Cicada Spring

by Christian Galacar

  “How?” David asked. “I thought we discussed this last night. You don’t have any vacation time left at work. That’s why I was going to stay to begin with.”

  “I don’t, but it’ll be fine. They’ll dock me for the days I’m out, but we can afford it. It’s either that or tell them what happened and hope for understanding.”

  “No, that’s not an option. It’s best we don’t tell anyone about this right now… for Kara’s sake. I can only imagine what it’s going to be like once this gets out, if it hasn’t already.”

  “It’ll be hard, but we’ll handle it. That’s what families do.” She kissed his cheek.

  David smiled, leaned forward, and started taking off his jeans. “Guess I should get ready for work then.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  “It’s okay. Maybe it’ll be good to take my mind off things.” He didn’t believe this, but saying it made him feel like it might be true. “I’ll swing by the station and talk to the sheriff too, see what’s going on. We should’ve heard something by now.”

  Ellie nodded softly. “Okay, let me know if you hear anything.” She stood. “I’m going to make Kara some breakfast. Want anything?”

  David considered the lead knot in his stomach. “No thanks. I’ll grab something later.”

  Ellie brushed the side of her husband’s face with the back of her hand and walked out of the room.

  David listened as her footsteps faded down the hall, finally disappearing altogether. It was a lonely sound, he thought.

  David got dressed in his normal work clothes: khaki dungarees, black socks, leather penny-loafers, a light-blue dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a red paisley tie. He looked at himself in the mirror, and for the first time ever, he was unhappy with the reflection that greeted him. What he saw was something pathetic. A fool. An outsider. His wife had said they would overcome this together as a family, but nothing about what was going on around him felt like togetherness.

  He turned away from his reflection and headed downstairs, toward a job that for the first time in his career he did not respect. Everything he had once been proud of suddenly seemed so gray and insignificant.

  From the base of the stairs, David could see into the kitchen. He could see his daughter’s back as she sat at the table sipping from a steaming mug. Ellie stood at the counter, buttering some toast. He heard the scraping of the knife across the thin, crisp ridges of bread. Any other morning he would’ve walked in, kissed his girls goodbye, and left with a smile on his face and joy in his heart. But this morning would not be like that; this morning was a new kind of sorrow. So instead, David imagined doing all those things he could not do now.

  In his mind, he kissed Kara’s cheek. There were no cuts and no bruises. He would walk up behind his wife and hug her, kissing the back of her neck while Kara pretended to be grossed out by their affection. In his mind things were different. Better. Normal. In his mind his world was right.

  He entertained these thoughts for a moment, let the feelings linger on the edge of his brain, and watched his family silently from afar. The outsider, he thought to himself. That’s what I am.

  Without saying anything at all, he left.

  Outside, David started his car and sat for a moment, just thinking of how unfair it all was. Then he put the car in gear, and headed out of the driveway.

  CHAPTER 13

  Sheriff Gaines’s cruiser was sitting empty in the shade at the far end of the Town Hall parking lot when Harry pulled in. He smiled faintly, continuing to his reserved spot. He parked, killing the engine.

  His mind was on the young girl from the day before, the intern, the one he’d given a ride to. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he adjusted it so he could look into the backseat. He wondered if he’d cleaned it well enough. Harry studied his reflection for a moment, straightening his tie and brushing his hair from his forehead. Satisfied, he threw his arm over the seat and looked into the back of his car. One last check. Meticulous attention to detail was how he’d gotten ahead in life. Seeing the little things that others missed, finding angles to exploit, holes in the fabric of life. And because of this self-image, he couldn’t bear the idea of getting caught because of some ignored, minor element he’d missed. He’d lost his temper and been foolish with the girl, but that didn’t mean he had to go to jail for it. People like him didn’t go to jail. What was coming his way was a minor blip on the radar. Next year it would be forgotten, and he would be the victim, not her. She would be a mixed-up teenager who’d tried to get attention by making slanderous accusations about a man in power. Why? Perhaps her parents had ignored her as a child. Who knows why kids do the things they do?

