll treat you real nice.” The lady’s voice got husky again on the other side of the thin sheet metal, and the flashlight stopped moving. The sound of a zipper opening was followed by kissing sounds. “It’s fixin’ to be a real slow day.”

  Something heavy crashed against the locker next door followed by a slap. “I told you. I’m working. I could haul your ass in for solicitation, but I won’t. If you see a little boy roaming around, you better call this number or I’m comin’ back, and you’re not going to like it. Now show me the rest of the booths.”

  Even, hard-soled shoes strode past the box where Jasper hid, followed by stumbling, clicking ones. The lights went out again. Jasper stared into the dark with his mouth hanging open. He was repulsed by what he’d heard the strange woman say but felt incredibly grateful all the same. She’d saved him. She’d even been willing to kiss the horrible detective to help him.

  But the woman didn’t come back.

  The room stayed dark and silent. After the first handful of minutes, Jasper began to panic. What if she forgot about me? What if the detective arrested her and took her away? He was still too scared to make a sound, so he sat there as the seconds ticked by one by one.

  After what felt like an hour, Jasper stood up and stretched his cramped legs. The locker was big enough to lift his arms up but not big enough to turn around, not with the boots and his suitcase on the floor. As he stretched, his arm bumped into the lady’s purse. He felt the lumpy leather in the dark and could hear something metallic jingle. Keys, he thought with rising hope. Surely she wouldn’t leave without her keys or her purse. He sat back down and waited.

  The blood in the apartment splattered across the walls in his mind again. He put his head in his hands and whispered, “It’s not hers. It’s not hers.” But he didn’t believe it.

  Who else’s could it be? he asked himself in Wayne’s voice. Come on, Jas. You’re pretty smart. Whose could it be?

  Jasper sat back down on his bag and stared into the dark, imagining a masked villain in black storming through the apartment, breaking everything in his path. Maybe it was his blood. Jasper shook his head. If the blood belonged to the villain, that could only mean that someone had tried to stop him. But who?

  It wasn’t his father. He was pretty sure of that, given the shock on the man’s face at the sight of the mess. Was it Detective Russo? Police are supposed to be the ones that foil the crime, but Jasper didn’t think so. Detective Russo didn’t seem like a hero at all. Son of a bitch! he’d hissed through the bathroom door. That wasn’t the way a hero talked.

  Jasper strained to remember what Mrs. Carbo had said on the telephone behind her bedroom door. She’d seemed really upset about something. Oh, goodness! Gunshots? . . .

  Was that what she said? She’d also mentioned some sergeant. Didn’t she?

  Her words muddled together in his head until the only one he was sure about was orphanage.

  The half-naked lady still didn’t come. The longer he sat there, the louder the terrible thoughts whispered in his head. He pictured the masked villain dragging his mother into her bedroom by her hair and throwing her against the wall. He could hear her screaming.

  No!

  Jasper stood up and clawed at the sides of the metal box. He couldn’t breathe. Each breath hissed out louder than the last as his throat tightened. It reminded him of Sally stuck in the well, only now it was him. He was Sally. He had to get out of there. He felt blindly along the seams of the door. A bulky mechanism stuck out along the right jamb. He fumbled with it, tried to push and turn it. Nothing happened. He pushed against the door with all his might. It didn’t budge.

  “Hello?” he croaked into the dark room. The detective must be gone by now. He risked saying it again, louder. “Hello?”

  Still nothing.

  “Hello? Anybody
?” he hollered and pounded the door with his fist. “Let me out!”

  He pounded and kicked, growing more and more hysterical, braying and bleating. “Let me out! Let me out! Help!”

  The lights clicked on. Jasper froze in terror. What if it wasn’t her?

  A second later, the door flung open.

  “Jesus, baby! You want Moe to find you? Quiet down.” It was the painted lady again. Her thick makeup was smudged with sweat, but it was her.

  Jasper fell out of the locker, sobbing.

  “Shh!” she hissed, scooping him off of the floor. “Hush up.”

  He sniffed and snuffed until he managed to speak. “I thought . . . I thought you’d gone.”

  “Don’t be silly. My shift don’t end till five.” She set him down on one of the stools and took the one next to it. She grabbed a tissue and dabbed her sweaty face. “What’s your name, sugar?”

  “Jasper,” he said and grabbed a tissue for himself. The mirror cased in lights gave him a shock. His face was a distorted patchwork of red blotches and snot, and his right eye was a pulsing mess of purple and blue.

  “How old are you, Jasper?”

  “Nine.”

  She whistled low and slow, then gave him a hard look in the mirror. “Where you plannin’ to go?”

  He bit his lip and looked down at his hands. He had no idea where his father had gone, but he couldn’t risk going back to the apartment. He couldn’t go to one of his old classmates’ houses looking like he did. They’d call the cops. Mrs. Carbo was his only grown-up friend, and she’d called Detective Russo. There was only one place else he could think to go. “My uncle’s farm.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Off Old 25, north of Port Huron.”

  “That’s pretty far off. How you gonna get there?”

  Jasper just shook his head.

  She turned and cocked a half grin. He could tell by her appraising look she wasn’t in the charity business. “You got anything to sell?”

  Jasper frowned and tried to think. The only things in his suitcase were his clothes and his mother’s diary. The clothes couldn’t be worth much, but the bag was encased in leather. “My suitcase?”