Dead Roots (The Analyst)

by Brian Geoffrey Wood

  Tom looked around frantically. There was nothing for him to grab onto, nothing to attack. He did the only thing he could think of: he yelled.

  “Harold. I'm in here with you. Stop this.”

  “Bell,” a voice breathed from the void. It consumed him.

  “Harold, let me out.”

  His vision rippled. Tom felt himself being sucked back upwards, as if into a vacuum. The chaperone went careening past him into the pit.

  For a long moment, as Tom was wrenched backwards through a featureless void, he thought he may already be dead.

  ********

  Tom’s consciousness crashed onto the concrete. His heart pounded. It felt like it might explode at any moment. He struggled to get his bearings, smacking the cold, wet ground hard with a fist. He couldn't focus, couldn't think.

  “Harold. Harold,” muttered Tom in a panic, scrambling to his feet. He smacked his palm on the alleyway wall repeatedly, in an attempt to force himself aware.

  “Tom. Are you back?”

  Tom felt Artie's hands on his shoulders. He tried consciously to breathe slowly. Three seconds in, three seconds out. Three seconds in, three seconds out.

  Slowly he found himself recognizing shapes and lights. Tokyo. I’m in Tokyo. Roppongi… Hostess club…

  He looked to his left. He wished he hadn't.

  Harold was floating. His mouth was opened wide. A sick, yellow eye was peering out from his throat. Before him, the forms of their assailants were crumpled on the ground. They clutched their heads with whitened knuckles and groaned in torment.

  “Harold, for God's sake, stop.”

  “These shitheads need to learn a lesson, Tom,” Harold’s mouth didn't move. He let forth a horrible cackle that resonated in Tom’s very thoughts. He sounded drunk.

  Tom's hand flew into his coat. He drew his pistol and aimed it straight at Harold's face. He took several shaky steps forward.

  “Stop, Harold. Stop, or I'm putting you down.”

  Harold issued a loud, droning breath. It was like a sigh, but a deep, infernal parody of one. He descended to the ground, and his mouth returned to normal. The gangsters were lying motionless on the concrete. Harold popped his neck almost with nonchalance.

  “There'll be a car along to collect you. Or you can take the train. I think you ought to call it a night, Tom.”

  “I'm taking you in, Saldana. You've broken enough regulations to have you Clipped three times over.”

  Harold broke into a deep, chortling laugh. It wasn't a pleased or gloating laugh-- just that of a rich, drunk man who was terribly amused by something.

  “Good night, Tom. Make sure Keda and his friend got home alright.”

  Harold turned, taking steps back towards the brightly lit street. Tom released the safety on his pistol.

  “Tom--” Artie cut in.

  “Harold, stop. Stop.”

  Harold continued to snort to himself as he walked out of the alleyway.

  “You didn't bring a gun, Tom,” Harold called back, as he disappeared around the corner.

  He was right. Tom's hands were empty.

  4

  “Orchard”

  “A crowded street, Keda. He should be the one all over the fucking Internet. You're telling me there's nothing we can do about it?”

  Tom heard Keda sigh over the receiver. “An incident like the one you described isn't the sort of thing we'd want getting out.”

  “I know, but... Christ.”

  “Without evidence, we've got nothing. Harold has more money and pull than any of us. He'd bury us. Probably literally.”

  “Ugh... I'm going to keep pushing Margaret about it.”

  “There's no way without proof, Tom. Do yourself a favor.”

  “It just--”

  “Tom. I'm serious. This is one you can't win.”

  Tom sighed angrily and sunk into the hotel room's sofa. His pack of smokes was on the table. He couldn't summon the energy to reach for them.

  “So, when are you Stateside again?” Tom asked, defeated.

  “In a couple of days. I have some visits to make here.”

  “Parents?”

  “Yes, among others.”

  “Been awhile?” Tom probed.

  “Not especially. We keep in touch over video calling, and I make the jump every so often.”

