Beneath the Mask of Sanity Page 16

  “Call us when she comes home, please.”

  “I will. Is your Mother still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  Katie handed the phone back. Sheila grabbed it. She listened for a second, nodding her head periodically.

  “Call the police,” Sheila said. “Yes, even before you call this Jimmy Sparks. Call the police and let them know what’s going on. Okay. We’ll be here.”

  Sheila pressed the button on the phone, ending the call.

  “You don’t know where she could be?”

  Katie shook her head. “No, if she were going anywhere that she thought was fun, she would have called me, I’m sure of it.”

  Sheila ran her hand through her hair. “I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling.”

  Katie smiled. “Mom, Brenda’s a flake. I love her, but she is. I’m sure she’ll come home any minute with some weird story, then I’ll get the truth out of her tomorrow.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep.”

  “How ‘bout some coffee?”

  “Ug. How about you have the coffee and I’ll make hot chocolate.”

  “Okay, but let’s be quiet. I don’t want to wake up Karen.”

  78.

  Bentley walked through San Ignace. It was a small town, but seemed pretty. The kind of place that all the white people ran off to when the niggers infested the cities. One thing about whites, they kept their places clean, no matter how much killing and stealing it took to do it. That was the secret to their success. A success that they must have learned when they first landed in America. Take what you want, eliminate any emotion that you can feel for people and kill them if they don’t willingly give it away to you.”

  In another life I could have been a colonist, Bentley thought. I would have collected all the scalps that I could and would they punish me for it? Hell no, they would have given me a fucking medal; they would have made me governor. These fucking saps today.

  He crested a small rise in the sidewalk, which deposited out onto a large street. Businesses populated both sides of the road.

  Can’t be out here too long, but where can I go?

  Then he saw it. Just a small little alley, between two of the storefronts, but there was a garbage bin there and a wide barrel that glowed with the embers of a fire.

  Bentley crossed the street and walked towards it. A smell hit him as he got closer. It was like burnt fabric. He heard a rustling sound from the other side of the garbage can.

  Peering around the corner of it, he saw a thin man with rags around his body sitting in the fetal position. Bentley smiled at him.

  “How’s it hangin’?”

  The man looked up. His face was dirty around the eyes like a raccoon’s. The rest was hidden by a scraggly red beard. Little corkscrews of hair twisted and poked out at every angle.

  “Just trying to sleep.” The man’s voice was thick.

  “I’ve got just the thing,” Bentley said. “He set his pack down and pulled out the Teflon flask. “Here drink this.” He handed the canister to the bum.

  “What is it?”

  “Moonshine. I picked it up from my cousin in Tennessee. I’m warning you though, it’s a killer.”

  The bum’s eyes sparkled. He pulled off the cap and took a whiff. Bentley stared at him.

  “It smells like shit.”

  “Oh, I know, but it actually tastes pretty good.”

  The bum looked at Bentley for a moment and took a sip. He handed it back to Bentley and smiled. “Thanks kid.”

  “No, thank you.” Bentley pressed the cap back on and put the container in his bag. “Mind if I sit a spell with you?”

  The bum looked surprised. “Go ahead.”

  Bentley sat down and stared at the man. The bum laid his head back down against the garbage bin and closed his eyes. After a few minutes he opened them and wheeled on Bentley.

  “You just gonna stare or what…”

  The bum’s face contorted. He looked like he was going to vomit, his hand stole up to his throat.

  “The…fuck…was…that…stuff,” he gasped.

  “Told you it was a killer. Enjoy your last moments.”

  The bum tried to get to his feet but collapsed back to the pavement. He wriggled around on the ground for nearly ten minutes. His throat swelled up and he seemed to be radiating heat from his body.

  Bentley watched it all; he watched it while his prick grew hard. He unzipped his pants and began to masturbate. If this offended the bum, he didn’t show it. Of course, he was busy with problems of his own.

  As Bentley released his load, the bum spasmed one last time and then was still. Bentley rubbed the thick liquid on the bum’s face with a smile. Then, he lifted the lid of the garbage bin and grabbed the bum under the arm pits.

  He hoisted him to a standing position against the dumpster. Bentley used his left hand to hold the bum up, and then he bent down and used his right to grab the bum’s leg. He lifted the man up. He couldn’t have weighted more than a hundred and twenty pounds, but it still took a sweaty effort to get the man up and over into the dumpster.

  When he was in, Bentley closed the lid and took the man’s spot next to the cold metal. He fell asleep almost instantly.

  79.

  Frank walked through the house. It was a house he’d seen on several occasions, but had never been in. After all, he didn’t work DEA. It had taken him ten years to make it to homicide, even in a mid-sized city like Yucca. He had never had a desire to work on the drug end of things, even though he’d had the opportunities, yet here he was, at the drug house.

  The place was large, but would have been a realtor’s nightmare. The living room was musty, there was dirt caked on the windows and the curtains looked like a dust bomb had exploded all over them. There were two electronic scales on the small table in front of the two couches. A small mound of white powder still sat on one.

