The
Spirits Within
Brady
hated Halloween. Everyone dressing up like a super hero or something else
stupid had never worked for him. He knew, better than anyone, that you couldn’t
pretend to be someone else. He’d tried. Still didn’t get him any friends.
When you’re a
foster kid, you’re who your file says you are. It was that simple. The people
you lived with had read the whole thing, and there was no changing their minds.
So you stuck it out until the next foster family, and you started all over
again. For sixteen of his eighteen years, Brady had hoped, wished, and begged
to be set free, to be eighteen and on his own. Then it happened.
He’d aged out of
the system. Didn’t matter that he was still in high school. Didn’t matter that
he’d finally ended up in a decent neighborhood with a decent school. But when
he turned eighteen, the money stopped, and the people who’d said he was like
their son told him he’d have to start paying rent if he wanted to keep his bed
in their house.
Brady told himself
it was cool. Fine by him. He’d hang around long enough to get his high school
diploma, then he’d split. So he took what jobs he could find that didn’t need a
car to get there, and so far, he was paying on time. Now, though, he ate fast
food in his room and avoided the people in the house as much as possible. He
wasn’t family anymore, just a renter.
The whole thing sucked. But what
did he expect? No one had ever cared about him, not for a second. He was
another name on a long list for the social workers, and just another mouth to
be fed, when they felt like it, for the fosters who’d been paid to keep him.
That was life, and he was used to it. Stick to yourself, get that high school
diploma, then start your real life, he’d told himself since forever.
So this new job
was close enough to walk to after school.
He worked from three to midnight, with time off for dinner, which he
never took because he wanted the money more. Like most of his jobs, it was
stupid and mindless, but he was getting a kick out of jerking the clients’
chains. A Halloween place called The Spirit Store had opened up in an empty
video place, one of those deals that plastered neon green and orange signs in
the windows and was crammed with Halloween crap. Cheap stuff, all of it, and
probably toxic as well. Not that he cared if people wanted to poison themselves
with black lipstick and nail polish. His job was to help people find costumes
and then ring them up. Period. The place didn’t get busy until after five,
usually, and the closer to Halloween, the busier it had become. Not tonight, though. Good thing, since the twerp
who was supposed to be working with him hadn’t shown up, hadn’t called, and for
all Brady cared, was dead.
The store could
get creepy when it was quiet. Normally, Brady liked quiet, since he didn’t get
a lot of it in a house filled with younger foster kids. Tonight, though, he was
getting a little goose-bumpy. Couldn’t
say why. Just felt something, like
whispers in a dark corner where he could catch a word here and there, but
nothing cohesive. An air of dark
anticipation hung over him, a feeling he tried to deny but couldn’t. If he could have swatted it away like an
annoying swarm of bees, he would have.
As it was, he
chalked up the heebie-jeebies to being tired and depressed. No matter how hard
he wished it were otherwise, the school year was creeping along at the pace of
a guy going home to tell his wife he’d been caught hiring a hooker and the
court date was in two weeks. All he wanted was out of this life that clung to
him like a bad smell. To be on his own.
To have a real job, make real money, and have real friends. Wasn’t going
to happen in this town, that much was for sure.
Just when he was
about to check out the whispering still coming from the back of the store, a
woman pushed open the front door. He gave her a glance, but he sure didn’t feel
like helping her. She looked like the
type who’d open every costume package and leave without buying anything. So instead,
he finished setting up the display of Halloween makeup until, with her standing
right beside him, he couldn’t ignore her any longer. Who shopped for Halloween stuff at eleven at night?
“Can you tell me
where I can find a slutty princess costume?” The woman demanding his attention
wasn’t much older than he was. Pretty in a bleached blonde kind of way, but
wearing too much lipstick and pink stuff on her cheeks. She wore bright orange,
tight shorts and a skinny T-shirt he recognized as belonging to a chain that
sold wings and beer to men who only dreamed about having a woman like her. Hot and sexy, he imagined is how other men
would describe her.
“Uh, I don’t think
we have anything like that. I can show you where the women’s costumes are.”
Turning, he headed for the side of the store crammed with over-priced, flimsy,
cheaply made shit.
“I like your
shirt,” the woman said, pointing to it as if he’d never seen it before. “ ‘Don’t piss me off, I’m running out of
places to bury the bodies.’ So cool.”
