by J. L. Hickey
“You think I’m a shit person,” Aaron pushed back. For the first time in his life, he was standing his ground. Enough was enough. “She told me how you treated her growing up. You want to blame me for your relationship with your daughter? Try listening to her. It’s her life. It’s not yours. Her life is fucked up because you’re overbearing, a control freak. Those are her words, not mine.”
“Keep talking those words, and you won’t have teeth to speak,” Gerald’s blood pressure boiled. It took all his self-control not to backhand the mouthy prick.
“Fuck you, man,” Aaron got into Gerald’s face, nose to nose, except Gerald, was about three inches taller than him. “You broke into my apartment. You’re threatening me. I call the fucking cops, and it doesn’t matter you’re a former detective, you don’t have control here. I do.”
“So, call them,” Gerald called his hand.
“Haylee is important to me,” Aaron did not waiver, his face flushed with anger. “—yeah, she hates you, I can see it in her eyes when she talks about you. You were a shit dad, a shit husband. I know, because she opened up to me, she told me the stories of how you pushed her and your wife away. I know about your accident too, the one where your wife drove off mad, angered, because you were too stubborn to listen. I survived my accident. Haylee’s mom didn’t, and that’s something you get to deal with. And despite that, as much as she hates you. All she wants is her damn dad to fuckin’ listen to her, to help her, not control her. So, again, fuck you. Get out of my house.”
Gerald’s right eye quivered with tension. It had been years since the boiling rage took over him. The words stung, they hit him like a heavyweight boxer’s jab, followed with an unprotected kidney shot. He could almost feel his legs get weak, wanting to double over from the blow. No one has ever spoken to him that way. Gerald was a fighter, a bully grown into a man who enforced the law, both for a career and in his home. Yet, he was a father too, and he’d become soft in the years, his sturdy exterior, the large frame, bulky muscles, all of it a front—a way of masking his own issues. Aaron not only tapped into them, but he also smashed it over his head.
Gerald took a deep breath. His hands now trembled. “I should kill you for those words.”
Aaron held; still, adrenaline overcame him like a wave. He did not fear the man before him. Despite the difference in size, he pitied him, no longer afraid of an altercation. He didn’t think Gerald would pull the trigger or throw a punch. He was there to intimidate him like he did his daughter and his wife. “Do it,” Aaron huffed a response back.
Gerald’s jaw clenched. His thick hand raised to his forehead, pulling his hair back in frustration. “You don’t get it,” his voice dropped, almost as if it broke in his throat. He turned, pointed to the back door. “Replace the door, flimsy lock. Popped it with a damn credit card.”
“Seriously?” Aaron noticed his heart was pounding, he’d sweat through his shirt, and his forehead was soaked with beads of salty sweat.
Gerald nodded. He walked to the front door. “You’re wrong, though,” he grabbed the door handle, making his way out.
“I doubt that,” Aaron shot back, his confidence growing. More importantly, he was lucky as fuck.
“She hasn’t told you everything,” Gerald stopped momentarily. “She didn’t tell you about when Robbie and Camille found her naked in the woods two weeks before the murders did, she? Blood everywhere, incoherent? Complete mental break down.”
“What?” Aaron frowned.
“Maybe get your facts all together before you open that fat mouth of yours next time,” he turned back around, squaring off to him. “There is a shit ton about Haylee you don’t know about.”
Aaron wasn’t sure how to respond. He stood there, staring at the man. Curiosity swirled in his brain.
“You got anything to drink around here?” Gerald released the door handle, let his guard down, loosened his shoulders. “I could use something strong.”
“You’re not leaving?” he muttered.
“We got off to the wrong start. But we need to talk, man to man. I want what’s best for my daughter. I love her; she is the only thing keeping me here. I own my past. I live and breathe it every day. You got that part right. You stood up to me, that takes guts. You fucking prick, I think I may see what Haylee see’s in you. Now, pour me a goddamned drink.” Gerald reached out his hand and extension of truce.
