by J. L. Hickey
“Add ten years,” Gary replied. He shrugged his shoulders to Dennis while Nora’s back was turned. Dennis smiled back.
Lies, lies, and more lies. It was part of the fun. He was enjoying this, albeit maybe too much.
“We hired Gary here to work out east for us. He spent a few months training with me at the office over the summer. We hit it off, old guys like me like to pretend we’re young, you know that dear,” This time it was Dennis with the little white lies, and the soft touch of playful humor.
“Well, you came at the perfect time. I’ve made lunch,” Nora entered first. “And margaritas!”
The three of them ate, drank, and talked the early afternoon away. Gary remembers the lunch fondly, he and Dennis hit it off. His wife was even pleasant. He made sure not to focus on her too much. He was eager to spend some quality time with her husband. The less he saw her, the more he could enjoy his time with Dennis and not worry about the entire affair aspect of their sexual adventure.
The evening hit, he and Dennis excused themselves out to the garage. They left for Dennis’ “Man Cave,” where they could be alone to do manly things and so, that they did. Dennis showed him his garage, led him into the back room, behind the large toolbox he rolled out of the way.
“I know that seems a bit scary, hidden sex room,” Dennis chuckled. “I have gone to great lengths to keep my wife from knowing. It would crush her, and I worry about how she would handle it if she was aware of my other life. So, don’t be alarmed that its sort of hidden. Just extra privacy,” Dennis explained to him.
Dennis was soft-spoken and very aware of Gary’s needs. He went out of his way to make sure he was comfortable. Dennis assured him they could move as slow as Gary needed. But, Gary was very relaxed and had no intention to move slow. He was excited. And so, they decided not to wait until the evening and to let the fun begin.
“Of course, before we get too far with the fun stuff, did you bring the contract?” asked Dennis.
The contract, Gary got it as an email attachment, spent a full day going over it before finally deciding he was okay with it. He had it signed and ready to go. Gary was okay with the filming of the sexual act (more-so excited about it), which was what the bulk of the contract was about. He knew Dennis had too much riding on the privacy, and he thought the filming added an element of naughtiness to the act. You only live once, he thought.
. . .
When all was said and done, Gary was elated. The sex was euphoric. Dennis was good, and he was excited to explore the fantasy again, and hopefully soon. Escape and pleasure were needed, and it came in orgasmic shattering delight during intense sexual acts. But before round two, there was another reason why Gary was so excited to meet with Dennis.
The Leveille Murder House.
They had finished filming, cleaned up with a shared hot shower that was installed in the garage. They took a seat out in the main garage, admiring Dennis’ workshop and getting to know one another. Gary couldn’t help but bring it up.
“...So about the Leveille house?”
“I can see how excited you are to go see that place,” Dennis teased. “You are really into that stuff, huh?”
“Oh, god, I love it. I watch all the shows, read up on all the paranormal books. It’s fascinating. I even stayed at the Haunted Handley Hotel, the one the Shinning was written about.”
“Really?” Dennis seemed interested.
“Yeah, it was quite an experience. This place, the Leveille home, has gotten pretty popular in the last year. I heard a new owner purchased it, going to turn it into a haunted Air BnB.
“Well. Let’s not wait,” Dennis stood up, took out his phone. “Let me just text the Mrs.”
Dennis texted his wife not to stay up, that he and Gary headed into town to get a few drinks at a pub. Instead, the two men got into Dennis BMW and drove down the road about a mile before turning onto a snow-covered dirt driveway.
The Murder House.
SEVENTEEN
Pike woke up from a restless sleep. His back ached, his shoulder hurt from sleeping cramped on the damn love seat in his office for the third night in a row. He needed a shower and a few Advil to ease the pain. It was seven am, and he got a measly four hours of broken-up sleep. He rubbed his eyes, yawning hard. He was overdoing it, hitting it too hard. He needed to take a step back. He needed to recharge, regroup, get a solid eight hours.
He’d just awakened, and he was already pissed at the world, not a good start for the day.
Pike moved from the worn loveseat over to his disaster of a desk. He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a bottle of Listerine. He spun the top off and put it to his lips, taking in a large mouthful. He swished the liquid around in his mouth, the burning on his gums and tongue. He envisioned a million microscopic cartoon germs exploding into nothingness like on the commercials. He gargled the bright green liquid until the burning faded away. He bent over and spit into his small wastebasket.
“My hygiene has gone to shit,” he fell onto his desk chair. In an hour, the department was going to be crawling with officers. Well, for a small department at least, it was going to be the busiest part of the day. He grabbed his overnight bag (a small gray fannypack) and made his way into the bathroom. He washed his face at the sink, applied deodorant, just enough to mask his foul odor. He needed a hot shower. It had been days. He started to reek, and a coat of deodorant and body spray wasn’t cutting it anymore.
Pike had two goals today. Once accomplished, he’d take the rest of the day for personal and mental care. His boss was already riding him to take a step back. One thing was for sure. He needed to speak with Gary Thom’s parents. Two days ago, his parents came to town, despite constant threats from the locals who wanted their son’s blood. The police department warned them of the hostile threats. Yet, it was good they were willing to aid in the investigation. A lot of confusion swirled around their little boy. When people get riled up, and they set their minds to villainize someone, it often falls on the lap of the families and friends.
