by Hadena James
The orangutan hooted at us. I waved at him. He waved back and climbed his tree.
“You know him,” Gabriel said.
“I think so,” I answered. “Now to search for the dangerous animals.”
“You will explain, later,” Gabriel informed me.
I frowned. I could explain later, but I felt no desire to do so. Getting the information out of me might be difficult, I had history with the ape behind the bars. I wondered if he was cold. Maybe I would be a good pet owner.
We checked the rest of the cages and found no other unregistered animals. John found us as we finished, license in hand. Gabriel took it from him and called the sanctuary owners. Their panic was evident over the phone as Gabriel tried to reassure them.
About ten minutes later, animal control showed. Ten minutes after that, the sanctuary owners arrived. There was quite a mess and I huddled in the car for warmth while the people in charge worked it out.
A woman knocked on the window. She was older, around the same age as my mom. The sun had wrinkled and tanned her face. Her arms were thick, strong for her age, conditioned by caring for the animals. She wore a flannel coat over jeans and a lined shirt.
“May I help you?” I rolled down the window.
“I just wanted to thank you, Ms. Clachan. We’ve been trying for years to get the orangutan a license, but there was always so much red tape, it never went through.”
“It’s Cain now, not Clachan and you’re welcome. I suspect he is well cared for and in good health,” I didn’t make it a question.
“In the best possible health,” she said. “You are welcome to come see him any time you’re in town. He remembers you.”
“Thank you,” I answered.
“Since you’re here, you could take a few minutes now to go see him,” she pressed.
“Mrs. Rivers, I’m not sure how happy a reunion it would be,” I answered.
“I understand he grabbed for you earlier. He doesn’t do that unless it’s someone he knows,” Mrs. Rivers told me.
“Knows, perhaps, wants to be around,” I frowned at her.
“Orangutans do not hold grudges like people, Aislinn Clachan. It would do you both some good to see each other.”
“Fine, but I’m keeping my Taser.” I opened the door and re-entered the cold.
Secrets
Patterson was livid. He paced inside his motel room, trying not to feel like a caged animal. However, that was exactly what he felt like. He’d given the note to the hotel clerk, but for some reason, Aislinn hadn’t followed up on his tip. There’d been no sign of activity at either of his sisters’ homes.
They were the last of the older generation; Nina, Gertrude, and himself. The vanguards of a dying age. He had thought long and hard for the past week about it. Nina was dying of cancer. Gertrude was fit as a fiddle, albeit insane. He was also in prime shape. The difference was that only Gertrude knew about him.
And she was being her usual self; bitchy, whiny, and controlling. The entire family was locked in a strangle-hold because of her. Terrified of Joseph, his son, who had been raised by the lunatic after his disappearing act, because the man was clearly as insane as Gertrude.
This made him smile. He judged Gertrude and Joseph insane, but not himself. He thought it was because he controlled himself better. His rage was kept in check most of the time, despite having every reason on the planet to kill his bitch sister who was the keeper of skeletons.
He firmly believed there were things the younger generations didn’t need to know. Things that would scare them, like his father’s habit of burying farmhands instead of paying them. Or the fact that his mother had been a prostitute during The Great Depression, with the consent of her killer husband. Nor did they need to know that the farmhands weren’t all buried in one piece. The Great Depression had been hard on the family, it had been cheaper to kill the livestock than take care of them, but this meant that food was often scarce and the farmhands had helped supplement their diets.
They didn’t need to know that after The Great Depression ended, his brother Virgil had been killed by their father. His father consider Virgil’s death a mercy killing. Virgil had gotten too accustomed to eating the flesh of his fellow humans. They didn’t need to know that Bernard, Fritz, and he had joined the military to get away from their parents and their habits.
The final secret, was that Nina had gotten pregnant at the outbreak of war, by a man joining the service. The family had locked her away and when she gave birth, they let her back out, but never without an escort. As for the child, he was positive his father had killed it, too ashamed to let anyone know that Nina had given birth out of wedlock. Luckily for the soldier who got her pregnant, he died overseas. Their father had given strict orders to all the boys that when he returned, they were to kill him.
The secret of the Clachans wasn’t that they created serial killers, it was that they hadn’t created more than a handful. Gertrude had raised her son to be one. Nina had never tried to have another child, fearing for its safety. Most of the rest had been devoted parents, lavishing their children in order to break the cycle of abuse. Patterson had tried and failed. When his failure had become obvious the day of Lila’s death, he left, hoping to keep them from growing up to be the monster that he was.
Nyleena had, fighting against those that terrorized the country. Eric had not, but a man could only be pushed so far. Aislinn was still a question mark. His letters to her were meant to scare her, push her away from the lifestyle and madness that claimed so many lives. He hadn’t counted on her being cut from the same insane material as him.
After realizing that it wouldn’t work, he’d considered stopping. But it was the only contact he could have with any of his grandchildren and it served a purpose, because Gertrude thought he was trying to drive the girl crazy. There was more to it than that though, he could relive his kills to her, like a grandfather telling his granddaughter a bedtime story, and it helped suppress the urge to kill. Not all the time, but most of it. He enjoyed the act of taking a life, watching their blood weep from them as their eyes glazed over, but his kills were directed at people that had wronged him and his family. Or people like August.
