The Tear Collector

by Shawn Burgess

  “This is crazy, Brady. You sound really crazy right now.”

  “I know what it sounds like. I do. But I needed to warn you. This thing can change. Change what it looks like. Change what it is. Your parents are right about one thing. Stay out of the woods, especially Grief Hollow.”

  “You’re scaring me, Brady.”

  “You should be scared. This thing’s smart and it’s not going to stop.” Angela bites her bottom lip and her brows furrow.

  “That’s not what I mean. You are scaring me. I think something’s wrong with you. I think you need to see a doctor.” Her heart races, her eyes mapping a path to her bedroom door.

  Brady’s eyelids droop and his shoulders slump. “Angela, I’m not crazy. We’re best friends. I needed to warn you.”

  “Brady, the only reason I let you in here is because we were best friends. But that was over six years ago. I moved on. I had to move on.” Angela’s voice crackles as it wilts, resigned acceptance in her tone.

  Brady drops his head and his face droops into a frown. “You don’t believe me.”

  “I mean, come on? Who would believe that story?”

  “But it’s true, Angela. There was a finger with this black stuff on it. Professor Wadlow looked—”

  “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “Get out of my room. Get out of my house.”

  “But Angela, this thing is coming and—”

  “Brady, I hope you get the help you need, I really do. But I can’t help you with this. You need to go now.”

  “Angela, I don’t need help. It’s going to happen—”

  “Get out now! Get out now or I’m going to scream.” Her body trembles like a cornered animal.

  “Angela, I just want to help.” Brady outstretches an arm to her shoulder.

  Angela recoils from his hand and takes a few steps backward. Her body shakes, but remains poised, ready to burst into a running retreat at any second. A dejected frown overtakes Brady’s face. His wilting eyes meet hers. Her lips quiver. His frown deepens and his eyes glisten as he registers what’s written in her eyes. Their friendship is over.

  “Okay. I’m going. Just stay out of the woods.”

  “Don’t come back, Brady.”

  Brady climbs out the window. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother you again.” His wounded words hang in the air as he disappears into the night.

  Angela rushes to the window and slams it shut, tears streaming from her eyes. She locks the latch and pulls her curtains. She retreats to her bed where she wraps herself in her comforter, still shaking from the encounter.

  Chapter 25

  Excavation

  DETECTIVE HOLT TAKES a big swig of his black coffee as he pulls into the station. He’s still tired, his eyes painted red from the lack of sleep. Troubling cases like this fracture his sleep, breaking it apart with intermittent bouts of restless stirring. The sun climbs to the first rung of the horizon as he exits his car. He lets out a groggy yawn, his body unaccustomed to arriving at work at this early hour, but a sense of obligation to work as many hours as possible on the Margo Combs disappearance prods him. And work does provide him an escape from dealing with his own life, the cruel reality of losing a first child. Kirsten’s recent sleeping patterns mimic his own, her fresh wounds festering and her pain palpable. It grows in every cold corner of their home.

  As he walks into the police station, an old Tucker Jacobs song peppers the air with Mississippi Delta twang and Officer Morrow sings, “I did it all for you, baby…till you said we was through, baby, ain’t that the truth, baby.”

  Officer Clancy’s at his desk as well, not unexpected as Holt asked both men to work overtime.

  Holt walks into the row of cubicles. “Can you turn that down?”

  “Yeah. No problem, Holt.” Morrow presses pause on his CD player.

  Clancy grins. “Thank you! That crap’s killing me.”

  “Lance, you wouldn’t know good music if it slapped you in the face.”

  “Pretty sure that ain’t it. Holt, that Myron Thompson kid. His mom just called the station ‘bout fifteen minutes ago in somewhat of a panic. Said that Myron hasn’t been home, and they haven’t heard from him in days. Said they want to report him missing.”

  “Dammit! Got to be kidding me. The press is going to kill us for sure. Chief picked a hell of a week to take a vacation.”

  Morrow nods. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “Did you tell ‘em to come into the station?”

  “She sounded pretty drunk. Guessing not in any shape to drive. I told her we’d be out in a bit.”

  “Okay, good.”

