by David Beers
Diane opened her eyes and only saw darkness around her.
She never woke up in the night. Well, almost never. It took her mind a few seconds to warm up, to recognize her room and the windows letting the moonlight cascade in.
She woke up when her bed was empty, when she lay in it alone. Something about John’s absence always communicated with her unconscious mind, rising up to her consciousness until she woke.
Diane turned over in bed and saw only space where John should have been.
She blinked a few times and moved her hand over to his side of the bed, making sure that her eyes weren’t betraying her. She felt only the cold sheets beneath her fingertips. Diane sat up and looked around the room, trying to peer into the bathroom. The door was open but no lights on. No sound coming from it either.
“John?” she said.
No answer, just the heater blowing air in from the vents.
Diane reached to the nightstand and turned the light on. The room was completely empty and from what she could see of the bathroom—which was almost everything—he wasn’t in there.
She got up from the bed, went to the bathroom and grabbed her robe. She put it on and then walked out of the bedroom, moving through the house quickly, looking for her husband. She peeked into the kids’ bedroom, but he wasn’t there. Wasn’t in the living room. The kitchen. Outside.
John wasn’t here. At all.
She went back to the bedroom, nearly running through the house and grabbed her phone. She found John’s number and called.
The vibration came from the other side of the bed. His phone sat on his nightstand, buzzing.
Diane slowly let her hand drop to her side, and then let the phone fall to the floor. She walked over to John’s vibrating phone and picked it up, hitting end to her own call.
She searched the thing for thirty minutes and found nothing. Not a single text or email or call that lent any clue to where he was.
Not here in the house with his family. That’s all Diane knew.
“Where the hell were you?”
John opened his eyes, Diane’s voice shocking him out of sleep.
He blinked and turned over to see his wife standing at the bedroom door. Anger written across her face as if someone had actually used a magic marker to scrawl it on her forehead.
“What?” he said, his mouth sticky with sleep.
“You weren’t here last night, and now you are. Where did you go?”
John didn’t think he heard her right. He couldn’t have because he didn’t understand anything she said.
“What?” he said again, feeling stupid but not able to think of anything else.
“Listen to me, John, because I don’t want to keep repeating myself. Where the fuck did you go last night?”
John sat up, breaking eye contact and pulling himself up against the headboard. “Diane, I don’t know what you’re saying right now. You’re not making any sense.”
She laughed, a high and shrill noise that sent goosebumps up John’s arms. “I’m not making any sense? We have a party last night and you disappear at four in the morning. I’m the one that’s senseless. Jesus Christ, John. I can’t do this. Where were you?”
John raced through what he remembered about last night. Eating dinner. Talking. Everyone drinking wine. He and Mark playing darts downstairs for a bit. The conversation with Alicia outside, and then he had gone to bed. That was it. He didn’t have any idea what she meant about him not being here last night. He was here the entire night.
“Diane, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, looking over to her.
She shook her head, opened her mouth to say something, but only shook her head again. She walked out of the room.
Harry came to the bathroom door.
“She seems pissed,” he said.
“What’s she talking about?” John said.
“It would appear, from my vantage point in the bathroom, that she is upset you left last night.”
“I didn’t go anywhere, Harry.”
Harry stepped out of the bathroom and walked across the room. He grabbed the bedroom door handle and closed it. “John, you’re too smart to not figure all this out by now. How do you think I understand so many details about what we’re going to do? I have to take over sometimes, and I did last night.”
“You what?”
“You’re like a retarded owl sometimes, instead of saying ‘who’, you say ‘what’ repeatedly.”
John threw the blankets off himself. “You’ve been taking control of me? That’s what you’re saying? You took my body out last night?”
“Of course. I have to start looking for our next project, John. I know you won’t do it. You’ll sit there and stare at the muted television all day if I let you. Someone has to do the leg work if we’re going to be successful at this.”
“What did you do?” John said.
“I just took a gander around Dallas, that’s all. Nothing that I haven’t done before.”
“Oh, Jesus,” John said, not in any way taking the Lord’s name in vain. He was calling for Him, wanting Him to intervene in someway. God, if you’re here, tell me this is a dream. Tell me this whole life is a dream.
“No dream, my good man. If I were you, I’d come up with some kind of story for her about what happened last night. Telling her you don’t know is going to lead to questions that we’re not going to want to answer.”
“You have to leave, Harry. You have to leave right now.”
“Sorry, sir. That ain’t happening. Now do you want to hear what I’ve been cooking up for us? I think you’re going to like it.”
“Fuck no! I don’t want to hear anything about it. Just leave me alone!” John stood up from the bed and walked past Harry, opening the door and leaving the bedroom.
“We made the goddamn paper, John.”
Harry sat on the couch with the Sunday paper spread in front of his face. “This isn’t good, man. This isn’t good at all. I’d hoped we would have a few weeks before they found that body. I mean, you dragged the damn thing out into the woods.”
