Parker Security Complete Series

by Camilla Blake

  We talked for a bit longer and then got to work getting rid of things. It wasn’t my stuff, but it felt good to sort it: this pile was recycling, this pile was donations, this pile was trash. We made quick work of the downstairs, and I felt pretty good about our progress. It was possible we could have this done today, which meant I wouldn’t have to worry about Grace trying to finish it on her own.

  Upstairs, though, was a different story, because upstairs was Joshua’s room, which hadn’t been touched. I could tell that Grace didn’t want to go in there, but she also didn’t want to ask me to do it, either.

  “I’ll get started in there,” I said.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, a skeptical look on her face.

  “Yeah, it’ll be fine.”

  I had seldom gone into Joshua’s bedroom when I lived here, so I hoped it wouldn’t be too strange. His room was relatively sparse—there was the bed, the dresser, a small writing table with some notebooks and books. A rocking chair by the window, with a crocheted afghan thrown over the back. A bedside table and a reading lamp.

  I pulled the comforter back from the bed, yanked the sheets off and threw them out into the hallway. I put the notebooks, the pen cup, the books into a cardboard box. I emptied out the dresser drawers into a trash bag. And then I turned my attention to the closet.

  There were some suits and long-sleeve dress shirts hanging up, which I removed and put in the bag with the rest of the clothes. There were shoes, work boots, and stacks of religious magazines on the floor. I pulled the magazines out and left them in a stack by the bed, then put all the footwear in a separate bag. Most of the stuff appeared to be in decent condition and could get donated.

  The final thing was the shelf, where there were a few Bibles, and then a cedar box. It was about the size of a shoebox, and though it had a clasp for a lock, it didn’t have a lock attached. I pulled the box down and opened it, expecting to find important documents, like a social security card and a birth certificate. Maybe some cash or something. I did find those papers in there, along with several handwritten pages of what appeared to be Joshua’s manifesto. Underneath the crisp, yellowed paper, though, was something else: a journal.

  It seemed odd that Joshua would have something like this, a purple journal with a heart embossed in the center. I opened it and saw the lined pages were full of writing, not Joshua’s chicken scratch, but round, bubbly letters, most certainly a girl’s. I sat down on the floor next to the bed and read a few lines.

  Shaved off Ryan’s Mohawk today. Going to save the spikes for Tyler.

  I stopped, though, because I felt bad, reading someone’s journal like this. I didn’t know who Ryan was, didn’t know how old this journal was. There were a few dates, but there was no year, just the month and day. I flipped to the front. There were a few doodles, what looked to be song lyrics or poetry quotes, but written over that, in black Sharpie, was a stark message:

  If you find this journal in Joshua’s possession, IMMEDIATELY contact DREW PARKER.

  Underneath that was a phone number.

  There was something chilling about those words, and I set aside those feelings that I was doing something wrong and scanned through some more pages, trying to figure out who this journal belonged to. I didn’t see any names I recognized, though someone had gone through and redacted someone’s name—or maybe it was more than one person’s name; it was impossible to tell. But I thought it was probably the same person, because the black rectangular box was about the same length. I held a page up to the light, trying to decipher what was written there. It was impossible, though; the black ink was too dark.

  I flipped back to the front of the book and looked at those words again. They must’ve been written so long ago, yet the urgency of them was clear.

  “How are you doing in there?” Grace asked from the doorway. I jumped at the sound of her voice; I hadn’t heard her come up the stairs. I turned, sliding the journal underneath the stack of magazines. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to let her see it right now, or maybe ever. I had no clue why Joshua would be in possession of some girl’s journal, but the reasons probably weren’t anything good, and that was the last thing that Grace needed to be dealing with right now.

  “It’s going all right,” I said. “There really wasn’t too much stuff in here. I’d say the closet was the worst.”

  “That’s good to hear.” She came in and sat down heavily in the armchair in the corner, sighing. “I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that just wanted to rent a dumpster and throw all this stuff straight out the window.”

  “That’s always an option.”

  “It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be the respectful thing to do.” Grace rubbed her eyes. “I know that you and Joshua didn’t get along but he was still... he was still family. He was a good man.”

  I didn’t say anything, which was the most respectful thing I could do in that moment. The thing was, I didn’t think Joshua was a good man, and if anything, this journal that I’d found in his possession only further proved that. What Joshua was good at was brainwashing people. He was good at addressing a crowd, at making people feel inferior if they didn’t go along with what he believed, at making himself sound like the wisest, most intelligent person there was. After God and his savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, of course. I knew plenty of people who believed in something, who made room in their life for religion or some sort of spirituality, but Joshua believed that he was somehow more special than these people, that he was one of God’s chosen ones, sent to the earth to convert people and ensure their everlasting salvation. He believed this so much, he started the Divine Order of the Holy Brethren, and at one point, when I was still living here, he’d had over one hundred followers whom he ministered to. Even as a child, I knew that there was something wrong with the whole thing, that it wasn’t right, and that I would need to get away as soon as I could.

