by Rudy Yuly
She looked in on him one last time.
“You stay put,” she said. “I’m going to the store to get some groceries for dinner. If you wake up, you can have some, too. It’s going to be good.”
It almost looked like Eddie moved his lips, but she couldn’t be sure. She went up the stairs and out the door, locking it behind her.
The minute LaVonne was out the door Eddie opened his eyes. Lucy Silver was standing next to his bed, looking at him accusingly.
“You haven’t done much,” she said. “You haven’t done anything. I’m stuck and I hate it. You promised.”
Lucy’s words hit Eddie in the head like little hammers—but they also flooded him with compelling energy. He sat up on the couch and looked at her. She looked solid. And disappointed. Along with the pounding in his head, looking at her made his insides sink and ache horribly—but the sensation was strong enough that it provided some blessed distraction from the unspeakable thing that had happened at Jolie’s.
Lucy faded and disappeared, but Eddie felt as though he was being urgently pushed and pulled by little hands as he got up off the couch and dressed himself. He was moving more quickly than he usually did at home, with the grace and surety he normally had only at cleaning jobs. But he wasn’t directing the motion. It was as if Lucy was inside him now, dragging him along.
“Man-sized mess,” he said. Then he dialed for a cab as he’d done the night before. It was easier this time, and in addition to reciting his address he was able to tell the dispatcher to send the cab as soon as possible.
Outside the house, Eddie stood patiently waiting for the cab, but felt Lucy’s impatience strongly. Slowly, it dawned on him where she wanted him to go.
The killer was smart and self-aware enough to know—mostly—what weaknesses threatened detection. The biggest one was the lack of control a hunger for killing could trigger. It was a potent form of intoxication one had to work constantly to avoid. Such hunger only exists in the temporarily or permanently insane, and in those who are obsessed with revenge. In the killer’s case, it was the latter that had driven nearly two decades of killing. It wasn’t a deep, singular form of revenge, but a broad, indicting vendetta against a system that had taken away the better half of the killer’s existence. So much injustice to be corrected—it was understood the results would never amount to more than pissing in the ocean. But it was something.
For all these years, the killer been able to create the illusion that the most of the murders were the work of different men, and that was an added dose of justice, because most of the men deserved punishment. Maybe not for what they went down for—but always for something. That took a good imagination, steel nerves, and an outstanding memory.
The killer knew just about everything it was possible to know about the investigations—and the investigators. Even about Joe and Eddie. From the first time they’d come under the radar, the idea of the crime scene cleaners held an odd appeal. It was easy to imagine they were working for the same cause, making the process nicer, more respectable by cleaning up after. All along they’d shown themselves harmless, even useful—but there was something about Eddie, something deep and primal that grew over time until he considered putting the cleaner on his special list. The disgust he felt when he saw Eddie had a tinge of fear in it, an animal recognition of a natural enemy.
One weakness the killer had never really been aware of was the routine of buying killing clothes—especially absorbent (and disposable) wool overcoats—at local thrift stores. Every item of clothing would be burned after every job. Funds were by no means unlimited. It didn’t register as a problem. The favored stores were so big and the clientele so foreign that they provided a sense of anonymity and safety.
Today, browsing the racks of the huge junk store, thinking about the next job—a particularly unpleasant but necessary task—a powerful feeling of unease emerged.
The killer looked up the way people will when they are being watched. Eddie walked into the store—far away and looking as though he was walking in a dream—and the killer almost jumped. Even though the fear was entirely irrational, the killer hurried as quickly as he could into a dressing cubicle and shut and locked the door.
Eddie drifted into the big store still feeling as though Lucy was pulling him along. Something beyond odd was happening to his senses now and he was nearly blind. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see, but that all his attention was focused on the overwhelming menage of scents that filled the air. It was a wild place to be in that state, intoxicating with every kind of sweat and perfume, every race, sex, and age, overlayed with the musty, stale odors of thousands of possessions used and discarded.