John stood at the back door, looking out to his backyard and pool. Diane took the kids to football practice without saying anything to John. Just simply put them in the car and left. Now he and Harry occupied the house—just two guys looking to murder someone.
“The article mentions what happened last time,” Harry said.
“What happened last time? You mean where I killed a cop? Is that what you’re talking about because it’s hard to know when you use such coy language, Harry.”
Harry looked up from the couch. “You don’t have to be a jerk … yes, they mention the cop.”
“Do they say who is working this case? Any quotes?”
“Just the police chief. Nothing from the detectives. The reporter is leaning pretty heavy to it being you; I mean, not your name, but the same person who killed at that spot last time.”
“That’s good, huh? Really what we want to be happening,” John said.
“It’s not that bad. This has happened before. We’re not going to be able to murder someone and no one find out. You cleaned up; they don’t have anything to use.”
John sighed and turned around. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Afraid not, buddy,” Harry said as he turned the page. “Are you ready to talk about who’s next?”
John looked at Harry, though Harry focused on the paper. What was left of his hair hung lazily over his forehead; a large scar ran from his right eyebrow up to the crown of his head. Not a single piece of hair grew over that crevice riddled piece of flesh. His right eye drooped some, as if Harry was always about to fall asleep. Harry didn’t sleep though. Not unless you counted the past five years, which Harry most certainly would if asked.
Is this what you want me to do, God? Do you want me to follow this thing into oblivion? Because I don’t know how much of a choice I have anymore.
But as always, God remained silent.
&nb
sp; “Who do you have in mind?” John said as he let go.
22
Present Day
Larry lived alone, and that was the one major reason Harry liked him. Harry had liked a lot of people over the time he and John shared their life (despite what John may have thought about that), but he wasn’t sure he ever liked someone as much as Larry.
Larry and Harry.
He got a little kick out of that. It added to the spark Harry felt between the two of them.
For much of John’s life, they did their deeds and then hid the body. They used Lake Tribec recently, but before that there were other spots. Remote locations where the chance of someone finding a body was less than had they killed in the city. Which was fine. Smart, really.
Larry, though … he offered a new space to work in, and Harry really liked that.
Because if Harry was being honest, things were growing just a bit boring. He and John had gone down this path before, too many times, and Harry wanted to venture out just a little.
Larry from Marketing allowed that to happen.
Lawrence Kolzet was his formal name, though Harry liked Larry from Marketing better. John didn’t know him yet, but Harry couldn’t wait to tell him. John carried around that Catholic Guilt everywhere he went, wearing it like a heavy coat regardless of the weather outside. He hemmed and hawed about everyone, but Harry knew—just as John did—that he was down for life. Hemming and hawing didn’t matter as long as John picked up that gun and did what he was made to do.
:).
Harry followed Larry for quite a few days. While John was lambasted by his family, Harry went to work. John would sit around and do nothing if Harry let him. They both wanted this, but John … he was lazy, Harry supposed. Without being pushed, he wouldn’t amount to a goddamn thing.
Oh, and don’t get Harry started on the God thing. That was perhaps the worst thing John ever thought up, thinking that somehow God would swoop down and deliver him from his affliction. As if. John just didn’t open his eyes. If God existed (and He didn’t), then God was as much to blame for this as anyone else. In fact, John truly couldn’t be held guilty, because all of this started long before he was even born. Wires crossing and different parts of the brain growing while others shrank; that all happened in the womb. That all happened under the direction of God’s hand.
Anyways, Harry could go down that road for a long, long time, if one were willing to listen.
Back to Lawrence of Arabia, or Marketing, or whatever.
The man lived alone. Not kinda sorta alone, in which he might have visitors—friends or lovers—come over from time to time. From everything Harry saw, the man spoke to no one outside of his eight to five at work. If ever an introvert had been born, Larry was that person.
Harry never had the chance to follow him home, but he did have the chance for a little breaking and entering when the rest of John’s house slept. He looked through the man’s house while he lay sleeping as well, trying to find a single reason that would make Harry think Larry wasn’t the man for this job. He couldn’t find anything, though. He even went through Larry’s phone—because the guy had no friends, he left his phone in the kitchen and didn’t bring it to bed with him. Guess how many calls Larry made the past month? Four. Once a week he called Domino’s. Looked like every Thursday night he had a pizza pie brought to him.
Harry couldn’t tell John these things, though—or at least how he found them out. John would lose his mind if he realized how much control Harry actually possessed some of the time. All of it necessary, though, if they were to pull this off without getting caught. And, to be honest, Harry was getting a little nervous about that. He didn’t like how quickly the police found the last body. He supposed it was pretty dumb to kill at the same place, because that immediately put the police back onto the same trail.
Still, killing in the same place was fun, had that cozy feeling of being at home.
And it might make this whole thing more interesting, by the end, because Harry didn’t really like the cop they let live. His name was Alan Tremock. Alan Tremock was a prick of the highest order, like if this was a church, he would be the High Priest of Pricks.
