Casting Shadows Everywhere

by L. T. Vargus

  We turned on our flashlights. Some light poured through the glass block windows, but it was still pretty dark down here. I realized that the basement walls matched the egg nog color from the living room. It was somehow calming. Maybe I was just delirious from lack of sleep, but the color reminded me of a room you would hang out with your grandparents in and eat ice cream or something.

  “What is this place?” Beth said.

  “Just an abandoned house. We’ll be safe here.”

  She dusted off the top of a stack of cinder blocks lined against one wall and sat down. I dug in my duffle bag.

  “You hungry?” I said.

  “Not really,” she said.

  But I handed her a pudding cup anyway. We’d stopped at the grocery store on the way over, so we had spoons now and a few other things. Real metal silverware, too, though the handles were cheap red and black plastic. She scraped at the splotch of chocolate stuck to the foil lid.

  “Alright,” she said. “We’re here. So explain.”

  I told her about finding Tammie’s body in Nick’s basement and everything. I kept it pretty brief. She didn’t say anything when I was finished. She just sat her half-eaten pudding on the floor, and the weight of the spoon toppled it over, which startled her.

  “Are you OK?” I said.

  “Yeah,” she said. “So you think... Why do you think I’m in danger?”

  “You don’t know Nick,” I said. “He might do anything to try to hurt me now that I know. And I think he knows that going after you might be the best way to hurt me.”

  “So wait...” she said. “Why don’t you go to the police?”

  “I...” I said.

  The truth was that I didn’t have a good answer. The night had been so dark. Full of fear. Something about it just didn’t seem right.

  “I will,” I said. “I’m just scared. And I wanted to make sure you were safe first.”

  I moved close to her.

  “Come here,” I said.

  I hugged her, but her touch wasn’t quite right. She felt far away. I think maybe she was pretty upset and all. She looked so nervous. But really she was OK now. I saved her.

  It was weird to see her so upset when I was suddenly so relieved. I wanted to try to tell her something that would make her see it my way, but I didn’t know how. Everything made sense to me now, though, here in the basement together. All of this was supposed to happen this way.

  She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. I kind of figured she’d be tired like this. I yanked the blanket out of the duffle bag, managing to spill a lot of its contents onto the cement floor in the process. She took the blanket when I offered it to her and wrapped it around her shoulders. I leaned my back against the opposite wall and watched her for a time. I half expected the frown of concern etched in wrinkles on her face to fade as she drifted to sleep, but it didn’t. Her breathing did slow down before long, and she was out.

  My footsteps were precise and silent as I moved up the stairs. I glanced back to check on her every couple of steps, half expecting her to be staring back at me. She lay perfectly motionless, however. I closed the door behind me at the top of the steps, laced the padlock into the clasp on the door and locked it with a click.

  Chapter 28

  I PEERED THROUGH THE CRISS-CROSS of the lattice to see under the porch. Dunes and craters pocked the black soil there. Nick had already moved the bodies. I stayed on my knees a moment in the grass and tried to let it all sink in. That settled it. Nick knew that I knew. Not good. And yet I couldn’t help but think about how much manual labor it would require to move four bodies by yourself, especially without anyone seeing you.

  I stood and stretched, trying to work the soreness out of my back from the sleepless night of marching along the train tracks. I failed. Whatever action I took next would be hugely important, like life or death, but for some reason I was pretty relaxed. Calm wouldn’t quite be the right word. This was a little colder than that, somehow. My mind was clear, in any case. I didn’t even force any kind of decision. I let the ideas come to me. I let the impulses bubble up from my right brain, from somewhere in that cluster of primitive animal instincts. And the only thought that really came to me was to confront Nick.

  I climbed the steps and pushed open the door. Nick sat in his usual spot in the living room. Alone. He looked utterly unfazed to see me.

  “No school today, huh?” he said.

  He was trimming his nails with the pocket knife again, and he had an open toolbox at his feet, which I gestured to.