Lucy was pulling him, pulling him, and he soon found himself standing in front of a rack of old coats. He could not understand the words that were whispered in his ear, but he knew it was Lucy’s voice and he knew what she was saying was important. The killer—her killer—had been here. As the realization dawned, Eddie’s sinuses began to ache unbearably, filtering out all the scents but one. It was a tangy citrus smell, more chemical than clean, distinct and bracing in its own way as the ammonia tang of Shiny Gold. Eddie touched the sleeve of a wool coat, bent slightly and lifted it to his nose. The scent was there. He moved down the rack. The scent was there, too, and now it was stronger. He closed his eyes and let himself be led, partly by Lucy but more, now, by the scent. He could feel her soul stirring, agitated and expectant, and he knew that whatever he was doing was satisfying his promise to her.
The scent was getting stronger and stronger, and Eddie brushed by several people, not even realizing he had touched them, and they looked at him oddly as he shambled on, moving down the aisle with his eyes closed and head tilted back.
He stopped with a thump and felt himself begin to shiver. It was cold. He had collided with the flimsy door of a dressing booth and he reached out his hand despite himself and tried to open it. It was locked, and Eddie began to shake the rattling thing.
It must have been loud, because before he knew what was happening a small, irritated-looking lady wearing a headscarf was standing behind him.
“Sir! Someone is in there. What are you doing! What are you doing!”
Eddie’s head began to pound unbearably, and he knew he was going to throw up and possibly pass out. Something had happened, something that was far, far more than he could stand. He stared blankly at the woman and tried to run, but he could only walk stiff-legged until he reached the entrance. He stopped just outside and threw up once, quickly, in planter near the door. The cab was still waiting in the parking lot as he had asked, and he hurried to it, nearly unconscious, fighting with all his might against himself to block out the horrid, fetid thing he had almost unmasked.
When LaVonne got back to the house she was feeling a little concerned. She’d been gone much longer than she’d planned, but she’d had such a good time thinking about a menu and buying just the right ingredients that she’d lost track of time. She’d even gone to a different store to get exactly the right kind of wine and beer. As soon as she’d dumped the groceries on the kitchen table, she’d hurried downstairs to check on Eddie.
He looked fine, lying on the couch just as he’d been when she left. Didn’t look like he’d moved a muscle. She was halfway up the stairs before she realized he was fully dressed and no longer under a blanket.
“Eddie. Eddie. Wake up.” No response. “Eddie. Why are you dressed? Are you feeling better? Joe’s at work, Eddie. This is LaVonne. I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”
There was absolutely no response and LaVonne felt a rush of adrenaline push against the walls of her chest as she struggled to understand what it might mean. She kneeled down next to the couch and sat there for a few long minutes rubbing her forehead and looking at Eddie. It was as though he’d never moved. He was as completely unresponsive as when she left. And yet he was dressed now. She could only hope he hadn’t left the house while she was gone—but that was impossible. He couldn’t have. Where would he
go? And why? Finally, she gave up trying to figure it out and went back up the stairs to make dinner, troubled but determined not to get caught up in something that was beyond her ability to do anything about.
Cooking made her feel better. Although she hadn’t spoken with Joe all day, she took a chance and had the Cornish hens, homemade au gratin, and endive salad all ready by six. By six-thirty, she was getting frustrated and trying to salvage the rapidly dehydrating little birds. She’d almost given up at ten after seven, when Joe shuffled in the door, looking completely done in.
“Hey, Joe,” she greeted him, as cheerfully as possible. Between her guilt over leaving Eddie and Joe’s condition her irritation about his lateness instantly evaporated. “Did you have a rough day?”
“The worst.” Joe was so beat he couldn’t even bring himself to get the flowers he’d promised himself he’d find for LaVonne. “How’s Eddie?”
“He hasn’t moved a muscle.”
