by J. L. Hickey
“You crossed the line,” Pike wanted to lunge across the table, smack the ugly thin mustache off Clent’s face.
“Okay, let’s go,” Velasquez took Pike by the hand, pulled him away from the table. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
Velasquez led the two of them out of the bar and into the nearly empty parking lot outback. It was still snowing, a fresh blanket of whiteness stretched out as far as the two could see.
The winter air blew cold against Pike’s reddish cheeks. The anger still burned inside him, his fists white-knuckled with hate. He and Clent argue a lot, and they push each other’s buttons, they’ve done that for years. Yet, they never came to blows, always worked it out. But he went too far. If Velasquez and Fat Man weren’t there, he would have knocked him stupid. He didn’t care how big Clent was, how often he hit the gym, if he got a nice shot to the jaw, big boy Client would crumble like a house of cards. Maybe a follow up to break the fucker’s nose.
“Calm down, he was pushing your buttons,” spoke Velasquez.
“He went too far, he got personal,” Pike added, trying to catch his breath.
“Look, I don’t know exactly what he said, but he has a point,” Vanessa spoke softly, nonthreatening.
“Excuse me?” Pike wasn’t sure if he wanted to curse her out, or if she just used a poor choice of words.
“Look, after the attack on Aaron, Haylee’s friend, it makes more sense that she is the connection to the murder, not the sexual orientation. I’m not sure your opinions on that, and its none of my business. But, in our job, we follow facts. You said it yourself. You pointed out she knew too much. How did she know about the stabbing in the back of the neck? This has to do with her, somehow.”
Pike didn’t say a word. The sexual orientation, the bondage, it made sense to him, because it wasn’t normal. Yet, Vanessa made sense. He had the gut feeling when he spoke with Haylee. They were missing something—the connection.
“You’re thinking a copycat? Someone close to her, maybe?” Pike had thought that once too. He even had the word written in his yellow notebook, circled three times.
“I’m thinking something, maybe copycat? But, how would Gary even know all the details from the first case? I dunno, but I am with Clent on this one. I don’t think that the site is a lead. I think it’s right here, in this town. Something with Haylee, with the murders from two years ago. Something is happening here, under our noses.”
Pike ran his fingers through his graying hair. The snow had now stuck to Vanessa’s jacket, falling gently into her jet-black hair. The moonlight highlighted her soft features. Pike pushed the image out of his head. He was old enough to be her father, broken in more ways than one. The mere thought of her romantically with him made him laugh.
Never gonna happen, old man.
“You want to head back in, grab another drink?” Vanessa asked, breaking him from his thoughts.
“Not yet, the cold air feels nice. I need to calm down,” answered Pike. “I saw red in there. I wanted to hurt him.”
“You want to talk about it?” Vanessa brushed the hair from her face. “What happened in there? What was Clent getting at?”
“My son,” Pike added. “His name is Brent. I haven’t seen him in about fifteen years.”
“—Oh,” Vanessa frowned, she didn’t want to impose. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Pike added. “It’s my choice, my fault. I live with it, and I’m okay with it…”
“You don’t seem okay with it,” she replied.
“I don’t condone the lifestyle he chose. Simple as that. I moved on. My job now is finding bad guys. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at.”
“Then what? When you retire, when you hang up the badge?” asked Velasquez.
“I die,” Pike spoke bluntly. He wanted a cigarette. He wished he’d never quit. He felt the package of Trident gum in his breast pocket.
Piece of shit gum.
“Got a smoke?” he asked.
“I do,” Velasquez grabbed a pack from her purse. “Thought you quit?”
“And I thought I was the detective,” Pike smiled.
. . .
“That got pretty heated,” Brenkins came back to the table with a few more rounds for him and Clent, who downed his beer in one gulp after the spat between him and Pike. Brenkins’ brought two shots and a pitcher of Bud Light to share.
