Day One

by Bill Cameron

  “Oh, Jesus ...” He moves up the slope. In the front seat, Myra turns and crawls toward the driver’s side door. For an instant she tangles herself in the loop of my bonds, jerking me forward against the seat back. But then she pops the door latch and falls out of the car, staggers to her feet and runs. I yank on the ropes, but don’t have time to free myself. Big Ed tied them too well. By the time the stranger reaches the car door beside me, my hands have lost all sensation. I push myself away from the door as he pulls it open, ducks his head. Looks in at me.

  My ass tightens, a hot, wet pucker.

  “Silly, silly.” His voice is soft. He looks me up and down, two eyes rolling independent of one another. He reaches out and touches my face, my neck, my arms. The rope on my wrists. He traces it with his fingertips.

  “Stuck.” His mouth curls, a strange and alarming smile. “S ... s ... s—ahhhh.” I can’t take my eyes off the cavity in his head. It’s as if a section of skull and brain have been gouged out. A thin down grows from the skin in the depression. I force my gaze away from the hole, meet his misaligned eyes. In that moment I recognize him. From earlier today, outside my house among all the chaos of Mitch’s porch front fiasco. A figure in blue with a dirty white cloth wrapped around his head, staring up at Tabor summit. Now the cloth is gone, revealing too clearly what it hid.

  “Stupid.” He runs his hands back down the rope to my wrists, feeling the tension in the cord. I jerk and pull and hear the mewling inside my head. Suddenly he grips my arm with fingers like steel springs. I can’t pull away, can’t move. There’s a scent on the air like electricity and acid. For a second I fear my bowels will let go, but he raises his finger to his lips. A glimmer of light from the setting sun glints off his wet, rolling eyes. “Shhhh ...,” the whisper is just at the threshold of sound, “... stop.”

  I stop.

  He holds my wrists for a long moment, eyeballs a pair of loose marbles. His breath smells of licorice, his skin of leaf mold. I can see his shirt under the open denim jacket, see stitched lettering on the left chest. Upper Basin Center for Cognitive Medicine. No shit. He jerks suddenly and the rope tears through the seat back. Then he stands and laughs into the wind.

  “Skedaddle!”

  Three Years, Three Months Before

  Sliding Rocks and Runoff

  Big Ed moved up the north stairway toward the summit of Mount Tabor Park. Eager spotted him from the steep path that rose from the playground west of the stairs. Only the shoulder of the grassy slope and a few trees shielded him from his old man’s view. Eager scurried behind the trunk of a Douglas fir. Big Ed climbed slowly, pausing every few steps to look around, to cock his head and listen. All Eager could hear was the wind in the tree tops. Overhead, clouds had dropped low and dark over the park. He knew it would start raining soon. Moms in the playground were already scooping up their kids when Eager ran past.

  Once Big Ed was out of sight, Eager headed south along the grain of the hillside, skateboard tucked under his arm. Soon he came to another path, which forked upward. As he moved up the exposed west face of the hill, he felt the feathery touch of drizzle wet his cheeks. Far below, people fled ahead of the rain to cars parked along Reservoir Loop Drive. In the distance, mist cloaked the West Hills.

  At that moment, the sky opened.

  Within seconds, dozens of rivulets poured through the grass and scrub and over the path. Raindrops struck his head and neck like falling walnuts. He ran along the exposed hillside, checking above for signs of Big Ed. The path dipped when it reached the trees and forked again, the trail right descending to the southwest, leftward curling around to a short flight of concrete steps up to the top. There, at the south end of the long tree-covered oval stood the statue flanked by a pair of concrete benches. The sodden ground alternately pulled at his shoes and gave way beneath his feet.

  In the rain, the trail down the steep south side of Mount Tabor functioned as a long sluice cleared by sliding rocks and runoff. Climbing through the torrent, he heard the shouting before he saw anyone. He gripped his skateboard in both hands and pushed upward through rain and flowing mud.

  “For Christ’s sake, girl, stop with the bawling already.”

