Hallowed Page 15

  As I climbed into my Pontiac and started her engine, I briefly considered dropping by the Wicke’s house uninvited and asking Claudia if she wanted a ride, but quickly realized that I’d temporarily lost my mind.

  Did I somehow think one kiss changed our relationship?

  I didn’t know the answer to that one.

  All I knew was that since Claudia and I had been hanging out together, she never asked me for a ride to school. It was always after school that she asked. Why? The only explanation that I had was that giving her a ride to and from school smacked of structure.

  If this friendship was not going to die on the table, it was important that we kept it casual and that seemingly spontaneous invitation for a ride home from school was acceptable in that context.

  So why the hell had she kissed me, I kept asking myself?

  There wasn’t much talk about the mine collapse at school. I didn’t know if it was because it happened in that far faraway universe out east or because it didn’t involve anyone under the age of eighteen. Teenagers are selfish creatures. Most live in their own insulated bubbles. If it doesn’t touch them, they’re not interested.

  I figure it’s some sort of survival instinct.

  I went through the first half of the day without seeing her once. When lunch arrived, I considered blowing it off altogether and going to the practice room like I had the day before, but decided that I was acting as if I had done something wrong. She was the one who had kissed me, right? My memory of the event had gone foggy.

  “Hey.” Claudia joined me on the bleachers with her backpack and began to unpack her lunch. It was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  I stared at her in confusion. What, no cereal?

  She stared at me with an innocent expression, looked down at the sandwich and shrugged. “Mom needs to go shopping.” She took an experimental bite as pensively as if she were putting a toe in a tub filled with water of dubious temperature. Then she began to chew, her eyelids in a moment of private pleasure, the briefest of smiles skirting across her lips.

  A warm rush of renewed affection for her washed through me. Funny, how the smallest of details can make a person more real to you.

  “Did you hear about the miners?” she asked me.

  “Yeah, you and I seem to be the only ones aware that there’s life going on outside this town.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. Everyone’s still talking about yesterday.” She gave me a sudden and deliberate look. “But you probably don’t want to talk about yesterday, do you?”

  I looked up at her and she simply stared back.

  “Um… sure, I guess... I mean, if you want, we could… talk.”

  “So talk.”

  “About what?”

  “What do you think?”

  I was on the edge of raising the only subject preoccupying my mind, the “kiss,” when she finally said, “Fine then, let me start you off. What happened in Mrs. Hebert’s class that forced you to evacuate?”

  “Oh that?” I snapped, attempting a smooth recovery, but still earned a single raised brow from her. “Everybody was talking about the school shootings and I got a little frustrated that everyone was so focused on the killer instead of the victims.”

  “Well, that seems reasonable to me. That’s what people do when they’re scared. They try and understand the aberration and ask ‘why’,” she responded. Ripping off another chuck of her sandwich, she retrieved her dreaded serial killer notebook from her backpack.

  “Do you ever think that maybe there is no rationale for all this?” I asked.

  “Never,” she stated with confidence. “Whether we can find it or not is the real question.” She seemed about to open the notebook, then glanced up at me instead. “So what are you doing on Friday night?”

  “Homecoming game.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she exclaimed, taking a bite of the sandwich and talking through it. “The game. The dance. It’s a conformist’s wet dream.”

  “I figure I’ll go. To the dance, I mean.”

  Claudia stopped chewing and gave me an incredulous look. “Why?”

  I shrugged. “Something to do.”

  Claudia stared at her sandwich with a little less enthusiasm.

  I continued, “You’re right, y’know. I don’t get out enough.”

  “When did I say that?”

  “When I was putting up the display and you called me a loser.”

  “I didn’t call you a loser.”

  “You implied it.”

  “I was goofing on you,” Claudia answered. “You of all people should recognize when I’m joking and when I’m being serious.”

  I slapped my sandwich down atop my brown bag and turned to look her full in the face. Even though I saw myself doing it, I felt impossible to stop it, like a pedestrian witness to a car wreck.

  “Y’know, that’s funny. Maybe you can explain that one to me. When should I take you serious? Perhaps you could tell me what warning signs to watch for so next time I won’t get the wrong impression.”

  Claudia sat there watching me for a moment before crumpling up her sandwich in her own brown bag and shoving it into her open backpack. She rose without a word and started down the bleachers.

  “Dammit,” I grumbled to myself. I looked down at my half-eaten sandwich and decided I wasn’t up to the task of finishing it.

  “I got a call from your principal this morning. He says that you walked out of your sixth period English class,” Mom said as I walked in the front door.

  Rather than try to explain myself, I just stood there and let her disappointment wash over me.

  “They said that they understand the state of mind of some of the students because of what happened in Jasper, and they’re not going to take any disciplinary action. They just wanted us to know, in case we wanted to address it with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shrugged. “I feel like we already did last night.”

  “Paul, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to think about it. The attitudes of most of these people at school just piss me off. Me. Me. Me. They can’t think outside their little boxes.”

  “I understand, but you can’t just decide to walk out of a situation because you’re angry,” she replied, trepidation in her voice for what was to follow. “That’s why your father and I decided to take your car away from you.”

