Tunnel Vision

by Aric Davis

  Kiss kiss,

  Mandy

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Betty sat waiting on the bench for Nickel to show up. Not telling June what she was doing had been the hardest decision she could ever recall making, but it had been necessary, and not just because she didn’t want to feel stupid if things didn’t go well. She was still dating Jake, and she was meeting some other boy after school, a cute boy, and she didn’t want to see the look on June’s face when she told her she had to meet him alone.

  Thoughts of Jake made her feel sick. He’d been giving her space, but she knew that wasn’t going to last. He wanted an answer, and she had a bad feeling that anything other than the right answer was going to be catastrophic. Why is he so wrapped up in me? Betty knew the answer, though: because she’d made it happen that way. She had been the one singing the song he wanted to hear, filling his head with the things he wanted to believe, and certainly doing some of the things with him they both wanted to feel.

  “How are you?”

  The unexpected voice made her jump, and when Betty looked up she saw that Nickel had managed to sneak up on her a second time. “I’m doing good. You?”

  “I’m OK,” said Nickel. “Been better, but I’ve been worse, too.” Nickel sat next to her on the bench, not too close, but close enough that Betty could smell him, a scent of fabric softener applied thickly, and something else that was indiscernible but familiar. “So you want to go meet Duke Barnes and you need a fake ID, huh?”

  “Are you going to tell me you think my idea’s stupid and I’ll get caught?”

  “You might get caught, no doubt about that,” said Nickel, “but I don’t think it’s a stupid idea at all. Prison will be an eye-opener for you, I’m sure.”

  “Have you been?”

  “Not prison, no,” he said. “But close enough to it that I know I don’t have any reason to rush to one.”

  “I never thought I’d have a reason to, either.”

  “I bet most inmates don’t until they get there,” said Nickel. “I bet that goes for visitors, too. When you think about it, prison as a theory is even worse than the reality can be. If your behavior is so out of whack with how the rest of society wants to live that you have to exist in a cage, well, that’s pretty jacked up.”

  “I never thought about it like that,” said Betty. It was true, though; the way he described it made it far worse than anything she could have imagined. Is that really how it feels, like you’re some dog that has to be penned up so it doesn’t bite?

  “I have,” said Nickel. “I was in foster care for a little while, and then later on, briefly in juvie up north. Everything worked out, but man, if that was bad, then prison has to be a special kind of hell.”

  “What were you in juvie for?” Betty asked, regretting the question as the words spilled from her mouth. That was the sort of thing you just weren’t supposed to ask someone. It was like commenting rudely about religion in front of strangers. “I’m sorry,” she said, her cheeks betraying her embarrassment. “That was rude; you don’t have to answer me.”

  “Nah, it’s good,” said Nickel. “Besides, the truth is pretty boring. I thought I could trust someone I couldn’t, and as a result I got locked up for a hot minute. It could be worse. At least I’m not there anymore.”

  “Were your folks pissed?”

  “Not at all,” said Nickel. “I think my dad was probably a little proud.”

  Betty didn’t know how to react to that. How could his dad be proud his son got locked up?

  “None of that matters, though,” said Nickel. “Do you just need an ID for you?”

  “My friend June wants one, too. Like I said, though, we don’t have a ton of money, so maybe we’ll just get one of them. Do you know how much it will cost?”

  “It won’t cost you a penny. I’ll be doing most of the work.”

  “That sounds really great,” said Betty. “I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea about anything. I mean, I totally appreciate that you’re offering to help with this, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now, OK?”

  “Me either. I’ve got way too much going on for something like that.” Nickel looked at Betty and for the first time she really saw into his eyes. There was something fragile in there, something far from the surface that had been broken more than once. Despite what she’d just said, in that instant Betty wanted to grab him and wrap her arms around his body, and then the moment was over as if it had never existed at all.