He didn’t tell her
it was the only black T-shirt he could find at the thrift store, and since all
the sales help at his job were required to wear black, he bought it anyway. No
one had complained.
“Here you go.” He
pointed to the rack of costumes. “Let me know when you’re ready to check out.
We close at midnight.”
He had to get some
sleep before he caught the 6:30 bus to school. The walk to his house, not his
home, would take at least twenty-five minutes. He was gonna be so happy when he
could grab that piece of paper at graduation and start his real life. He just
knew having a diploma would make up for all this shit he was going through.
“It sucks working
this late, doesn’t it? I just got off my shift.”
He stared at her.
Making conversation wasn’t in his job description. “Yeah, I guess. But I go to
school, so I gotta work when I can.”
“Me, too. I’m
going to the community college, working on my LPN. I want to be a nurse someday.”
Brady shrugged,
wondering where this was going. “That’s good, I guess. Me, I’m going to write
books.” Surprising himself by his disclosure, Brady turned, ready to flee for
the front of the store. Talking with girls wasn’t really his scene.
But she reached
out and put a hand on his arm, and he was trapped.
“What kind of
books? I love to read. Don’t have much time these days, but whenever I get a
chance, I pick up something. Usually Fantasy. I love other world stories.”
Despite himself,
Brady found himself liking her. Underneath all that make-up she was kinda
pretty. “Me too. I really love Game of Thrones, too.”
“Oh, and the show
on HBO is great! I love the dragons, they look so real.”
“I don’t get HBO.
Don’t own a TV.” He didn’t explain that he didn’t want to intrude on the new
crop of fosters that had just moved into the house. To them, he was the
outsider, even though he’d been there first. They had no problems with hogging
the TV, but then, they hadn’t been in the System long. They thought they were
still “Normal.”
“That’s too bad,
but you can catch up when it comes out on DVD. Shouldn’t be too long.”
“Don’t have the
money for that kind of crap.” Sweat
rolled down his back between his shoulder blades. He hadn’t talked with a woman
or girl for this long a conversation since he was a kid and thought he was like
everyone else.
“Got to get back to work. Cameras.” He pointed
to the corner where a black rectangle protruded from the ceiling. It was left
over from the video store days and didn’t work, but the Spirit Store owners
told everyone who worked there that it did to scare them into pretending to be
working. Brady had taken the time to check it out and knew otherwise.
“Okay, thanks.”
The woman seemed unhappy with him, he couldn’t figure out why. Who cared,
anyway? Did she expect him to flirt, say something nice? Not in his job
description. He kept to himself, always had, always would. Flattering women
wasn’t in his job description.
Whatever he’d
done, worked, and the woman paid for her costume with a credit card and was out
of there before 11:30. Hesitating in the half-opened door, she turned to look
at him. For a second, he thought she was
going to ask him something, so he turned his back. He wanted to close up early.
In a way, he was
sorry to see her go, but he didn’t even say “good night.” She’d made him wonder for a few seconds if
they’d known each other in a foster home as kids, the way she seemed to feel
they could talk like friends. Nah, couldn’t be, he’d decided. She was just the
overly friendly type. Usually, that kind didn’t come within ten feet of him.
Something about him scared them off, and he was good with that.
He waited fifteen minutes for someone to come
through the door and ruin his plan to close up early, but no one did. He’d
already straightened the crap up, so all he had to do was hit the lights and
lock the door. It was electronic and programmed to turn green when the alarm
was set, as if anyone would want to break in and steal any of the cheap
merchandise. He got to the house by 12:15 and let himself in through the
kitchen door, creeping upstairs after stealing milk from the fridge. They’d
never miss it, because he didn’t use a glass, he drank from the milk container.
The idea of them never knowing his lips had touched their precious milk gave
him a reason to smile. Smiling was a hard deal, but now and then, he used those
muscles.
Two days later, he
heard a sound bite of the news when he was heading upstairs after school to
change into his work clothes. The announcer said a woman was missing and her
name was Gloria Redfern, she was a waitress at Hooters and twenty-two years
old. Her parents, with whom she was
living along with her three year old son, said she hadn’t come home from work
two nights ago. Anyone with information, blah, blah, blah.
