The Tear Collector

by Shawn Burgess

  “What the hell?” Robby’s words escape on an exhaled breath.

  “But I turn back around and she’s still there! In the mirror!” Tee’s eyes inflate like balloons, a fidget falling to his foot. “She said to come home. To Grief Hollow. That she had made a place for me there. I was trying to get out the door, but I was locked inside the bathroom. Next thing I know, she’s standing in the bathroom behind me.”

  Robby shakes his head. “That can’t be.”

  “But it happened. I was screaming and trying to get out. She grabbed me, and then my mom opened the door. I rolled out, looked back and she was gone. My mom was so worried about me; she took me to the hospital.”

  Tee shakes his head with wide eyes. “But how can we have the same dream? That’s not possible.”

  “Because it wasn’t a dream, Tee! It really happened.” I stretch my shirt by my collar, exposing the blistered imprint of four fingers on my skin.

  “What the fuck!” Devin’s eyes bulge, the physical evidence adding somber punctuation to my story.

  “It’s where she grabbed me. You saw her, too?”

  A rolling tremor passes through Tee. “I’m so not cool with this. What the hell’s going on? This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Margo. It looked like Margo, but it didn’t.”

  Robby tilts his head at me. “What do you mean?”

  “Did she have a blue swirl in her eyes?” Tee’s voice trembles.

  “Yes! Oh my god, you really did see it too!”

  “But I was asleep. It was a dream. I woke up screaming. I sweated through my sheets.”

  Devin shakes his head. “This is like ‘nother level freaky!”

  Robby’s eyes meet mine. “What was it that Brady said the other day?”

  “Stay out of Grief Hollow.”

  Robby shakes his head. “No, the other thing.”

  “Said it can be what it wants to be.” Tee’s words come out slow and measured.

  “That’s right! He said it can make you see things.” What the hell’s going on?

  “Guys, what do you suppose that IT is?” Devin’s voice quavers.

  I give a slow head shake. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s not friendly.”

  Robby bites his lip for a moment. “Thought Brady was crazy. Maybe he’s not.”

  Devin nods. “And maybe he does know something.”

  Robby turns to Tee. “Angela was best friends with Brady, right?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Tee, it might be the only way to figure out what’s going on.”

  “Figure out what’s going on? Do you hear yourself? There’s no way to figure out what’s going on. There’s no explanation for this stuff.”

  “But if you could talk to Angela, maybe—”

  “I said no, man!”

  “Tee, Robby’s right. Just ask her if she’s talked to him.” Tee scowls at my urging.

  “This ain’t the Hardy Boys. This shit’s getting real weird, real fast.”

  “Dude, she’s your sister. What’s the big deal?” Robby argues, narrowing his eyes on Tee.

  “It is a big deal. Brady was a big deal. It about killed her when he went to juvie. He was her best friend. I can’t bring that up again.”

  “It’s been like seven years.”

  “I know, but you don’t know how bad it was.”

  “Come on, Tee. How bad could it have been?”

  “She tried to kill herself, alright man!”

  “Oh my god!” The utterance sails from my mouth, and it remains hanging open.

  “After he went to juvie, my dad wouldn’t let her see him. She got in a really dark place. After a couple of months, she took a bunch of pills and tried to kill herself.”

  Robby’s posture wilts. “Tee, I’m sorry. You know—I didn’t know, man.”

  “Nobody knows. And it better damn well stay that way.”

  “Of course, man.”

  “Not a word.” Devin presses his thumb and forefinger together and runs them over his lips like a zipper.

  I shake my head as Tee’s eyes meet mine. “Never, man.”

  “And since we’re sharing secrets.” Tee continues to hold me in his gaze. “Tell Robby what you told us yesterday.”

  “What’s that?”

  “About the backpack.”

  “This goes without saying, Robby, but you can’t repeat this. I could get into a lot of trouble.”

  “No way, man.”

  “So, when Myron and Sammy got me the other day, Myron took my backpack. The police detective wanted me to show him where I last saw Margo. They found my backpack near a bunch of blood. Said it might be a crime scene.”