“Maybe he’ll be rested up enough to go to work tomorrow,” Joe said wearily. “Unless he decides to go running into walls in the moonlight again. I need to go check on him.”
“Um, yeah…” LaVonne wondered how much she should tell Joe.
Joe dug in his pockets. “Listen, LaVonne, I want to pay you for today.”
It was such a lame thing to say that it almost made LaVonne laugh. “Joe,” she said. “Put your money back, please. You’re such a schmuck. And I made dinner.”
“Oh.” Joe looked at the ground. LaVonne moved to give him a hug, but he held out his arm to keep her away. “I d-d-don’t want to until I shower. It’s…it’s just bad.”
“I understand,” LaVonne said. “You’d best go check on Eddie. Listen, Joe, about Eddie…”
“Yeah? He okay?”
“Well. Yeah. I guess.”
“Did he say something to you?”
“No. He didn’t say anything. I—I guess you should probably just go look in on him.”
Joe went downstairs, sat down on the couch next to his brother. The way he was feeling, it never even registered that Eddie was fully dressed.
Eddie felt his brother there and opened his eyes.
“Sorry, Joe.” It was almost a whisper.
“Yeah, you should be. You really messed up today.”
“Man-sized mess.”
“Yeah, well…how’re you feeling?”
“Man-sized mess.” Eddie’s mind was finally quiet. The overwhelming sensations had mercifully, for the time being, blown all the fuses. They hadn’t gown away, merely filtered into every cell, which made his body feel horrible. But it was a relief to have an empty head. Joe didn’t look too good. Poor Joe.
“Me, too,” Joe said. “Because there’s a job tomorrow. I promised we’d do it. I can go by myself again if I have to, but—I don’t want—ohhhh.” The only thing Joe hated worse than asking Eddie was the thought of doing another job by himself. “Any chance you might be up for it?”
Something stirred in Eddie’s head. He sat up. “4228 Redview Place,” he said.
“What?” Joe pulled his notebook out of his pocket and turned to the page where he’d written the job address: 4228 Redview Place. “How the hell did you know that, Eddie? Did you talk to Louis?”
“Shiny Gold, Joe.” Eddie said. It was Jolie. Jolie. Jolie.
“You’re not bullshitting me, right, Eddie? You promise?”
“Uh-huh,” Eddie said. He gagged slightly and Joe looked at him, momentarily alarmed. “Okay.” “You’re not going to run off tonight and come back all screwed up?
You promise?”
“Uh-huh. Okay.”
“And you’re all right? You’re sure you’re okay? Can you go back to sleep now?”
“Uh-huh. Okay.”
Eddie instantly lay back and closed his eyes. He was going back to Jolie’s in the morning. No one was dragging him. It was something he wanted to do.
LaVonne was setting the kitchen table when she heard Joe coming up the stairs. By the time she turned around, he was halfway up the stairs to his room. Figuring he was heading for the shower, she finished setting the table and waited. After fifteen minutes, she went up to Joe’s room.
He was crashed out, facedown and spread-eagled on the bed, still dressed and wearing his shoes. LaVonne untied them and pulled them off. Joe didn’t budge.
“Maybe I should’ve taken the money,” she said. Then she did laugh, in spite of herself.
Eddie was standing, vibrating in space in front of Jolie’s door. Living blood was running down it—his own. It awakened something in him that had gone to sleep when his parents died. Something he had denied himself all these years: cold piercing anger.
The feeling shook him to the core. It was a real emotion: wrath toward his father, Mark, Lucy Silver’s murderer—all of the violent ones. They’d all been filthy with rage, and they couldn’t resist spreading their dirt. Now he’d caught it, too.
The door was locked, and that made Eddie even more furious.
Everything he had been and known before his parents died was behind that door. Even his memories. They were his. He wanted them back.
He stood outside in the numb, seemingly safe life he had made. “Please!” he shouted. “Please let me in!” He knocked and knocked, splashing his own blood all over. No answer came. “I can clean!” he screamed.