  “Anyway,” said Nickel, “the only problem is going to be finding a place to take your pictures for the IDs. I’ve got a good camera and the right color blue for the background, but I don’t have a good spot to take them right now.”

  “Can we do it here?”

  “Not if there’s any wind,” said Nickel. “Plus shooting with a background outside is going to look supershady. There aren’t a lot of observant people around here, except for Eyepatch, but it would still be a risk we don’t need.” Nickel shook his head. “I’ll come up with something, and I already have the template, so all we really need to do is get the pictures. The rest of it will be supereasy.”

  “You have a template for Michigan ID cards?”

  “Yep,” said Nickel. “You never know, it can come in pretty handy. Like I said, though, no good without some pics, but I’ll e-mail you when I settle on somewhere.”

  “That’s seriously so cool of you. If you change your mind and you want some money, just let me know, OK?”

  “Completely unnecessary,” said Nickel with a wave of his hand. “Like I mentioned, I’ll be doing the work. I will ask you for a favor, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Assuming you don’t get arrested, I want to know what Duke has to say. I think it could be pretty damn interesting to hear what he’d really be willing to talk about when confronted with a few questions face-to-face. I’ll try and get a few loose ends wrapped up just in case there’s any exploring to do when you get back.”

  “Of course I’ll tell you what he says. But what do you mean by exploring?”

  “We might have to go check some stuff out, depending on what he says, and if that happens, I want in.”

  Betty nodded. She wasn’t sure why, not exactly, but something about Nickel being around for whatever might happen made the prospect a lot less daunting.

  “Absolutely,” she said, and when she smiled at Nickel, he smiled back.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Running a little behind, are we?” Ophelia asked drily as Betty walked in, and Betty could only nod.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I was talking to June about our project in the parking lot and then I realized I was late. I was going to call, but I’m not supposed to when I’m driving, and I figured you would have been busy painting anyways.”

  “Well, I was busy working,” said Ophelia with a frown, “but if you think I wouldn’t notice that my child was late coming home from school, then you’re crazy. Just remember, you are still grounded, and being tardy isn’t helping that any.”

  Betty found it impossible not to feel bad for her. Andrea had always been the disciplinarian; Ophy the one most likely to wipe away tears and offer a hug. It was Betty’s fault she was in this position, and Betty could tell they were enjoying the gentle dressing down in equal amounts.

  “I know, I know,” said Betty. “Speaking of that, though, how much longer do you think I have?”

  “Have you broken up with that boy?”

  “Not yet. It’s harder than I thought.”

  “If you still have feelings for him, then maybe you shouldn’t break up,” said Ophelia.

  “It’s not like that,” said Betty. Should I just tell her what he asked me? She’d understand, you know that. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was just another secret of childhood, one more strand of connective tissue broken, and the snap of the deceit sent a cold chill through her body.

  “It’s not like what?” Ophelia asked. “If you don’t care f
or the boy, then why do you string him along?”

  “I can hear Greece in your voice,” said Betty with a smirk, and Ophelia shook her head.

  “You know that only happens when I’m mad or have too much to drink.”

  “So should I go check the basement for empty bottles of wine?”

  “I wish,” said Ophelia. “This painting is tearing me in two. But none of that answers my question: Why won’t you just end it with this loser?”

  “He’s not a loser, Mom, he—”

  “Anyone who asks a girl your age to compromise herself in such a way is a loser in my book. Do you know how many times Andrea has had to talk to girls your age and younger because they destroyed their lives by doing something like that? She had a patient last year that killed herself because she sent pictures of herself to a boy and he put them on the Internet. Even her best friends called her a slut, shaming her because of a mistake she made so young, and now she’s dead.”

  “Ah, spring in Athens.”

  “You see how upset this makes me?” Ophelia asked with a chuckle. “I get so mad that my voice forgets it’s been in the States for thirty years. You still don’t answer my question.”

  “Fine,” acquiesced Betty, “I’ll try to explain.”