  “That’s nuts. Why didn’t you just tell us?”

  “The detective warned me not to tell anyone. Said I could get in a bunch of trouble if I did.”

  “Do they think it was Margo’s blood?”

  “They weren’t sure. They were going to have it tested.”

  “So that’s why Seth, Shane, and Cam were saying that Sammy was so pissed at you?”

  Tee nods. “Yeah, he thinks Brooks ratted him to the police.”

  “But I didn’t. They just asked me if I’d ever seen Sammy pick on Margo. But we’ve all seen that.” Tee and Robby nod. Robby’s eyes connect with mine.

  “Bet they think he killed her.”

  “They’re not going to stop. They’re going to be coming even harder for us, now.”

  A small grin appears on Devin’s face. “The best way to stop bullies is to beat them at their own game.”

  “What do you mean, Dev?” Tee asks.

  “We make it so there are consequences—real consequences—for them coming after us. Then, they’ll move on.”

  “I don’t want to get into any trouble.”

  “I’m not talking about trouble, Tee. I’m talking about outsmarting them.”

  “So, what’s your plan?” I ask.

  “Come with me fellas, I’ve got something to show you.” A mischievous grin slips onto Devin’s lips.

  Chapter 27

  Examination

  “YOU’RE LATE.” Frank Gibbs lifts a brow at Detective Holt’s barbed wire tone.

  “Well, hey to you too, Detective Holt.”

  Holt’s eyes cut into Frank Gibbs as he adjusts his waistband on his girthy midsection. “I left the station almost an hour ago when you called and said you were leaving The Cracked Egg.”

  “Sorry. Got tangled up with a slice of pecan pie back there.” A goofy smile spreads across Frank’s pudgy face. “Hey, you didn’t tell me they had such good desserts there.”

  “It’s nine in the morning.”

  “Never too early for a good dessert. Spice of life, I tell ya.”

  Holt surveys Frank’s untidy appearance, noting his half-untucked shirt and his gelatinous belly that hangs over the waistband of his faded blue jeans, collecting in his shirt above his belt. Christ. Looks like he’s never missed a meal. Hard to imagine his expertise extends beyond competitive eating. Holt grumbles and shakes his head.

  “Follow me.” Holt leads Frank into the funeral home, a band of tension pulling tighter with each of Frank’s plodding steps.

  “You get the body out?” The trailing voice grates him as the two men descend the stairs to the basement. Holt stops in his tracks and buries his eyes into Frank’s.

  “Yeah, we got the body out, thirty minutes ago. Mr. Latrell’s waiting. I’ve been waiting.”

  Frank tosses his hands.

  “He’s already dead, Detective. What’s the big hurry?”

  Holt’s face splotches red, and his words spew sharp as frostbite from his icy tongue. “I’ve got two active missing persons investigations. Not like I have a bunch of free time.”

  “Okay, okay. I get it. Sorry.”

  The men file into a basement room.

  “Just tell me what happened to John Watson.”

  The remains of J
ohn Watson lie out on a stainless-steel embalming table in the center of the room. One of the fluorescent lights above loops a continuous flicker, but the fixture affords enough light for the examination. A row of refrigerated slide-out lockers lines the wall behind the embalming table. One of the locker doors protrudes into the room, its steel rollaway table extended. Mr. Latrell, an older man wearing coke-bottle eyeglasses, lifts his head. Wearing a mask and apron, he stands by the body.

  Frank walks forward and extends his hand. “I’m Frank Gibbs, State Fish and Wildlife.”

  Mr. Latrell raises his blue gloved hands. “Mr. Gibbs, probably not the most sanitary to shake your hand as I’ve been prepping the body.”

  “True, true. Wow. He really did get quite the vicious attack.” Frank’s eyes glimmer as he surveys the remains.

  “Here’s some gloves and an apron.” Mr. Latrell passes them to Frank.

  “Thanks. How long did you say this attack lasted for?”

  “Two minutes, tops. We ran there as fast as we could after we heard the shots.”