Taking few steps
down the stairs so he could see the TV screen, Brady recognized the woman who’d
wanted the slutty princess costume, her picture totally different from the
woman he’d seen, because she was cuddling a little kid and smiling like a proud
parent. Still, he knew it was her.
“I gotta use the
phone,” Brady called to the kids clustered around the TV, waiting impatiently
for their “program” to resume. He
couldn’t afford a cell phone and the fosters were required to keep a working
house phone, so he didn’t worry about not having a cell. No one called him
anyway. Picking up the phone, he headed upstairs where he could have some
privacy.
Dialing the
information number he’d seen on the TV screen, Brady was put through to a man
when he said he was calling about the missing woman. Normally, he’d have
ignored the whole deal, but the photo of her with her kid had bothered
him. He didn’t want that kid to go
through what he’d gone through. Probably the grandparents were old, and the boy
would end up in foster care in the end, and that wasn’t right.
Brady described
exactly when the woman had left the Halloween store to the man who’d identified
himself as Sgt. Lowell. Said he was positive of the ID. Told him the address of
the store, his name, home address, and every other stupid thing Sgt. Lowell
wanted to know. But when the cop wanted him to come down in person to talk about
the woman, he put on the brakes.
“I got school and
two jobs, and no car,” Brady muttered. “You want to see me, you come to me.”
Now he was sorry
he’d gotten involved. This was going to be a hassle and he couldn’t afford any
time off from work, not with his next rent payment due in a week.
Still, he was
surprised when he got called to the principal’s office the next day. The man
he’d spoke with on the phone was in Mrs. McTavish’s desk chair, along with
another man he introduced as Detective McCray, who leaned against the wall with
his arms crossed, staring at Brady as if he were a particularly ugly bug. The
guidance office had been cleared for them, and Brady found himself repeating
everything he’d already told Lowell. When he complained that he was missing his
classes, Lowell gave him a look like he was some kind of doo-doo smeared on his
shoes.
“A woman’s life is
at stake here. I think it’s a little more important than shop class.”
“It’s honors
English, and I’ve already told you all I know.” Brady rose from the chair
facing the guidance counselor’s desk and grabbed the door handle. “I’m outta
here.”
“Not so fast,
son.” McCray shoved a beefy shoulder
into the half-opened door, almost catching Brady’s hand between it and the
jamb. “Tell us more about yourself, why don’t you?”
That was when
Brady knew they weren’t telling him something. He’d seen enough “Law and Order”
on TV growing up to recognize the trouble he was in. He also knew enough to
keep his mouth shut.
“I’ve told you
everything I know, and if you want to talk more, get me a lawyer.” He’d heard the line so many times on TV, it
sounded almost natural.
“Guilty people
want lawyers, not innocent folks.” Lowell was trying to be charming, but Brady
wasn’t falling for it.
“What’s the real
deal?” Brady wasn’t letting go of the door handle. McCray might outweigh him by
fifty pounds, but Brady was wiry and strong, even if he wasn’t over five foot,
eight. All that walking gave him a muscle edge over the slightly paunchy
detective. “You’re not just looking for a missing person.”
“Don’t you know?”
McCray smirked at him. “Sure you do. You were there. Tell us how you caught up
to her after she left The Spirit Store. And where’d you dump her body?”
“What the hell?”
This wasn’t TV, this was real life, something Brady knew all too well. “Dump
her body? What kind of joke is this? How do you know she’s dead?”
Lowell shook his
head, as if Brady had screwed up, big time. “We’ll be getting DNA right now,
the team is at your place. Can’t argue with science. We’ll find yours on her body, that’s for sure.”
Brady wasn’t as
dumb as they thought he was. They’d told him they didn’t have any body. Any sympathy he’d had for the woman and her
kid dissolved like sugar in rain. Once more, life was handing him lemons and he
was just supposed to swallow the bitter juice and smile.
“Not mine. If it’s
there, you planted it. Now arrest me, get me a lawyer, or get out of my way.”
Lowell and McCray
looked at each other, speaking a language only they could hear. Ignoring
McCray’s body-block, Brady forced himself through the door. “Leave me alone.
You’ve got nothing, or I’d be in handcuffs.”
“Let me cuff the
little twerp.” Lowell was almost pleading with McCray. “Just for fun.”