  “Good, I can’t wait.”

  “Jake’s not a loser,” said Betty, and Ophelia rolled her eyes. “I’d laugh if they got stuck like that. I’m serious, though. Jake can be stupid, and he’s a total jock, but he’s not a loser. He’s a good kid who sent me something as a joke—that part I’m sure of—and I responded in kind.”

  “It’s hard to believe.”

  “I know,” said Betty.

  “You want this grounding to end, yes?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Betty, “but I also don’t think you guys forcing me to break up with my boyfriend is a fair way to get out of being in trouble.”

  “Hmmm,” said Ophelia, “that may be true. What if the grounding ended, with the provision that you slow things down with Jake? I don’t mean don’t speak to him at school, just don’t do things outside of school with him, and let the relationship cool off a little bit.”

  “Wouldn’t that basically be the same thing as breaking up with him?”

  “I’m sure it sounds that way,” said Ophelia, “but remember, you said you wanted to break off things with him. This would give you some freedom, and the chance to think about what you really want.”

  “All right.”

  “Not too hasty,” said Ophelia. “I need to talk to Andrea about this, and if you recall, she was the one that wanted your car keys and everything else over this.” Ophelia frowned. “I know there’s some part of this you’re not telling me. You’ve never been one to drag things out when you were bored of a relationship. Why is this time so different?”

  “I don’t know, it just is,” said Betty. “Will you talk to her tonight?”

  “I will,” said Ophelia, “but I want a favor out of you.” Betty’s eyebrows rose, as if to say, Ask away. “If she says no, you be respectful.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Betty sat alone in her bedroom. Ophelia had given her a perfect opportunity to fill her in on what was going on with Jake, but Betty had blown it. And she was still messing things up by not racing downstairs and just blurting it all out. She wasn’t going to do it, though. It was sickening to think about her mothers discussing the matter, and Betty hated that they were deciding her fate without her even telling them the whole truth about the new developments with Jake.

  Sick of even thinking about Jake Norton’s stupid proposal, much less forcing herself to actually deal with the reality of the situation, Betty checked her e-mail. She was glad she did, as among the mostly bullshit contents of her inbox were three very interesting pieces of mail. She clicked on the first of them, a message sent to her mother from Detective Van Endel, and then forwarded to her.

  Betty frowned—her mother had obviously removed part of it before sending it—and then decided it was probably just something about work. The e-mail said:

  In any case, here’s the address for you. 4527 Lincoln Ave. I already told Betty not to go inside that house, but when you give her this make it clear that I was serious about that. The area isn’t the best, but if they go during the day they should be fine, as long as all they’re doing is taking pictures from the car. There have always been transients living there, and there’s no good reason to think there aren’t any staying there now. Not to mention the place is probably falling apart.

  Betty closed the mail with a grin. The get wasn’t quite as exciting as talking to Duke would be if they pulled that off, but it was something more than just research on the Internet.

  It would be the best if we could go inside that house, thought Betty, but she knew Van Endel was right. The idea of walking into the house where Mandy was killed was freaky enough. Happening upon a bunch of drunk-or-worse homeless people in an abandoned building did not sound like the best situation for two high school girls to be getting involved with.

  Betty clicked on the second e-mail, this one from the Michigan Department of Corrections. It was all business, explaining that both of them would be permitted to visit with Duke Barnes. There was a bunch of legal mumbo jumbo below the important bits, but Betty ignored it. They would already be breaking at least one law by visiting Duke with fake IDs, and she didn’t want to know if they were going to be breaking any others that might be buried in the fine print.

  Finally, Betty double-clicked on the one she’d saved for last, a message from Nickel. It was short and to the point, just like everything with the mysterious ginger boy:

  Problem solved. Meet me tomorrow with your friend, same time and place, and we can go to my house. My dad has to work so we’ll have a few minutes to take care of everything without having to explain to him what we’re doing.