  “You working on something?” I said.

  “Ah, it’s nothing,” he said. “Tightened up the wirin’ on that light fixture in the bathroom that blinks. Or used to blink.”

  I nodded. I wondered how long it would go on like this, with the pleasantries and small talk flying back and forth. Nick folded the pocket knife up and tossed it into the tool box. He leaned back in the chair and sighed.

  “I tried my best,” he said. “Tried to teach you everythin’ I know.”

  He cupped the fingernail clippings in his palm and dumped them in the trash.

  “I tried to toughen you up so you’d be ready to take on the damn world. ’Cause the world is so much worse than they’re wantin’ to pretend. And the people are so much more violent than they’re wantin’ to believe.”

  He stood up and brushed off his lap. I took a step back.

  “Why’d you come here, Jake?”

  I told him the truth.

  “I’m not really sure.”

  He smiled, but he did not look happy.

  “It was a mistake,” he said.

  He lunged at me, taking an angle that sort of cut off the doorway from me.

  I rotated the opposite direction to get away, but now I was cornered. Shit. This guy was good at this.

  He feinted to my left and lunged to my right, snaring me easily. His grip coiling around my upper arms. Jerking me toward him. Giving me one good shake.

  His hands latched around my throat and squeezed. Cold fingers. Rough and hard as steel.

  Thumbs depressing my Adam’s apple. Shoving it straight back.

  So much pressure on everything in my neck.

  Crushing.

  My eyes flushed with wet at the sheer force of his touch. The tears blurred my vision. Smeared it around so everything in the living room looked like it was behind warped glass.

  I let my knees go limp without thinking about it and tumbled to the ground, getting in one last breath in the process as his hands momentarily loosened. He grunted and repositioned himself.

  Nick’s grip constricted once again. That bird look took shape in his eyes as they met mine. No real emotion for me. No regret. Nothing. Just aggression.

  But I stared right back.

  My hand flailed at the toolbox, fumbling over a few items before coming away with a Phillips screwdriver.

  Nick adjusted his weight and tried to pin my arms under his knees, but I bucked and scooted myself back just enough to keep my arms free. Knocked him into a backward lean.

  His being off balance gave me the only opening I would have. I knew this was it. This moment was everything. The only thing.

  And the words repeated in my head:

  Do or die.

  Do or die.

  Do or die.

  I needed to do. So I did.

  I jammed the screwdriver into Nick’s neck all the way up to the handle.

  His eyes went wide. Not scared, exactly. Shocked. Hurt, maybe.

  I immediately pulled the screwdriver out, but the blood didn’t gush freely like I was hoping it would. It trickled from the hole.

  Nick’s grip on my neck tightened, and his eyes got crazier than before somehow.

  I took another swing with the screwdriver, but already my strength wasn’t there. I missed and the tool got tangled in his shirt, tumbled out of my hand and skittered across the floor away from me.

  You might typically be able to hold your breath longer than
this, but I was fighting and panicking. The world started the fade to gray now. Black wouldn’t be so far off.

  Nick gurgled, and I saw blood on his teeth like a vampire’s fangs in some shitty TV show. He suddenly released me and brought a hand to his throat.

  I scrambled away, huddling into a corner on my back as breath wheezed and gasped its way back into my lungs.

  He hacked a watery sounding cough that splashed blood into his hand. A lot of blood. His torso convulsed and tipped forward, and he caught himself with his hands on the floor, suddenly in pushup position with his head hanging a bit lower than his shoulders.

  The blood poured out of his mouth and nose like a bathtub faucet turned up to full blast. Spurting. Gushing.

  I cringed at the red spectacle, even if I’d caused it. Goose bumps plumped on my arms, my back. It just kept flowing out of him. Cascading. I couldn’t believe it was real. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.

  The shallow pool of scarlet spread over the floor in all directions like a red flash flood overtaking a village. The word “gallons” popped into my head.