“We play this by
the book. We can’t afford any screw-ups.”
Brady heard the
last just as he sprinted down the hall, his heart thrumming like a rabbit
searching for his warren with a fox hot on his ass. What the . . . ? His mind kept looping with the photo of the
woman and her kid, and despite the hassle he’d been through, he still felt
sorry for the little boy. Looking down,
he ran full-bore into the guidance counselor.
“Brady, I was just
looking for you. We need to talk.” Grabbing Brady’s elbow, Mrs. McTavish pulled
him to the side of the hall. “The police think you had something to do with
that waitress who disappeared a couple of nights ago. They said her car was
covered in blood. ”
“I didn’t know
about her car,” Brady snarled. “When they dragged me into your office, they told
me I killed her. But they don’t have her
body.”
Mrs. McTavish
looked stricken. “I told them to wait
while I tracked you down. They weren’t
supposed to talk to you alone.” She
paused. “But you are eighteen, and an adult. They can do what they want. Brady,
I need to know how much trouble you’re in. Is there anything you should be
telling me?”
A small, round
woman carrying too much weight, Mrs. McTavish looked like a pickled egg about
to burst out of her shell. Staring at
her, Brady had to force himself to stop imagining what she’d look like,
exploded all over the hallway. He tried to remember she was the one who’d
gotten him into Honors English, and how she kept telling him he could do
anything he wanted in life. At least she’d pretended to believe in him.
“No,” he answered
with unqualified certainty. “Nothing at
all.”
“Then be careful.
I don’t know why they wanted you, but I saw pictures on my computer this
morning of her car. Pretty gruesome. I know you had nothing to do with this,
but if you can help with anything, anything at all, tell them so they can find
the real killer.” Wringing her hands,
Mrs. McTavish glanced up and down the hall way over his shoulders.
“What if she’s not
dead? What if it’s someone else’s blood?”
He was thinking aloud. “Where’d they find her car, anyway?”
Mrs. McTavish was
looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Parked in that lot beside
the soccer field, off Landston Pike.”
He knew the place
well. It was half a mile from his house, and he’d passed it on the way home
from work at The Spirit Store. Had she been dying there when he’d been trotting
home? Why hadn’t they found a body? He
knew better than to ask Mrs. McTavish anything else.
“Hope they find
her. Or whoever did it. Now I gotta get to class.”
Before he could
escape, she caught his arm. “I was coming to find you to tell you Principal
Willston wants you to go home. He doesn’t think you’ll get much from class
today.”
Studying at her,
Brady read the truth in her face, her eyes. “He thinks I’m a killer, doesn’t
he?”
She refused to
confirm what he knew to be true. “Go home, Brady. Don’t say anything to anyone
about this. I’ll call you when you can come back to school.”
“So I’m suspended
because I sold some lady a costume?”
This had to be a joke of cosmic proportions, and he was the butt end of
it.
“Just go home,
Brady. I’ll call your parents and explain.”
She sounded tired and sad.
“Don’t bother.
They’re not my parents. Just my landlords.”
Jerking free of her hand, Brady ran for the front doors. He could feel
the detectives’ eyes following him as he sprinted across the bus line to the
road leading back to his house. His room. His rented room.
When he finally
got home, his former foster parents were standing in the front yard, steaming
mad. Pausing at the edge of the walk, Brady stared at them and received nothing
but glares in response. Not a word was spoken. He knew, as he watched policemen
walking out of the house with boxes, that they would take any and everything,
whether or not it was his. He wished he
had a computer so he could pull up the pictures Mrs. McTavish had mentioned,
but he used the one at the library when he had to write a report.
For a second, he
thought of approaching his former fosters and telling them it was all a
mistake, that he had nothing to do with anyone’s disappearance, but the
half-step he took onto the grass was as far as he got. His landlords turned
their backs to him, effectively saying anything and everything they would have
said with words. He was an outcast. No affection, no support, no concern for
his welfare would ever cross their narrow little minds.
He’d always known
he was alone, but he’d never felt it as keenly as now. No one was on his side.
What was he supposed to do now?
He had the twenty
dollars he allowed himself per week for food in his pocket. Eating wasn’t high
on his priority list just now. His cash was hidden under a floorboard in his
room, and he was feeling kinda light-headed because he’d skipped dinner and
breakfast. Maybe he could hang out in a
McD’s for a bit, wait for things to settle down, eat from the dollar menu.
