by Jay Kerk
“Understood, let’s meet soon for a beer,” I said.
“I’ll go but on the condition you don’t drink, not even a single beer,” Luke said.
“Sure, not one. Say tomorrow, at 8 p.m.?”
Fuck you. I am not going.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow to pick a place.”
After I hung up, I went to the home of Lisa’s boyfriend, Jeb.
What kind of name is Jeb?
His wife was sound and healthy, and nothing had stopped her from laughing, talking, and enjoying her life. I parked about a hundred yards away in a rental car with dark windows. I would have preferred tinted windows, but I was afraid of getting pulled over by the cops.
I would have taken that chance, though, if it proved valuable to finding Mathew. When the time was right, I would jump Jeb and force the truth out of him.
If he is the killer, then he is keeping Mathew somewhere.
Sometimes killers return to the scenes of their crimes out of guilt or for pleasure. The sick ones returned to masturbate, replaying the exercise of power. I turned the car on and drove to my old house, the family place. I staked it out, hoping the fucker might return while I was there.
I slept a bit and woke up at dawn. I hadn’t seen any suspicious movement during the night. Shit. It hit me that people might think I was the killer because I returned to the crime scene.
My frustration grew, and the way I was missing essential links put me down, anger blazed through, and I acted on impulse, I headed back to Jeb’s house.
As I drove back to Jeb’s house, I felt like I was being followed. A dark sedan moved slowly behind me, but at a distance. I was an unreliable judge, though. I ignored the feeling.
Luckily, Jeb’s wife and daughter had left before him. He stepped outside and waved at them. Happy fucking family.
I walked carefully to stand with my back against the side of the house. If he intended to walk to the car, he would pass without spotting me. Half an hour later, I got cold. I lit a cigarette at the risk of being seen.
Another half an hour and another cigarette later, Jeb walked to his car with a briefcase. I jumped him, and he stumbled, but he straightened up quickly and ran toward his car. I chased him, and we were both silent.
He mumbled, “No. I swear no. Wait. Let’s talk like men.”
I chased him around the house, and he tripped and fell to the ground. I used my knee to pin his arms to his back. I pulled his hair, and he screamed in pain.
“Keep it down,” I said. “And now speak up. What the fuck did you do to my family, you sick bastard?”
He swore and kept on swearing.
“I’ll cut off your balls and feed them to you. No, I’ll cut everything I can cut from your body. Where is Mathew? Where is Mathew?”
He gave away nothing. I pulled on his ears until I felt they might detach. I amped up the pressure on his left arm, and he started sobbing. So I stopped and sat down next to him to think of my next move.
Useless shit face.
Nothing came to mind. I decided to head home for some soothing wine, something light. I thought I ought to eat soon and probably shower today. Tomorrow at the latest. I spotted the dark sedan that had followed me earlier, and this time I memorized the plate number, make, and model. Next time I’d know for sure whether I was being followed or I was being paranoid.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Luke yelled on the phone.
“Whipping some scrambled eggs. Join me,” I said before chugging a beer. I’d already had two glasses of wine, and it wasn’t even noon.
“Stop messing around, Jason. This is serious. I’ll pull the plug on you. Jeb’s lawyer called, they can fuck us up. He threatened to press charges.” Luke screamed louder.
“The next time won’t just be a beating,” I said. “I’ll take his eyes out and crack his neck.” I paced the house, anger filling me.
“We want none of that,” Luke said. “Please stop. I convinced him not to do anything, I actually pleaded. And I fucking hate that, I never do that. For anyone.”
“How about we release a statement? Not about them or to reply. To say that I’m sorry and that I’m also a victim.”
“That’s a bad idea, and it was among the options we considered early on. I’ll tell you more later when we meet. 8 p.m., right?”
“Eight is good. The Ace,” I said and hung up. He actually thought I would go.