  Within a few seconds, he plummeted to the floor face first with a disgustingly wet slap. He didn’t move, but the blood kept spewing forth for longer than what seemed right.

  I knew I must be covered in blood, so I rinsed off the best I could in the bathroom and changed into some of Nick’s clothes. I found a plastic bag under the kitchen sink, and I threw the bloody screwdriver and clothes in it.

  On my way out, I glanced at Nick’s motionless body on the living room floor. Part of me expected him to be gone without a trace like Jason Vorhees in a Friday the 13th movie, but his corpse remained at rest. This was real life. Nick was dead.

  Chapter 29

  HOW DO THINGS GET SO crazy so quickly? You’re just going along, life is all normal, and—

  WHAM.

  Everything is different forever.

  Gigantic turning point. Impossible.

  * * *

  I remember all of the action with intense clarity, but when I try to remember how I felt about this, it’s all blurry. I think maybe I went crazy for a while. (Maybe I still am?)

  * * *

  After disposing of the bloody evidence, I headed back to the basement of the abandoned house to check on Beth. I brought a pizza and orange soda and everything, but she still seemed pretty upset. I saw her crumpled into the corner at the bottom of the steps as soon as I opened the door.

  “I bet you’re hungry,” I said, gesturing to the pizza as I trotted down toward her. The pizza was from Erbelli’s, this local place that wins all the awards and shit every year. They put, like, garlic and cheese right in the crust, and when you order extra sauce they smear a ladle full of marinara over the top of the whole thing. It smelled fucking awesome.

  She didn’t rise to greet me or anything. She just stayed slumped there.

  “You locked me down here,” she said, her bottom lip quivering. Her eyes connected with mine for a brief instant, and then they flicked away in a flurry of rapid blinking.

  “I was protecting you.”

  “You locked me in a strange basement for hours. This is not normal.”

  “Beth, I needed to know that you were safe. You don’t understand. We’re talking about a goddamn serial killer on the loose. A guy who kills girls and buries them under his porch, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “Oh, come on now. Let’s eat this.”

  I tapped on the orange cardboard box. She didn’t say anything. She started crying.

  “Hey, enough of that,” I said. “You’re safe here. I’m protecting you.”

  I opened the pizza box, pulled out a slice of her favorite — no bullshit toppings, just extra cheese — and tried to hand it to her. She didn’t move at all, so I leaned closer and pushed it right to her lips. To feed her, you know. She looked all scared, but she ate it. I fed her two pieces that way, but it was weird ’cause she just cried harder the whole time. Poor thing. I poured her a Dixie cup of Sunkist, and she drank some of that on her own at least.

  After that I wolfed down the rest of the pizza, like six or whatever pieces, and polished off most of the two liter of orange soda. I guess I was pretty hungry, you know?

  When I looked over, Beth was wrapped in the blanket, asleep again. The frown still creased her forehead and chin, which concerned me.

  I wanted to tell her about Nick and everything that happened. To tell her she was really safe now, but I felt like if we left now, it’d just be messed up forever. We’d have to talk again first, and then I’d tell her. We could still straighten everything out.

  They would have probably found Nick by now. I should be home. I crept up the stairs once again, padlocking the door behind me. I should point out that I did leave a stack of magazines for her to look through.

  * * *

  I went home and pretended to do homework for a couple of hours. I propped a history book open on my desk and doodled in my notebook. I don’t even know the real motivation for it. I just had this perverse desire to pretend everything was normal.

  I heard the phone ring, and my mom answered it. She summoned me into the living room a few minutes later.

  “Nick is dead. Murdered.”

  I didn’t know if I should try to look sad or have some big reaction or anything. (I didn’t. I don’t think she noticed.)

  “The cops think maybe it was payback for something that happened in jail. I guess it happens a lot more often than people think,” she said.

  In other words, the police aren’t going to lose much sleep over a dead ex-con. I guess that’s good for me.