Think. Try to figure out why he was a suspect.
The security
cameras at the Spirit Store didn’t work. All he could think was that the woman
had left her costume behind in the car, along with the credit card receipt. They’d
found out he’d been alone in the store when she came in, put two and two
together and come up with eighteen. Stupid jerks. Anyone who knew him, knew
he’d never hurt anyone.
Then again, who
really knew him? His stories, the ones
he wrote out longhand in half-used school notebooks, were the closest thing he
had to friends. None of the stories were about people pleasant or even kind,
some even portrayed evil as he’d seen and known it in his own hard life. But of
all the stuff in his room, the few clothes, the school assignments, the money
under the floorboard, all he wanted were his stories. The money would be helpful, though.
He thought about
all of this as he nursed his drink, refilled it, drank it slowly again, and
pushed around the cold French fries on his tray at McD’s. Darkness fell and the shift changed behind
the counter. He bought another dollar
hamburger, chewing it slowly. Finally,
he knew what he had to do.
The walk to the
soccer field was so familiar, he could do it with his eyes shut. He’d blown off
work at The Spirit Store tonight, so he was probably fired, but he had expected
that anyway. The detectives probably made sure he’d never work there again when
they’d talked to the store manager. Halloween. Such a stupid excuse for a
holiday. Not even a holiday, an excuse for people to pretend to be someone
else. He did that every day of his life, pretending to be normal.
The parking lot
lights glared on the yellow crime scene tape that fluttered around one
spot. The woman’s car must have been
there, he figured, and now it was gone. Probably towed for forensics to get a
better look. He looked out onto the
broad expanse of grass. The color was otherworldly under the sodium lighting.
No soccer game
tonight, not even a pick-up. Sitting in
the bleachers overlooking the field, Brady slumped over, cradling his face in
his hands. Nothing felt real anymore. Even
his skin didn’t belong to him. He’d thought that if he could see where the
woman had come, he might get a feeling for what had happened to her. How pathetic was that? he asked
himself. He wondered how far he could
get if he started walking now. There was nothing for him here. No home, no
school, no friends, no answers as to why the universe had chosen him to beat
up. If he’d believed in that
reincarnation crap, he’d have said he was a real creep in his life before this
one. There was no other explanation, because he’d never hurt anyone in his life.
Even though he’d
been sitting in McD’s for hours, he felt as if he’d been walking the whole day.
Every muscle ached. Hauling himself from the bleachers, he started across the
field with no particular direction in mind. He was just going to keep going
until something stopped him. The dew soaked his sneakers, and the hems of his
black jeans sopped up more wet. Shoulders rounded, Brady remembered every word
he’d spoken to the woman, hoping for a clue. If
she reappeared, live, she’d explain Brady had nothing to do with whatever
happened to her. Everyone would be nice to him, even that prick detective, who’d
have to apologize. Mrs. McTavish, too,
for asking him if he had anything to confess. She’d be nicer to him. One thing
though, he was never going back to the house. He’d stiff the former fosters on
the rent and get another place. Somewhere where he could have friends.
The other side of
the soccer field led into woods. Not
paying attention to where he was going, he trudged onward until he tripped on
some vines and went sprawling. Cursing at his continuing bad luck, Brady pulled
himself to his knees and glanced around for other obstacles. By now it was dark enough that he had trouble
seeing. Great. Getting out of the woods and onto the open near a road was the
smartest thing he could do.
As he wearily
arose, he had second thoughts. The brush and trees would provide him with some
shelter. If he could find a big tree, he
could sit against it and get some sleep.
No one was looking for him, he assumed. The cops probably figured he
wasn’t going far with no money and no car. So why not spend the night here?
Except for the bugs, the place was okay. He’d seen it enough in the
daylight. Even seen a few deer come
bounding out of the tree line, now and then.
The tree he
selected was broad enough to support his back. Squatting down, he swiped away
some nuts and debris at the base before settling down. If he could just sleep a
few hours, he’d think more clearly. Come up with a real plan other than walking
until his shoes disintegrated. Sighing,
Brady wiggled around, trying to get comfortable until, without realizing it, he
was asleep. At first, he dreamed of being cold and wet and angry because he
couldn’t get dry. Slowly, though, he sank deeper into a dreamless sleep, deeper
than any he’d ever experienced before.