He had called Patricia Thom, Gary’s mother late last night, before the viewing of the video. He apologized for the timing of the call; it was unprofessional of him. Yet, they told him, anytime day or night to call, so fuck it, he did. It was a quick conversation. It was essential to see the Thom’s as early as possible tomorrow. He had a few questions that could be important to the case. He hadn’t even woken them. How could they sleep? Their son was on the hunt by local and state police for murder, mutilation, and cannibalism. Not many nights of rest in their future, so he thought. He didn’t keep them long. They agreed to meet up in the office.
The next thing on Pike’s to-do-list was to pay a visit to the Leveille house. He had a hunch, and the dots were slowly connecting. He just wasn’t sure what type of picture was forming.
He had a room meeting room ready for when the Thom’s walked in. Fresh coffee was brewed and set out for the heartbroken parents. He spent time speaking with the two of them over the last few days. They took their coffee’s black, and so he prepared them two steaming cups. There would be tears, lots of them. He readied himself for that. He went over his notes one more time to be appropriately set for the interview. They showed up at 7:30 am, right on the dot. He got them comfortable and began his questioning.
“Good morning, Patricia,” Pike shook her hand, pushing her coffee closer to where she sat. “Freshly brewed, hot, black just the way you like it.”
“Thank you,” her voice was soft, broken. The strain of the past week weighed heavy on her face, the darkness around her eyes, sullen, lost in a sea of unyielding despair.
“Brian,” Pike shook the father’s hand next. The large man simply nodded in reply. “Yours, the same, straight black.” Pike handed him
his cup as well.
“Thanks,” he took a cautious sip. He too hadn’t fared well, the grief-stricken eyes, the lifeless tone in his voice.
“You folks getting any sleep?” Pike asked. He took a seat on the opposite side of the stark white table. The room was simple, small void of much of anything at all. A table with chairs, a window looking into the hallway, Bright fluorescent lights stung their eyes.
“What do you think?” Brian was blunt, almost rude, but yet not.
“I see,” Pike frowned.
“It’s been hard enough dealing with our son,” Patricia added. “Then we get these evil stares, and people recognize us from the news when we spoke the other night. We should never have done that interview. And the hateful things online…” her voice was broken, her hands trembled. Brian’s large meaty hands reached out, held them, steadied her.
“Yes, I can only imagine the pain you two are going through,” Pike drummed his fingers on the table. He caught himself doing it, stopped. It was a nervous habit, one he tried to control. He craved a smoke. Instead, he popped out a small package of gum, Trident. He offered them a piece; they declined. He took a piece himself.
“What can we help you with, Detective?” Brian took over the conversation.
“I will make this quick,” Pike added. “And folks, if you need to go home, be comfortable, again, we don’t need you in town. We’ve got your statements. The rest can be done easily over the phone, or we can visit you. We must put your health first. We will remain in contact about the case. You will know everything as fast as we can inform you.”
“No, we want to be here, we want to find our son,” Brian cleared his throat, he squeezed his wife’s hand hard.
The Thom couple, both heavier-set sat with sickly expressions, as if their life was slowly being drained from them. Brian was bald; thick dark framed-glasses sat atop his flat nose. Pike wondered if he played football when he was younger, had those broad shoulders. It looked like the man could throw a mean right if he needed too. He guessed Brian Thom was a hunter, comfortable in the woods, as well as a bar.
Patricia Thom, she seemed like the church type. The American Wife raised their son, mostly with little help from her husband. Not because he wasn’t there, or abusive, but because men didn’t raise kids, they disciplined them taught them how to fix shit. Underneath the extra forty pounds she no doubt added after the pregnancy, Pike thought she was probably a looker when she was younger.
“Some evidence has come into play,” Pike flipped his yellow legal pad to a new page, clicked his pen and began writing.
“Okay?” Patricia asked.
“Your son and Dennis, we have them on video. They discussed going to see a home, down the road from where Dennis lived.”
“Video?” Brian repeated the word.
“Yes, there was video evidence, a sexual encounter.”
“Oh God, what...what was on it?” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to discuss that. But I need to know what they may have been talking about. Had Gary discussed anything about a residence in town or doing anything with Dennis when he got here?”
“He mentioned something to me the day before he left,” Brian spoke up. “He was excited because he was going to meet this guy, this Dennis guy for a job opportunity. He said he was going to stay up here for about a week, a mini vacation. I could tell he was lying. He doesn’t have much of a poker face. I didn’t like it one bit, but what am I supposed to say? He’s a grown boy, a man. I try to be supportive, you know? He got a degree; we’re trying to help him until he lands a job. I told him to go into a skill trade, and those jobs pay, he’d be set. He wanted to go into Nursing to help people.” Brian shook his head, angry with himself.
“I understand,” Pike nodded. “He’s an adult. It’s honorable to be there for him, help him get where he needs to go. You’re both loving parents, it shows. No one is blaming you folks; we’re still piecing everything together here.”