  My mouth dropped open. “How am I supposed to get to school? To work?”

  “We’ll… I’ll drive you,” she said with a touch of annoyance.

  I clamped my mouth shut and stomped up to my room.

  Chapter 16 (Thursday, October 15th)

  Thursday morning I staggered out of bed like a freshly risen zombie. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. No nightmares this time. Just anger and guilt. Anger of the many injustices of youth and guilt over my handling of Claudia, especially in light of what I’d learned from Mom about her health.

  I briefly considered calling Claudia to apologize and then felt ashamed of myself for even suggesting that. Why shouldn’t I go to the dance? How dare she call me a loser?

  This rage confused me and I couldn’t determine its source.

  I snapped on the radio in the bathroom and was assaulted with the third tragedy in three days. A bridge had collapsed in New Jersey during the busy morning commute and they were already speculating that shoddy construction had been to blame. Again, it was the sins of man, in this case Greed, leading to more death and destruction.

  I stumbled into the shower, not bothering to change the station. After all, I couldn’t escape it. Death surrounded me. I felt a little shell-shocked.

  I needed to see Claudia and I found myself hoping that she would show up in the bleachers for lunch.

  She didn’t.

  When I got to Comeaux’s that night, I focused completely on getting the weekly stock out, knowing that it would be a long night if Don-Tom and I didn’t
stay on top of it.

  Around eight o’clock, I glanced up from stocking the spices to see my father standing at the end of the aisle. He seemed to move forward from a dead stop. How long had he been watching me?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, in confusion. Then I stood in alarm. “Is Mom okay?”

  “She’s fine, Paul. I got home at a decent hour for a change and your mother and I got a craving for tacos. Where are the tacos shells?”

  We started over to the end-cap of aisle eight.

  “Listen, I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page about the car.”

  “Dad, it’s not fair,” I started in angrily. “I realize that I did something stupid—again--but the punishment doesn’t really fit the crime.”

  He nodded. “I pleaded down to one week. How’s that?”

  I glanced up at him to gauge if the time was negotiable, but my Dad appeared firm. “I guess that’s fair,” I stated grimly.

  “What time do you get off tonight?”

  “Don’t worry about picking me up. I’m getting a ride from Don-Tom.”

  We walked in silence for a few moments before I asked how the investigation was going.

  He suddenly looked guilty. “Stressful. They told me to get some family time, so I left early. Well, I was told to leave early.”

  I reached up and snagged a box of the solitary brand of taco shells we carried. Beggars can’t be choosers in Haven, Texas.

  Dad stared down at the box of taco shells with more intensity than it deserved. “Paul, I need you to do me a favor and be very vigilant from now on. I’m not just talking about looking out for yourself here, but your friends as well.”

  He must have read the confusion on my face because he shot me an authoritative look, finalized it with a brisk Graves nod and said, “Just be aware of your environment. There are some bad things going on close to home, and I need to know you’re going to be one of the cool-headed few that I can count on not to do something irrational.”

  He looked as if he were going to ruffle my hair, thought twice about it, and placed a hand on my shoulder instead. “And don’t ask what I know, because I can’t go into it. Not tonight. The way things have been going, I figure you’ll know more about it in the morning.” He tightened his grip my shoulder and started away.

  This bizarre visit occupied my mind for the next two hours until after we closed. “Starship” was coming in to give Don-Tom and me a hand with the shelving.

  “So did you hear?” he asked us before he’d even clocked in. “Another body turned up.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. The floor seemed unsteady for a moment. All I could think about was Claudia. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen her at all that day.

  “How do you know this, Rob?” Don-Tom asked.

  “Internet. Some people in Happsville said that it happened this morning over in Ulee’s Junction.”

  It stood to reason that “Starship” would have gotten information like this first. Ulee’s Junction was mainly pastureland just off Highway 158. It would have been considered a ghost town if there was any evidence of an actual town.

  “You believe everything you read on the internet?”

  “At least five separate sources verified that information, including a major newspaper, so don’t give me that.” He started toward the break room to clock in.

  “Hey, Rob.” I had meant to call out to him but the sound that came from my mouth was puny from lack of oxygen.

  He turned but continued walking up the aisle backward. “I’ll be right back.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? It was a guy this time.”

  My lungs decided to give me a break and let a little air through. The ground firmed beneath me.

  I caught Don-Tom watching me as I turned back to the half-completed pasta shelf. He didn’t say anything but I figured he knew exactly what had gone through my head.

  When I got home, Mom and Dad were asleep. The kitchen was still a mess, very uncharacteristic of my mother, who said that she couldn’t rest easy knowing that there was a mess waiting for her downstairs. In the living room, I found Dad’s watch and wallet on the coffee table next to an open bag of chips.

  Strange.

  I made my way upstairs and started to my room past Dad’s office but stopped. I could hear a steady raspy breathing coming from behind the closed door down the hall that meant that my father was into deep REM sleep. (Funny, they usually left their door open.)