  He was Harry Bennett, mayor of Heartsridge, a man of the people. That was what people wanted to believe, and people had a great tendency to believe what they wanted to. The facts, the accusations, the “he said-she said,” the likelihood of things all went out the window when a person wanted to embrace a reality that they were more comfortable with, something easier on the palate. Plainly and simply, Harry counted on the public’s own selfishness, their need to soothe themselves and put their own feelings before another’s. And they would. They always would.

  Selfishness was a human condition Harry had used to his advantage for most of his life. It was a universal quality that every person had ingrained at some primitive level. It was a form of survival. But the fact that people were ashamed to admit they ever dipped their toes in those self-serving waters made them vulnerable. People with something to hide, even when they’re unaware they’re hiding it, are the easiest to manipulate. Sometimes he only needed to show people had a secret to exploit it.

  The leather of the backseat was glossy and pristine. Harry could still smell the scent of the cleaning solution he’d used. The space was immaculate. He’d made sure of that, scrubbed it clean of any evidence the day before.

  As he looked into the backseat, Harry tried to imagine the face of the girl. The little cunt with no respect. Kara was her name, if he recalled correctly. But he couldn’t remember exactly what she’d looked like. Instead of an image, there was only the clear memory of how his sense of her had changed in the moment she realized what was about to happen to her, the change in the atmosphere between them. It was not a recollection of sight; it was one of emotion, how he’d felt. It was power. He knew that feeling well. It was unmistakable. Dominance over another thing, another being. But her face was a blur. He didn’t even think he could pick her out of a lineup if he had to. How he’d felt, though, that he’d never forget.

  He’d heard her earlier in the day on her lunch break. She’d been on a personal phone call in the office—a boy named Ryan—saying how foolish Heartsridge and the mayor were for thinking that anyone still cared about the “stupid festival.” The arrogance of it all had driven Harry’s mind into darkness. A little teenage girl who thought she knew it all, thought she was better than he was, than everyone, giggling about how stupid Heartsridge and everything about it was, everything he cared about. She’d been trying to humiliate him and it drove him wild. He shouldn’t have let his temper get the best of him. But he couldn’t help it. There was no other option. The girl needed to be taught a lesson. She couldn’t just go around doing and saying anything she wanted without consequence. His mother would’ve given him the mousetrap—or worse—if he’d acted that way as a kid. Still, he shouldn’t have been so careless. Someone in his position could not afford to let his emotions call the shots. He’d only been that out of control once before in his life, and it was only luck he hadn’t gotten caught then. It may have been a different sort of thing with that bully who’d stolen his shoes, but it was careless just the same. This time, he promised himself, was the last time he allowed himself to lose control. But something inside him had awoken.

  Harry turned back and pulled on the latch, opening the door. He stepped out of his car, walking across the parking lot to the front entrance of Town Hall.

  “You have a visitor,” Brend
a Fahey said as Harry walked in. “Sheriff Gaines. He’s waiting in your office.”

  Brenda was Harry’s secretary. She was short, fat, and unattractive, but she was good at her job. She reminded Harry of a pet guinea pig named Wesley he’d had when he was a boy. His mother had made him drown the animal in the bathtub after it bit her finger.

  “Thanks, Brenda. He tell you what he wanted?” Harry placed his briefcase on the edge of her desk next to a half-eaten muffin. He took his suit coat, which he’d draped over his arm, gave it a soft shake, and slipped into it, smoothing out the light wrinkles with a flat hand.

  “No, only asked if you were in.” Brenda shook her head absently, her earrings jangling like Christmas ornaments. “I told him you’d be here any minute, and he asked to wait in your office. I said it was okay,” she said with a look of hesitation. “It is okay, isn’t it, sir? I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Yes, that’s fine. I think Heartsridge’s finest can be trusted in my office.” Harry smiled at Brenda and picked up his briefcase again. He eyed the half-eaten muffin once more, then his eyes shifted to Brenda’s shirt. There were crumbs on her lapel. Pathetic, he thought. He would have a talk with her later about eating at her desk. It was unprofessional. But for now he’d let it slide; he had more important things on his mind.

