by J. L. Hickey
“Twenty years from now,” Clent spoke up, clearing his voice. “You knock on my door, tell me one of my kids murdered someone, mutilated, ate their corpse, I’d break your jaw. Tell you to fuck off; you’re lying. Nothing, and I mean nothing you or anyone else could say that would make me believe otherwise.”
“Yeah? Is that so?” asked Pike.
“Yes.” Clent was blunt.
“I’m not following your point?” Pike was not backing down. “Other than you would be afraid to face truth, reality. Sometimes, officer-and you should know this-there are lots of collateral damage when sick fucks disrupt the mundane lives of the greater society. Gary Thom didn’t just kill Dennis and Nora. He ruined the remaining days of his parents, his friends who cared for him, the family of the Simmons, their kid in college, all their friends. He fucked up a whole lot of people. No passes for that, none. He needs to spend the rest of his life behind bars. I don’t give a fuck if he is someone’s kid. He is a murdering son-of-a-bitch who deserves the death penalty.”
“The world isn’t black and white,” Clent shook his head, almost disgraced by the conversation. “A normal person does not do that without warning signs. What happened? Did he go over twenty-five years of his life without ever having a breakdown? Without having any signs? He went to college, had a few parking tickets, nothing on his records. Nothing in all the people we’ve talked to, at least in his files, claims he was ever aggressive, let alone violent. You go to bed normal, wake up the next day a killer? We’re missing something. It’s why you can’t sleep. Its why this is eating you up, because you can’t make it. There’s no telling, not yet at least.”
“You were there. He was in the home. He fled. His fingerprints are everywhere. When the test labs come back, his bodily fluids will be on the vics. His DNA will be on them. He did this, and you know he did. So, again, tell me, what’s your point here?” Pike was irritable. Anger was stemming up, almost at a boiling point. He tried to control it, to force it down, but his temper was stewing.
He was about to explode.
“My point?” Clent downed the rest of his coffee, crushed the paper cup, dropped it in the waste-paper basket. He swung his uniform jacket over his shoulder, began walking towards Pike’s office door, “—Is that this shit makes zero sense. Still no motive, no reason.” He looked over to Vanessa, “C’mon, we got route.”.
“Yeah…” Pike looked down at his desk, his jaw tense. He’d been clenching his fists tightly.
“—And hey,” Clent stuck his head back into the office. “You need some sleep, pal. You look and smell like shit. Get some rest. We can chat about this after we’ve cooled down.”
“Hmmph,” Pike huffed.
Clent closed the door. He left Pike alone with only his notes and thoughts.
Pike stood up, his hands now trembling, the anger overbearing. In a fit, he swiped everything off his desk. Papers, pencil holders, his morning coffee, they all went spilling onto the floor.
“Fuck!” he yelled.
Then he collected himself.
He counted in his head, backward from ten. He was breathing deeply between each number.
Clent was right about one thing: it didn’t make sense.
But it never does.
And, yes, he did need sleep.
EIGHTEEN
Haylee pulled out a loaf of stale bread from her cabinet. Next came the peanut butter, a jar of raspberry jelly, and a butter knife. Her stomach rumbled, and although her appetite hadn’t been the healthiest aspect in her life, she tried to force herself to eat something at least twice a day. Breakfast had been a half a bowl of corn flakes with skim milk; dinner was a sloppily made peanut butter and Jelly. Dessert would be a glass of wine, something dark, and one Norco to help her pass out. Keep the visitor at bay. She couldn’t handle another episode like the one on the couch.
It had been an emotional day already, opening up to Aaron in the parking lot of her Psychiatrist’s office. She wasn’t ready for that, but it was good, a sense of calming came over her. She hadn’t opened up to anyone in years. She told him about aspects of her life she hadn’t even shared with Robbie. She learned to swallow her demons to bury them deep. Too many judgments, too many know-it-alls with all the answers to questions she never asked.