  Frank slips on the apron and the gloves. “Did you see the bear?”

  “No, and we couldn’t find any bear tracks either. Just some large tracks, almost like a chicken but much bigger.” Holt shows Frank the cast of the track they found. Frank’s eyes linger on it for a second before he disregards it as nothing more than random indentations they found in the earth. No animal makes a track resembling the cast.

  “I got to tell you, these wounds don’t look like what we typically see in bear attacks. Nope, not at all.” Frank slides his gloved fingers over the perimeter of a wound on John Watson’s chest. Holt cocks his head.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s very unusual to see limbs severed like this from a bear attack.”

  “Well, you think it could be something else then?”

  “Not really anything in this part of the state, or the whole state really, that can do this kind of damage that quickly.”

  “Some of the wounds to his back are also very deep. Wide, as well.” Frank’s head perks and his eyes meet Mr. Latrell’s. “I measured several, the deepest of which was 173mm.”

  “That’s interesting. That’d also be very uncharacteristic for a bear. You know if anyone who lives around here might have any kind of exotic pets?”

  “Exotic pets?” Detective Holt tilts his head slowly at Frank. “What do you mean?”

  “Lions. Tigers. Panthers. Anything like that?”

  “Mostly simple folk here, really. Most everyone couldn’t afford something like that even if they wanted one.”

  Mr. Latrell nods. “Even if someone did get something like that, hard to imagine they’d be able to keep that secret in this town.”

  Frank slides his hands under John Watson’s shoulders. “Can we turn him over?”

  “Yes. Can you give us a hand, Holt? There are some gloves right there.” Mr. Latrell points to a glove dispenser on the wall.

  “Did you uncover anything on the body that might indicate foul play?”

  “Not conclusively, no.” Holt struggles to slide his damp hands into the gloves, the ends of the fingers resembling reservoir tips. He gives each a gentle pull from the wrist.

  “The deep wounds in the back. They’re odd. I’m no bear expert, but they seem to be more like the depth of a knife than a bear’s claws or teeth. But they’re also not consistent with a knife.”

  Frank lifts a brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Let me show you. All right. So, what we’re gonna need to do is roll the body up on its side. I will take the head and shoulders. Frank, you can get his legs.”

  “You mean leg,” Frank quips with a grin.

  “Show a little decorum for God’s sake.”

  Frank frowns, averting his eyes from Holt’s cutting glare.

  “And Holt? Holt, if you can push on his torso when we get the body on its side.”

  Holt recoils his hand from the body. “He’s stiff as a board.”

  “Yeah. The rigor mortis has set in pretty good. All right, let’s do this.”

  The men gather around the embalming table. Mr. Latrell grips John Watson’s shoulders and Frank Gibbs grips John Watson’s right leg and left thigh. The two hoist the body onto its side, and Detective Holt pushes the body until it settles face down on the table.

  “This is what I was talking about.” Mr. Latrell points to the wounds on John Watson’s back.

  “Damn! You weren’t kidding. Looks like somebody hit him over and over with a mace.”

  Mr. Latrell shakes his head. “Doesn’t make any sense. You ever seen anything like this?”

  “Nope. Never anything like this. Wasn’t a bear, I can tell you that much.”

  Holt whips his head to Frank Gibbs. “How do you know?”

  “The shape of these wounds isn’t consistent at all. Like I said, looks like he was hit by a mace repeatedly. The wounds are deep, wide and triangular in shape. I’d expect to see narrow slashes and flesh possibly torn away. But these wounds are clean.”

  “What about more than one bear?”

  “Still would have the hallmarks of a bear attack even if it was more than one. Look at the contusions around the surrounding tissue of the wounds. Whatever hit this man, hit him with tremendous force.”

  “So, if it’s not a bear, then what kind of animal could do this?”

  Frank levels his eyes on Holt. “I don’t think it’s an animal at all. I think you have a murderer on your hands.”

  Chapter 28

  Unpacking

  WE MOVE THROUGH the towers of moving boxes in Devin’s room, each of us focusing on a different stack, tearing away packaging tape.