  Clancy turns in his chair to Holt, a smile creeping into the corners of his lips. “So, did you talk to Latravious Wadlow?”

  “Yeah, but it was a bizarre conversation. Not sure he’s playing with a full deck.”

  “Oh yeah? What happened?” Clancy rubs his hands together like he’s warming them over a fire.

  “First off, you wanna guess who was leaving his house when I got there?”

  “Kasey Norton with Channel 4 News.” The words spill out of Clancy like an impulse flung from his tongue.

  “No.” Holt draws his head back and his face crinkles. “Why would you guess that? What is it with you and that reporter, Lance?”

  “I don’t know.” Clancy blushes. “I just thought if Latravious is involved with Margo’s disappearance, maybe the reporter figured it out.”

  “Well, it wasn’t Kasey Norton with Channel 4 News… It was Brady Palmer.”

  Morrow lifts his eyes from his paperwork. “Well, if that ain’t the most unlikely pair.”

  “Seriously? What was he doing over there?”

  “I’m not sure, but Latravious handed him something in the doorway. A glass vial, I think.”

  Clancy tilts his head. “You don’t suppose they’re mixed up in some kinda drug ring, do ya?”

  Morrow laughs. “A drug ring? Moving product in a vial?”

  “You got a better explanation, Charles?” Color floods Clancy’s cheeks.

  “Could be anything, ‘specially based on Latravious’ background. How do they even know each other, Holt?”

  “Said he visited Brady a couple of times at Longfellow Juvenile Detention Center. Said he read about him in the papers and took an interest in the boy. But what I can’t figure is why a recluse feels compelled to visit a stranger at juvenile hall.”

  Clancy scrunches his lips. “Why’d he say he visited him?”

  “Gave some vague and convoluted answer about paths being intertwined or something like that.”

  “Sounds like he’s hiding something.”

  “Charles, I’m telling you, this guy’s answers were all over the place. Can’t tell if he’s lying, hiding something, crazy, or what. I want you to call over to Longfellow, Lance. Request a copy of the visitation log for Brady Palmer. Let’s see if his story checks out.”

  “No problem, Holt. I’ll get right on it.” Clancy gets the phone number from his computer, grabs his phone and dials.

  “Charles, can you get over to Myron Thompson’s house? Go ahead and take a statement from the mom and sister. I’d like to keep this one under wraps for a few more hours if possible.”

  “I’ll do my best. The mom’s kind of a loose cannon. Might go to the press.”

  “Just do what you can.”

  “Will do, Holt.” Morrow grabs his coffee and walks to the door.

  Clancy hunches forward in his chair and presses the telephone receiver to his ear. “So, you do see his name on the log. Well, how many times did he visit?”

  Holt sits at his desk and starts his computer. He takes another big swig of his coffee, fighting off a yawn.

  “Wait, did you say three or forty-three? Realllly…” Clancy cups the bottom of the phone with his palm and swivels in his chair to face Holt. “Holt, Longfellow Detention Center says that Wadlow visited Brady forty-three times.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. That�
�s a hell of a lot more than a couple. Have ‘em send over a copy of that log, Lance.”

  The phone rings on Detective Holt’s desk, and he answers it.

  “Hello, Detective Holt here.”

  Detective Holt waits for a response, but no one replies. There’s a crackling of static, before a little girl lets out a muted giggle.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  Again, there’s silence, but it’s soon replaced with the hum of static. The static levels off, and the little girl’s giggling begins again.

  “This is a police line. You can get in a lot of trouble for this! You hear me?”

  The giggling returns even louder.

  “What do you want?”

  “You,” the little girl whispers before she begins giggling again.

  “This isn’t funny! Stop laughing! I’m warning you…”

  The intensity of the giggling ratchets up and distorts, morphing into a deeper, raspier voice.

  Holt cups the receiver on his phone. “Lance, get a trace on line one.”

  Holt places his mouth back to the receiver. “What the hell is so funny?”

  The voice hisses a whisper. “If they burn, they won’t return.”

  “What did you just say?”

  There’s more static before the voice replies louder. “If they burn, they won’t return.”

