Beneath the Mask of Sanity Read online

  “No problem Frank.”

  Detective Miles pushed the off button on his phone and searched the contacts list. He found George Wilson’s number and pressed talk.

  8.

  Katie and Karen looked at their mother. Sheila looked back at them.

  “Are you gonna tell us what’s going on Mom?”

  Sheila nodded. Yet she remained silent.

  “Mommy, is it about Daddy?”

  Sheila began to cry again. These were silent tears that fell from her eyes and traced their way down her cheeks.

  “Mom,” Katie said. She bent in close. “You have to tell us what’s going on.”

  “Your father’s not coming home,” Sheila said. Her voice was soft and cracked at the end.

  “You and Daddy are getting a divorce?” Karen asked.

  “Did he hit you?” Katie asked. “Is that what the cop’s here for?”

  Sheila shook her head. “Girls your Daddy’s in a better place now.”

  “Like Disney Land?” Karen asked.

  Sheila shook her head.

  “Mom what are you saying?” Katie asked. Her eyes had sharpened.

  “Girls, someone…” Sheila took a deep breath and lowered her eyes. “Someone killed your father.”

  “No,” Katie said.

  “Daddy’s dead.” Karen said, her voice already choking up.

  “No,” Katie repeated. She stood up from her place on the couch. “No, you’re lying. You just don’t want us to see him again.”

  “Mommy.”

  Sheila ignored Karen. “Katie, honey, I would never do that. Don’t say things that are going to confuse your sister.”

  Katie pointed a finger at Sheila. “This is your fault!”

  Sheila snapped back in her chair as if she had been punched.

  “If you hadn’t done…” She looked over at Karen. “That thing he wouldn’t have gone on that trip!”

  “Katie.”

  “I hate you! Dad’s dead and it’s your fault!”

  Katie ran up the stairs. A second later her door slammed shut.

  Karen looked at her mother, tears coming down.

  “Mommy, is Daddy really dead?”

  Sheila got up from her chair and sat down next to her daughter. She put an arm around her and hugged her close.

  “I’m so sorry honey.” Both of them began to cry as they clinged to each other. “Your Daddy loved you so much and now he’s watching us all from heaven.”

  Karen leaned back so that she could look at her mother’s face. “He is?”

  “Of course he is honey. Your Daddy is always going to be with us. We just won’t get to see him until we go to heaven too.”

  They embraced and cried together.

  9.

  “I’m telling you I’ve got nothing?”

  Frank shook his head. “What have you gone through so far?”

  “Pretty much everything. I mean there’s still a lot we need to do at the scene, but we’ve gone through the clothes, the car…”

  “What car?”

  “No one told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  “We found the car at a rest stop down the road.”

  “Great. And you didn’t find anything there?”

  “Nope. And the initial reports that I get from the crime scene indicate that it’s clear.”

  “No hair, no prints, nothing?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “You’re telling me that some bastard walked up on this guy, beat him to death with a pipe, rummaged through his clothes for his wallet, drove his car to the next rest stop, got out and didn’t leave anything.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. But listen, there’s still a lot we need to do at the crime scene.”

  “Well then do it and get back to me.”

  “Will do.”

  Frank snapped the phone shut and then flipped it back open. He dialed this number by heart.

  The phone rang once. “Yucca city police department.”

  “Debbie, this is Frank Miles.”

  “Hi Frank.”

  “Is Rick at his desk?”

  There was a second of silence.

  “Yep, he’s there.”

  “Will you transfer me?”

  “Sure.”

  There was a hard click and then the line went live again.

  “Rick Pappas.”

  “Rick this is Frank.”

  “Hey Frank, how’s San Ignace?”

  “Seems like it’s away from the action.”

  “Whatta mean?”

  “You guys found the car?”

  “Oh, yeah, we did.”

  “When were you going to inform the detective assigned to the case?”

  “Listen Frank it’s not like that.”

  “I’ll tell you what it’s like. Next time anything happens in this case I am the first person that you call, do you understand Sergeant?’

  “Frank how long have we known each other?”

  “Do you understand?”

  “Twelve years, Frank, do you think I’m gonna screw you outta something? You think that I would try to fuck you over. We’re friends for Christ’s sake.”

  “Rick, friend.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell me that next time you find something you’re going to call me first.”

  “Okay, I fucked up and I’m sorry, but I just thought you could take care of that, while I handled things on this end.”

  “Tell me that I’m going to be called first.”

  “If anything else turns up you’ll be the first person I call.”

  “Good. Have you interviewed potential witnesses?”

  “None to interview,” Rick replied. “We talked to the people around the two scenes but none of them reported seeing anything. As for tracking anyone down that might have been there, well…”

  “Well what?”

  “It’s a highway and a rest stop; people go through those places at eighty miles an hour. The whole purpose of them is to get people someplace else far and fast. Anyone that might have been around there is long gone.”

  “Keep trying, so far we’ve got nothing.”

  “Okay, hey maybe when the news runs the story someone’ll see it and come to us?”