“Pike is an ass, he needs to be put in his place from time to time,” Clent poured himself a new glass. He nodded with an appreciation for the refill. “What’s that?” he pointed at the pair of shots.
“Four Wisemen,” Brenkins’ handed him the shot. “This might help thicken up that so-called mustache you’re trying to grow,” he laughed, holding up his shot for a cheer. “This will put hair on that chest of yours as well.”
“You son of a bitch,” Clent laughed. He obliged, they cheered, and both downed the strong drink.
“Damn…” Clent’s throat burned, he chased it with a large gulp of the freshly poured beer. “This is why I’m a beer guy, shit tastes like poison.”
“That makes it good,” Fat Man nodded. “We can nurse the beers, catch up.”
“Where you been? I was told you were out of the office for the last week,” asked Clent.
“Once I finished with the Simmons report and turned that in, I had a conference out in Boston. You know, a bunch of nerds talking about dead bodies, latest tech, decomposition rates, all sorts of good stuff. Bunch of jack asses to be honest.”
“You really love that shit, don’t you?” Clent shook his head in disbelief. “I still struggle with the crime scenes. That last one, man…” Clent took a swig of the beer. “That’s been haunting my dreams. I can’t get that site out of my brain.”
“It was bad,” Brenkins added. I do enjoy my job, though. I can’t save people like you guys. I’m not cut out for it, just look at these weak arms,” Brenkins lifted his sleeve showing off his lack of muscle. “But, if I can give the dead a voice, help out Pike and guys like you find the killers, I have done my part, right? Making the world a better place?”
“Yeah, I suppose, we would be lost without your expertise, that’s for sure.”
“So, anyway, I leave for a week, and I come back, and you and Pike are down each other’s throats?”
“We’re always like this,” Clent responded. “I just get tired of his bullshit. The guy is great at his job, but he is ignorant. It limits his perspective. He’s caught up on the fact Gary Thom is gay and into that bondage stuff. He won’t shut up about it. He thinks it’s an easy sell, just like everyone else in the ass-backward town. They don’t understand it, so it must be evil.”
“I mean, yeah, I get that,” Brenkins nodded, taking a huge gulp of beer. “I mean, you saw that scene, though. The sex dungeon, the video recorders. You understand why he would look into that?”
“He’s stuck on it,” Clent corrected. “No matter what he finds, he goes back to the lifestyle of the perp. Like, it’s not shocking that a gay man who likes bondage could murder two people like that. He is wrong, it’s shocking, for anyone. I just don’t think it has to do with it. Just because we live in a small-minded, racist county, doesn’t mean everyone who didn’t vote for Trump is a murderer. If you’re different here, you’re untrustworthy.”
“But this guy is a murderer.” Brenkins corrected. “I think it makes sense he would look into this. Right? I mean, what other leads are there? A man invites a stranger into his home, and he and his wife are murdered. They met on the site. Perfect example of Occam’s Razor. The site makes logical sense?”
“But,” Clent argued, “Nothing about the murders says logic. Thi
s is not logical. Nothing we’ve dealt with is logical. That’s the problem. Humans, we’re not logical beings, especially the people we deal with. We’re emotional beings. The other problem? Pike himself. He is an old soul; he doesn’t get it anymore. We’re not the same place, not the same town he started out in. He’s an old soul in a new generation, for better or worse. I saw the way he looked at me when I was a rookie walking into the office for the first time. I remember the way he treated me like I wasn’t even there. It took him years to warm up to me. And I will tell you what,” Clent chugged down the beer, pushed it off to the side. “It wasn’t because I was a rookie. I had to prove myself because of my skin color.”
“Really?” Brenkins shook his head. “I just, I dunno, man. I’ve never seen it.”
“Really?” Clent laughed; it was strained, filled with annoyance. “The white guys tells the black guy, he’s never noticed the racist tendencies of a co-worker. I feel like I’m talking to Pike right now.”
“I just mean, I would never have thought,” Brenkins corrected himself.
