Shallow River

by H. D. Carlton

  That hurt coming out of my mouth.

  THE GHOST KILLER’S VICTIMS primarily originate from Shallow Hill, though anybody could’ve fucking guessed that one. The worst of the worst reside in Shallow Hill. It’s an absolute miracle someone like River was born and raised there and came out the other side as a decent human being.

  Mind blowing shit right there.

  Amar and I went over the footage of Greg Barker and Linda Franklin walking into the Harper Motel together, and then leaving separately about twenty minutes later.

  Didn’t take them very long.

  When Greg left, the outside camera caught a snippet of an old blue Ford Mustang with a missing side mirror picking up the kid, and then racing off. The license plate was just out of shot, but a missing side mirror on that type of car is pretty recognizable. If we can find it.

  Even though it was pointless, we looked at any claims within the past twenty years for car accidents involving a Ford Mustang. Nothing matched. People from Shallow Hill don’t make claims with their car insurance when getting in a wreck.

  It was Greg Barker’s mother, Cindy, who gave us a lead. It was the first time we could get her to help with the investigation since her son’s murder—too lost in grief and anger to give a shit about finding justice for her son in the beginning. Now, when we had asked if she recognized a Ford Mustang with a missing mirror driving around, she was all too happy to give up information. Snitching in Shallow Hill is a surefire way to end up dead, but I think the way she sees it, the drugs will kill her soon anyway now that she no longer has a child to live for.

  Brian Gill, a forty-two-year-old man with an eagle tattoo covering the entire back of his shiny bald head. Asshole spent ten years locked up for burglary and second-degree murder. Got out early for good behavior.

  Cindy also told us Brian’s favorite hangout spot was the bar in downtown Shallow Hill. It’s a seedy place with sex workers lining the street, ripe for the pickin’, and at least four drug deals within a block radius happening at any given time.

  Amar and I park along the street opposite of the bar, in an Oldsmobile that smells like stale cigarette smoke. We borrowed the car from a friend of Amar’s considering anything newer than a ’05 car would be marked as suspicious. You don’t drive nice cars in this town unless you’re a visitor or you own the town. Last thing we need is anyone realizing we’re visitors.

  A flicker of metal grinding against metal, a bright flame and then a burst of smoke steaming off a bright cherry. “You really gotta do that now?” I complain, looking over at Amar with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Figured you would’ve accepted the fact that you’re going home smelling like smoke.”

  “Last time I checked, you’re the one going home to someone who hates it,” I grumble, mashing the control to roll down his window. I leave it cracked and watch all the smoke begin to filter out.

  “She doesn’t mind so much when I’m staking out a suspect. I get stressed,” he says lightly before dragging in another mouthful of cancer.

  My reply is interrupted by a commotion from the bar across the street. Our suspect is being roughly pushed out of the bar by another man, the latter screaming in the former’s face as if he’s deaf. A scuffle breaks out, the two swinging punches like they’re in grade school.

  I groan, my hand drifting towards the handle to break up the damn fight. Before I can even wrap my hand around the handle, the man pushing Brian whips out a gun from the back of his pants and aims it at Brian’s head.

  Amar and I both spring forward simultaneously, scrambling to open our doors.

  Pop. Pop.

  My head snaps towards the scene, my body halfway out of the car. Amar and I both freeze, absolutely stunned from how quickly everything just went to shit.

  “Did some asshole seriously just kill our biggest lead yet?” I ask breathlessly.

  “Fuck. That’s exactly what just happened.”

  I punch the steering wheel, eliciting a pathetic, airy beep from the car. It gets swallowed by the loud yelling going on now that a person was just murdered right there on a street.

  Angrily swinging myself the rest of the way out of the car, Amar and I cross the street to assist with a very dead Brian. The top half of his head is gone, leaving bloody sightless eyes staring up at the night sky as another sex worker gets picked up for a quick blowjob.

  I heave out another sigh. “Want to bet that he wasn’t just murdered by the Ghost Killer?” I ask, sarcasm coating my words.