  N

  Betty closed that last mail for a second, then rethought things and deleted it. Coming home late twice from school in the middle of a grounding would be bad enough. Being late because she was in a boy’s house without a parent could easily threaten the freedom she planned to enjoy over the summer.

  After hopping off the mail tab Betty began a bored perusal of the Internet, before finding herself back at the Free Duke page. She looked at it for what felt like only a few minutes, but when Ophelia called her down to dinner, she’d been at it for over two hours, most of it looking at pictures of Duke and Mandy and wondering about men in green jackets, disappearing roommates, and a missing diary.

  Blinking twice at the shock of dinnertime, Betty snapped the computer shut and headed downstairs.

  THIRTY

  It’s been a long time since anyone else has been in the house, years, but in just a few hours Betty and her friend will be here. It makes no sense, but for some reason I find the idea of letting a couple teenage girls into my house to be a lot scarier than brokering a several-thousand-dollar drug deal. That’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help it.

  I should be damned scared about the drug deal. Paul is going to be calling me in a few days, and I’m going to need to get him about fifteen pounds of weed and haven’t even figured out how I’m going to transport it. My old cabbie, Lou, is up for just about anything, but a job with weight like this is out of the question.

  That’s the problem I should be focused on—how to haul pot, make a sale, and then get out alive and with the money—but instead I’m spending my afternoon picking up the house, mowing the yard, and even sweeping and mopping the floors. All the while, there’s a rotten feeling in my gut telling me that Betty and June aren’t even going to show, and that all this stress and work is nothing but a waste of time. Yeah, I admit the house needed the work, but it didn’t need to happen today.

  Thinking about Betty and June coming to visit makes me think of the last time I had a visitor, when Arrow came over. The similarities are striking. I was involved in a job because of a girl, but got roped into something else because of another girl. While it’s
true I haven’t fallen for Betty the way I did for Arrow, I’m a lot older now, and Arrow is so far in the rearview mirror she almost seems make-believe. Not that I’m likely to ever forget what made her unique, or what she did for me. She hired me to find her missing sister, Shelby, and I did it, but without Arrow both Shelby and I would be dead. Arrow was pulling the strings from behind the curtain the entire time, and then, poof! she was gone.

  Arrow would be eighteen now. I’m sure she has a boyfriend and college plans, and everything in her life is going well, but I like to imagine she thinks of me sometimes the way I think of her. She and I were a menace together, and with her help I hurt some very bad people. That job was the one that gave me the confidence to take on some things I should have known were too ambitious, and if Arrow had been there to help me, maybe I could have saved myself a lot of pain.

  Arrow was in my heart, though. She was with me inside when I sent those bastards up a roller coaster at 120 miles an hour without the wheels that keep it on the track, and I felt her behind my eyes when I was killing that piece of shit Spider at that damn camp. Spider was one of the worst men I’ve ever met, and I don’t say that lightly. I’ve known some choice individuals. None of them enjoyed torturing kids any more than Spider did. Watching him fall and then bleed out in the snow after I led a rebellion was one of the vilest things I’ve ever seen, but it was also beautiful. Of course, the aftereffects of that scene weren’t beautiful at all. Arrow could have talked me down from that. I was at my best with her, the purest version of what Dad wanted me to be, but since she left, the bad guys have gotten worse, and so have I.

  The house is clean enough, I suppose, but I don’t really have a good measuring stick to know if that’s even true. I don’t own a TV, and the only furniture is a ratty couch, my bed, a kitchen table and chairs, and the desk in my office. Plus, the house smells like a skunk from the dope in the basement. At least there is something I can do about that problem; I installed a pair of exhaust fans in the basement years ago, and they let out into an herb garden in the backyard. I hit the switches, then open the windows on the front of the house, a harder proposition than it should be, because I’ve never opened the damn things. When that’s done I want to go to my computer, but I don’t. Instead, I go to the couch, sit, and stare into the apartment.