“This night is fucking weird, man…” Aaron wiped the sweat from his bar, dried off his hand. He reached out, accepting the gesture. Gerald’s overbearingly large hand practically engulfed Aarons, crushing it. “—Ouch, fuck!” Aaron winced.
“We can work on that handshake,” Gerald tapped him on the back of the shoulder, they made their way together, an awkward duo, into the kitchen where Aaron grabbed a bottle of Grey Goose and two shot glasses.
“Let me text Haylee and let her know I will be late getting back over there.”
‘—You sleeping with my daughter?” Gerald’s brow raised.
“No, No, she wants me to sleep on her couch,” Aaron stammered.
“Ha,” Gerald poured a shot, raised it to Aaron, and downed it quick. “I’m just messing with you.”
“I can’t take this man,” Aaron poured his own shot, swallowed it hard. “What the hell are you talking about with the wood and blood?”
“—Yeah,” Gerald frowned. “We’re going to need a few more shots for this one. Sit down, kid. It’s not an easy story to tell or hear…”
TWENTY
Aaron sent Haylee a text late last night, saying he would be later coming back to her apartment. She took the Norco, passed out, hoping he’d be asleep out on the couch when she woke up. He wasn’t. He also hadn’t texted her back.
…And that was strange.
She awoke, free from the night terrors. Thank God, the Norco did the trick. It was the only thing these days that worked. She tried the sage, the crystals in her pocket, the things that had worked when she was younger. Back when she had visions during the day, they did not, however, help her with this specific reoccurring dream. The dream with the creature. That hadn’t started until right before the murders, right after they found her in the woods.
The wine, however, it muddled her head. It was too sweet; the hangover was intense.
Trayer awoke with her, excited, a one-hundred-and-sixty-pound puppy jumping eagerly around her bedroom waiting to be taken outside. Her head throbbed, and Trayer’s eagerness only exuberated the pain.
Haylee slipped on her robe, along with her slippers (not the pink one Robbie bought her, she’d burned everything Robbie ever touched), and made her way to the kitchen. She let Trayer out back to do his morning business. First, she needed to text Aaron, make sure everything was okay
Had she made things weird last night? She wasn’t that bad; she didn’t black out the conversation they had. Perhaps she scared him away?
“Fuck,” Haylee whispered to herself. Insecurity crept up her spine, sat at the base of her shoulders, clawing at her brain. She was an idiot to open up so much to one person. She scared him away.
What other option was there?
She pushed the thought away. First, she wanted to deal with the ever-growing headache. What was the best cure for a hangover? How about onset depression with a hangover? Haylee decided to skip breakfast, showering, and even brushing her teeth.
There was only one remedy that popped into her mind. Seagrams, or rather, wash the hangover away with more alcohol. Straight, on the rocks, just the way she liked it. She may even take one of her good pills, a Norco, just to help her get through the morning. She was done being a victim, being broken, embarrassed, utterly depressed. So, fuck it, she would drink.
She poured a glass of Seagram’s, three ice cubes. She decided to skip the Norco, for now at least. She sat on her couch, curled up in a blanket. She pulled out a murder mystery novel she had been trying to get through. She enjoyed the mystery, the suspense, but usually, she couldn’t stomach the violent parts, brought out the darkness in her. She skimmed those sections as much as possible. She let her television stay on in the background. Her good old friend, random early nineties sitcoms to keep her lonely, miserable life company. It was a quiet morning, dreary grey skies, at least it hadn’t snowed in twenty-four hours. It had hit Northern Michigan hard the last few days. The schools canceled, the interstate was closed multiple times over the previous few nights.
She re-read the same paragraph three times before closing the book. She couldn’t focus. Her mind kept wandering on Aaron and why he hadn’t returned. At least, she realized after a strong sip of her drink, for the first time since the double murders happened, she wasn’t thinking about that. One miserable thing for another, she shook her head.