Aaron was different. He listened, didn’t offer to change her; instead, he was just there. It lifted a bit of burden, and her shoulders felt lighter. She missed having a human connection. A shoulder to cry on. After Robbie and Camille, she withdrew. She pushed away the world. Her home was her cage, and she willingly locked herself up.
Haylee chose a Pinot Noir, cheap, just like her vodka. She’d wait an hour before bed to wash down the pill. But, as for the wine, that was to celebrate. She’d been proud of herself. She took steps today, steps into gaining some control back in her life. She should thank Aaron, but of course, she wasn’t sure how to do that, she’d kept him at bay. Never really interested in listening to him, or even getting to know him past a casual neighborly relationship that started with getting her pills. They became casual friends, which led to hanging out a few times a week in her apartment watching movies. Now, they’d spent the last five days straight together.
It was nice.
Their time spent together was mostly investigating the rumors. Aaron took to combing the internet for news and information on the Simmons’ death, while Haylee self-medicated. They’d sit up at night, she’d drink wine, he would smoke, and they discussed every aspect of the murder. They bonded over this terrible murder, bonded over drugs and alcohol. Not the best relationship, but hell, it was a relationship.
Haylee poured herself a deep glass of the red wine, took a bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich as she made her way back into her living room. Trayer was there, waiting patiently to cuddle with her on the ugly green couch. Aaron was working a late shift at the coffee shop he managed. So, tonight, for the first time since her former neighbors’ murders, Haylee was alone with her thoughts.
That scared her. She liked the distractions.
She took a seat next to Trayer, he placed his large, adorable head on her lap, moaning like a grown man as he cozied up against her. She took another bite of the sandwich, the cheap white bread sticking to the roof of her mouth, forcing her to tongue it free. The television was on Nick-At-Night, airing repeats of stupid nineties sitcoms that gave her a false sense of safety. She liked that they always ended with a lesson, and happily ever after. It was hard to let the darker thoughts creep into her head when the nonsense of canned laughter and cheesy dialogue echoed throughout her living room.
Haylee hadn’t heard much of anything new on the news about the case in the last few days. The last thing she and Aaron had read was the fact that the suspect, a man named Gary Thom, was still potentially on the loose. Experts thought the chance of him surviving the woods on the snowy winter night was slim, but there was not a body to confirm their thoughts. They made mention on a few news reports that Gary fled into the woods without any supplies, lacking even a coat. The temperature dropped below zero that night, and it was doubtful he would have survived a second night with the record low temps.
So, where was he?
The thought made Haylee’s stomach turn.
Aaron bookmarked a few Facebook groups he found interesting so that Haylee could keep her eye on them. She pulled up the town’s Neighborhood Watch group page first. Here is where they found the best information. People are quick to repost and gossip, it was like an unfiltered high school lunchroom. Lots of keyboard detectives (much like themselves) shared opinions and information, most bullshit, angry emotional responses. But there were nuggets of truths. Aaron was better at this than she was, but none the less, she found herself scrolling through the hundreds of com
ments.
News had broken about the sex room, the bondage, the hidden lifestyle of Dennis Simmons. It was hard for Haylee to understand. She knew them both well enough; she spent a few days over their home. More than a few if she was honest with herself. Robbie and Dennis shared a few beers. No one suspected a thing. Of course, this development brought out the trolls in full force. Lots of ugliness spread on the board; it made Haylee dizzy with anger. The same thing happened to her when Robbie killed her sister. People joked, accusations of incest with her sister sharing Robbie as a lover popped up all over the internet. The amount of cruel and disgusting filth lies, and outright slander that came from pages like these made Haylee suicidal for quite some time. A victim all over again.
She rubbed the scars on her wrist. They were subtle now, but that night in the woods. When she blacked out, she had done something to herself. She doesn’t even remember it, but she has the scars to root her in the reality of it.