CHAPTER 7:
PLANS OF HOPE
My head hurt terribly, and I felt every heartbeat at my temples. I took some painkillers, but I guessed nothing would work. Presumably cocaine withdrawal. I tightened a belt around my head.
“I gotta keep going,” I said to myself. I was about to solve something, or at least, was getting close to something. Luke and Andrea thought I imagined things, and Andrea wanted nothing to do with me anymore, but I went with my hunches.
Someone broke into my home!
Someone followed me!
I felt it, despite the lack of any proof. I had heard people talk about the power of the gaze, and scientists had studied it. They tested on a group of people whether they could feel that someone in a crowd was looking at them… and they felt correct. People stared, subjects felt; people didn’t stare, subjects felt nothing.
I attached a spycam to my backpack—eyes in my back. I walked around the block for a couple days without checking the footage. I would review all the recording once. I didn’t want to obsess about them. Yeah, right.
My guard was never down. Although I could now potentially view who was following me, that didn’t mean that I would leave my back unattended. Every few seconds I turned to have a look, and I walked with the lights or sun behind me so I could see the shadows. If someone were creeping on me or getting too close, I would have a heads-up. Other than that, I acted normal, kept to my routine.
I texted Luke, “Asshole. I have an ongoing plan. I’m not asking you to believe me, I’m asking you to wait. Hang around please. You’re all that’s left for me.”
He disappointed me. If there was even a one percent chance that whoever was following me knew something about Mathew, then I had to do this. I had to try, as crazy that sounded.
During the walk, I thought about what I could do at home. If I put security cameras up and locked everything, the intruder would be reluctant to break in. Most security systems would automatically alert the company and subsequently the police, and they quickly identify and apprehend the intruder. But that would not give me back my son.
I decided to lure him or her in. I would go out on the front porch and act wasted, a bottle in my hand, cursing, shouting, and falling off the stairs, then passing out in a slump. An invitation. I hadn’t decided what to do if I caught the intruder, but I might crush his every bone in revenge.
I must have been damaged to be considering something so extreme before even being sure this person had anything to do with my family. It could be another stalker, a burglar, or even a nosy journalist.
I took my walks in the early morning, afternoon, and at night. I wished I had a dog with me to make me feel safer.
I couldn’t claim I had seen anyone, but my hunch said someone lurked around. I couldn’t wait to have a look at the footage after a day and a half. So, I connected the camera to the TV, lit up a cigarette, and poured myself a bourbon, the noon buzz. There he was, a man in a hoodie and sunglasses, always keeping back a distance of fifty to one hundred yards. Motherfucker. The picture got blurry if I tried to zoom in on the face. I wondered if any agency had image enhancement software, or if that was something they only did on TV.
I wanted to tell Luke, but for what? So he could mock me? I went with my plan instead. In a few hours, I could put on my act and invite my enemy inside. I had to watch out not to kill him. Or her. The only problem was that I really got drunk, so I spent the next few hours doing push-ups and cardio exercises, trying to flush some of the poison out.
At eight in the evening, I walked to th
e liquor store and bought a bottle of whiskey in a brown paper bag. Then I drank, walked, and sang a few things. I thought I did an excellent job. I fell on the stairs, stumbled inside, made a loud crash with the bottle. Then I hid under the dining table, moving the cloth to cover me. I had left the door open four inches.
I waited for twenty minutes, but my legs started to cramp, and I craved a cigarette. I heard footsteps. My heart jumped. I didn’t think this through; I didn’t even have something in hand with which to hit him. I breathed shallowly and waited as he entered the room, drifting steadily. He came close to the table, and I waited until he turned around to jump out and hit him.
Suddenly, he kicked me, and his knee landed on my neck, as if he knew exactly where I was hiding!
“I’ll rip your throat out, motherfucker!” I screamed as I staggered to my feet. Another kick. I felt my head jolt sideways, and I fell down. I was losing consciousness. I saw him kneeling, but I closed my eyes without having seen his face.
