Neon Burn

by Kasia Fox

  “It seems unlikely. It’s not like you’re home all day. They could’ve broken into the apartment no problem when you were studying late at school or at work.”

  “True.” Outside her door Tessa set down her backpack and rooted through it, looking for the keys. She stood and turned the key in the lock. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The apartment was dark. She threw on the lights. From her vantage point, she could survey the entire studio except for the bathroom. Everything appeared just as she left it.

  “One sec,” she told Dev. To be safe, she looked in the shower and behind the bathroom door. Empty.

  The apartment was very cold. She went to the thermostat and turned it up. She dumped her bag on the chair. Draped over its back was the green scarf that her mom had made, the one she’d worn the night she’d first learned about her father. Tessa fingered the fringed edges.

  “Are you sure you saw him coming out of here?” she said.

  Dev rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. Do you want me to stay over? Or you can come to mine. You haven’t even told me about the guy yet.”

  “That. Yeah.” She sighed. “I’m tired. How about I come over tomorrow and I’ll tell you while I help you pack?”

  “Sure. If you change your mind, don’t be afraid to come knocking.” He closed the door gently behind him. From the hallway his muffled voice said, “Lock the door, Tessa.”

  The deadbolt fell with a reassuring chnk. Then she sat on the bed and composed a text message to Ron, letting him know she’d made it safely back to North Dakota and that she’d be in touch. If there wasn’t going to be any relationship between Tessa and her father going forward – and she’d all but decided that there wouldn’t be – she’d owe him an explanation eventually. Her hands were stiff with cold and she blew warmth into them. On the bed next to her, the phone buzzed. A Las Vegas number she’d never seen before. Probably Ron. How could she screen him if she’d just texted him? Tessa answered.

  “It’s Berkley.”

  “Is this the number I should give the police to contact you? What you did was a crime.”

  “The video is already down. And this is a burner phone, so.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe me. Don’t believe. Contact the police. I don’t care. I’m nowhere they’ll bother looking for an issue as piddling as yours. Now, luckily for you, I had a rare attack of conscience. Wanted to start my new life with a clean slate.”

  “Spare me an apology.” The heater hadn’t kicked in yet. The room was still drafty and cold. Tessa gathered her grandma’s quilt around her.

  “I don’t care enough to apologize. On the other hand, I would feel… guilty should something bad happen to you that I could’ve prevented.”

  Tessa stared at the red numbers of her alarm clock glowing in the dark. She was tired. The sun would be coming up soon. “What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.

  “The only details I have are what I could fuck out of Skinner. From that and what I put together on my own, I’ve gathered that Ron knows your mom had some piece of evidence linking him to that kid’s death and he’s not going to stop until he has it.”

  “Ron wouldn’t hurt me.” Even to her own ears, Tessa didn’t sound confident.

  “I get it. You think he loves you. Hell, even Ron thinks he loves you. The problem is, Ron doesn’t have a clue what love is. He’s never put anyone before himself a day in his life.”

  The line fell silent. “So what, that’s it? What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Watch your back, Tessa. No one’s going to do it for you.” With that, Berkley hung up.

  Tessa set her phone on the nightstand turned on her bedside lamp. A howl of wind gusted along the building. The curtains covering her balcony door billowed up and a cold breeze blew into the apartment as Bert stepped inside.

  “Hello, T-t-t-tessa.” In his hands was a knife.

  From the hallway came the familiar pre-dawn bustle of her neighbor heading out early for his job at the flour mill. Tessa opened her mouth.

  “Don’t scream,” Bert warned. “I’m not supposed to slit your throat. But then I’m on parole, so I’m not supposed to be trespassing either. Stay right there or I’ll slash your face.” He sneered at her. At the coffee shop she hadn’t noticed his dead gray front tooth. “It’s a pretty face. Ever think how lucky you are, not to look like your daddy?”

  Tessa wondered if she could hurl the lamp at Bert and run away. He looked unwell.