When he awoke, he
didn’t know where he was or what time it was. The sky dark, the air heavy, he
was nonetheless soaked in a warmth he didn’t understand. What was the source of
the heat, clearly not sunshine?
Rubbing his eyes open with his dirty hands, he shouted in surprise as the woman
he’d met in The Spirit Store squatted beside him. Glowing as if she were
radioactive, she smiled at him.
Brady tried to
speak, but couldn’t. Lifting one finger
to her lips, she gestured for him to remain silent. Then, to his shock, she spoke.
“Not looking good
for us, is it? I’m dead and you’re going to be a goner before dawn, in all
likelihood. You want to know why I came into your store? Do you?”
Brady nodded,
though he’d never thought to question her appearance. She’d just been another
customer.
“I was hiding from
a man. A customer at the restaurant. He’d been in every night for a week,
always sitting at my table, always trying to ask me out. It’s against the
rules, we can’t date customers, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Shaking
her head, she smiled sadly at Brady.
“He’d started waiting for me to get off my shift, then he’d follow me to
my car. Night before last, he had
someone with him. A lookout, I guess.
Then the first guy tried to grab me and kiss me, while the second man pulled up
in a car and tried to shove me in. I maced him and his buddy and drove until I
saw an open store. Yours. When I pulled in, they drove off. But I knew the
first man, the one who tried to kiss me, he’d been following me home earlier in
the week, so he knew where I lived. I figured he’d be waiting for me there, but
my parents were there, and my dad would try to protect me.”
Brady tried to
speak, but couldn’t. She shrugged. “I didn’t want my dad to get hurt, so I
stayed as long as I could with you. Then I drove around, hoping he’d get tired
of waiting for me, and leave me alone.
But I was wrong.
“He’d hidden in
the back seat of my car. The locks don’t work, so it was easy, and I didn’t see
him. He made me drive out here, and then he raped and killed me.”
Brady remembered
the creepy sounds he’d heard in the store that night, almost as if someone was
whispering in the back. Sheez, he thought, could they have been in the store
and he never saw them? How could they have gotten in? The employee entrance
opened in the back into the stock room, and he guessed the shift before him may
forgotten to lock it. He hadn’t entered that way, preferring to use the front
door just to piss off the manager, if he happened to be there. Not that night,
though. And the prior shift left through the front as well.
Brady started to tell
her he thought maybe the two men were in the store when she came in, but she
laid a finger on his lips that was as solid as his own.
“Let me finish. You need to know everything, so you can be ready if you decide to do this.”
“Let me finish. You need to know everything, so you can be ready if you decide to do this.”
She was matter-of-fact.
Bad stuff happened, there was nothing to be done about it but to take the body
blows and come out the other side as best you could. That much Brady
understood.
“I fought, of
course. Hurt him, too. He’s been hiding,
afraid for anyone to see him because of the shape he’s in. I want you to find him and take him to the
police. Tell them the truth. If you can’t do that, he’ll kill you. So you
have to be strong. Do what you have to
do. Do it for me, do it for yourself.”
Fearing he’d lost
his mind, Brady was sure he was hallucinating.
That was, until she stood and pointed to the west. “He’s in a storage
locker he has at the corner of the street by your store. I haven’t seen his
friend since the parking lot at the restaurant, but I’m sure he locked my
killer in there. The bastard who killed me thinks he can stay hidden until
you’re arrested. He knows the police have been questioning you. He put some of
my bloody clothes in the dumpster behind The Spirit Store for the police to
find, just before he went into hiding.”
Brady knew now he
didn’t have a choice. Finding
incriminating evidence where he’d worked would be all the detectives needed to
send him to prison. He’d been in an
emotional prison so long, he didn’t think he could stand another kind.
“Tell me what to
do,” he croaked. His face hurt from
looking at her. She seemed as pretty and made-up as when she’d come into the
store, not bloodied and battered. “I
don’t have any idea.”
Reaching into a
pocket in her tight shorts, the woman pulled out a gun. “He used this to keep
me quiet, then to kill me. He thought he threw it in the river, but I found
it. The storage locker is number
B-102. Shoot the lock off. His friend will be back soon to let him out. Now, before it’s daylight.”