“Look. It was like I wasn’t good enough to work with him. I was the only black guy on the force back then. Coincidence? I don’t think so. We’ve connected, bonded maybe, over some crazy shit over the years. This small town has its past, and we got stuck in the thick of it. Mutual respect? Sure. Is he a friend? No, I wouldn’t say that. I don’t think that man has any friends.”
“But you think Pike’s a racist?”
“I think Pike is ignorant as fuck. I see the way he looks at a young black man walking down the street. I hear the way he talks about gay men, definitely homophobic. Let’s not even get started on his position with the Wall and illegal immigrants. Racist, sure? Admittedly a racist? Definitely not. He would deny up and down for days and mean it. Again, its ignorance. He is ignorant. He’s not out there waving the rebel flag, going to secret clan meetings. But he holds his racist thoughts.”
“He always speaks so highly of you,” Brenkins frowned.
“Oh yeah? What’s the old bastard say about me when I’m not around?”
“That you’re a good cop, one of the best,” he added. “His words, not mine.”
“Did he follow it with ‘…for a black guy,’” Clent joked.
“No, he didn’t. I know Pike well enough; he definitely is stubborn. Not a lot of friends, I don’t think he is an optimist when it comes to people, no matter what gender, color, or what they identify as. Political agenda’s aside, he’s a damn good detective.”
“Well shit,” Clent laughed. “You got me there; he does seem to hate just about everyone.”
The two men continued with their drinks until Detective Pike and Vanessa re-entered the bar. They made their way over to them, stopping to chat with Laura for a second, gathering a few more drinks.
“You guys got a pitcher and drank the whole thing?” Vanessa pointed to the empty pitcher.
“You guys took forever,” Brenkins cheeks turned blotchy with red spots. He was getting a good buzz.
“—Hey, Lewis,” Clent spoke, his voice deep. “Sorry about what I said. That shit was unfair.”
“No,” Pike took a seat across from him. “Look, I get it. I apologize. This case is breaking me down. I can’t seem to find anything to hold on to. It’s just; it’s eating me the fuck up.”
“Still, that wasn’t cool of me,” Clent reached out his hand to shake Pikes.
“Keep your handshake,” Pike waved it off, stood up. “I owe you a few drinks.”
“I can handle that,” Clent smiled.
THIRTY-TWO
“I made coffee,” Aaron poured a fresh mug for Haylee, who stumbled out of her bedroom, nearing eleven in the morning. “Cream and sugar, right? Two?”
“Yeah,” Haylee yawned, her head throbbing. She grabbed the back of her head. “I’m pretty hungover.”
“You knocked back the drinks hard after your dad left,” Aaron handed her the steaming cup of coffee. “That will help a bit. I got Trayer outside already. He slept with me on the couch.”
“It was a stressful night,” Haylee shot back, her eyes glaring.
“I’m not judging, I went out on the back porch and smoked a shit ton,” Aaron laughed. “We’ve talked about this. I’m no saint.”
“Sorry,” Haylee added, regretting snapping at him. “I had another dream last night. I drank myself until I passed out. Never took Norco, so of course, I had the nightmares again.”
“The creature?”
“Yeah, it was horrible,” Haylee took a cautioned sip of the coffee, it wasn’t too hot, but strong, perfectly sweetened. “It was with Gary, holding him, cradled like a child in its lap. He was breastfeeding with that thing. I saw visions again; I think it was of the murders. Visions have been popping up in my head lately, of the attack. Last night it was more fluid, in my dream.”
“You are seeing visions too?” Aaron asked, he placed his coffee down on the kitchen table.
“I thought I told you?” Haylee frowned.
“No, I knew of the dreams.”
“Yeah, lately, I will be sitting around doing something, and I go into like a trance. I lose time, usually only a few minutes. But it’s like, I dunno how to explain it? A fractured memory? Like, I keep seeing in Gary’s view of him walking up behind Dennis in a room, there is some sort of, I dunno...pulley machine near them? Dennis is messing with it, talking. I can’t hear the words, but it sounds casual. Then Gary just sticks the knife into the back of his neck.”