  “Don’t be scared. Do what I say and I won’t hurt you,” he said.

  “You already lied to me once. Why should I believe you?” This was all her fault. She could never just listen to her mom, make the responsible choice like her mom.

  “Because I’ve got a knife and bills to pay.” Bert stood in front of Tessa. She could smell the stale tang of his unwashed clothes. “Did your mom have a safety deposit box? Give you a letter?”

  “Ron asked me all this already. There’s nothing. No letter. There was no money. I had to sell the house.”

  “What’d you t-take from the house? Anything she t-t-t…wanted you could keep?”

  “A couple sweaters. That chair.” Bert crouched down and inspected the bottom of the chair. Then he stood, stabbed his knife into the fabric and pulled it down the back and across the cushion. Reams of yellowed stuffing landed on the floor as he disemboweled the chair. Tessa pulled her grandma’s quilt tighter around her. When he was finished, he’d found nothing. His breathing was labored. “What about that?” he nodded to the blanket.

  “This is old. From before my mom –”

  Bert made a gimmie gesture with his hand.

  “Please, no. How could there be anything in this?” she pleaded, even as she handed over the quilt.

  “Looks big enough to hide something small.” Bert took the quilt and tore at the panels of thin, faded fabric until they were in tatters on the floor. Again, he found nothing.

  “Guess you better think harder.”

  “I can’t think.” Tessa pressed her fingertips to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “I think you c-c-can.” Bert took the tip of the knife and lifted Tessa’s chin with it, digging its pointy tip into her flesh until she opened her eyes. “You’re a smart g-g-g…lady. That you get from your pops.” He lowered the knife. His knuckles were white from gripping its handle. “That house all of youse lived in. What about there?”

  Her mother’s words played in her mind. That was your security. There’s safety in your special place. The special place is there when you need it. She’d repeated these words. Tessa had assumed it was the delirium of the morphine in those final days. Go in the special place.

  “Other people live there now. They’re not going to let us go rooting around.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them. If they did leave the apartment there’d be a better chance of her being able to get help. She could outrun him.

  “Please. A charming g-g-girl like you, Tessa? A pretty face opens every door. Let’s go.”

  ✽✽✽

  The police came. They asked where I had been that night; I told them I’d been at home with my husband and our baby. Someone at the restaurant had seen a license plate of a car fleeing the scene and a tall man with dark hair. No one had seen me.

  The police came back. The detective asked me the same questions fifty different ways. My story didn’t change. The detective grew impatient with me. But he stopped coming around.

  Christmas drew near. I missed my father. I missed the snow. I wanted to forget that I’d ever set foot in the desert. The night of his club’s grand opening, I packed one suitcase, stuffed a diaper bag. I called my father from the bus depot. “Meet me in Salt Lake City,” I said. “Leave now.”

  No one sat next to me on the bus because I had a crying baby. Holding someone who required constant care, I’d never felt so alone. Once we’d made it home, to my safe place, I called my husband from a payphone. I said, forget you have a w
ife, forget you have a daughter, forget where we live. If you come after us, I said, in the event of my death a sworn confession will be released, detailing your involvement. I told him about the sock.

  I’d never threatened anyone before. I understand how people get addicted to the feeling.

  38.

  The wheels of the plane hit the tarmac at JFK when Cal’s phone lit up with a call from Nisai.

  “It’s Tessa,” Nisai said.

  Cal felt a rush of embarrassment; he’d put surveillance on the apartment of a girl who’d literally fled from him last night. “You know what,” he interrupted. “tell the guy he can back off now.”

  “You’ll want to hear this.” Nisai said he’d gotten a call from the guy posted outside of Tessa’s building in Minot. An hour after Tessa arrived home, before sunrise, she’d left her apartment with a shady-looking guy in his sixties.

  “The guys said there was something off about their behavior.”

  Angry, Cal sat up. “How did this guy get into her building without him seeing?”