He wrote a second note to Aislinn and dropped it off at the hotel. It was exactly the same as the first. It was time to go follow Gertrude.
Patterson sat in his car and watched the people come and go from the store. Her car had pulled in over an hour ago and she had yet to come out. As he waited, he thought of Nina. His beautiful younger sister with no family of her own, supported by the family trust because everyone thought of her as a leper. Ruled by Gertrude’s madness and iron-fist. Poor abused Nina, always suffering for the sake of someone else. It had been her that had found the body of Lila, sparing his children from the task. It had been her that had arranged for the children to be taken in by anyone but Gertrude. Unfortunately, Joseph had been a problem child and he’d been caught molesting a cousin. He would have been shipped off to reform school, but Nina stepped in and made sure that Joseph went to live with another relative. It had been Gertrude, but Nina had done her best.
She was the closest thing to a saint the Clachan family would ever have. For this, Patterson believed she had suffered long enough. If Gertrude was captured by Aislinn and the Marshals, he’d kill Nina so that she wouldn’t have to deal with the fall out.
Joseph was also on the list of those that Patterson considered a waste. His own son was a child predator. He might not have been caught as an adult, but that didn’t mean those urges had gone away. Patterson understood all too well that the urges never went away.
In his youth, during war, Patterson had been impulsive in his kills. German soldiers were his favorite targets, inflicting horrific wounds upon them and watching them die. However, when German soldiers were in short supply, the general population was good enough. Once home, the urges hadn’t gone away, but he’d suppressed them, reliving moments from the small tokens he’d taken as trophies.
&
nbsp; His murderous rages had been contained, every couple of years, he’d take a victim, but he’d always been very careful not to expose his family to it. Until that day with Lila. He switched his preferred victims that day, he’d been symbolically killing his father over and over. He was smart enough to know that. After the incident with Lila, he’d started symbolically killing Gertrude. After the death of his son and granddaughter, he’d just started killing for revenge. He didn’t care about the reason, he cared about the kill.
Gertrude came out of the store. Patterson jumped out of his car, determined to get the whereabouts of her deranged son. For an old, fat woman, she moved fast and he looked suspicious chasing after her. He slunk back to his car and got behind the wheel.
As they pulled out into traffic, Patterson got too far behind. He could see her car, but wasn’t close enough to make the light. She drove further away. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. The sting wasn’t enough to distract him from his irritation. This was the second time he’d lost her. She hadn’t gone straight home either time. The light turned green and Patterson made the same turn she did. By the third light, her car was completely gone.
He continued travelling east, but the city gave way to more rural areas. He drove down the road all the way to Fulton. When he reached Fulton, he turned around and drove back down WW, hoping to see her car. He didn’t.
There was a Casey’s Convenience Store at the entrance to a suburb. He turned into their parking lot and got out. He stretched and went inside, grabbing a bottle of tea and a slice of pizza. He’d had an epiphany while driving down the rural highway.
Food and drink in hand, he got back on the road and headed east again. This time, he flipped on his blinker and turned onto a property that was deserted. He’d been here once before. He scanned the area. The house was abandoned. It appeared to be in the process of falling to pieces. This wasn’t uncommon on farms in the area, one house became abandoned as the family upgraded. However, he didn’t see another house, only a field with the mangled stalks of last year’s harvest. Someone was obviously farming the land.
He knocked on the front door and got no answer. He tried the knob, but it held fast. Patterson walked around to the back door. It was also locked, but the knob jiggled in his hand. With a little effort, the lock gave and Patterson entered the house. It had been a while since he had been inside.
Everything had been cleaned up and cleaned out. A few pieces of rotting furniture and the detritus of animals was all that remained. He stared at the kitchen floor. He’d nicked several of Tennyson Unger’s veins in this room before holding him down with his boot and breaking his legs, ensuring he couldn’t walk. Then he’d left him for the mongrel dog that Tennyson had loved to abuse.
Patterson stepped out of the kitchen. A quick search of the house revealed that no one was living there or had lived there in a long time. He imagined the Blake family had sold it as quickly as possible after Unger’s death. They hadn’t been a close family.
Outside, he surveyed the tree line. There were a few buildings set behind them. Tractor tires had used the road in the years since Tennyson’s death, leaving deep ruts. There wasn’t a house back there and there weren’t any cars. The barn and shed had been there when Unger had died. A newer metal building had been erected, but he could see a large garage door set on the side of it from where he was. Whoever had bought the land was using it as best they could. One day, they’d probably tear down the house.
Another wasted day.
Ten
Animal control left with some snide comments. That left Earl Rivers, Janet Rivers, my fellow Marshals, and myself within the confines of the sanctuary. It also left Henri the Orangutan and a whole past I had pushed to the back corners of my memory, never intending them to see the light of day again.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” John said as Janet led me around to the gate of the enclosure.
“Aislinn and Henri have history, they’ll be fine together,” Earl spit tobacco juice onto a thin layer of snow as if to emphasize his point.