  “No no no no no—”

  Eager sidled sideways up the path, carving his heels into the muck to keep from slipping back down. When he reached the steps, he paused to catch his breath and peer over the rim of the summit drive. Across the roadway, his girl and another stood next to the statue, both dark-haired and shivering. A baby stroller beside them. Big Ed was pointing a gun at his girl. He recognized the FFA jacket.

  Eager hadn’t realized his old man had a gun.

  A spring seemed to constrict across his chest. He no longer felt the rain. He dropped down below the lip of the hilltop. If he tried to cross the road in the open, he’d be seen. No way to call for help. His mother refused to pay for him to have a cell phone, and his last stolen burner had run out of minutes weeks ago; he’d tossed it. That left him, here now, the only thing between his girl and his old man.

  Eager stole another glance at the trio. Still shouting. His girl seemed almost to be begging. The other woman held the baby. Eager could hear it crying. In his mind, Eager pictured himself rushing up through the trees, the rain breaking as he crossed the road. His old man would look up, surprised, frightened at his fury. Here I come, bastard! He could picture himself beating the old man down. He would save his girl and her friend, save the baby. She’d adore him for it.

  But Eager wasn’t stupid. He might imagine himself something greater than he was; that didn’t make it so. His only hope was to take the old man by surprise.

  Eager slid back down the hill. He moved through the trees until he reached a narrow trail that curved around and climbed up the east face, now a running stream that threatened to wash him back down the hill. To make any headway, he had to push through the lengthy grass at the path’s edge. He slipped more than once, almost lost his board in the deluge, but finally he scrambled across the summit drive and into a stand of Doulas firs clustered behind the statue. The rain subsided to a drizzle under the dense trees.

  Aside from Big Ed and the two girls, the hilltop was empty. As Eager moved through the trees, trunk to trunk, he could feel his heartbeat in every nerve. He held his skateboard in both hands, clutched like a bat. His girl now kneeled on the ground, her friend beside her. Big Ed had hold of the jacket, the FFA coat, yanking. Eager’s girl pulled away, left the big man with the jacket in his hand. He threw the jacket at her and shouted, but Eager could no longer hear him. The thrum of his heart was too loud in his ears. Heat boiled up from his core and turned the world hazy and red. For an instant, as he slipped into the shadow of the statue, Eager hesitated. His old man, his father. Big Ed Gillespie. The man was a giant, a mountain of flesh and bone. And the gun. But then Eager thought of his girl held by the neck against the auto shop fence, remembered her soft warm kiss under the hawthorn tree.

  He charged and swung the skateboard. His feet slid half a step on the wet grass, but the board found the back of the big man’s skull. Big Ed grunted and dropped to one knee. As he turned, Eager hit him again, the hard edge of the deck thumping the meaty muscle between his shoulder and neck. The gun went off. Eager flinched as Big Ed drove his fist from the shoulder. The blow glanced off Eager’s cheek and he fell onto his ass. For an instant he sat there, stunned less by the force of the blow than how little it bothered him. As Big Ed loomed over him again, he felt his body flood with a wild exhilaration. “Here I come, bastard!” He jumped back to his feet and swung once more. A sharp crack snapped through the air as the edge of the board struck Big Ed’s forearm. The gun spun off in the shadows behind the statue. The old man howled.

  “You fuck ... you cockbite little fuck!”

  Eager had never been too keen on Charm’s life lessons, but there was one that he’d absorbed through his skin: “You’re not done till you’re done.” She was usually talking about washing dishes or folding laundry, but it was
a lesson that had once given Eager enough focus to escape with a driver side airbag when a front porch light came on suddenly at three o’clock in the morning. And now it told Eager to hit the fucker one more time. A strange power seemed to sing in his ears as he cocked the board back and let fly, swinging now like he was swinging a bat. Swinging for the fences. The deck connected with the side of Big Ed’s head. The big man seemed to hang in the air for an instant, then he toppled over. Eager stared at him, open mouthed, as he lay face down in the mud. Then, suddenly, his whole body shook and he pushed himself up with his intact arm. Growling in fury or pain, he fled. Didn’t look back. Staggered across the road through the rain and vanished over the rim of the summit.

  “That’s right, mother fucker. Run!” Eager’s voice seemed to chase Big Ed’s fading howl down the hill, until he was left only with the patter of the falling rain.