So, Harry wasn’t completely sad that Alan might be back on the case. Unfinished business, and all.
23
Present Day
Susan parked in the driveway this time, as opposed to the curb. She was alone, she and Alan deciding it best that she come talk to Mrs. Stinson one on one. She actually didn’t have to do much convincing; Alan recognized how close they had been to losing everything last time. Whatever else happened in Alan’s life, Susan felt sure he cared more about solving this crime than the rest. His career, wife, and even kids—all sat in the backseat until Alan … what? Avenged Teresa’s death? Hurt whoever hurt him?
Susan really didn’t know, but the questions started mounting. She decided to go down this path with Alan. She believed in what they were doing, of course. They would find the bad guy and he wouldn’t hurt anyone else. The questions for Susan, though, weren’t centered on if this was right or wrong, but whether Alan was doing it for the right reasons. Would he be content with putting this guy away? Throwing cuffs on him and tossing him in the back of a cruiser? Or would he only be happy if he could put a bullet in the perp’s head?
Susan thought the answer to that question very important, perhaps should even decide whether they allowed Alan to stay on the case. But she wasn’t ready to ask him. Not by a long shot.
She got out of the car and closed the door behind her, then walked slowly up the driveway. Susan wanted to give the woman a chance to realize she was here, hopefully so that Mrs. Stinson could mentally prepare for what they were about to do.
Eventually, though, Susan reached the door and from there rang the bell.
“Hi, Detective,” the woman said as she opened the door.
“Hi, Mrs. Stinson.”
The woman sighed. “Time to get this started, I suppose. Come on in.” Mrs. Stinson stepped aside and opened up her house. Susan walked through the door, pausing to let Mrs. Stinson lead the way. “We can talk in the kitchen, if that’s okay with you?”
“That’s fine,” Susan said and followed her through the foyer. She glanced at the walls as they went, looking at the pictures this family deemed most important. Everyone smiling; some were of the whole family, kids included, others just Mr. and Mrs. Stinson.
Susan walked into a nice looking kitchen, well kept, with just the right amount of style put into it.
“Would you like something to drink?” the woman said.
“I’m okay, thank you, though.”
“Right down to it, I guess?” Mrs. Stinson said.
“Sometimes it’s best to get me out of here as quickly as possible.”
The woman nodded and sat down at the table, gesturing for Susan to follow.
“What would you like to know?”
Susan leaned back in her chair and looked around the kitchen for a second. “Did you do your kitchen?”
“I did.”
Susan nodded. “I really like it. The longer I sit here, the more I like it.” Susan reined her focus back in and looked at the woman across from her. “What we’re trying to do here, my partner and I, is understand your husband better. I want to know where he went, who he went with, what he liked to do, basically anything and everything about him. The more we know, the further we can search to find out who did this.”
“You don’t think it was random?” Mrs. Stinson said.
“It’s possible, though unlikely. Most crimes are committed by people we know, and given that your husband was in the person’s car, we think they might have known each other.”
“I see,” Mrs. Stinson said. “I suppose the biggest thing in his life besides his family—nowadays, anyway—was Sexaholics Anonymous. Have you ever heard of it?”
24
A Portrait of a Young Man
“Just last week we said I hadn’t worried about Clara and my kids for a
while right?” Lori said.
“Sure,” Dr. Vondi said.
“Well, consider me worried again,” Lori said.
“What happened?”
Lori wasn’t shaking like the last time John got in trouble at school. Her hands sat still and tears didn’t rain down her face. She let out a sigh.
“He got into a fight again.”
“How old is he? Thirteen?” Dr. Vondi asked.
“Yes.” Lori didn’t say anything else. She truly wasn’t sure what the question had to do with anything.
“You didn’t have brothers so I wouldn’t expect you to know this, but that’s when boys start fighting. Their testosterone levels are rising and they’re finding the opposite sex attractive. This is normal,” Dr. Vondi said.
Normal. Normal wasn’t how Lori would describe any of what happened a few days ago.
“Why did he get in a fight?” Dr. Vondi said.
“He was looking out for Harry. I think that’s the truth; pretty much everyone says a couple of kids were giving Harry hell at lunch. Calling him a faggot and other things like that.”
“Kids are awful at that age. So what happened?”
Lori almost laughed, just thinking about the ridiculousness of such a scene. “John stood up, his lunch tray in hand, like he was throwing away his trash. He, apparently, walked around the table to the other side—where the kids picking on Harry were—and brained the first one he saw with the lunch tray. It broke in half.”
“Jesus,” Dr. Vondi said, a smile on his face. “He broke the lunch tray?”
Lori nodded, looking out the window so she didn’t have to smile too.
“Is he in trouble, John?”
“He got a day suspension. Scott was proud of him.”
“And you?”
She looked back, her face serious. “Scared. I don’t like it. He didn’t consider calling the kids names in return, but went straight to violence, just like the bathroom incident.”