  If Tom and his crew hadn’t been staking the place out, they wouldn’t have even known about the body. They still probably would have missed it, if the fools inside hadn’t been too stoned to realize that taking the body out the front door instead of the back was a mistake.

  Frank knew that his being here was a formality, something that Chief Dunham insisted on. He was a man that liked to make sure all the I’s were dotted and all the T’s were crossed.

  Devon Dixon was also on the scene. Walking around amid the army of cops, with his fucking notepad open, talking to the cops like he were a reporter.

  “That prick,” Frank muttered.

  He was really only talking to himself, but a young cop with a flak jacket on responded.

  “Yeah, like what’s he gonna do, recommend that we all get reprimanded? The fuckers shot first when they saw us. Don’t internal affairs let us defend ourselves anymore?”

  Frank walked passed the man without a word and continued towards the kitchen. The place looked more like a slaughterhouse than a food preparation area. There were two bodies on the floor, blood pooled all around them. It didn’t take the M.E. to determine the cause of death, the bullet holes gave it away.

  The sink was filled with dishes in every state of dirty. Red goop, that was probably ketchup, ran down the one on top. The stove was filled with pots and pans that had a dull, used look to them.

  Then Frank saw her. She was lying on the ground, near one of the counters. There was no blood around her, no holes in her body. This was the body they had been carrying out.

  Frank felt his stomach lurch. He had never puked on the job, not once, but this was just too much. He at least had the foresight to head for the sink. Now the dishes had a new problem, Frank’s vomit ran down them.

  The smell of the vomit, mixed with the trash smell of the dishes mingled and Frank puked again.

  He straightened up, paused to make sure it was over, and turned back. The cops were all looking at him. Frank smiled wanly and held up his hands to assure them he was okay. They stared for a
moment longer and then turned away.

  Frank edged back towards the counter, not wanting to see again, but not able to help himself.

  There she was. Her eyes were open, they weren’t black, but they were certainly dead. There was no spark and her mouth didn’t form her perpetual smile or even her seldom sternness. It was slack and lifeless.

  Frank knelt down in front of her. All thoughts of an investigation perished, he placed his hand under her golden hair and lifted her head towards him.

  He didn’t hear his whimpering, but knew it was there. Tears fell down and splashed on her face. His sweet Julie.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something? We could have done something; we could have gotten you help. All you had to do was say something?”

  “Uh, detective?”

  Frank looked up. Devon stood over him. His face firm and unsmiling. “Do you know this woman?”

  Frank looked back down at Julie’s body and nodded.

  “I’m going to have to suggest that you leave then. Chief Dunham can send someone else.”

  “You’re right,” Frank said. But instead of standing up, he continued to hold Julie’s head, then the dream shifted again.

  Julie was alive. They were sitting on their chairs at the beach again. She smiled at him and her eyes weren’t black, they weren’t dead, they were alive and haughty.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you too.”

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. But can’t you see it’s not enough?”

  “Why?”

  “Because no one can stop this thing. Just like the bald man. You won’t stop him. No one will.”

  “I’ll stop him.”

  “You can’t even talk. You’re useless to that family.”

  “I’ll get him.”

  “You can’t Frank. He’s evil. Pure evil, you saw his eyes.”

  Then Julie’s eyes changed again. The black seeped back in and her mouth opened wide. It too was black, a yawning cavern that wanted to swallow him up. Then, mercifully, the dream shifted again.

  80.

  Math class droned on, but Katie wasn’t paying attention. Yet, she wasn’t looking at Bentley; she kept glancing at the desk next to her, the empty desk.

  Bentley tore off a piece of his notebook paper. He scribbled on it with his pen and then coughed loudly. A few people turned in his direction, Katie was one of them. Bentley locked his eyes on hers and, when the others had turned around, he dropped his folded note on the ground.

  Katie sighed. She didn’t even bother with the pen gag; she simply leaned down and picked up the note.

  Bentley watched her back as she read it, but he got nothing from that. There was none of the hair-twisting, no flirty glances, nothing that would indicate that she even cared at all.

  Finally, she took her pen out and wrote something on the note. It was short, a few furtive scrawls, then she dropped the note on the floor.

  At the front of the room, Mrs. Franklin didn’t even notice. She was too busy chalking long problems on the blackboard. For Bentley, it was like going back to kindergarten again. If he hadn’t had his prey in front of him to occupy his time he would probably go mad with boredom.

  Bentley picked up the note; on the top he saw his message, then below, Katie’s answer:

  Katie,

  I would really like to see you tonight. I feel like our worlds have a shared purpose. I enjoy talking to you so much; you understand things that I never could. Can I come over after school?

  Brandon,

  We have to talk after class. I think something terrible has happened.

  Bentley’s mouth drew down into a scowl.

  I got rid of the bitch, he thought. I lowered myself to killing an outsider and what do I get? She’s still thinking about the cunt.

  The rest of the class droned on. Bentley spent his time watching Katie, but it was an exercise in boredom. She didn’t tap, she didn’t write. She didn’t do any fucking thing. All she did was sit still and pretend to listen to Mrs. Franklin between bouts of starting at the fucking cunt’s desk.