  Before I could think about the repercussions, I was inside the office and sitting in the chair behind his desk. It gave a loud creak of protest as if it knew I was an uninvited occupant. I lifted my head and waited a few moments for the sound of a door opening.

  I found his brief bag--heavy with its promises of answers--and lifted it into my lap. I couldn’t see a damned thing and realized that I would have to take it somewhere I could read.

  I rushed out of my father’s office and into the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet and feeling like a lecherous kid sneaking a look at a porno magazine for the first time, I opened his bag and rummaged through his investigation materials.

  There were a series of manila folders with dates. Inside each folder, I found scribbled notes written in my father’s distinctive handwriting atop a stack of Sheriff’s Department forms. Figuring this was probably the most pertinent information, I started with the one dated Wednesday, October 14.

  Dad had written: “Body of 17 yr old male, black hair, 5 foot 8, found @ bottom of tub converted for use for watering cattle in pasture, 300 yds from Highway 158 between Ulee’s Junction and Haven. Throat slit @ jugular. Head removed from torso. Autopsy reveals death occurred 2 to 3 days previous. No sexual trauma. Bruising and tissue damage show convincing evidence of struggle.

  “Richard Crawford, pasture owner, woke to sound of disturbance to cattle @ aprox 4:30am, and saw taillights of vehicle identified as 80’s or 90’s model domestic truck pulling off shoulder and heading NE on Highway 158. Body found just after 5:00am (daybreak 7:33am).

  “The words ‘ALLAHU AKBAR’ written (block letters, all caps) w/Sharpie style pen--top edge of tub.

  “Death card from Tarot deck arranged, tucked into neck collar of body where head should be.”

  I read through his notes in the other two manila folders, refreshing my memory on the first two victims:

  “Sadie Nayar, 16 yr old female, blond hair (worn long), 5 foot 4 (San Marcos, TX). Body found wrapped in Tuff N’ Hefty brand garbage bag in otherwise empty dumpster behind abandoned parts warehouse in Pine Marsh, Saturday, October 10th. (Warehouse closed over 1 1/2 yrs previous.) Entire body wrapped in burial shroud and burned. Face/Hands undamaged. Fibers of fire-proof material found around neck and right wrist. Autopsy reveals death occurred between 7 to 10 days previous. No trauma to sexual organs.

  “Body found by Brent Long, known transient, who attempted to gain entry to warehouse for the night, smelled ‘something rotten’ and traced the smell to dumpster. He hiked 1 1/2 mi to Victor’s Fill N Go gas station to call 911.

  “In addition to various entries of graffiti on the outside of dumpster, the freshest and only entry on interior of container were the words ‘Sam Hain’ written (in cursive script, both upper and lower case) in red spray paint.

  Then this following entry was underlined:

  “Cross w/loop in place of top vertical quarter (aunk?) cut from polished silver (worn on chain as necklace) arranged on top of trash bag.”

  I read the contents of a third folder:

  “Grace Fischer, 18 yr old female, short dark brown hair, 5 foot 8, (Rendon, TX). Skeletal remains found in ravine along bicycle path on Ventnor Avenue, Abner on Wed, Sept 30th. Neck broken by apparent strangulation. Autopsy indicates victim killed 2 to 3 mos previous (July-August).”

  I found two photos; one was the object Dad had called a “cross w/loop” and the other was the tarot card found with the next victim. The cross had been arranged atop t
he trash bag, with the chain forming a semi-circle above the cross. The tarot card of Death was positioned half inside half outside of the collar of the body of the male victim. The card displayed a knight atop his horse in profile holding a banner. The knight’s face was a skull.

  Then there were the photos of the corpse. These I carefully avoided.

  Arranging the folders back in the same position that I’d found them, I turned out the light in the bathroom and glanced down the darkened hallway. Once I heard Dad’s regular breathing again, I walked casually back to his office and placed the bag back where I had found it.

  Inside my room, I found a brand new cell phone wrapped with a bow and sitting on my desk beside my computer. The accompanying note read: “Happy early birthday! Already activated and ready to go. Love, Mom and Dad.”

  Great! I was already feeling guilty enough without adding this to the mix. A gift this large wasn’t typical of my parents, but I also knew that it was sure to come with strings attached—imposed twenty-four hour tabs on me.

  Though I knew I was foolish to think that anything had happened to her, I still had to know if Claudia was safe at home before I could comfortably go to bed. I booted up my computer and immediately noticed that Claudia was on-line as well. My messenger panel displayed her screen-name, Rigor Mortis.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and was about to power down and go to bed when I received a message:

  “Hi,” I read.

  I typed the safe response: “Hi.”

  I typed out the three words “We should talk” then hesitated before sending it. Reading it over and over, measuring the connotations and realizing that it could be interpreted in more than one way, then deciding that it was exactly how I wanted her to read it, but before I could send it, I received the exact word-for-word message from Claudia.

  “We should talk.”

  I scoffed. It was scary when someone else rented space in your own head.

  I deleted my previous message and typed my response: “Definitely!”

  The message “Meet me in my backyard,” flashed up in the messenger box.