  “I asked the same question. He didn’t have a good answer.”

  “And he let them drive off?”

  “He has eyes on her,” Nisai said. “He’s tailing them in his car.” The phone buzzed against Cal’s ear. “I just texted you a photo he took as they left the place. Do you recognize the man?”

  The photo was dim. The man walked too close behind Tessa. Whoever he was, he was in terrible shape. Too young to be her grandfather though. He zoomed in to Tessa’s face. She looked scared.

  “It’s what? Five a.m. there?” Cal asked.

  “Yep.”

  Something wasn’t right. “Tell your guy to stay on them and to call the cops if anything else seems off.”

  “Will do.”

  “And tell him I’m on my way there,” Cal told Nisai.

  Throughout the conversation, Sasha had been hovering with her phone pressed to one ear. When Cal ended the call, she moved the phone away from her mouth and said, “What’s going on? Where are we going?”

  “You’re getting out here,” Cal said. “Announce that Cornish is off the fight card. Press conference, statement – that’s your call. You’re in charge until I get back.”

  “Get back from where?” Sasha’s face was fearful, but underneath the fear he saw her excitement.

  “North Dakota.”

  “What should I tell them?”

  “It’s personal.”

  39.

  All the houses on Jack Pine Street were still dark. It was barely after five a.m. when Tessa eased the car to a stop in the back alley behind her childhood home. She was at the wheel; a knife was at her throat.

  “They could be sleeping,” she said, looking at her mom’s old clothesline.

  Bert got out of the car, walked around to her side and opened the door. He told her to get out. When she did, he grasped her arms by the wrists and held them behind her back. The rasp of tires on gravel alerted them to a car turning onto the alley. Both turned in the direction of the sound before Bert shoved Tessa through the gate. Standing on the other side of the tall wooden fence her grandpa had built, they listened to the car crawl by in the morning silence.

  “If someone hears us out here they might shoot us,” Tessa whispered.

  “I been scouting this place for a month. The owner works up north, ten days on, five days off. Nobody’s home.”

  “Then why didn’t you just break in here?”

  “Already did. Twice. I don’t know all the good hidey holes.”

  If Bert loosened his grip she would bolt. There was no doubt she’d easily outpace him. Despite his ragged appearance, he was very strong. Frightened as she was, part of her wanted to know – had to know – the truth. If her mother had stashed evidence somewhere intended for her protection, Tessa knew where she’d find it. The question was, would she let Bert leave with it?

  She led him to the south side of the house where there was a basement window over which her mom had once considered installing bars. The window was small enough for Tessa to slip through but too narrow for Bert. She crouched at the window. Placing her fingertips on the glass, she tried giving it a couple of shoves to the right, in case it had been left open. The old pane of glass rattled in the frame but didn’t slide. Then she sat on the damp ground and pressed her heel to the window. A spiderweb spread out from her foot. A bit more pressure and the glass broke and shattered inward. Tessa unlocked the window and slid it open, carefully brushing away the shards of glass.

  “Wait.” Bert gripped her forearm. “If you even think of screaming, running – doing anything besides letting me in the back door while you’re in there, Ron has told me that one phone call from me and he’ll send a certain video out to every c-c-c-c…” he swallowed, “…person in your email. If you rat on him, he will make sure that every t-time someone searches your name for the rest of your life, the first thing they’ll see is that video. Same if you go to the police after today.” Tessa wrenched her arm away from his grip. “Must be a pretty g-g-good video.”

  She backed her legs through the window, wriggling down inch by inch until she let go and landed with a hollow thud on top of the dryer.

  “Go to the back door now and let me in,” Bert said. Tessa hopped down from the dryer. Broken glass crunched under her sneakers. There was a long narrow shard next to her right foot. She picked it up and slipped it into her sleeve. The basement was quiet. As a girl, she would get scared when her mom made her go downstairs to fetch jars of preserves. Now its familiar damp, earthen smell was a comfort.