  Holt’s stomach plummets and his face blanches. His eyes grow wide, his hand trembles and his mind races.

  “Holt, there’s no one on line one. Are you sure you got the line, right?”

  Even though the phone slides away from his ear, the uncontrollable giggling coming through the receiver remains audible. Line one flashes on his phone. Detective Holt slams the phone down to end the call.

  “Holt, who was that? Holt…What’s wrong?”

  Detective Holt’s mouth hangs ajar, but no words come. He hasn’t heard those words in over six years. He heard those words once, and he never repeated them. A flood of memories crash into him like powerful waves. His mind plays images of the past. A severely burned and traumatized eleven-year-old boy says that a voice told him, if they burn, they won’t return. Brady claimed that’s why he did it, set off that chain of events that forever changed the course of his life and ended Misty’s.

  Detective Holt knew killers, and Brady Palmer was no killer. At the time, Detective Holt omitted Brady’s peculiar statement from his police report for fear of stacking the deck against a boy he presumed innocent of anything malicious. But given this phone call, Detective Holt wonders. Did Brady share those words with someone else? Perhaps, Brady told Latravious Wadlow, and Latravious orchestrated the call.

  “Holt, are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” His voice travels on a big exhale of breath, a nonplussed expression shrink-wrapped to his chalky-white face. Holt swallows hard.

  “Who was that?”

  “Prank caller.” Holt’s utterance perishes in the air, his eyes dimming like dying stars.

  “There was nobody on the line. I checked it on Stingray. All the lines were dormant.”

  “Must be a glitch in the software.”

  Clancy shakes his head. “Weird. What did they say?”

  “They didn’t say anything. Just laughing.”

  “But it sounded like you were talking to someone.”

  “Thought they may have said something, but it was just laughing.”

  “Holt, you don’t look so good. Maybe you should take a day off. Me and Charles can handle this.”

  Holt’s jaw goes rigid and he huffs. “Lance, I’m fine, okay?”

  “Okay, okay. Just worried about you is all. I know you and Kirsten are going through a lot right now.”

  “We’re fine. I’m fine. Can we just drop it?”

  “Yeah. No problem, Holt.”

  The phone starts ringing again, drawing Detective Holt’s eyes. Line one flashes, taunting him. The phone continues ringing. His stomach plummets.

  “You want me to grab that?”

  “No. I’ll get it.” Detective Holt picks up the phone and slowly raises it to his ear. “Harper Pass Police Office, Detective Holt here.” There’s nothing but silence on the other end of the phone. Holt pulls the receiver close to his mouth. “I don’t know who you are, but I’ve had about enough of your damn gam—”

  “Detective Holt. Just the man I wanted to talk to. Sorry, accidentally muted the phone. This is Frank Gibbs with the State Fish and Wildlife Service. Sounds like you’re having a day.”

  “Hey, Frank. Sorry. Just some kids prank calling the station.”

  “So, I hear you had a bear attack yesterday.”

  “Yes. Well, maybe. We’re not really sure. That’s why we wanted you to come out.”

  “Isn’t really much else it could be based on what I’ve already seen from the photos, but I’ll take a look. Listen, I’m about twenty minutes out. There some place I can grab a quick bite before headin’ over? I’m starving.”

  “Uh, yeah. I guess. The Cracked Egg. It’s on Main and 5th.”

  “’Preciate that, Detective. Shouldn’t be more than about forty-five minutes. So, the body. You got that at your place?”

  “No. The body’s at Jenson Funeral Home.”

  “On ice I hope?” Frank’s question widens Holt’s eyes.

  “Yeees.” Holt’s drawn-out inflection unveils his thoughts on the oddity of the question.

  “Whew. Three weeks ago, I had a real stinker. Over in Calhoun. Some ole boy out huntin’ fell into a moccasin pit. Must’ve got snake bit fifty times. They didn’t find him for four days. And man alive, the smell was enough to sicken a skunk.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well okay then, Detective. I’ll see you at your place soon.”

  “We’ll be here. See you soon then.”