“I’ve never done
anything like this. . .” Brady started to whine.
“Do it now, or
you’re going to die. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Make up your mind, and
do it.”
“Okay.” As soon as Brady shoved himself upright, the
woman disappeared. One second there, the next, not. If she hadn’t touched him,
he’d have known it was a dream. But one
bloody fingerprint rested on the back of his left hand, and he knew whose blood
it was.
The short sleep
had helped him, and fear fuelled his progress to the storage lockers. A high chain link fence surrounded the
storage lot, but Brady didn’t find it hard to scale. Finding the numbers was
hard in the dark, but he was outside B-102 before he knew it. Fumbling for the
lock, he almost dropped the gun when he heard noise inside the locker.
“I know what you
did!” he yelled, mostly out of fear and false bravado. “She told me! I’m here to get you and turn
you in!”
Before he lost his
nerve, he shot off the lock. With echoes
of the sound reverberating in the concrete corridors of the storage place,
Brady flung open the door.
The man inside
bowled Brady over like a toy, growling like an animal. Losing the gun, Brady clawed at his
attacker’s face with a strength he didn’t realize he had. This was life or death, the woman had warned
him, and if he didn’t fight back, he’d end up as dead as she was. And he didn’t want that. Life wasn’t worth crap, but he had more
living to do. He could make it better.
“No!” Brady
screamed as he took body and head blows that had him reeling. “You can’t kill
me like you killed her!”
Brady now knew the
woman had fought for her life like a cornered wild animal. That’s why the car was such a horrible scene,
and why he had to fight harder than even she had. For this man who was suddenly on top of him,
his hands around his throat, squeezing the life out of him, needed to die for
what he’d done. As rage and fear crescendoed in him, Brady struck back, using
every trick he’d used in fighting the bigger kids who wanted to put him in his
place in all those awful foster homes.
Hatred for his mother for leaving him alone to grow up like he did,
hatred for what this man did to the woman to orphan her little boy, exploded in
Brady’s chest. Blood rage washed over
him, freeing him from all semblance of decency.
He would kill this
man, and it would feel good. Clawing his way closer to where he’d dropped the
gun, Brady knew his attacker was too focused on killing him with his bare hands
to notice he’d gotten the gun. And was raising it. And was pulling the trigger.
Later, when the
police came, they found the woman’s body in the locker along with the bodies of
other women who had disappeared over the past year. The smell alone sent crime
scene techs gagging into bushes.
Brady didn’t hang
around long enough to see the whole scene unfold with the police. Wandering back to the woods, he called for
the woman, and when night fell again, she reappeared before him.
“I’m sorry,” was
all she would say at first. “I hoped you’d live.”
“It’s okay,” Brady
asserted, feeling free for the first time in his life. “I got him before I
died. He won’t hurt anyone else.”
“They’ll think you
were part of it, that you were a team with him. They’ll figure out two men had
to be involved.”
Brady shrugged. “Doesn’t
matter. I stopped him. He’ll never hurt anyone else.” He didn’t tell her there
wasn’t anyone to be hurt by whatever the police said. No one in his life would
care for more than half a second. In a
way, it felt good to be free from worrying about what he was going to do with
the rest of his life.
“I miss my little
boy.” She was walking beside him, through the trees. “But I can’t go back to see him. It’ll just
confuse him and make him sad.”
“So where do we go
from here? What’s next?” Brady was
pleased to see that he wasn’t bruised or bleeding and could speak normally,
even though his killer had crushed his larynx.
“Not sure. The
second man is still out there. We’ll be led to the next step, is my gut
feeling. We’ll find him, then figure out what to do. Thanks for being here with
me. I didn’t like the idea of doing this alone.”
“Me either. Hey,
tell me about your kid, won’t you? I like little kids. I used to be one.”
“I’m sure you
were.” Her laugh was filled with silver
and light. “It’s good to have a friend so I can brag about him. He’s my
favorite topic of conversation.”
Friend. Brady had
a friend. He felt better than he ever had when he was alive. They walked side
by side while she chattered on about her kid, and Brady was flooded with an
emotion he didn’t understand. At last he realized that’s how happiness felt.
He’d take it.
Being dead wasn’t so bad after all.
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