  But as the quiet descended, Eager turned. Something was wrong. A baby stroller lay on its side in the grass, his girl’s FFA jacket tangled in the wheels. The baby was gone, the mother too. But Eager’s girl was there. She lay on the ground, face down in the grass on the far side of the statue. Unmoving. Breath thick in his throat, he knelt down beside her, pressed his fingertips to her shoulder. She didn’t move. Blood mixed with rainwater and ran through the grass. Her face was embedded in the too-soft earth.

  Eager managed to turn his head before he puked.

  When he lifted his head again, he saw the gun in the grass in back of the statue. Black metal and mud. Eager looked around. Rain this heavy drove even the most determined park visitors off the summit. He listened, but all he could hear was the sound of rain in the trees.

  He didn’t know what to do ... no, he knew exactly what to do. He picked up the gun.

  It was heavier than he expected, dense and solid in his hand. He turned and circled the statue. He looked down at his girl, her dark hair tangled and matted with mud. The flowing blood.

  Eager stumbled away through haze raised by the rain, wet to the bone, unaware of the cold. His eyes were fixed on the spot where Big Ed vanished. Pavement, curb, grass, slope. He crossed the summit drive. Rain water rushed along the curb and over his shoes. He slipped on the grass, caught himself with his free hand. Moved downward. His skin hot and alive. Rain steamed as it struck. He blinked away tears as the form materialized among the trees, tall and round. Big Ed. But Eager didn’t see his father. He saw the man who shot his girl. Killer.

  Big Ed held his broken arm against his chest. He reached out with the other. “Give me the gun, kid—”

  Eager didn’t stop to think. He raised the gun and squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet struck Big Ed in the neck. His mouth opened, a dark gap visible through the pouring rain. Eager squeezed the trigger one more time and the bastard dropped. A sack of gravel falling off the back a truck.

  “Eat that.”

  But then his stomach lurched again. He turned, managed a couple of short steps before falling onto his butt, gun in his hand beside him. So wet he didn’t feel the mud soak into his pants. The heat drained out of him. Through the rain came a snuffling sound, a cough. His old man. His father. His father killed the girl and her kiss, and he’d killed his father. He puked into his own lap. The warmth of the vomit felt good on his thighs. He heard laughter, recognized it as his own. The rain fell and his old man sounded like a percolator against a backdrop of popping corn. Eager gazed through mist at his father’s form. The big man’s eyes were open. He turned his head an inch toward Eager, worked his mouth, but the only sound was a bubbling gasp. Eager looked at him, knew he’d never speak again.

  “Why?” Eager’s jaw popped as he spoke.

  Big Ed’s eyes widened for a second, then relaxed. A cold, black fear settled over Eager and he started crying. Big Ed was a cop. You shoot a cop, no matter how dirty he was, they’d kill you. He slumped onto his side and wept.

  The girl with the baby. He could hear it, crying in the rain. Strange thoughts: too damned wet and cold to be outside with a baby. The girl spoke to him, her voice quiet but insistent.

  “Shhh, listen to me. You need to leave. Please, hurry.”

  “I ... I—”

  “Give me that. Give me the gun.” He felt her peel the revolver out of his hand. “You have to get out of here. You don’t know about these people. You can’t be found here.”

  Eager tried to look at her, but all he could see was water. Rain falling, grey clouds, and water. Her voice was like a mountain stream. He could hear the baby crying.

  “We have to go.”

  “He was a cop.” Eager’s voice rose in pitch with each word. “Why did he shoot her if he was a cop?”

  “You don’t know these people.”

  She pulled at his hand, dragged him to his feet. He struggled against her at first, but the rain fell even harder and he found no traction. And then he was following her blindly under into the trees. The slope dropped away from them, and Eager fell onto his ass. “Get out of here.” Her voice was quiet, but insistent.

  “Wait. Who—?”