  Devin lets out a deep sigh through his nose. “Dammit! This isn’t it either. I can’t remember which box.” He opens another moving box as I survey the daunting task.

  “They all look the same.”

  Tee plunders through packing paper inside of one of the boxes. “What are we looking for, anyway?”

  “Yeah man, seriously.” Robby lifts his eyes to Devin. “It might help if we knew what we were looking for.”

  “Just keep opening them up.” Devin runs the blade of a pair of scissors through the taped seam of another box.

  “Dude, just more movies here.” Tee’s fingers lock onto one of the DVDs in the box. “Ah sweet! Transformers. That movie kicks ass.”

  Devin’s eyes light up. “Found them.”

  His hands disappear inside the moving box, a big grin on his face. He lifts two assault rifles out of the box. Tee’s eyes bulge.

  “Holy shit man! You’ve lost it. I ain’t killin’ nobody.”

  I narrow my eyes on him. “Dev, you should put those away.”

  “Chillax dudes. They’re paintball guns.”

  “Those are freakin’ awesome!” Robby yanks his hands free of his box and skitters to Devin.

  “Oh wait. There’s more.” Devin’s eyes gleam as he pulls out two more assault-rifle style paintball guns and two paintball pistols. He lays them on the carpet.

  Tee chuckles. “Damn, Dev. Looks like you’re ready for World War III.”

  Devin winks at Tee. “Precisely.”

  I survey the armament on the floor. “Why do you even have all of these?”

  “Used to play paintball back in San Diego. At the Park. We’d have all-out wars, man. It’s a blast, but they hurt like a mother when they hit your skin.” A mischievous grin slips onto his lips.

  Tee twists his closed lips to one side and tilts his head in the opposite direction. “So, what does this have to do with a fishing pole?”

  Devin chuckles out his response. “I’m so glad you asked.”

  My eyelids jar wide, and I inhale a deep breath through my nose. “Dude, you’re not thinking we’re going to shoot up Sammy, Bo and Myron, are you?”

  “Bullies don’t stop until they’ve met their match. We’re going to show them they can’t mess with us.”

  Robby grabs one of the paintb
all rifles and funnels a squinty eye through the sights. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “So, the way I figure it, we set up somewhere we know they’re going to come through. We hide on the edge of the woods. Like the Neanderthals did to us yesterday.” Devin pulls out a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket. Tee locks eyes with it.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Bait.”

  “Oh yeah!” Robby’s eyes gleam above his wide grin.

  “We put it on the end of the fishing line. When they go to pick up the money, we reel it back in towards the woods.”

  “Then we spring the trap!” Robby mimics a recoiling gun as he moves his aim across the room, spraying it with imaginary bullets.

  “Exactly!” Devin bounces his eyelids. “We come out of the woods guns-a-blazin’.”

  “Dude, it’s just paintballs. They’re going to kick our asses.”

  “Just paintballs. You ever been hit by a paintball, Tee?” The question lingers in the air, a smirking gleam in Devin’s eyes.

  “Well, no, but it seems like we’d have to be really close to them to pull this off.”

  My wide eyes seek out Tee’s and come back to Devin’s. The gleam in his eyes doesn’t waver. “Yeah, we might make this worse than it already is.”

  “Trust me, they’re going to be running in the opposite direction once the paintballs start flying. And Brooks, do you want to have to look over your shoulder the rest of your life?”

  Tee shakes his head as his eyes scrape the ground, and his voice wavers. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m so in!” Robby takes aim with his rifle and acts out shooting it.

  “We take ‘em by surprise.” Devin’s grin widens. “They’ll never know what hit ‘em!”

  “This is a bad idea.” My voice crackles.

  “Are you kidding? It’s the best idea!” Robby wears a grin as he fist bumps Devin.

  Tee tips his chin forward. “Dev, let me see one of those.”

  Devin tosses one of the rifles to Tee. Tee grips the rifle. One of his hands slides down the stock, and the other comes to a rest on the trigger instinctively. A wide grin comes across Tee’s face as he looks through the scope.