  Amar snorts humorlessly. “I’d rather bet on what time we’re going to be getting home tonight.”

  “Midnight,” I bet.

  Another snort. “One thirty A.M.”

  “YOU DO REALIZE WITNESSES don’t actually need attorney’s, right?” Ryan asks condescendingly. It takes a lot of effort to keep my fist planted on my desk and not plunged deep into Ryan’s mouth.

  “He requested one,” I answer shortly, ignoring his tone. I didn’t get to bed until late last night and fifty bucks lighter.

  “It’s been a year. Maybe it’s time to pass this one onto someone with more skill,” he says. I pinch the bridge of my nose, my frustration mounting and patience depleting at alarming levels.

  “Ryan. Just introduce yourself to your fucking client and get out of my sight,” I growl. Not that he’ll stay that way for long. My morning is going to be spent in that interrogation room with Mr. Davis and his shiny new lawyer going over every detail of that night and arranging witness protection.

  With someone like the Ghost Killer, you can never be too safe.

  Ryan storms away from me and for a few glorious seconds, I embrace the solitude. This is also a great time to pour coffee down my throat. I slept like shit last night—the little sleep I did get. With Brian being dead, the case has gone cold yet again.

  A man dead because a jealous boyfriend went into a fit of rage when he saw his girlfriend grinding her ass on another man’s dick. Such a fucking stupid reason to die. Brian has done much worse things to people for a lot less. It’s not like he didn’t deserve what was coming to him, but I would’ve much rather he spend the rest of his life locked up than murdered on a street because of a frisky girl.

  Later, Amar and I will be making another trip to see Greg’s mother, Cindy, to see if we can get any more information out of her. Maybe about the other man involved in Greg’s murder—the man with the gold chain around his neck. Now, that she’s talking, she probably has a lot more information up her sleeve that she didn’t divulge yet.

  The police report from last night crinkles in my hand. This case isn’t a dead end. I’m getting closer. But the Ghost Killer still feels just out of reach, dancing across my fingertips, taunting me.

  “You alright, man?” my partner asks, jolting me out of my thoughts. Didn’t even see him come up to me.

  “Yeah,” I sigh, rubbing my eyes with my pointer finger and thumb, hoping to wake myself up. All I succeed in doing is making my vision blurry and giving myself a headache.

  Amar doesn’t look much better than I do. Dark circles under his eyes, drawn face and a perpetual frown. He’s as frustrated with this case as I am.

  “I’m just ready for this shit to be over, man,” I sigh, taking another swig of lukewarm coffee. I grimace at the bitter taste.

  “He’s right within our reach, I can feel it,” Amar says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring off into the distance.

  “I do, too. I just wish I knew how close.”

  Twelve

  River

  THE BRIGHT LIGHT FROM the television screen is the only source of light in the dark house. Numbness has a noise. Almost like white noise, but louder. It sounds like buzzing, a hive of bees swarming in my head until everything else is drowned out except the chaos inside me.

  My eyes are vacant, staring at nothing, incapable of processing the motion picture playing in front of me. I’ve no idea how long I’ve been standing in front of the screen, acti
vely destroying my eyes as I try to claw my way out of the fog. Someone could be stark naked and doing jumping jacks in my face, and I wouldn’t notice.

  Not when all I can feel, hear and see is utter numbness. It’s even on my tongue, sliding down my throat and into my innards, wrapping around every organ until it feels like I’m just a hollow body bag, nothing left inside of me but emptiness.

  I need… I don’t know what I need. I need something.

  Maybe to get out of this house. Oppression is a living and breathing thing when I’ve only been allowed to leave for class. School and straight home. I haven’t been allowed to stay in the library to study, and study groups are out of the question. Who cares if my grades suffer? Being a career woman isn’t in the cards for me. Not when I have…him to take care of me.

  Love me. Dote on me. Fuck me.

  Fuck me over.

  A slow blink and the world slowly starts filtering in. The buzzing in my head calms, the bees settling down. But the numbness doesn’t dissipate. It feels like tar is crusting my insides. It will never peel away.