“Jesus,” Aaron frowns.
“So, last night, though, it was more vivid. Like, I was there, in Gary’s head. I could hear his thoughts, and there was something else in his head too. It was egging him on. I think it was the creature? It wasn’t really words, like, I don’t know what I’m saying, I can’t explain it...Thoughts or emotions being forced into his head? It seemed so real, so fucked up.” Haylee caught her hands quivering from the story.
“It was a dream. You’re probably so stressed out, so tired, scared, and you’re trying to understand what happened. So, you know, you created this thing, to make sense of it all?”
“Maybe,” Haylee rubbed her dry eyes in her hands. “That makes sense. Doctors always threw the words ‘coping mechanisms’ at me, saying I always hid from my problems.”
“Have you caught up on the news?” Aaron spun his laptop over to her.
“What’s that?” She took a seat at the table. “Police found a stolen vehicle on the side of the road,” she read aloud.
“It’s your dad’s rental. They found it a few miles down from the Simmons’ residence, near the woods. Abandoned, the door was still open. It was a fresh snowfall that night, and tracks led into the woods. Again, he was nowhere to be found.”
“Jesus,” Haylee skimmed over the article. “Look at all these comments,” a heavy frown took her face. “It’s just so ugly. They are blaming Dennis like it was his fault.”
“Yeah,” Aaron replied. “People love to judge.”
“Do you think he is going to show up?” Haylee asked.
“Who?”
“My dad,” she replied bluntly.
“I dunno, he seemed pretty upset.”
“Yeah,” Haylee answered.
“What about us?” Aaron asked. “Are we cool?”
“Cool?” Haylee pondered the question. “No.”
“Oh... Shit,” Aaron was a bit shocked. The morning conversation seemed to note otherwise. He hoped they were back on good terms.
“I want to read the script,” She added. “You wrote it about me, right? You acted like a snake, pretended to be my friend to try and write my stor
y behind my back?”
Aaron didn’t respond; he nodded.
“I want to read it.”
“Okay,” Aaron replied.
“Yeah?” Haylee looked surprised.
“Soon as they open my apartment back up, it’s yours. I don’t even want it anymore. You can delete the thing. I’m not gonna finish it. I feel terrible about it.”
“Well,” Haylee turned from him, making her way into the living room where the smashed television sat. It was now in the corner a heap of broken plastic and glass. Aaron must have cleaned it up. “It’s a start in the right direction.”
“Yeah?” Aaron smiled. “I was going to take that to the curb. Shitty, your dad wrecked your television.”
“He likes to make his point being overly drastic, not the first time,” Haylee explained.
“It’s almost noon,” Haylee looked at the clock in the room. “She should be here soon.”
“The Lydia woman?” Aaron asked.
“Yeah,” She answered. “I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be,” he said, finishing off his coffee. “Maybe, she will have answers.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
THIRTY-THREE
Lydia Cayce sat in the passenger seat of the twenty-nineteen black SUV driven by her assistant, a young woman named Jeanie Dawson. Lydia was fast at work with an apple MacBook on her lap. She was lost in her digital journals, speaking out loud to herself every few minutes going over case notes. She had a travel mug she sipped from; coffee spiced up with a little Irish whiskey to keep her warm in between thoughts.
“Age, thirteen, poltergeist-like symptoms,” Lydia whispered to herself, taking a sip. “Visions, night terrors, susceptible to shadow people. Potentially demonic in nature, mixture of residual and intelligent…” Lydia frowned, “…father borderline narcist, yes...I had forgotten that. Mother potentially in-tune, possible bloodline connection. Subject currently experimenting with substance abuse as a coping mechanism, emotionally off-put, scared, fragile, not ready for development.”