  The bell rang and Bentley nearly leapt from his seat. He rushed to the door. Part of him just wanted to walk away. To leave the school and not come back. Then, he could go to Katie’s house and kill the queen cunt. That fucking slut would suffer. He could find the little cunt’s school and kill her in the bathroom. When Katie came home, he could show her the fruits of his labor and watch her suffer. The questioning would begin and then she would die.

  It was almost perfect, but Bentley knew that wasn’t the way things should go. There was an order to the hunt. A pecking order. First one, then the next and then the next. The roles were clearly defined in his mind and there was nothing that could make him stray from the plan.

  So, he stopped at the door and waited. Katie was the third student out of the class. She pressed her books against her chest as if making a shield against Bentley.

  “What’s up?” Bentley asked, knowing and trying to convey that he didn’t know.

  “Brenda didn’t show up today,” she said. Instead of stopping at the door, she began to walk down the hall, Bentley followed suit.

  “So? She’s sick.”

  “No. I got a call from her Mom last night. She’s been missing since yesterday. I think we’re the last two people to see her.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” Bentley said. “She’s probably out having a good time somewhere.”

  Katie shook her head. “That’s not like Brenda. Sure, she likes to go to parties, but she wouldn’t stay out all night, and she’d certainly call her parents. She’d call me.”

  Bentley stopped Katie with a light touch on the arm. “I can see you’re worried and that’s perfectly normal. Why don’t I come over tonight and we can talk about this together. We can work the phones together and see what comes up. Hell, if anything else we can at least be together.”

  Katie stared into Bentley’s eyes.

  “Okay, Brandon. I think you’re right, that would be good.”

  “She’ll turn up, I’m sure. There’s probably some weird explanation for all this.”

  Katie smiled. It was small and tentative, but it was there. “You think so?”

  “Sure, I mean what could have happened to her?”

  “I’m afraid someone might have kidnapped her. You know, there was this movie awhile ago, I think it was made-for-TV, about these people that kidnap young girls to turn them into sex slaves.”

  “I’m sure that Brenda is no one’s sex-slave right now.”

  “God, Brandon. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, but I do know that it’s something that’s better dealt with together.”

  Katie threw her arms around Bentley. Her squeeze was tight, almost suffocating. Love flowed through it. Bentley felt the firmness, but nothing more.

  “Okay,” Bentley said, pulling away. “We’ve got to get to class. I’ll see you at your locker.”

  81.

  Frank was at the cabin, but not the one where he was shot. He was at the family cabin. The sun ebbed on the horizon. It was a giant orange ball of fire that looked as if it were dipping itself into the lake to cool off.

  Frank was a boy again. His father, that venerable man of the law, was sitting behind him. Frank was on the ground. Little critters crawled here and there, sometimes finding his exposed legs. They would crawl up for a moment and then find their way back to solid ground. The bugs knew their place. Everything seemed to know its place. The sun was in the sky, if only for a moment.

  The sky, that purple heavenly shade of night, filled Frank’s eyes with wonder. The moon, pale and oblate, was visible, but it was a ghost compared to the huge sun that was giving its final show for the night.

  “No one pays attention to the sun until it’s almost gone,” his Father said.

  Frank turned around. His Dad was dead. He was as pale as the moon, and his face was as swollen. This was n
ot the father he’d known at the lake. It wasn’t even the father that he saw for one last time, inside the satin-lined coffin. The satin had been purple, like the sky was now.

  Mr. Miles’s eyes were black, like Julie’s. The mouth was closed, but Frank knew if he opened it, it would be the same death abyss, that wanted to swallow him up.

  Maggots traced their way down his father’s face. They burrowed in without leaving a mark and then reappeared. They were ghost maggots, crawling through a ghost dad.

  “No one ever appreciates anything while they have it son. That’s the most important lesson I could ever teach you.”

  “Why Dad?” Frank did not speak these words, Child Frank did. The entire scene played before his eyes as if he was standing behind the lens of a camera, and yet he felt everything Child Frank felt.

  His dad shrugged his shoulders. When he did, Frank saw the tumor. The one that had been under his arm. The one that no one had suspected until it was too late. It was a huge, dark mass. It hung from his left armpit like a black balloon filled with blood.

  “I don’t know son. They just don’t. Maybe a few people give thanks for what they have, but it takes something big. A life changing kind of thing, before people really stop and take notice of what’s important.”

  Child Frank nodded. He didn’t understand what his Dad was saying, but it seemed like the right time to nod.

  “I guess it’s a good thing sometimes. Us humans always want more. That kind of thinking is going to get us to the moon one day. It’s that kind of thinking that brought Columbus here and then kept the colonists here when everything around them told them to leave. Can you imagine? Bitter cold, starvation, Indian attacks. They roughed it all. Then, they went out west, like us. They came out here to find something better. That feeling, never being satisfied is good in that respect.”

  Frank’s Dad began to fade. It wasn’t a dramatic disappearing act, it was slow. Time was taking him back, that was all.

  Child Frank began to cry. Frank felt the pressure in his chest. He felt the shortness of breath and spasms of sobbing, but there were no tears for him.