  Brenda smiled back, her cheeks bulging and creasing in all sorts of extra places. “I have a few messages too,” she said. “All folks with last-minute questions about the festival. I told them they should contact the Parks Committee and not you, but I took their names just in case.”

  “Okay, good, thanks. I’ll take those,” he said, and took the pink message slips Brenda was holding in her hand. “You have my paper?”

  “Right here.” Brenda reached behind her and pulled a neatly folded newspaper off a bookshelf. “Full of sad news, as usual: a baby died in a house fire over in Agawam, a town destroyed by a tornado in Wichita, a serial killer who’s shooting people on the side of the highway. Every day the world seems to get worse and worse. Honestly, I don’t know how you even read this anymore. It would just depress me.”

  Harry took the paper out of her hand. “Yes, well, the world’s a sad place, unfortunately. You should be happy you elected someone like me. The terrible state of the world is why I got into politics in the first place, to try and make things different for people here. The world may be a sad place, but the way I see it, our Heartsridge doesn’t have to follow suit. I’ve worked hard to try and make this town better than the places you read about in here.” Harry tapped the paper. He didn’t know if he believed any of what he’d just said, but slinging bullshit like that had become second nature to him in the last decade of his life.

  “You do a good job of that, sir. I hope you know that.”

  “And I’ll continue to do so, so long as I have your vote next election.” Harry smiled his politician’s smile. “Do me a favor and hold all my calls until I’m done with the sheriff. Can you do that? I don’t want to be interrupted.”

  “I’m on top of it, sir.” Brenda clicked a button on her telephone and a red light lit up. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, I almost forgot. Call the Parks Committee and let them know Eddie Corbett has agreed to let us use his parking lot for the festival. Tell them they need to set up signs off the highway and around town like we talked about and arrange someone to drive a shuttle bus. And tell them I don’t want Paul Donniger behind the wheel—the man’s a drunk. Get someone reliable.”

  Brenda whispered to herself as she scribbled down Harry’s instructions. “Okay. Call committee, need signs and shuttle, no Paul Donniger. Got it.” She looked up. “That all?”

  “For the moment,” Harry said. “I’ll have more for you later. I should go see what the sheriff wants.” He turned away from Brenda and headed down the hall to his office.

  On his way, in an effort to distance his thoughts from the girl, he cracked open the newspaper and read the headline on the front page:

  THE HIGHWAY HUNTER’S OUT THERE—

  POLICE SUSPECT SERIAL KILLER IN STRING OF GRISLY SHOOTING MURDERS.

  FOURTH VICTIM IDENTIFIED OFF I-91.

  When Harry turned the corner, he lifted his eyes from the paper. He could see Gaines through the open doorway to his office, leaning in close, inspecting pictures on the shelf beside his desk. Gaines seemed to be focusing on the one of Harry and his wife, taken last Fourth of July at his family cookout.

  Harry centered himself, preparing for the conversation he imagined he was about to have. You’re Harry Bennett, a man of the people, a kind, nice, caring person. You’ve spent the last seven years helping the people of this town. They’ll believe what they want, remember? And they won’t want to believe this. They won’t want to believe they elected someone capable of…

  Harry walked in.

  Gaines composed himself and took his hands out of his pockets.

  “Calvin, how are you?” Harry said, going to his desk. He laid his briefcase down on a stack of papers. “You hear about this?” He held up the front page of the paper. “They’re saying there’s a damned serial killer out there now. Just found another body off the highway. It sickens me.” Harry walked around to his chair, took a seat, planted his elbows, and tented his fingers in an officious way.

  “Yeah, I read about it this morning. It was over in Greenfield. They said four victims so far, all of ’em pretty much kids in their late teens and twenties. Twisted stuff,” Gaines said, taking a seat in front of the mayor’s desk. “Hopefully it won’t scare people away from the Spring Festival.”