  Tom wasn't having any of it. He wasn't in the mood for more of Keda's lies, or thinking more about how Harold had taken them all for a ride.

  “Listen, Keda--”

  “You may call me Shinichiro, you know.”

  “Keda's shorter.”

  “As you wish, Tom,” said Keda with a small laugh.

  “I've got some other calls I need to make. I'll hit you again after I talk to Margaret, alright?”

  “Sure. Enjoy your time off, Tom. Rest?”

  “Sure thing.”

  The phone beeped as he cut the call. He stood up, head swimming with more questions than before. All this run-around made him want to throttle someone.

  Tom grabbed his pack of smokes and stepped out onto the balcony. He was on the second floor of an upscale motel. From his balcony he could see the green cliff side of Malibu. He could also see that the skies were steel gray, with a dark cloud rolling in from the ocean.

  Tom looked at his phone. He clicked through the phone book idly. Two more calls to make.

  He stopped on the name Ashley. The little entry seemed burned into the digital screen like a stigmata, a brand. His heart sank. He knew he had to go through with it, but that wouldn't make it any more pleasant.

  ********

  “Tom, it's time to get ready, come on.”

  Tom pretended he hadn't heard her. Ashley had opened the blinds. Light tried to sear through his eyelids.

  “Tom, come on. Are you getting up, or am I leaving you here?”

  “Stomach hurts.”

  “Don't even try to pull this shit today. No part of today is about you.”

  “They're your friends.”

  Tom heard clothing and a purse rustling around. He lay in place. Next came the part where she said--

  Nothing? Usually now was when she launched into another diatribe about what a child he was, but today she was being merciful.

  A couple of minutes passed without incident. He suddenly heard her keys jangling around. He turned over. She had her coat on and wasn't making eye contact.

  “I'll--”

  “Don't say anything,” she cut him off. “You can spend the day watching Amber.”

  “Okay. She's not going with you?”

  “I figured you should get some time in, you won't be seeing her for awhile.”

  “What?”

  She didn't answer. She disappeared out of the doorway. Tom threw the cover off. He pulled on an undershirt and some boxers and followed her trail out to the living room. The sound of the front door shutting firmly preceded him by several seconds.

  Outside the sun on his unadjusted eyes gave everything a strange green tint. He called out to her.

  “Ashley.”

  He didn't take more than a few steps past the door. He could only barely see her getting into the car from where he was standing, around the corner of the garage.

  “Ashley.”

  The engine started. Tom ventured out into the vehicle’s path as it pulled out. Ashley braked. Tom hurried up to the passenger window, and knocked.

  What? She mouthed at him.

  “Ashley…”

  The window rolled down, and she glared at him through her sunglasses.

  “Ashley, come back and talk to me.”

  “No. Don't say anything, I'm not letting you worm your way back into my head.”

  “What?”

  “You'll start talking, and I'll compromise. You'll talk me out of it. Go back inside, Tom. You're going to learn this time. For once in your life, you're going to learn the lesson.”

  “Ash--”

  “Go and spend time with your stepdaughter before it's too late,�
� said Ashley in a cutting tone. The window rolled back up.

  “Ashley.”

  Ashley's face was turned away from him now. The red Camaro reversed out of the driveway, and out of his life.

  Tom suddenly became acutely aware of the space around him, and the shade from the trees of the nearby yard. His cigarettes were inside on the bedside table.

  Tom was offended by everything he saw. He wanted nothing more to do with any of it. He walked back inside, bumping into an awoken Amber. Tom peered down at her. Ashley's eyes and mouth peered back up at him, causing his heart to skip. A metallic twinge ran through his ribs.

  “Good morning, daddy.”

  He knelt down and took her into a hug. His eyes closed tight.

  “Good morning, sweetheart.”

  “Did mommy leave?”

  “Yes, sweetie. Mommy left.”

  “So we don't have to go to the wedding?”

  “...That's right. We're gonna have a daddy-daughter day.” He pulled back, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You wanna order pizza?”

  “For breakfast?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Yeah!”