Haylee decided that today was a couch day. She had a lot of those days recently. Days where facing any aspect of the world either outside her duplex or even on social media was too much for her to bear. Her anxiety was on high today. It would take a few more glasses of Vodka before her nerves let lose a bit.
She wasn’t always like this. She remembers as a young girl; their family took summer trips, wonderful family vacations. They camped at Picture Rocks, traveling across the country, museums, enjoying the world around them. She loved the adventures. But as she aged, the darkness grew, then her mother died, and everything went crazy. Then Robbie and Camille, just one shit storm after another until there was nothing left of Haley except a husk of a human, fearful of everything.
Haylee turned on a streaming service, found one of her favorite sitcoms as a kid, one she would watch on Fridays with her mother. It was the classic, corny, more canned laughter. She wished life was more like her sitcoms and less like a violent Stephen King novel.
She was halfway into the second episode and two glasses into her early morning binge drinking when a knock interrupted. Immediately, Haylee thought it was Aaron. Probably, with two cups of coffee, surprising her with breakfast like he usually did on his days off. She would act mad, even though she was more relieved than anything. But she wanted to keep him guessing, make sure he understood how much of an ass he was for what he did. She let out a sigh of relief. She stood up; the drinks hit her. Her head went weightless, fuzzy. Just enough of a buzz to keep her cool, yet not come off as a complete lush.
She collected herself, opened the door, “—Where were you…” Except there was no Aaron.
“Miss Haylee Leveille?” Detective Pike took off his hat, placing it at his chest, he nodded to her pleasantly. “It’s been a while. I hope all is all right?”
Alongside him stood Officer Vanessa Velasquez, in uniform, hands held behind her back. She nodded with a smile. She was strong, stout, yet her eyes instilled with kindness. There was a softness to them, unlike the Detective, who was hardened.
Detective Lewis Pike. Haylee had met the man three years prior, with Robbie and Camille. He ran the case, and afterward, they stayed in touch briefly after the murders. Pike reached out to her a couple of times over two or three months, taking her out to dinner, just to make sure she was adjusting. He didn’t have to do that. The case was open and closed. He was one of the good ones. To her, at least. He never tried anything creepy; it wasn’t because he was hitting on her; he was genuinely making sure she was adjusting after the ordeal.
During the investigation, Detective Pike treated her well, respectful. He asked hard questions, but that was his job. He was one of the good ones, never judged her. But she could tell, he buried the pain inside him, just like she did. She could see it in his face. So many memories, painful, gory, visions of death, and wickedness that he had to swallow down deep into his unconscious just to get up and go to work every day.
“Detective?” Haylee was caught off guard. She was probably too drunk for this. No, she was definitely too drunk for this.
Haylee was wondering when the police would come knocking on her door about the murders. Now, she really wished Aaron was with her, to keep her calm, collected.
“That big dog of yours locked up?” Pike asked, noting the lack of barking.
“Hasn’t wanted to come in yet, still out back,” Haylee replied. “I suppose you would like to come in? My house is a mess. I wasn’t expecting company.” Her first white lie.
“We would,” Pike smiled, offering Vanessa to enter first.
“Now’s not the best time, if I’m being honest,” Haylee held open the door.
Pike and Vanessa entered the premise. Pike noted immediately it smelled of alcohol. An open bottle of Seagram’s Vodka, half-empty, sat beside a glass. It was freshly poured, three ice cubes filled about a quarter of the way up. Pike glanced at his wristwatch, a quarter to eleven. She started early.
“May we have a seat?” Pike asked.
“Let me just clean up,” Haylee was already embarrassed. She knew why Pike glanced at his watch.
Drunk Haylee, drinking away the pain.
“Please don’t,” Pike insisted. “We aren’t here to disrupt your life. We have a few questions about the Simmons murders. I am sure you have heard the news about your old neighbors?”