  My feet are leading me towards Ryan’s office before I can process what I’m doing.

  I need out.

  I need out.

  I need out.

  I need out.

  Right as I lift my hand to knock on Ryan’s office door, his voice filters through. He sounds excited. Happy. I’ve never heard him sound so… young.

  “…I fucking knew it was him. I mean it was so fucking obvious with the way he was acting… I know I can’t believe he didn’t figure it out, either… No, I’m not saying anything to him yet. I’m still getting a few more things worked out first, see what benefits I can get out of it… I will, man, I’ll call you as soon as I break the news, we’ll grab drinks to celebrate…”

  Hearing how happy Ryan sounds relaxes me and equal parts saddens me. He’s hasn’t sounded that happy with me in what feels like ages. Not since the first year of our relationship, when we hardly ever fought.

  No matter, at least I caught Ryan in a good mood.

  “Baby?” I call as I lightly knock on the door a moment before opening it. He looks up from his computer with annoyance, no trace of his good mood anywhere on his face. I thought he’d still be happy but work must still be stressing him out more than I thought. Apparently, he’s been dealing with a difficult client the past few days. He doesn’t talk about work with me, but I did hear him complaining to someone on the phone that he got stuck with a tweaker who can’t shut the fuck up.

  His dad makes him accept one pro bono case a year, and he’s none too happy about working with a drug addict. Ryan despises anyone who uses drugs.

  “What did I tell you about interrupting me?” he demands sharply. Anxiety washes through me, breaking through the tar long enough to make me second guess why I’m here. I squeeze the doorknob in my hand tighter to cease any trembles, the metal in my hand growing slick from sweat.

  “I’m sorry,” I rush to apologize. “I just wanted to let you know I was going to meet with Amelia.”

  I don’t even know if Amelia is available. It doesn’t matter. If she’s not, I’ll spend the night in my safe space.

  He sits back in his chair and examines my body. My eyes drop too, trying to see what he sees. A baggy t-shirt with my university displayed across the top with our team mascot—and I’m pretty sure that’s a ketchup stain—down to my loose sweatpants. Not my usual style, but I figured it’d be one less fight between Ryan and I. Amelia doesn’t care what I wear, who cares if she’s not impressed?

  Ryan raises an eyebrow at my attire.

  “You’d be going out looking like that?” he snipes derisively, looking at me as if I’m an overcooked steak on his plate. Ryan likes his meat bloody.

  I shift on my feet. “Yeah? I’d just be going over to hang out at her house. We’re not doing anything special.” I hope that sweetens the deal. A quiet night in with my girl. No clubs, bars or anywhere public really. Not even Walmart.

  He scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest and aiming a nasty glare my way. “You’d be going over to hang out with her and David. Another man.”

  My brow lowers in confusion. “David’s her husband. Why does it matter?”

  “Why does it matter?” he repeats condescendingly. “Because you’d be hanging out with another man without me around. Why does it need to be explained how disrespectful that is to me?”

  My hand slides from the doorknob and grabs the end of the shirt. I look down and away from his eyes. Like a coward. The bottom of my shirt slides between my fingertips as I try to formulate a response that won’t upset him further.

  “It doesn’t. I just thought you trusted me.”

  A sardonic smile slides across his face. The blue in his eyes is nearly gone, in place a color so muddy and dark, I hardly recognize the man in front of me anymore. I don’t think I’ve recognized him in a long time. Or maybe he’s finally taking off his mask and revealing who he truly is. Who he has been hiding this whole time.

  It’s been six weeks since I came home to Ryan. And six weeks since I’ve heard from or talked to Mako. It seems he’s finally given up on me, and it depresses me as much as it relieves me. It’s one less thing I have to worry about now. But I miss him.

  “You’re not going,” he says after a beat.

  When the fuck did I ask?

  The words come close to slipping out, but I keep the comment trapped behind my clenched teeth, heavy on my tongue. If it slips through, he might try to cut it off.

  After a moment of reigning in my thrashing temper, I ask, “What do you mean?”