  “Then let's order a pizza.”

  ********

  Tom blew out some smoke as the phone rang. He hung his head, arms propped on the balcony. An enthusiastic male voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, is Ashley there?”

  “Who's speaking?” the voice said. Tom groaned to himself privately.

  “It's Tom.”

  “Oh, hey Tom. How are you?”

  “Pretty good. Is that Brad?”

  “Yeah, man. How's it going, buddy? How's the new job?” Brad sounded genuinely interested, excited even. It made Tom a little nauseous.

  “Can't talk about it, Brad.”

  “Oh, I get it. Secret Service. That’s so rad.”

  “Yeah. Listen, I'm in kind of a hurry, could you get Ash?”

  “Sure, man, hold on.”

  Tom took another drag. He could hear Bradley saying something to Amber as he walked down the hallway. His gut turned. Tom hated how Brad thought they were fucking 'bros'. There was a muffled sound and the phone was handed over to someone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Ash,” Tom said, trying to project a smile through the phone.

  “Well hello, Thomas.”

  “How's life?”

  “Stabilizing,” Ashley said with a sigh. “We just moved into the new house. Amber's back to school in a month.”

  “Yeah, you guys are in Malibu, now, right?”

  “Uh-huh. It's beautiful out here.”

  “Yeah, I can tell. I'm in town.”

  “Oh you are, are you?” Ashley's voice lilted upwards.

  “Yeah, you want to get together for a drink?”

  There was a slight pause, and Tom already knew where this was going. He coughed discretely to cover a sigh.

  “I don't know if I could,” Ashley began. “We just got back into town from the weekend. I think Brad's really tired.”

  “So just come yourself. We'll get dinner, you can bring Amber.”

  “I don't think so, Tom. It's getting a little late.”

  “Come on, it's only seven. I'm on a new assignment tomorrow.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “You know I can't talk about it.” Tom kept pressing. “Don't leave me hanging, Ash, have you had dinner?”

  Ashley sighed. “I don't think it'd be appropriate. I know you don't really like Brad.”

  Tom chortled. “Of course I like Brad. I love Brad.”

  “Tom...”

  “I love his... haircut, and his polo shirts, and his minor league hockey team. Brad's great.”

  “Quit being a smartass. If he wasn't dating me, you'd be fine with him.”

  Tom snorted. “If he wasn't dating you I wouldn't even know him.”

  “He's great with Amber.”

  “Well, at least there's that.”

  “But you think you were better,” Ashley said sharply.

  “Now what gives you that idea?”

  “Don't bullshit me, Tom. Is this why you called me? Did you just call me up to antagonize me? Are you feeling a little sorry for yourself today, so you felt like you had to stick it to me?”

  Tom groaned. He raised his voice. “What the hell is this? I just wanted to catch up.”

  “Well, you've got me, I'm on the phone. So let's catch up.”

  Tom sighed. “I wanted to see you in person.”

  “Well, I can't do that tonight, Tom. Sorry. Go hang out with Artie.”

  “You mind if I talk to Amber?”

  “Yes.”

  Tom took a drag off of his cigarette and took a breath.

  “I'd really like to talk to her.”

  “That wouldn't be appropriate. You're not part of her life.”

  “I was part of her life for years.”

  “We're divorced, Tom. You're not her father.”

  Tom's eyes narrowed. “I was a better father than that shitbird Don ever was.”

  “You need to stop talking shit about Don. He treated me like shit towards the end, but at least he knew how to take care of me. He treated me like a queen before we split up.”

  “So how is Amber supposed to deal with this? Who is her father? Is she just going to have to imprint on a new guy every couple of years?”

  “Are you telling me how to raise my child? No, you're doing worse. You're calling me a whore.”

  “No, I'm not.”

  “Don is her biological father and Bradley is her stepfather. You are my ex-husband and that's all there is to it.”

  “Divorce papers aren't final yet.”

  “Don't be a child.”

  Tom seethed to himself for a long moment. He sucked on his cigarette.