It wasn’t enough. The door wouldn’t budge. He looked at it again, ready to explode, and suddenly, finally recognized it.
He had made the door himself.
It was constructed out of all the promises he had ever made. Thousands and thousands of them. More every day.
He’d have to break them all to get through. The promises he’d made to his mom and dad. The promises he’d made to Joe. The promises he’d made to himself. The promises he’d made to Lucy. The promises he’d made to Jolie. They didn’t mean what he’d thought. It never really was a deal between two people. It was only Eddie—making stupid unbreakable promises to himself.
He felt the bottle of Shiny Gold in his hand. He had promised a long time ago, with all his heart: If Shiny Gold would keep him safe— keep his memory clean and safe and uncluttered—he would do its work in the world.
But he wasn’t safe. He wasn’t happy. And now Jolie was gone. Just like Lucy. Just like Mom.
“Just let go,” his mother had said.
Her words were finally starting to make sense.
Chapter 45
Friday
Eddie woke in the early gloom, determined and ready. He was going to work today, going to Jolie’s house. No matter what it cost him, Eddie was going to break his promise and go inside.
He had been too late to save Jolie, to protect her. Now he would do the only thing he could, the thing he did best. He would clean. He would make sure her soul, at least, was free.
Eddie got up from his couch and folded his blankets. He took a shower, dressed, and went upstairs. He was grateful that everything went smoothly, his body going through motions that were automatic and required little thought.
LaVonne was asleep on the seldom-used living room couch. She stirred and sat up as Eddie passed her without speaking.
He poured himself a glass of water, made coffee, sat at the kitchen table, and waited.
Thirty minutes later LaVonne came into the kitchen, showered and dressed. She poured herself a cup of coffee. Eddie looked very far away. He was sitting perfectly still, his face a calm mask. She started to speak to him, but thought better of it. She knew that his routines were very important, and that he could get extremely agitated if they were broken. Having her here in the morning was probably disconcerting enough. Best to just drink her coffee quietly and wait for Joe.
Eddie got up and poured coffee into a fresh cup.
“Is that for Joe?” LaVonne said.
“Uh-huh. Okay.”
“Do you mind if I take it up to him?” LaVonne looked at Eddie carefully, trying to read him. She was beginning to notice subtle ways that his expressions and bo
dy language changed. Right now, though, he was pretty much a blank slate. But then he held the cup out to her.
“Thanks, Eddie,” she said.
Eddie sat down at the kitchen table and waited.
LaVonne shook Joe’s shoulder gently. He sat up, looking confused and haggard.
“What time is it?” he said.
“Seven-thirty. You’ve been out since about seven-thirty last night.”
Joe had a pounding headache. He rubbed his forehead hard and took the coffee. “Thanks. Did you stay?”
“I slept on the couch.”
Joe remembered with a sinking feeling—another job today. His guts tightened. He braced himself for another blow. “Have you seen Eddie?”
“Dressed and sitting at the kitchen table when I got up. He made the coffee. He looks like he’s ready to go back to work.”
“Well, that’s something. Joe sank back against the headboard. “Actually, that’s huge. I don’t think I could…do that again.”
LaVonne sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I’m thinking about getting us out of this business,” he went on.
“You’ve had a hell of a tough week.”
“I can’t do it without Eddie. It’s his business. One day of cleaning that shit is all I can take. If he can’t get it together, I’m going to have to figure out something else.”
It was an interesting comment. One of the things that had drawn LaVonne so deeply to Joe was his incredible dedication to his brother, no matter what. It was so different from what she had experienced with her relationships. Her past mistakes had made her long for stability, for family ties that wouldn’t break under pressure. Now she was getting a dose of it firsthand, and it was clear that there was a real price to pay.
“Maybe you just need to let things play out, Joe. Things change,” she said. “But you guys, what you mean to each other…that’s solid.”