  The bad news was that everyone was already freaking out about a missing girl named Beth Horne. (Duh.) It’s all on the radio and stuff. Authorities remain unclear about whether or not there is any link to the murder.

  Yeah. Shit. Not great.

  * * *

  I lay in bed awake most of the night, picturing Beth trapped down in that basement. It’d be so dark at night in there. Hope the flashlight batteries hold out for her. I was too paranoid to go back there this evening, though. It just felt like the whole town was on high alert or something.

  Anyway, I twisted and turned in my bed. My arms felt wrong no matter what position I got into. And all I could think about was that I wished I had left her a bucket and some toilet paper, at least. I mean, there was a sump pit, I guess.

  There was definitely no way out of that cellar, though. Those glass block windows were mortared directly to the concrete foundation and several inches thick, too. Even yelling would be pointless with the glass blocks in place. There’d be no gap or thin spots for the sound to travel through. The solid oak of the basement door might be considered the weakest point, but just barely. We’re talking about one of those old, super heavy doors.

  Yep. She would be staying put.

  The lights and shadows danced over the walls in my room when cars passed outside my window. I could smell the rain outside and hear the wet when tires rolled over the asphalt. I kept getting too hot and ripping the blanket off, and then getting too cold and covering again. One of those nights.

  I tried to come up with how all this would end. To imagine it. How we could make the story make sense to everyone else, I mean. My mind concocted all kinds of lies, but I kept thinking it didn’t really matter until I got everything straightened out with Beth. She was confused still.

  I would go back after school tomorrow once everything else died down a little. It had been a while. I figured by now she’d get it. She at least had a couple pudding cups left, too. And some jerky, I think.

  * * *

  I find myself undisturbed by all that has transpired. Calm, I guess. Does that seem wrong?

  I wanted this. Didn’t I? Needed it, I said. That feels like a long time ago now — a million goddamn years or so ago, give or take a hundred thousand.

  When I lie in bed and close my eyes, I can still see Nick’s body sprawled i
n that pool of blood. In my mind, it almost seems like so much blood that he’s floating face down in it. A corpse drifting along in a red lake or river.

  All of my life has led to this. This moment. This action. This set of circumstances.

  I can see that now.

  Still, I remain calm. Untouched by the shadows of the thing, I think, to a certain degree.

  The violence. The blood. The death. These things seem shocking from afar, I’m certain, but they look different when you see them up close for yourself, when you participate in them. So different. They turn out so small, I think, once you’re staring them in the face.

  Yeah, I could resist the reality laid bare before me. Protest it. Get all emotional and frantic and everything, the way people do when confronted with death.

  Or I could accept it. Deal with it. Figure out how best to move forward, how to get what I want. I guess that’s what makes sense to me, the only thing that makes any sense at all.

  The sheets go warm against me as I sprawl here in the dark. I can’t help but miss the cool of them in a way, that soft chilly touch that made my skin pull taut.

  I keep lying down for a few minutes at a stretch. Staring up at the ceiling. Telling myself that I’m done writing for now and that I need to sleep.

  Instead I sit up again. Flick on the flashlight. Arm myself with this pen to scratch out more words. The stream of thoughts never fully stops, I guess, and the pen wants to keep up.

  I close my eyes and see him again. Prone. Face mashed down in the red. Hard to believe that a powerful creature like Nick could be cut down, could be stilled like this. That’s the one part that’s somewhat disturbing, I guess. The way the light can just cut the fuck out to black for any of us in a second. No warning. No take backs. No matter how tough you are.

  But then I think about it a little more, and I wonder what disturbs me more. That someone as strong as Nick can get taken out? Or that I was the one powerful enough to do the deed.

  Me. I did this. I controlled the situation. Stood up for myself. Protected myself. With nothing more than my mind and my hands, I separated life and death.

  All the things the lessons were supposed to teach me? They did.