So, she swallowed down the large lump in her throat before she continued through the comments. She had to bite her tongue multiple times. She wrote up scathing replies to the ignorance. She had to stop herself, take another long sip of wine, and promptly delete. She would not feed the trolls. She needed some self-control in her life.
Haylee reminded herself, through the thick layer of bullshit, you could find truth in these threads. And a few minutes later, there it was, buried within the comments of the post from a few days earlier. A user had brought up her old home, that there had been recent break-ins to the residence. Somebody claimed that they saw a BMW parked in front of the old house, right around the time the murders would have happened. BMW’s stand out in Emmet County, Dennis drove one. The user said it struck him weird, as he was aware of the home, a local legend, as did everyone around here.
Haylee was lost in the thread, reading all the replies when her phone loudly buzzed on the coffee table. It startled her. She jumped in her seat. She’d lost track of time; it had already been two hours since she first logged into Facebook. Trayer, who had dozed off growled at the sudden movement.
Always her knight in shining armor.
“Sorry, boy, scared myself, that’s all,” Haylee calmed him with a few well-placed scratches behind his ear. She grabbed her phone, answered it.
“Hello?”
It was Aaron, fresh out of work. He just pulled up into their shared driveway. “Yeah, come in,” she hid a smile. It was late, nearing eleven PM. She had secretly hoped Aaron would want to hang out a bit before she passed out from the pill she was saving for bedtime. She felt safer with him there. Having a man back in her life, not even a man, just a companion—someone to share her space with, to communicate with, to feel a human connection again.
She opened the door. The cold, bitter air stung her face.
“You sure it’s not too late to hang?” Aaron stepped through the threshold carrying a couple of coffee’s and a brown paper sack. “I got coffee and cheesecake,” he held them both up as if using them to barter his way into her living room.
“No coffee, but I’ll poke at the cheesecake,” she smiled, taking the bag from him. Inside the bag was a plastic container with a plain cheesecake slice drizzled with raspberry topping.
“You can reheat the coffee in the morning then, should still be better than that instant shit you gave me the last few days,” he smiled. Trayer jumped from the couch, buried his head into Aaron’s crotch, almost knocking him over.
“He’s definitely warming up to you,” Haylee sat back down, popping open the plastic container.
“You think?” Aaron dropped to one knee, allowing Trayer to roughhouse with him playfully, before joining Haylee on the couch.
“This will go nice with my wine,” Haylee took a small bite of the cheesecake, it was overly sweet. She’d grown accustomed to Sugar-Free jelly and Natural Peanut Butter sandwiches. She followed the bite with a long drink from her glass.
“Research?” Aaron pointed to the screen. “Anything new that I missed while I was at work?”
“People are just saying they think they saw Dennis’ car parked out in front of my old house days before the murder,” Haylee shrugged. “Not sure why that’s important either way. People are always breaking into my old place—stupid kids daring each other. Dennis is a grown man, though, so, why would he be doing that? Doesn’t make much sense to me.”
“Grown men do dumb shit all the time,” Aaron took a sip of his coffee.
“These people are disgusting though,” Haylee took the laptop, she highlighted a specific post about how they all deserved to die because ‘God Hates Fags!’ “—brings back painful memories. I had to leave social media for over a year when it happened to me. Probably shouldn’t have ever got it back. That’s why I literally only have like twenty-five friends, most family members.”
“A lot of idiots say things they’d never say in real life on the internet. For real, it’s the single reason why humanity is doomed. The Internet allows us to put a filter over reality. Makes it easy to spread hate, its sick.” Aaron nodded. “Ever hear back from your pops?”
“Not yet,” Haylee shrugged. “Thankfully. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t show up at my doorstep tomorrow and try to drag me home, he’d probably push me to go back to a psych ward again. I don’t want to deal with him, not right now, not until I can get my head right. This whole murder thing has me really shook. I need to be here, slow down, get my head right.”