  Chapter 26

  Intersections

  “SO, WHAT’D YOU need me to bring a fishin’ pole for?” Tee holds the Cast Master 5000 his father purchased for him from TV. I’d seen the very same infomercial promising it as the most important piece of fishing equipment you’ll ever own.

  Devin gives a subtle grin. “I got an idea. But let’s wait for Robby.”

  We’re all standing out in my driveway. I yawn, still tired from the long night. The details of my evening claw at my insides, yearning for release. But what do I say? Margo was in my bathroom last night…but wasn’t. They’ll think I’m crazy.

  Tee cocks his head at me. “What’s with you, Brooks? You’re like a zombie this morning.”

  “It was a long night.”

  “What’s that on your arm?” Devin’s brows rise as he points to my wrist. “Is that a hospital bracelet?”

  I lift my arm like I’m checking a watch. I’m still wearing the band around my wrist from my hospital admission the night before.

  “Dude! You go to the hospital last night?” Tee’s words erupt, his eyes wide with anticipation.

  “My mom was worried I might have a concussion.”

  Devin narrows his eyes on me.

  “Why’s that? I thought you were fine.”

  I avert my eyes from Devin’s and glimpse Robby pedaling the hill on his bike. “There’s Robby.”

  Tee flashes a grin. “’Bout time you showed, Robby.”

  “Cool it, dork. I don’t live right around the corner like you.” Robby wipes away the sweat from his brow.

  “S’up, Robby?” Devin gives him a fist bump before Robby turns to us.

  “What’s up with you, guys? You ready to get to the bottom of this Wadlow thing?”

  A wide grin spreads on Tee’s face. “Aww man, do we got a story to tell you.”

  Robby looks me over. “What the hell happened to you, Brooks?”

  “Your boy went to the hospital last night!” Tee blurts out.

  “What? Why?”

  Devin tips his chin into the air. “Run in with Sammy and Bo on the way back from your place yesterday.”

  “Dev knocked Bo out, and I think he broke Sammy’s ar
m.” Tee throws a couple of spirited air jabs.

  “Whaaat? What happened?”

  “Sammy and Bo were hiding in the woods. They had a rope stretched across the road. They pulled it tight right before I was about to cross over it.”

  Tee sweeps his arm through the air. “Knocked him clean off his bike!”

  “Yeah, check it out.” I lift my shirt to reveal the rope burn across my chest.

  “Ooh, damn.” Robby surveys my wound.

  “That’s not all. Look at his elbows, bro.” Devin motions his eyes to me.

  “That’s jacked up. I hate those guys. Seriously.” Robby shakes his head and grits his teeth.

  “Dev got ‘em good though,” Tee adds with a grin.

  “Bo had me locked up and Dev came running up.”

  “Knocked the crap out of him with his skateboard!” Tee takes an exaggerated step and swings an imaginary skateboard through the air.

  Devin chuckles. “That Bo kid fell like a ton of bricks.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Then Sammy charges Dev.” Tee puffs out his cheeks and belly, adding imaginary weight to his scrawny frame. He synchronizes thudding sound effects with his plodding steps.

  “Yeah. And Dev hit him in the arm with his skateboard!” I slap my hands together making a loud clap.

  A wide grin overtakes Tee’s face. “Man, you should’ve seen Sammy Needles crying.”

  “Dev saved me.”

  “Guess I wasn’t quick enough, Brooks. Seeing as how you had to go to the hospital.”

  “That’s not really why my mom took me. Something else happened. Later that night.”

  “What?” Tee’s wide eyes land on mine. Devin turns to me.

  “What happened, man?”

  “I saw Margo.”

  “Shut the front door.” Devin’s eyes grow wide.

  “I don’t even know how to explain this. It was like a dream. I was taking a shower. I started singing.”

  Tee snickers. “You’re such a dork. Singing in the shower.”

  “No. Wait, listen. Then I heard a girl sing the next line in the song. Freaked me out so bad. But there was no one there. I thought I was losing it.” The other boys’ eyes seem to inflate with my own. “Then I get out of the shower. I’m thinking I imagined it, right? I brush my teeth, spit out the toothpaste, and there’s Margo, in my mirror. But she’s not really there. Because she’s not standing behind me.”