  “Well I guess if you've got nothing else to say, I'll say goodnight,” Ashley said curtly.

  “Give me five minutes, Ash. Just let me talk to Amber.”

  “No, Tom.”

  “God damn it, Ashley, let me talk to my little girl.”

  The line went dead. Tom stuffed the phone back in his pocket and clenched and unclenched his fists. He lifted his foot and brought it down hard against a nearby wooden deck chair, splitting one of the planks. The spent cigarette went over the balcony, and a fresh one flew into his mouth.

  The phone rang again.

  “The fuck is it now,” he said, taking out his phone without checking the caller ID. “Tom here.”

  “Open your door, Bell.”

  “Margaret?”

  The call came to an abrupt end. Tom stared ahead, flabbergasted for a long moment. There was a knock.

  Tom returned inside and went to the front door. He opened it hesitantly.

  Curtains of ginger hair were on him before he could react. Margaret's bright red lips were around his, and he felt her glasses brush his cheek. He brought his hands to her shoulders. They parted and he held her at a short distance.

  “In-person briefing?” he asked.

  “After something to eat. I brought wine.”

  Tom moved aside to let her pass. He took in an eyeful of her pert behind and mused approvingly. She was his height and had a plus-sized body, the kind of thick thighs and love handles that drove him wild.

  “I just got off the phone with Ashley,” he said curtly.

  “Ugh, you know how I feel about her.”

  “Well. We're friends, I guess, but sometimes things are kind of tense.”

  “She was wretched to you, Tom. I said that even when you were together. Just forget about her.”

  “I do it for Amber.”

  Margaret placed a couple of shopping bags on the kitchen counter. Then she was back in front of Tom, placing a kiss on his cheek and unzipping his jacket. He kissed her back, but placed a hesitant hand on her full chest.

  “I've got this assignment to head out to tomorrow...”

  “Sleep on the plane and drink water.”
<
br />   “Maggie...”

  “Don't call me Maggie, Bell,” she snapped. She pulled him close and placed her forehead against his. “Getting friendly with your superiors is frowned upon.”

  “I'm not even calling a taxi to the airport tomorrow if I have a hangover.”

  Margaret clipped his ear with two of her fingers, gently guiding him down the hallway with her. He gave a theatric groan.

  “If you don't shut your mouth for the next twelve hours, you're so completely fired.”

  Tom thought it better not to push his luck. He discarded his jacket in the hallway.

  ********

  “Okay, so the file says Susan Bailey disappeared from her home on February 12th. That sounds like the best place to start,” Tom stated firmly. Artie flipped down the shades on his glasses, pulling out the car keys.

  “Yeah. Does local law know we're coming?” came Artie's response. Tom took down a gulp of bottled water from the gas station as he stepped into the car. Artie got into the drivers' side and they pulled out onto the main road.

  “A few will, at least. We're supposed to be meeting someone there, but it has to be handled quietly. Obviously.”

  “So what's step one?” Artie started the car as Tom put his sunglasses back on. The inland sun beat down, but the rental car's interior was still cool from the shade of the garage. The air conditioning hummed to life, filling the vehicle with a cool breeze.

  “Get into town around five and check in at the motel. Meet up with someone from the local police at around half past at a diner in the area, we can get them to take us over to the Bailey house. From there... I dunno, I guess it depends on our leads. Question around town I guess.”

  “Keda's supposed to be showing up too, right?” Artie asked. He fished around in his backpack with one hand.

  “Yeah. His flight’s not ‘til later, though. He'll probably roll into town in the middle of the night, or even tomorrow morning if he decides to crash near the airport. He won't be much use until we have something to go on, anyway.”

  “Do they really think a Medium is going to be necessary here?” Artie pulled a flask out of his bag, and unscrewed the top, preparing to take a good swig.

  “Don't start into that, we're working.”

  “Just taking the edge off.”

  “You're driving. Give it here,” Tom said, holding his hand out. Artie grumbled and handed the flask over.