A Trace of Revenge

by Lyle Howard

  Matt rested his chin in his hands and let out an exasperated sigh. “You swear there’s no one out there?”

  “I promised you there wasn’t,” Toby insisted. “You need to start trusting people, Matt. Especially us. We want to help you. Whatever you tell us stays between the three of us.”

  Matt pouted. “Yes, I admit it. I had another one of my episodes.”

  Toby leaned forward. “Tell us what happened.”

  Matt began rubbing his fingers along the brim of his cap as he spoke. His voice had the usual deaf intonation but was still understandable. “I do trust the two of you, but no one else can know what I am about to tell you. They’ll lock me up and study me like some newly discovered species. My grandmother tried to have me tested, and I faked every minute of it. I don’t want people to think I’m some kind of circus freak. I get enough of that in my daily life without this curse.”

  “Why do you think you’re a freak?” Toby signed.

  Matt looked up at the lone light fixture hanging from the ceiling. “I see the way people look at me when I use my hands to talk. If I use my voice, they look at me like I’m retarded.”

  Lauren reached out and touched his arm. “I’m sure you’re just overreacting.”

  “I don’t talk, and I don’t sign unless I’m with Simone or my grandfather. It’s just easier for me that way.”

  “Seriously?” Toby signed, unable to hide his irritation. “If you’re here looking for a pity party then you’ve picked the wrong people, kid. Detective King can testify that my son’s life is a thousand times more difficult than both yours and ours combined.” Toby’s bottom lip trembled. “We could all learn an important lesson from my son Benjamin. He lives each day like it’s his last because it just might be.” Toby fumed. “You just need to suck it up, play the hand you’re given, and count your blessings.”

  The room went quiet except for the hum of the central air conditioning cycling on.

  “I’ll tell you what really happened,” Matt said, suddenly feeling ashamed.

  The detective smiled assuringly at the teenager. “You’re amongst friends here, Matthew.”

  Matt took a deep breath to gain his composure. “So we get to our seats, and I ended up having another one of my episodes.”

  Toby leaned closer to the table. “You need to elaborate. We have no idea how your ability works.”

  “I don’t either,” Matt admitted. “So Simone’s father comes back to the seats with all the food; drinks, peanuts, and hot dogs. Just about every kind of food they sold there. He must have thought we hadn’t eaten in a week.”

  Lauren nodded.

  “He’s passing the food down the row,” Matt continued, “and he decides he’ll be funny, and he tosses me a hot dog instead of handing it to me. It slips out of the wrapper, the bun falls to the ground, and here comes this naked weenie flying in my direction.”

  Toby looked at Lauren who returned his gaze.

  “I don’t know when this thing is going to happen,” Matt admitted. “I don’t have any control over it. I pluck the hot dog out of mid-air and the next thing I know, I’m tracing it. I become completely disoriented. Have you ever seen how a hot dog is made, or ever wondered where the meat comes from? Everything they tell you is a lie. It’s disgusting. They’re made from ass and cheek meat ground up guts and bone.”

  Toby and the detective both winced.

  Matt drummed his fingers feverishly on the table as he recounted his story. “So, I see all of these disgusting images and the next thing I know, I’m being handcuffed out in centerfield. I have no idea how I got there, and I’m exhausted like I had just run a marathon.”

  Toby ran his fingers across his lips thoughtfully. “So what you’re telling us, is that this ridiculous chain of events was started by you grabbing hold of your weiner?”

  Lauren placed her hand over her mouth, but she still thought she peed a little bit.

  Matt drew an X over his heart. “Yes…yes, it was.”

  Toby grabbed a folded detention form out of his jacket pocket and handed Matt a pen. “Sign at the bottom, and I’ll fill out the rest of it.”

  Matt looked back and forth at the two police officers. “So I can go now?”

  “Just get out of here and take care of your girlfriend.” Toby gestured.

  Matt did as he was told and placed the pen on top of his signature. “I’m really sorry for all of the attitude, but I can’t let anyone find out about this thing. I just wish I could learn to control it. You don’t know how much I appreciate both of you keeping this our little secret.”

  “We’re going to talk again, Mr. Walker.” Toby signed. “Count on it.”

  Matt stood up and looked around the room. “This place is so intimidating. It’s a lot scarier than how they portray it on television. Thank you again for letting me go.” He said, strolling toward the door.

  “Don’t thank us,” Lauren said. “Thank Peter Mason. He’s the one who’s letting you off.”

  A devious grin crossed Matt’s lips as he held the door open to leave. “Don’t worry about that,” he assured them. “I plan on thanking Mr. Mason personally.”

  Toby and Lauren sat for an extra few minutes before either of them said a word. They knew that Matt might be watching through the glass to see their reactions.

  Finally, Lauren King decided enough time had passed. She covered her mouth as she spoke. “What do you think?”

  Toby made sure his back was to the window. “I don’t believe a single syllable.”