  “Amelia is a bad influence on you. I don’t trust her,” he says.

  The shirt sifts through my fingers more aggressively as too many emotions to name rise inside me. I guess I didn’t have to worry about feeling numb when Ryan is a master magician at bringing emotions out of me. Anger is most prominent, but right behind that is panic. Amelia is the last person I can lose. She’s been there with me through it all—since I escaped Shallow Hill and started carving my own path in life. Amelia has been the hand to guide me throughout some of the scariest years of my life. If anyone is the bad influence, it’s me.

  “No, she’s not,” I deny weakly. He growls from deep in his chest, glaring at me with devil eyes. I’m standing ten feet from him, but yet I still feel the need to back away. I hate that he has that effect on me.

  “Can you not argue with me for once? When will you realize that I’m just trying to do what’s best for you?”

  “You’re making a decision for me,” I argue. “You don’t even know Amelia.”

  “I know her well enough to know she’s a boy crazy whore. She doesn’t make an effort to include me in anything, which just tells me she doesn’t want me around. And the only reason she wouldn’t want me around is so she can influence you.”

  My mouth drops open. Amelia has actually tried to invite Ryan to plenty of things before, but I always brushed it off. I don’t really know why. The few times Ryan and Amelia hung around each other, David would be super sweet and touchy feely while Ryan would sit stiffly beside me and look down on everything they did. It’s honestly embarrassing.

  But now, I suppose Amelia wouldn’t want Ryan around, not after the way he treated me. Amelia holds a grudge firmer than anyone I’ve met. She’ll never accept Ryan again, and that thought makes me incredibly sad. Inevitably, it’ll put a wedge between us. Ryan is my future, I don’t know how I’m going to maintain a friendship with her when they hate each other.

  “And, did we forget about your little temper tantrum? When you left me for a week and Amelia refused to let me see you? I have no respect for someone like that.”

  You mean when you left me in a puddle of piss and then went and fucked your secretary? That temper tantrum?

  He continues on, making me feel smaller and smaller. “I let you live here rent free. You don’t pay for anything, and I give you everything you ask for. The least you could do is acknowl
edge the fact that all I’ve ever done is take care of you. That’s what I’m doing now. I only have your best interest in mind.”

  “But…” I trail off, not really knowing what to say. The more I argue, the angrier he grows. I don’t want him to be angry with me. When he gets angry, he gets violent.

  “I’m trying to work, River. You know, so I can pay the bills?”

  Shame fills me. I don’t have a job, and he does completely support me. I never asked him to. He demanded I leave my job so I can focus on school, and I was so wooed by someone actually taking care of me for once that I acquiesced.

  Now I just feel like a mooch. He does so much for me, and I do nothing for him except give him sex whenever he asks. The least I can do is stay home when he asks me to, even if his views on Amelia are completely misguided.

  “Okay, I’ll stay home,” I relent.

  “I don’t want you seeing her anymore. Never again.”

  I don’t argue. I don’t know if I can comply with that. I’m not ready to give up on Amelia yet. She’s my best friend. Apparently, I’m just going to have to be sneakier about it. Sadness overwhelms me at the thought. I don’t want to lie to Ryan. But I don’t want to lose my friendship even more.

  AMELIA CALLS ME SEVERAL days later. Ryan's out having drinks with his friends. Friends I’ve never met or heard of before. When I asked who, he said some guys from work and didn’t offer any other information. Not wanting to push, I didn’t say anything else and he didn’t bother to invite me.

  “Whatcha up to?” she chirps sweetly when I answer my phone.

  I stare at the T.V. in front of me as rich women complain about their lives and talk mad shit behind each other’s backs. The glare from the television is the only beacon of light in the dim living room. I’m settled into our huge leather couch with a mountain of blankets and pillows on top of me and a glass of wine next to me.

  “Just watching trash television,” I say, trying to keep any somberness out of my tone. I don’t want her to hear how I depressed I am about being left alone in the house while my boyfriend fucks off and gets drunk with unknown friends.