“What kind of history?” Xavier asked.
“She and her dad are the reason Henri is still alive,” Earl answered. I frowned at him. “The bum ear and the scar on his back are his only physical scars. But he’s got emotional scars that run deep.” Obviously, Earl didn’t care that I was frowning at him.
Henri came close to the gate. He didn’t grab for me this time. He just stuck his hand through the bars, palm up, fingers slightly curved. I’d seen the gesture once before, he’d been dying at the time after going head to head with a mountain lion. Since he was here, he hadn’t died, but it had been nothing short of a miracle. I didn’t know where my father had taken him after those couple of days, but now I was preparing for a reunion with the ape that had once been a patient in my house.
“Go on,” Janet told me. “Remember, they are gentle giants, he’ll be interested in you. Might sniff around and touch you some, just don’t panic and you’ll be fine.”
I repeated the phrase “don’t panic” in my head. It reminded me of a book, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. It had also said “don’t panic.” I wondered if that was possible at the moment as I felt my heart rate increase.
Henri shuffled towards me slowly. His movements seemed deliberately exaggerated and at half speed. I wondered if he could tell I was nervous.
A large, rough hand gently brushed my face as the orangutan reached for my hair. I held my breath. He was gentle, barely touching the strands as they ran through his fingers.
“Talk to him, girl,” Earl called to me.
“Hi, Henri,” I said quietly.
Henri made a face at me. He didn’t bare his teeth or make a kissy face, both were things I associated with ape aggression. This was more like a wrinkling of his nose and eyes. He took hold of my hand with his. The rough pads on his palms were cold.
“Are you cold? Do you need to go inside?” I pointed to the shelter. Henri cooed at me. This was why I wouldn’t be a good pet owner. I didn’t know what he wanted and he couldn’t tell me.
Henri suddenly stood. He was taller than me by several inches. His wide arms engulfed me and he picked me up off the ground. With my arms pinned to my side, there was little I could do. I didn’t fight, which was my first instinct. Henri held me firmly, but not so hard as to hurt.
“Calm down,” Earl said, probably not to me. “Henri’s been socialized with humans. They call it identity confusion. He’s giving her a hug.”
As if to confirm this, Henri set me on the ground, feet first. He let go and just stared at me for a moment. I didn’t frown or smile nor did I make eye contact. He blew a raspberry at me. This made me smile despite trying to be on my best behavior. He did it a second time and I giggled. Finally, I put my arms around Henri and hugged the orangutan from my past and let the memory come back to me.
My father had been off duty. I had been nine at the time. We’d been horseback riding at the farm of one of my cousins. Dad and I had both noticed a lot of cars at the neighbor’s house and he’d been curious. Our cousin informed us that there were illegal activities taking place, an animal fight. My dad had thought it was a dog fight.
He had taken me with him to go investigate. We’d snuck around to the barn. Inside wasn’t a dog fighting ring, but a large cage. Inside the cage was Henri and a mountain lion. My dad called for backup, but there wasn’t much time.
My father had fired a few shots into the air. People had scattered. I think he planned to shoot the mountain lion, but he didn’t need to. With the people running, he opened the cage and the mountain lion sprang to freedom. He’d landed a few feet away from me. We’d stared at each for a couple of seconds before he lost interest and ran off.
My dad was holding the hand of the dying orangutan. I rushed into the cage and found the ape was bleeding from his ear and most of his back had been exposed by a swipe of claws. Our cousin rushed over with a gun of his own because he’d heard the shots fired. Togeth
er, he and my dad had removed the orangutan from the cage.
Our cousin was a large animal vet. He wasn’t sure the ape would live, but I insisted we had to try. My dad made the decision that the only way the ape had a chance was to not be found by the local police. He’d be put down for being “aggressive.”
They had whisked the orangutan to the cousin’s house. The cousin and I worked on the orangutan while my father lied to the police and said he’d found two mountain lions in the cage. Both of whom were released by the property owner when my dad arrived. He’d fired at them in self-defense, but wasn’t sure he’d hit either of them.
I don’t know what happened to the owner or why no one ever found out my dad had rescued an orangutan. I just know that for a week, the orangutan stayed at our cousin’s house and we visited every day. When he got better, he came to stay with us for a while. However, it was hard to hide an orangutan in our neighborhood. I came home from school one day and the orangutan that I had named Henri, in honor of French physicist Henri Becquerel, was gone. Dad told me he had gone to live in a place that could house him better than our small family home.
We had both cried that night. It was the only time I had seen my father cry. Seeing him breakdown into tears as he explained why we couldn’t keep Henri had been torture. He appeared broken by the decision to remove the animal. I wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to keep Henri or because I did.
Seeing the orangutan now made me sad. Not an emotion I experience very often. I was sad that one of the few connections I had made with my father had outlived him. Henri was alive and well and my father was dead.
I wasn’t a spiritual person and I didn’t imagine the ghost of my father was looking over the animal and myself. The best I could come up with was the knowledge that my father had cared about the animal and I had cared about the animal. It was a tenuous connection, but a connection was a connection.