He put his hands on my cheeks and pressed, lifting my head up off the ground. I felt his breath. He whispered, “Worthless shit.”
I gathered all the energy left inside of me and said, “where is Mathew?” and then I passed out.
I called Luke and told him what had happened. He said, “Didn’t you know he could have killed you? Reckless, man, reckless. This is… unbelievable.”
Other than that, he wasn’t helpful, and he urged me to stop this and get a security system. He said, “So you acted very drunk and then entered your home, leaving the door open. Anyone could have seen you and seized the opportunity and entered to steal something.”
I explained that if the man had been a burglar, then why didn’t he steal anything, and he couldn’t answer. I got fed up with Luke. I am on my own.
How had he known where I was hiding? I thought about it as I pressed a bag of frozen peas against my face. After some time, I wondered if maybe he had cameras installed inside my house. Unreasonable, I said to myself. Don’t obsess. I decided to dedicate a few hours to searching the place.
I looked in appliances and smoke detectors and found nothing. After a couple of bourbons, I examined the air conditioning system. I removed a vent and found wires. I pulled the wires and found that they went through the wall down to the electrical outlet. He must have removed the camera before he left, or else someone left this from before I rented the place.
Another hour passed, and I kept thinking and drinking. When I went online to search for places someone could hide spycams, I felt old.
The search results helped. I went to the DVR, one place people hid cameras. I didn’t find a camera, but the warranty void sticker on the screws showed that someone tampered with the device.
I got you, motherfucker. I bought that when I moved in!
This had to be recent. Although the sticker was carefully placed back in its place, one of the edges was elevated as if someone previously peeled it.
Did I do this?
Damn it. I terribly wanted to remember. Am I taunting myself? Am I the monster or the victim?
Call Luke again? The clock showed 2 a.m. No. Bourbon and a good night’s sleep, the beating had worn me out. I locked my bedroom door and closed my eyes. I wished I had a dog. I felt lonely.
The next day I called a private detective to search the place, Danny would most probably mock my paranoia and afterward inform Luke. He did a mediocre job looking for cameras, but he had a device to scan for bugs. We didn’t find anything. He told me that although there wasn’t anything there now, bugs were easy to plant.
I wanted to find the person, get him under my mercy, question him. I eventually packed a bag and went to a motel.
I asked for two rooms, one was along the balcony, and the other was just at the corner over-viewing the first, both overlooking the parking lot. I moved all my bags into one and stayed in the second. The location was optimal. I could see the road, the room across, and the walk along the balcony. The first hour went by quickly. I kept scanning the area, assuming he had followed me. I stared at the bushes and waited for them to move.
During the second hour of waiting, I began doubting myself. Do I imagine things? Am I crazy? Indeed, I wasn’t normal or stable, at this point in my life. Was it possible I had another personality who was tormenting me?
Don’t doubt yourself. I smoked a lot as I sat there with no lights on, not moving.
I remembered what Andrea had said “You aren’t letting go. You’re addicted to your pain. You feel guilty if you let yourself be happy for a second. You’re like a gambler hooked on losing.”
I hadn’t replied, but I’d felt the corners of my mouth drooping downward.
“You’ll die,” she’d said. “You always punish yourself.”
We had sat for some time, not talking, and then she picked up her bag, kissed me, and told me to call when I was better.
I was hurting inside. I felt so lonely. I hummed softly, and it helped. From an external perspective, I was a loose cannon who had booked a room and sat in it, smoking, for the last four hours.
Motherfucker, where are you?
What if I fell asleep and he killed me? These doors couldn’t take a small kick.
As time passed, my anticipation turned to agitation. Every time a guest arrived or left, I got quiet, then irritable. I wanted to smash the room and leave. To go to where? Maybe I’d check into a five-star hotel, run myself a bath.
I dozed off and woke up to a car pulling up outside. Its headlights were off.
Why are they off?
Was it him? The car parked on the street and not in the parking lot, and the driver disappeared.