  I was not the only member of the Lillie family who felt this way.

  But Grace had stayed, even when things started to fall apart, when people began to die or leave. And now, she was the only one left. I couldn’t help but feel bad for her, because she could have had a different sort of life if she hadn’t been brainwashed by her own brother.

  “A lot of this stuff can probably get donated,” I said. A corner of the purple journal peeked out from underneath the magazines. “And some of it can get recycled. And some of it can get thrown away.”

  Grace nodded slowly. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for coming back out here to help me with all of this. I just don’t think I could have done it by myself. Do you have to be back to the city anytime soon? If you need to go, that’s fine.”

  “No; I’ve got my friend’s car but I don’t think she needs it back today.”

  “I was thinking I’d make us something to eat. You’ve been working hard.”

  “Sure,” I said. “That’d be great. I’ll just finish up in here and bring the stuff down.”

  I waited until she left to pull the journal back out from underneath the magazines. I’d left my handbag downstairs in the living room, so I set the journal down on the bedside table while I finished putting the rest of the stuff in bags. I dragged the bags downstairs and slipped the journal into my purse. Out in the kitchen, I could hear Grace singing as she cut something at the cutting board. It sounded like a church song. Before I joined her in the kitchen, I cast one more look at my purse, and the journal in it, and I wondered what the hell Joshua had been doing with it in the first place.

  ***

  No one was home when I got back to the apartment, which was good, because Jill would want to know what had happened, and Austin would be curious about it too. I’d have to tell them about the journal—there was no way I couldn’t—but I didn’t feel like talking about it right now. I needed to think about what I was going to do.

  I went into my bedroom and shut the door, then took the journal out. Sitting on my bed, I flipped through it, looking for a differ
ent name this time: Joshua. Maybe that would give me a clue.

  I turned each page slowly, letting my eyes scan the page, not really letting them linger long enough on any one sentence for it to make sense. Sort of the way conversations sound when you’re in a crowded place: you can tell that people are speaking, but you can’t make out any one word.

  And then, there it was. Joshua.

  I don’t think Joshua is a bad person, necessarily. I don’t really know him, and for that I’m grateful. I guess if I feel that way, maybe it does make it seem like I think he’s evil, but really, he just seems like a typical old white guy, who wants to lord his power over everyone around him. Brandon is better than that, though, and sees through it. But for now, that’s our little secret.

  I re-read the paragraph, then read the rest of the entry in case it provided some more context, which it didn’t, really. Again, I held the page up to the light and tried to read through the blacked-out rectangle but it was hopeless. I continued on, but that turned out to be the only mention of Joshua, at least by name. There was a lot of “he” and “him” but that would mean I’d need to do a closer reading in order to (maybe) understand just who he was.

  It was getting late, though. I heard the apartment door open and footsteps pad down the hallway. I felt too spent to go out there, though, and start a conversation with whoever had just come home. Instead, I curled up, without bothering to get changed, and fell asleep, the journal next to me.

  ***

  The next morning, I told Jill and Austin about what had happened when I’d gone to Grace’s, the journal I’d found, what it said inside. We were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and they both exchanged looks.

  “You’re going to call the number, right?” Austin asked. “If I were you, I would’ve called the number the moment I found that journal.”

  “Well, I’m clearly not you, then,” I said, “because I’m still trying to decide whether or not I should call.” I glanced at Jill. “What do you think I should do?”

  She shrugged. “I would probably call. What harm is it going to do? If it’s the wrong number, the person will tell you so, and no harm, no foul. If it’s the right number, then you might really be helping someone out.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little weird that your uncle would have some girl’s journal? And that there’s a note inside that specifically says to call this number if you happen to find the journal in your uncle’s possession?” Austin raised his eyebrows. “I mean, this shit sounds straight out of a Law & Order episode. Criminal Intent, I’m thinking, not SVU.” He shuddered. “I hope not SVU.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I’ve never watched any of those shows.”

  “And that’s too bad because if you had, you might realize that what you found yesterday at your uncle’s is probably the piece to a much larger puzzle. You need to call, Gwen. There’s nothing to be afraid of—what’s the worst that could happen?”

  Hearing their take on it, calling did seem to be the right thing to do.

  “Okay,” I said. “I will. But I’m not going to do it this very second. I need to wake up first.”

  “Can you do it within the next half-hour?” Austin said. “Please? Because I have to leave then.”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll wait until no one else is here.”

  He made a face. “Okay, fine. Then you at least have to tell us all the details.”

  I had two afternoon classes to teach today: a free hour-long lunchtime community class, and then my regular ninety-minute vinyasa class. Which meant that both Jill and Austin would be leaving before me, so I could make the call once they were gone and I had the apartment to myself.