  Harry held up his hands and waved them humorously. “No blasphemy in this office,” he said, and laughed. “These damn cicadas are already nuisance enough, never mind some psychopath on the loose. Regardless, I have a feeling this year’s festival will be the best yet. We’ve been taking vendor applications since December, some from out of state. Sold fifty percent more than last year, actually. Seems like everyone has something to sell this year.”

  Gaines placed his hat on the chair beside him. “I don’t know, Harry, I think the cicadas are actually a good thing for business. People seem interested in ’em. From what I gather, they’re a kind of novelty. There’s even some photographer here who’s interested in doing an article.”

  Harry eyed Gaines for a moment, looking him over, trying to read his face without appearing to do so. What was his true business here? Had the girl kept her mouth shut like he’d told her too? He doubted it. But he bet for damn sure Calvin Gaines hadn’t come to his office to talk about bugs.

  “Is that so? Well maybe you’re right, but all I know is I can’t stand that racket outside,” Harry said. “It drives me up the wall. Sounds like a dentist drilling in my ear.”

  “Oh, they’re not so bad. I’m already starting to get used to them.”

  Harry leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach and laughing. “You sound like my wife. She says they’re peaceful. I don’t get it.”

  Gaines returned the smile. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I wouldn’t say peaceful.”

  “Fair enough,” Harry said. “Anyway, what can I do for you, Calvin? Still after your air conditioners? ’Cause after this year’s festival, I think we’ll be able to help you out. The budget’s looking flush right now.”

  Gaines’s face slowly darkened, and he offered a polite but forced smile at the mayor’s comment.

  Harry noticed this, and his chest fluttered, a hot flash surging through his body. His palms began to sweat, his vision tunneled, his mouth dried. Remember to breathe. They have nothing but her word against yours, so long as you covered all your tracks. These people are fools. Calvin Gaines is a fool. Just breathe.

  “No, actually I’m here about something else.” Gaines looked down briefly, then his eyes lifted and met Harry’s.

  Harry maintained the smile on his face. The smile that said: I’m your mayor, your elected official, I’m listening, now tell me what I can do to help you. He’d held that fak
e look for seven years, so what was another few minutes using it to pretend he didn’t know why the sheriff of Heartsridge had dropped by unannounced and was now wearing the look of a doctor about to deliver bad news?

  “Any way I can be of assistance?” Harry asked.

  “I don’t know… maybe,” Gaines said, shifting uneasily in his seat. His posture stiffened and he let out a long sigh.

  Suddenly Gaines looked more official. The fluttering in the mayor’s chest turned into full-on panic. But still, he maintained his outward composure, holding a natural expression. He had found over the years that, in times like these, his instincts took over, and the anxiety acted like fuel to push him through to the other side.

  “Harry, do you know a girl by the name of Kara Price?”

  There it was. The game had begun. Breathe.

  Harry furrowed his brow, feigning uncertainty. “Kara Price? The name doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”

  “Well, she works here at Town Hall… in your office, from what I understand.” Gaines pulled his notepad from his breast pocket, flipped the cover open, and ran his finger down the page. “I believe Saturday was her first day, so maybe you don’t.”

  Harry’s eyebrows raised and he sat forward, resting on his elbows. “Oh, yes, the new intern, Kara, that’s right. I only met her briefly. Haven’t really had a chance to get to know her yet. But if she’s working with Brenda, I’m sure I will soon enough. She seemed like a nice girl, though. Smart, from what I gathered. Why do you want to know? She get in some trouble?”

  Gaines turned his head, looking toward the door. It was shut. He sighed again. Nervous. Fidgety.

  Harry could see that Calvin Gaines, the law of Heartsridge, the only man who was in a position to actually harm him, was one of the first people to let his own selfish agenda cloud the truth on this. He could see the man struggling to believe something he did not want to. To do so would be to allow something sour to fester in his mind. Most people could not tolerate such disgust. Life was easier for folks when they believed monsters were only the children of imagination, not walking among them in the flesh. The truth might be a tough pill to swallow, but if there was no sickness, there needn’t be a remedy.