A gun. Fuck me. I hadn’t even thought about getting one. I thought my bodybuilding and cardio exercises were enough to defend myself, but not when I was wasted, and not against this person.
He had vanished. I scanned the landscape three times, looking for any movement in the bushes. I swore I could have heard them if they’d even rustled.
He suddenly emerged on the walking path. He moved smoothly and swiftly in the shadow patches. He went to the first room, peeking in the window.
He opened the door and turned on a flashlight he was carrying for two seconds. He closed the door and moved toward my room. Apparently, the $200 I had given to the receptionist were worth nothing. He was coming for me.
I hid behind the door, a glass bottle in my hand. First, a strike to the head to knock him down, and when it was broken, I’d make a shallow, non-fatal wound in his belly. I held my breath.
The door opened, the flashlight shone. He took one step in. I moved to my left and swung with all my strength. He whirled and stepped behind me, kicking the back of my knee. I screamed and went down. He put me in a headlock and we fell to the floor.
“Listen, this is your final warning,” His voice was deep and breathy. “I will tell you this only once - ”
“Who are you?” I interrupted. Saliva was drooling out of my mouth. “I’ll kill you. You hurt my family. Where is Mathew?”
”I didn’t do a thing to your family. I’m with the CBB. We bugged your apartment without a warrant to see if you’d confess to your lawyer or a friend. If you had, then the Bureau would have come after you. But there was no reason to spend taxpayer’s money on your sorry ass.”
The CBB was the national intelligence agency; they were well known for their shady ways including spying on citizens and labeling every unlawful arrest as an act to protect the interests of national security. In short, they were dangerous, ominous, and not to be fucked with.
I put my left arm under his leg and wiggled my right hand around his neck to use his weight against him and flip him over.
He kept me in the headlock while hitting me twice in the abdomen and gonads. He was merciless. I saw bright stars from the pain.
“I knew you were coming here. I’ll let you go now, and you’ll never see us again. We did nothing to you. We don’t need to harm you.”
He pulled my hair back, but I still
couldn’t see him. “I could break your fucking neck now. I could knock you out and stick a needle of heroin in your arm. Nobody would even ask about you, you worthless shit. I’m saying the CBB will leave you alone. But you must keep your fucking mouth shut and stop acting nuts.”
Two more punches to the abdomen and I lay flat on the floor, and he delivered a powerful kick to my chest. He flashed the light in my eyes. “Don’t follow me,” he said and left.
Helpless. Broken. In blood and tears. Were they allowed to do this? Was it really the CBB? I didn’t know, but they sure had an odd way of conducting their affairs.
I felt like I was losing my son again. I couldn’t tell Luke. I want to stay down and never wake up.
I failed you.
CHAPTER 8:
DANCING WITH A LADY
Empty bottles were everywhere on the floor. I rearranged them to make a walking path. The majority were beer bottles, then wine, and whiskey. Time became meaningless, purposeless and dark. I watched family videos around the clock. I felt they were with me. I laughed and cried continuously. I missed them so much.
I had nothing else to do, no plan. Maybe Danny was right. We could do nothing else at some point, no more leads to pursue.
What bothered me most was that I had to accept it and move on, without getting my revenge. Even worse, I had to admit it was my fault and my doing. Essentially, I had to live with the fact that I AM a criminal.
Unless I don’t live at all.
I ran away from home, from the past, where I heard them and saw them. Oh, beautiful ladies and my sweet Mathew. Forgive me, forgive my blindness, forgive my ignorance, forgive my stupidity.
I took the car and roamed around, slept in hotels and motels. I hung around pubs from the time they opened ‘til they closed, sometimes ‘til they asked me to leave. I went by other names, Jerry and Jim. Pretending to be someone else lulled me, and for a brief time, I forgot my tragedy.
I did drugs. At one point someone offered me heroin, but I refused. Using heroin meant the end of the road, no coming back. Is this the end? Maybe, but heroin addiction wasn’t the way to go.