  I didn’t do it right away, though. I kept finding things to distract myself with—cleaned up the kitchen, reorganized my dresser drawers, looked through the notes for this weekend’s festival. But now my to-do list was complete. It was time to make the call.

  I called the number, my heart thumping in my chest. It rang twice, and then someone answered.

  “Hello, Parker Security Services; this is Cole speaking.”

  I hung up. Immediately, I regretted it, but it was too late to take it back. A security company? Cole? That wasn’t what I had been expecting at all. It would have been better if I had just simply said, “Oh, sorry—wrong number,” but I hadn’t been quick enough to think of that in the moment.

  Well. I had tried. I’d called the number that had been written down there, and it wasn’t the right number, after all. That probably shouldn’t be that surprising, considering how much time had passed. Numbers changed. I had done what the person had asked in their journal, and it hadn’t been the right number, and now there was nothing left to do.

  I went about my day. Or tried to, but it seemed the purple journal was calling out to me. I had left it on the coffee table, unsure of what its fate would be. It would be weird to keep it. Why would I keep someone else’s journal? But I couldn’t just throw it away, either. The right thing to do would be to find this Drew person and return it to him, because he obviously knew whoever wrote it.

  But maybe that was getting too involved.

  Of course, the Internet made it easier than ever to track someone down, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to start doing that. And then it was time to get changed and ready to head to the studio, after which I’d need to focus on this weekend’s festival. I hoped I’d be busy enough that I could just forget about this whole journal business.

  Chapter 3

  Drew

  “That was weird.” Cole looked at the phone for a second before he set it back down onto the cradle. “They hung up.”

  Lena made a face. “People do that all the time. I’m sure you of all people must be used to that.”

  Cole crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her. I swear, sometimes, being around the two of them made me feel like I was a substitute teacher in a middle school classroom. “I could just call back,” he said, glancing down at the phone. “I’ve got the number.”

  “Don’t bother,” I said. “We’ve got some other stuff we need to be going over right now. If they want to call back, they will.”

  The five of us—Cole, Lena, Jason, Ben, and myself—were sitting in the conference room. There were dozens of other people who worked here, but these four were my core people and the ones I held regular meetings with about the work we had and any potential leads that needed looking into.

  “Can I just say,” Cole said, “that I find it slightly ironic that we’re providing security at a yoga festival?”

  “Can I just say that I find it slightly surprising that you even know what the word ironic means?” Lena said. “And that you were able to correctly use it in a sentence.”

  “Okay, you two.” I held my hands up and shot a glance at Jason, whom I’d known the longest out of this crew. He was the person I’d hang out with, if I hung out with people I worked with, because we’d been friends before the company started. But Jason was married and had a child, which really didn’t leave him with a whole lot of time for hanging out with his guy friends, even if he wanted to. Plus, he’d stopped listening to punk rock probably a decade ago. “The local yoga community is a little nervous about having a repeat of last year. I talked with Laurel yesterday, and she’d like our presence to be known but not overpowering. She doesn’t want to change the overall ambiance of the event.”

  “She doesn’t want it to feel like it’s overrun with security,” Ben said.

  “Right. So we’ll probably do polo shirts but no suits. I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

  “Stella’s going,” Cole said. “She’s really excited about the whole thing. Says there’s some good classes to try.”

  “If you’re interested in doing any of the classes, I don’t think it needs to be said that participation can happen only if you’re on a break or have finished your shift.” I was really saying that for Cole’s benefit—not because he was a slacker but becaus
e he was the sort of person who could easily get caught up in the moment and decide that he wanted to join in, especially if his girlfriend was going to be there.

  “Teagan’s going to check it out, too,” Ben said.

  I looked at Lena, then Jason, wondering if either of them were going to chime in about the status of their significant others. I hadn’t realized, until this moment as I sat there looking at them, that every single one of them was now involved with someone. Knowing that made me feel good, even though it wasn’t something I was going to bring up and personally acknowledge.

  We went over a few other things and then everyone dispersed. I went back to my office because I had a few phone calls I needed to return, but before I could do that I got a text message from Julia.

  I want to apologize for the way I reacted at the end of our date, it read. It was immature and not a reflection of who I really am as a person. I actually appreciate your honesty because it would’ve been just as easy for you to string me along. You didn’t do that, so thank you.

  It was the sort of message that did not require a response, and while I thought about typing one, I decided it would be better not to. What could I say that wouldn’t open up the lines of communication? Thank you, I supposed, was an acceptable response, but I really wasn’t trying to start a conversation with her, even if I did appreciate the fact she was taking responsibility for how she had acted.

  But what about you? a little voice chided. When are YOU going to start taking responsibility? You basically set her up. You knew things weren’t going to progress past the first date, with her or any of the other women you’ve gone out with over the years. If you KNOW you’re not going to see them again, why have a first date to begin with?