  Halfway up the uneven basement steps, Tessa heard Bert’s quiet knock at the back door. She stepped up into the kitchen. There was an old fashioned rotary phone mounted on the wall next to the fridge. She picked up the phone. No dial tone. She wasn’t surprised. People didn’t want to pay for landlines anymore. Before they left her apartment, Bert had thrown her phone in the toilet. The knocking got louder.

  “Let me in.” Bert’s face was right up against the door, his voice as loud as he could manage without shouting.

  Brown bananas in the fruit bowl, a stack of unopened mail on table. A friendly neighbor probably watered the plants along the windowsill while the new owner worked. It was that kind of neighborhood. The knocking became banging.

  Tessa ignored him. Let Bert call. Let Ron send the video; she was through making deals with scumbags. Carefully adjusting the piece of glass in her sleeve, she left the kitchen. The alcove, the special place, was tucked under the narrow staircase leading up to the attic in the hallway linking the house’s bathrooms and two bedrooms. Its door was a square – three feet by three feet – and opened four feet off the ground. To open it, she tugged at the tiny brass knob.

  The pounding outside continued. The special place held two sleeping bags and a cardboard Mr. Clean box filled with wire hangers. She set them on the carpet and hoisted herself up. From outside the house, there came a cracking sound, a thud. Bert was throwing his body against the door.

  The alcove smelled the same. Cedar moth balls and dust. Comfort. She drew her knees to her chest, rested her forehead against her knees and closed her eyes. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. She breathed through the sounds of Bert’s body hitting the door. Splintering sounds.

  If this were a movie, in this moment she would travel back in time and step out into a world where she was ten years old. Her mom would be on the couch reading her Catholic daily missal. In the backyard her grandpa would be bent over his tomato plants. Her life wasn’t that kind of movie anymore. The door gave way. From inside the house, Bert sputtered her name. There was only one place her mom would hide something meant for Tessa. Along the wall, between the rough plywood floor and the wall was an opening. The opening was no bigger than two hardcover romance novels stacked vertically. Down there, two intersecting studs formed a hidden shelf. This was where she’d hid candy she didn’t want her mom to find, her diary and in later years,
romance novels that her mom would’ve confiscated for their dirty content. Tessa reached her arm down into the dusty throat of the hiding place. Her fingers bumped into paper. She grasped it and pulled up. In her hands, was a padded manila envelope. On its front, written in her mom’s perfect, formal cursive, was Tessa’s name.

  “Where are you?” This time Bert didn’t say her name; he had a problem with the letter T. She could’ve helped him with that, if he hadn’t turned out be an awful person like all of her dad’s acquaintances.

  Tessa stuffed the envelope into the waistband of her pants and crouched in the cramped space. She could hear Bert’s raspy breath through the little door. When he opened it, Tessa kicked Bert in the face as hard as she could. He stumbled backwards and fell against the opposite wall, the knife clattering onto the bathroom linoleum. She jumped down and ran for the door. Lunging at her, Bert caught Tessa’s wrist and yelled every foul curse word that didn’t start with a K-sound at her.

  “Let go!” she shouted. When he didn’t, she swiveled around and stabbed him in the shoulder with the glass shard. The shock of it caused Bert to lose his grip. Tessa was free. She ran back through the kitchen and came face to face with a man with a mustache. He was holding a gun at her. “Tessa.” The man lowered the gun. “You can trust me.”

  She remembered the last time someone said that to her. This time she ran.

  ✽✽✽

  Lover is an embarrassing word. Sentimental. Scandalous. Exuberant. By now you might want to know: Was my cashier at the grocery store my lover? Yes, he was.

  By now you might want to know: If this is a confessional, why have I worked so hard to conceal the truth? I have remade myself. I have become a better person, a more faithful person. The more I became this better version of me, the easier it was to lie to myself. Those terrible things that happened? They happened to a different person. Those terrible choices I made? Those were the choices of a different person.