  40

  Matt burst through the glass doors of the police station and out into the crisp evening air. He inhaled deeply; proud that he had kept his secret safe. Matt trusted Detective King and Doctor Bilston and knew they were smart enough to see through his story, but the information traced from the baseball was far too valuable to share. If it was his destiny to bring his parent’s killer to justice, then he didn’t want the police interfering. More than ever, Matt believed that his curse might actually be a gift. It was reparation bestowed upon him as some sort of karmic tit for tat, and now his part of that deal needed to be fulfilled.

  Simone and her father followed close behind knowing that Matt wouldn’t be giving them any explanations for his behavior at the game. Simone knew what triggered him, but refrained from saying anything to her family. She understood that when Matt was ready, and they were alone, he would confide in her. At least she hoped he would.

  As they walked into the parking lot, Simone’s father reached out and tapped Matt on the shoulder and began to sign to him angrily. When he asked Matt how he had been released so fast without any consequences, Matt looked surprised. “You didn’t pay my fine?”

  Simone’s father shook his head. “Not me. It was three thousand dollars. Of course, I would have gladly paid it, but they told me it was already taken care of.”

  “That’s weird. Who would have paid for me?” Matt signed.

  “I guess you must have a guardian angel.” Simone’s father replied, by touching his shoulders and pivoting out his hands to mimic a pair of wings.

  Matt leaned against the family van and waited for the doors to unlock. Simone’s younger brother Donny was waiting in the car with strict instructions not to open the doors for anyone. Even though Matt tapped on the window and pointed to the lock, the little boy remained resolute and obeyed his father’s instructions.

  Simone’s brother had never been to a police station, much less this close to someone who had actually been arrested. It made the drive back home uncomfortable.

  Matt gazed out at the passing traffic on the expressway and contemplated what his next move would be. Every once in awhile, he would look over at Donny, who would be gawking at him as if he expected Matt to do something else nefarious.

  The lights of downtown Jacksonville were beginning to blink on, and reflected across the inky b
lackness of the Saint John’s River. Matt watched the northern flowing water shimmer like multi-colored diamonds, and wondered who he could confide in besides Simone. Who else did he trust enough to tell about the baseball? Simone would want to know, that was a given. He would confide in her back at the house. Matt wondered how much time the detective and doctor would give him before they came knocking on his door again. Not very much, he presumed.

  As the car turned south on Interstate ninety-five, Matt looked to the west. The sky was draped in hot pink gauze, and the sun was a bright orange disk half-submerged over the horizon. The drive seemed endless as the headlights of the oncoming cars came to life. The ballpark was far behind them, like the day’s events, solemnly retreating into the darkening sky. He thought of how quiet it must be inside the ballpark now, with only the cleaning crews at work. Should he gamble sneaking back to the ballpark later to see if there was anything else in the locker room he could trace? The more he thought about it, the riskier it seemed. The last thing he wanted was to get arrested again. Doctor Bilston and Detective King would never trust him again.

  Matt could feel a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his body. He finally had a sense of purpose to his life. The trail of his parents’ killer had been revealed. Now it was up to him to follow the breadcrumbs. Matt reached into his jacket pocket and touched the baseball. The sensation it relayed was still there and as vivid as ever. Looking over at Simone’s’ little brother, the kid was busily thumbing through the team program from this afternoon. Matt felt his back pocket and realized he had probably lost his copy sometime during the chase on the field. He signed to Donny asking if he could borrow the magazine for a minute. Reluctantly, the boy handed it over. Matt thanked him and opened the magazine, but reading the print in the light from passing cars was difficult. He flipped through the pages looking for the team roster. It didn’t take him long to find the face that was haunting him. He turned past an advertisement for a local car dealer and there he was, set alphabetically amongst the younger faces on the page, listed as the batting coach. Anthony Magnetti—Matt finally had a name. How ironic that he was the batting coach. Ironic, or calculated? It was the perfect cover to use when traveling from city to city. The killer’s picture smiled up at Matt from the wrinkled pages of the Jengu’s program. It was a confident smile, a smile Matt planned to erase.

  Fifteen minutes later, the van turned a corner and Matt knew that they had reached his street. The trees that lined the block were bathed in the misty glow of the street lights. Simone’s father pulled into the driveway and looked in the rearview mirror at Matt. He turned and signed to him. “Do you want me to come in?”

  Matt shook his head from side to side as he opened the car door. He walked up to Simone’s window and stuck his head inside. Her father continued to sign to him. “I’m not going to tell your grandfather what happened today because the police let you go. You should be honest with him and say something.”

  Matt leaned past Simone and shook her father’s hand. He didn’t sign; he spoke the words “thank you.” Tapping Simone on her shoulder, Matt signed to her below the door where her father couldn’t see. “Can you come back over tonight?” She didn’t want to sign her response, so she just winked at him. “Give me two hours,” he continued to sign where only Simone could see. Walking around the front of the car, he waved to the rest of the family through the windshield. Simone wasn’t sure of how she was going to get out, but she knew that whatever Matt wanted, it had to be significant.

  Walking up the porch steps, Matt waved a last time to Simone and her family. Unlocking the front door, he entered the house to find the living room empty. It was business as usual. His grandfather was probably upstairs asleep with the television on. Matt walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of flavored water from the refrigerator. He looked at the label as he took a long slug from the bottle, wishing he’d had more of those electrolytes when he ran out onto the field.