“Unfortunately,” Haylee snagged the Seagram’s bottle quickly, moved it to the kitchen counter. She met back with the two in the living room. She took a seat on the couch next to the two of them.
“Been all over the news, hitting the national stuff now,” Vanessa added, her voice deeper than Haylee expected. “Big deal in a small town. Scary stuff. Sick stuff. Everyone is on edge.”
“Yeah, people tend to do that when murder happens in their backyard,” Haylee was sweating. “Somethings don’t change.” She was always nervous around the detective, the police in general. She had nothing to hide, but the very thought of them back in her home, questioning her, brought up a lot of painful memories. “Last I read the guy-the man you think did it-is still on the run? Gary Thom, right?”
“If he somehow managed to live through the last five days in the Michigan wilderness, with the weather we’ve had, then yes. But we know he ran into the woods, on foot, ill-equipped to take on that sort of weather. No jacket, no boots, just a hoodie, tennis shoes, and jeans. I think we will find his body soon enough, probably dead due to hypothermia,” Pike answered. “But to answer your question, he has not been found, no.”
“I know why you’re here,” Haylee cracked her knuckles, one at a time, a nervous habit.
“Oh?” Pike frowned. “You do?”
“The murders,” Haylee frowned. “They seem, similar, right? Too close for comfort for me. I read they were stabbed, from the back right through the neck. I read he ate some of them too, just like…” Haylee struggled, choked on her words. “Robbie.”
“Similarities, yes. Both in the nature of the crime scene and the location. Coincidences? Likely not,” Pike added. “I am sorry that this is bringing up old memories. I am sure it can’t be easy for you.”
“Who is she?” Haylee pointed to Vanessa. “Where’s Officer Clent? I liked him.”
“They’re not seeing eye to eye,” Velasquez nodded, her voice stiffened with judgment. “Pike asked me to accompany him.”
“Oh,” Haylee frowned.
“Officer Velasquez meet Haylee, Haylee Officer Velasquez,” Pike introduced the two. “She is helping me with parts of this case. As is officer Clent Moore, he’s off duty at the moment, however. They both were at the crime scene. They two who got called in for the courtesy check when the perp made his escape. We are working as a team, despite what Vanessa here may hav
e hinted at.”
“Do you know Mr. Gary Thom? Have any relationship with him or his family?” asked Officer Velasquez.
“Only know of him from what I have read on the news, social media stuff like that. Personally? No, he was from the other side of the state, right?”
“He was,” Pike added. “He seemed to know you, maybe though, would that make any sense to you?”
“Me?” Haylee frowned. “I don’t know how. We didn’t even have any mutual friends on Facebook. The only connection I found was through Dennis, just a mutual friend.”
“I see,” Pike began jotting down more notes.
“Are you doing okay, Miss Leveille, are you feeling well?” Velasquez asked. She had seen many victims of abuse, physical, mental, substance. It came in many forms. Haylee looked like she had been fighting a never-ending battle, losing more than winning. It was in her eyes, a sense of discomfort, complexity that Vanessa couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Not really, to be honest,” Haylee sighed, she wanted another drink. She would have to wait until they left. “This double murder has stirred up a lot of...issues. I mean, not that everything was great before, but I was managing. Now, everything is pretty screwed up. It’s just been hard.”
“Have you been taking care of yourself, Haylee?” asked Pike, a note of concern on his face. “When we spoke last, your dad got you some help here in town. A doctor, to help, you know, sort all this out for you?”
“Yes, I am, still seeing him,” Haylee lied. Another white lie. One the Detective wouldn’t look up on because it didn’t help his case. He was being friendly, maybe even genuine, but when he left, unless it had to do with the murders, he wasn’t going to care about.
“Good,” Pike smiled. “That’s good to hear. Mental health is a tricky thing, and it can go south fast. Sneak up on you, you know?”