  “No one ...” He couldn’t see her, tears and rain. “Listen, I’ll find you later if I can, when it’s safe. Just go now.” She squeezed his arm and was gone. He stood and waited, unmoving, wanting her to return, wanting his girl to get up out of the mud and run to him. Then he thought he heard another voice. A voice calling his name. “Eager!” Maybe it was the wind through the fir trees. He ran back up the hill, his feet pulling against the sucking mud. She called to him, her voice growing fainter and fainter. His girl, her voice. He was sure of it. The baby crying too, fainter. Muted by the rain. He scrambled back up through the trees and found the roadway. The body was there, but no one else. He looked from side to side, but there was no one. He started running, this time away from the trees, along the road as it curled around the summit. Ran headlong into the grill of a car as it rolled slowly up the roadway from below. A moment later, the words burst from his mouth as he looked into the face of a cop. Another fucking cop. Jesus. He was dead.

  November 19 - 4:29 pm

  Balance of Power

  The smart choice is to head for the nearest telephone and call for the cavalry. But at my best pace, I’m ten minutes from even the closest houses at the edge of the park. And then I have to hope I catch someone at home and willing to open the door to a man raving about meth heads and mad-eyed apparitions in the park. By the time the troops arrive, anything could happen to Danny. I don’t like the possibilities simmering behind Myra’s dark eyes.

  I pat down Big Ed’s body, can’t decide to laugh or cry when I find no gun. The fucker snookered me. But there’s no time for recriminations. I leave him to serve as a cry for help and head down to the loop drive in the direction I saw Danny run.

  The rain starts as I head up the path from the soap box track, the direction I think Danny may have gone. I’m gasping before I’ve run a hundred feet, but I don’t let myself slow down. The path curls up Tabor’s south face into a thick stand of Douglas firs, a dirt-and-gravel track favored by mountain bikers and dog walkers. The cold rain soaks to my skin and my feet slip on the slickening mud as I climb, but I keep moving. One foot in front of the other. Between gulps of air, I call out. “Danny! Come out, Danny!” My voice sounds dull in my ears.

  A kid on a bike, college-age, rolls down the path toward me. I wave my arms. He skids past me, wheels throwing up a fan of mud, almost wipes out.

  “Jesus Christ, old man!”

  “Did you see a little boy? Maybe a woman chasing him up the hill?”

  He doesn’t seem to hear me, flips me off.

  “Call 9-1-1—!” But he’s already rolling off through the rain. I see him cut left down the grassy slope above the south reservoir short of Big Ed’s body. I turn, continue uphill.

  I’ve walked through the park on a sunny summer day, six o’clock, unable to spit without wetting someone. But on a chilly November evening in the rain as the sun sets, the park is shadowed by a forbidding emptiness.
With each step, I feel more and more certain I’ve made the wrong choice. There are a thousand places Danny can hide in the park. And, my luck being what it is, I’m sure whoever Ed was meeting—Grandpa, I assume—will find him first. I’m unarmed, gasping for air, frozen and wet. What the fuck do I think I can do, except add myself to the body count?

  The rain tip-taps among the firs and tilting maples on the slope around me. The glow of the city stretched out below provides no illumination. The darkness under the trees is almost total, the only light the remnants of sunset suffusing the cloud cover to the west. I stop at a tree to catch my breath. “Danny!” Nothing. My stomach burns and water runs in my eyes. I wipe my face.

  A cough pulls me around and I gape into the black for its source. Another cough, and I see him. Eager Gillespie sits on the ground at the foot of a tree, a dozen feet off the path. I move over to him, kneel down. “Eager, Jesus, what the hell is going on?”

  I wish the light was better, but up close I can see his face, ash pale and tinted by the blood that flows, thick and slow as syrup, from his bulging red eye. He looks up at me, his expression blank. When he opens his mouth, his thick tongue presses against his teeth.

  “Skin, dude, wha’ up?”

  “What up? What the hell up?” He makes a choking noise and for an instant I feel a hot panic in my chest until I realize he’s laughing. Still, it’s a sick, dangerous sound. “You need to be in a hospital.”

  He shakes his head. “No can do, dude. I’m busy.”

  “Busy hell. You need to get to the emergency room. Where’s your cell phone?”

  “Made a funny sound, stopped working.” He gestures and I look, see the phone on the wet fir needles at his side. I grab it, but it drips water. Dead.

  “Come on then, let me help you.” I grab his arm, wonder if I can help him to his feet, if the two of us can hobble down the hill together to find help.