Patricia fell into her husband’s shoulders, burying her tears into his dark red flannel shirt. He put his heavy arm around her, held her tight. He comforted her.
“We appreciate that,” Brian held it together. “Gary said to me, this meeting was near some famous haunted house. The one where the young lady came home to her husband, or fiancé or whatever, killing her sister. Then she killed him in self-defense. He told me he wanted to check the place out.”
“Gary loved that stuff,” Patricia added through sobs. She took a napkin from the table and patted the tears away. “Always watching those shows about ghost investigators, reading books about hauntings. Wouldn’t surprise me that he wanted to see that house.”
“What else can you tell me about Gary? Anything we may have missed, something like that, the connection to the house, his fascination with hauntings, etc.?”
“No,” Patricia said.
“Still haven’t heard from him? No phone calls, no texts? Mysterious numbers calling you?” Pike rallied off questions in quick succession.
“No,” Brian added.
“You still think our son did this?” Patricia shook her head. “I know it may look that way. He fled from your officers. He was probably scared. He wouldn’t...he couldn’t do this; you have to believe us.”
“Thank you for your statements, folks,” Pike finished his sentence on his legal pad. He looked up to them with kind eyes, “…it’s my job to gather evidence, hoping to find your son, safe. Bring him in for questioning and get done to the facts about what happened in that garage. Beyond that, it’s up to the courts. Are you sure you folks want to stay here another night? Not that I think you need to worry, but I think it would do you both good to be around ones you love at this time. To sleep in your own bed.”
“You’ll see,” Patricia’s face turned red. “He’s innocent. He’s a victim here too. There’s more to this thing, you’re not seeing the whole picture yet.”
“I hope your right, ma’am, I do. I just want to find the killer and put them to justice. Thank you again, your free to go,” Pike shook both their hands, nodded with a smile. He made his way back into his office with a deep and frustrating sigh.
“Detective?” Clent lifted his own cup of coffee up high, as a gesture of good faith, a cheer to the day sort of thing. He took a slow sip. “Need this after our late night. Morning came too soon.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry I missed it, Detective,” Vanessa stood next to her partner. They mapped out their day, prepping their workload. “I couldn’t stomach the thought of what was on those tapes.”
“Just your good old fashion bondage with two consenting adults,” Pike dropped his legal pad with a thud on the desk.
“So, I heard,” Vanessa moved out of Pikes way, allowing him access to his desk. It was apparent the Detective was not in a good mood. He looked like shit. When Vanessa had first met the Detective on that snowy Michigan night outside the murder scene, he was a handsome, rugged Detective. He walked with confidence, had a sense of passion in his step, one of the good ones. Despite the age difference, she was struck by his handsomeness, his quick wit. But this man who fell into his desk chair, rubbing his temples, was a ball of tension.
“Anything with the parents? Thought I’d swing by before we gas up and hit the town,” Clent spun the legal pad around towards him, to read it for himself. The word “Mom” was followed by “Innocent,” which was underlined three times.
“Parents still having a problem coming to terms, aye?” Clent sucked air through his teeth, rubbing his thin mustache with his thumb and forefinger.
“Perfect little boy wouldn’t harm a fly,” Pike nodded. “Same song and dance. I needed a connection between the two homes. It looks like he
did have a thing for the Haylee murders, though. He wanted to scope the house out.”
“Lots of folks do, always getting calls to that house for trespassers,” said Clent.
“His record is squeaky clean, though, right?” Vanessa added. “I mean, I get it. That’s gotta be a hard pill to swallow for a parent. A nonviolent, normal kid, now wanted for a sadistic double murder?”
“Yet there it is, isn’t it?” Pike added.
“What’s that?” probed Vanessa.
“The pill, it might be a hard one to swallow, but it’s not going away. You may choke on it, you may gag, but that pill is reality, and there’s no escaping it. Their son murdered two people, innocent people, ate them, cut off one of their heads, cut off his testicles. This is dark shit, this is out there, fucking horror movie crazy stuff.”
“And yet, he was still a human,” Clent interjected. “A person, someone until supposedly the night of the murder, was just a regular guy like you and me. Innocent until proven guilty. That’s how we do it.”
“Innocent? That’s a joke, right? Look, I don’t go around fucking men, tied up in black latex, hung from ceilings for a fun Saturday night. I don’t think either the victim or Gary are completely normal people. The only real victim here was Nora. Killed because these sick and twisted men.” Pike argued, his words laced with anger.
“Really?” Clent was a bit taken aback at the statement.
“—Look, I get it, all right. It’s the human condition. I’m a parent too. They love their kid, but the truth of the matter is, every killer we have ever put behind bars has parents. Not all of them were raised bad. Some were just born bad, twisted, sick, weird. They hid it long enough before they snapped. I’m Afraid Patricia and Brian are going to have to come to terms their little boy was a nutcase. So, whether or not the pill is big, small, hard to swallow, or whatever, it doesn’t mean they don’t get to not swallow it. Because we’re burying two people, what’s left of them at least.”