  The clock on the kitchen wall read eight thirty-five. If Simone could slip away from her house, he figured she would probably be back by ten. Tossing the empty bottle into the recycle bin in the corner, Matt was startled when he turned to see his grandfather standing at the kitchen entrance.

  “Grandpa, I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I heard you come it,” replied the old man. “I wanted to find out how it went at the ballgame.”

  “You scared me,” Matt admitted. “You need to flicker the light switch to let me know you’re there.”

  His grandfather opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of apple ale. He never took his eyes off of Matt the entire time. “You seem jumpy. What’s the matter?”

  “It’s been a long day, I’m tired,” Matt said. “How was your day?”

  The old man pulled a chair away from the kitchen table and straddled it backward. “Interesting.”

  Matt leaned against the sink. “How so?”

  Dave Walker took a long pull from his drink. “Not every day my grandson makes the six o’clock news.”

  All the color drained out of Matt’s face. “It was on the news?”

  His grandfather was stone-faced. “Imagine my surprise.”

  “Grandpa I…”

  “Sit down,” the old man said calmly, as he slid another chair with his foot in Matt’s direction.

  “I can explain,” Matt admitted, as he sat down.

  “I don’t need any explanation,” his grandfather said. “Besides, you can’t explain the unexplainable, am I right?”

  Matt nodded.

  “Are you alright?”

  Matt nodded again. “Yes, grandpa, I’m okay.”

  There was a long silence before Matt’s grandfather spoke. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Matt shook his head. “Probably be better if I didn’t. I know your intentions are good, grandpa, but I think this is something I have to figure out for myself.”

  Dave Walker stared at the half-empty bottle of apple ale. “Would you talk if it was your grandmother sitting here instead of me?”

  Matt looked across the table, and for the first time, he saw a desperate sadness in his grandfather’s eyes. He reached out and took the old man’s hand. Over thirty years of memories and experiences flashed through Matt’s head. So much laughter and so many tears, a lifetime of emotions almost too intense for anyone to bear passed in mere seconds. There was the love of a lifetime and her passing, the loss of a son, the burden of all of his choices right or wrong…then emptiness. All that remained was a void as dark as the deepest hole. Dave Walker was lost in the darkness with a climb so severe that it would be insurmountable without someone else’s help.

  “Don’t talk like that, Grandpa. This has nothing to do with missing Grandma. I wish she were here every day, but I’m so glad that you’re here for me.”

  The old man gently removed his hand from Matt’s grip.

  “I really want to tell you what happened today, but if I involve you, it could get complicated.”

  “Complicated? How so?”

  “Criminally,” Matt said, reluctantly.

  The old man raised an eyebrow as he leaned forward against the back of his chair. “Like misdemeanor, criminally?”

  Matt looked down at the kitchen table uncomfortably. “I’m guessing more of the felony type.”

  Dave Walker sat silently while his grandson waited for some kind of response. WWBD—what would Barbara do? It was the same question that he found himself asking daily. How would she deal with a mistake on a credit card bill? How would she handle the neighbor who trespassed into their backyard to steal mangoes? “What have you gotten yourself into?” He asked.

  “Do you really want to know?” Matt asked.

  His grandfather’s lips wiggled back and forth as he deliberated. “I think I do.”

  A small smile creased Matt’s face. “What you don’t know, you can�
�t be held responsible for,” Matt warned.

  Dave Walker leaned forward. “I’ve been an observer in your life for far too long. I think it’s time I get involved.”

  Matt got up and hugged his grandfather so hard, the old man’s chair rocked on its front legs. “Thank you, Grandpa,” he whispered in the old man’s ear, “I could really use your help.”

  It felt awkward for a second, but Dave Walker found undeniable contentment in wrapping his arms around his grandson’s torso. There was a bond that felt so familiar, and one he regretted not realizing until now.

  Matt spent the next half hour recounting the day’s events. There were times where the old man covered his mouth in shock, but more often than not just listened in disbelief. He knew that his grandson believed what he saw, but there was nothing that could stand up in a court of law.

  Dealing with the supernatural wasn’t new to Dave Walker; his wife Barbara was always reading his mind and finishing his sentences. He chalked it up to being soul-mates, but never questioned if it could be more than that. Was it genetic? Did it skip generations like the twins gene? One thing for sure: Matt was convinced that he had found the fugitive that had escaped justice for over a dozen years. But was this a ride the elder Walker wanted to get on, or should he nip this in the bud before his grandson jeopardized his future? WWBD? The answer came to him in his wife’s soft voice whispering prophetically in his ear.

  “Let’s get the bastard that killed my family,” the old man growled. “What do you need from me?”

  Matt was taken aback by his grandfather’s language. A sense of determination came over the old man like Matt had never witnessed before. “Are you sure, grandpa? A lot of people would think I’m crazy.”

  His grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “Sometimes crazy is good. What do you need?”

  Matt patted the back of his grandfather’s hand and smiled proudly. There was a renewed sense of determination and zest for life in his grandfather’s demeanor. “I think I have a plan.”