“Well, yeah,” Aaron agreed. “The two murders? It’s bizarre, too many similarities.”
“What about your parents?” Haylee asked.
“What about mine?” Aaron repeated the question.
“You don’t talk much of them. Are they dead?” Haylee asked bluntly, forking a small piece of cheesecake into her mouth.
“Naw, I think I told you my dad is a Pastor? And my mom is a Sunday school teacher. They’re Godly people.”
Haylee had to stop for a second, ponder if she ever had this conversation with Aaron before. Her days muddled together, the drinking, the pills. Maybe she had? Did she know that about his dad? There was a sense of guilt, as if she should have known, remembered.
“I remember you said you lived out in Hollywood, trying to be an actor?” She thought that sounded right.
“Yeah, I did some small gigs, standup comedy stuff. I worked on some scripts, tried to get my name out there. Then, you know the accident happened. Haven’t made it back out there, hope to go again. I haven’t given up that part of my life yet. Just, you know, buying time until I’m ready. Been working on a good project. I think it will be my ticket back.”
Haylee did remember that. A party that went too far, his buddy smashed into a tree. He’d gotten hurt, went back home to be close with his family.
“You would have liked my mother,” Haylee added.
“Why is that?” Aaron pulled a baggy of weed from his back pocket. “You mind?”
“Just smoke it outside, but roll away,” Haylee replied. “She was close to God. Spiritual, you know? A Godly person, as you so called it.”
“What about you?” Asked Aaron. He took out some papers, flattened one on the coffee table, and began to roll a joint.
“Not so much,” Haylee sighed. She followed with another long gulp from her Wine. She barely touched the cheesecake.
“You don’t believe in God at all?” Aaron asked, his voice lacking in judgment, more inquisitive.
“I have seen some things. I can’t explain to you the stuff that haunts me,” Haylee swished her drink in her hand. “I mean, there is stuff I don’t understand, but the thought of a White-Bearded man in a long silky robe doesn’t make sense to me, especially with my life. If there was a God like that, th
en fuck him. Seriously. Why put me through all this?”
“Harsh,” Aaron licked the paper, wetting the joint closed. “But, I get it.”
“Really?” Haylee seemed shocked. “Figured with how dominant the church is with your family, I assumed…”
“—What, that I was a bible thumper,” Aaron laughed.
“I mean, yeah?” Haylee returned a smile.
“Well, truth be told I am. I believe I am a Christian. But, to be fair, I hold certain concepts of religion at arm’s length. I had my struggles after my accident. You know, did the whole getting mad at God thing. I blamed him for it all, stopped going to church. I fought with my parents over it too. I lost my faith. I fell hard, depression, anxiety, the whole kit, and caboodle. I got on my own pill-cocktail prescribed by my family doctor. I found ways to medicate too, starting down a route that was going to bury me sooner rather than later.”
“What happened?” Haylee found herself invested in someone else’s story for the first time in years.
“I had driven down to Emmet Park, around 1:30 am on a Saturday night. I was meeting with this guy from the city. The normal guy I got from had told me to start buying through his friend.”
“Weed?” Haylee asked.
“No,” Aaron frowned. “Not proud of this, but I started using heavy. I was in a terrible mindset. One of my buddies from out West came to visit. I started using it. Bad shit, heroine.”
“Oh,” Haylee listened intently.
“So, this guy pulls up. Gets out of his car. I had my girlfriend with me at the time, enabler, real winner type of girl. Anyway, he walked up to my window and pulled a gun. Dude drags me out of my car, throws me onto the floor. Grabs her, does the same. He has me on my knees, both of us, my girlfriend too. Has the gun to my head,” Aaron played with the joint in his fingers, looking at it, lost in thought. “Robs me, takes all my money, my wallet, my girlfriends’ purse, all my cd’s, both our phones. He pistols whipped me, tells my girlfriend if we say anything, he will kill us both. Knows where we live, all that good stuff.”