  “Let’s not bank on that.”

  Frank hung up the phone and looked at the house. He didn’t really want to go back in, but he knew that he had to. His legs carried him to the door.

  Raising a fist to knock, he hesitated for one second. Then, before he could bring his fist down the door swung open.

  Sheila stood there with the little girl in front of her. Both of them had been crying. Frank cursed his job one more time in his head.

  “What about your other daughter?”

  “Katie’s up in her room. I don’t think she wants to come.”

  Frank hesitated for a second. “I’d prefer if we were all together.”

  “I know, but I think she just needs time to deal with this.”

  “All right. Are you sure that you’re okay to drive?”

  Sheila nodded.

  “Then follow me.”

  Frank walked to his car and gunned the engine. A second later they were pulling out. A caravan of despair.

  10.

  Bentley was back in Hell. Back in the bad place. The sun shone down on the playground. A few of the boys were on the baseball diamond, throwing around the ball trying to get a game together.

  There were always enough kids, but only a handful ever wanted to play. Some of the older ones sat by the fences. They were on the grass, talking. Bentley knew that a lot of them made trades over there. Cigarettes, pot, alcohol, whatever anyone could get. They kept to themselves, usually.

  Bentley sat by himself, thinking. Thinking was something that he did a lot of. He found it was better to get lost in his mind than to try and cope with the people around him.

  People never made much sense to him. He didn’t know why they did the things they did t
o each other.

  One of the bigger kids walked across the playground, coming from the building. Bentley didn’t know his real name, everyone just called him Ogre.

  Ogre was the tallest kid at the home. He was sixteen-years-old and had to be six foot four. His arms hung down almost to his knees and swung side to side when he walked, making him look like one of the giant apes from videos that Mr. Densdent sometimes brought in for the kids to watch.

  Bentley cringed back as Ogre walked past and instantly regretted it. Ogre stopped in his tracks and then turned his head. When he did, it was a slow deliberate movement. Almost as if it took his entire concentration to pull it off, like a difficult magic trick.

  “The fuck you doing?”

  Bentley looked up, his face a mask of fear. “Me?”

  “No, the other fucking faggots that are sitting around you.”

  Bentley gazed to either side, he was alone. His gaze was just coming back to the front when Ogre’s fist connected with it.

  Bentley flailed back and landed looking up at the sky. It was soon blotted out by the giant standing over him. In the background, people began to talk in loud, excited tones. Bentley looked up and saw the other kids lining around. Big ones, little ones, all of them.

  Where the hell is Mr. Whip? Bentley thought.

  Ogre reached down and grabbed Bentley by the collar. “You fuckin’ freak. You poor little fuckin’ orphan freak. No wonder your mummy and dada didn’t want your ass!”

  Ogre threw his arm back and pistoned it forward. Bentley sailed through the air like a wad of paper and landed on the ground. Pain shot into his side as his ribs connected with the ground. His head hit second and a headache sprung up, seemingly out of nowhere.

  Bentley put his hands up to fend off any further attacks by Ogre, but there were none. He walked away towards the fences and the bigger kids followed him. The little ones stayed a moment longer. They cast their eyes on Bentley, and he could sense their smiles underneath their rapt gazes. It had been him and not them, and that was cause for celebration.

  There wasn’t much to celebrate on the inside.

  Bentley felt the ball of rage build in his stomach. It grew like a devil blossom that must come out or choke his breath away.

  On legs that felt like taffy, Bentley stood and stared at the kids walking to the fence. He started to move forward…

  Bentley woke up. He threw both fists forward coming out of the dream and slammed them together.

  “Fuck!” He spat. Slowly the image of the shack came back to him and he turned to his side. His pants were soaked. The acrid smell of urine rose from his crotch.

  Bentley looked down. Had he been able to experience emotions he probably would have felt shame. As it was, he only felt annoyance at the ruination of another pair of pants. He got up and stripped the jeans off and threw them to the side.

  The corpse was still lying by one of the rickety walls. Bentley looked at the pants for a long time, before he decided that they would do for now. Until he could upgrade. It wouldn’t be too long.

  11.

  Frank pulled off at a gas station just a few miles from the M.E.’s office. Sheila pulled the car in behind him. Her window slid down with mechanical slowness.

  “What are we stopping for?”

  “I need to get a few things here. Do you have enough gas?”

  “I do for now. I’d just like to get this over with please.”

  Frank nodded. “I know, when we get there, there’s a few things that we need to talk about.” Frank’s gaze shifted to the passenger seat.

  Sheila didn’t turn, but her eyes echoed understanding. “Yes, I know.”

  “Good. I’ll be out in a second.”

  Frank pushed the door open and a bell sounded above him. He walked down the candy aisle and selected a pack of Wrigley’s spearmint gum. Then he walked down to the cooler and grabbed a diet Pepsi.

  With his purchases in hand, he made his way up to the cashier. A young man with curly black hair and a broad back stood in front of him.

  “Pack of Winston lights,” the kid said.

  The man behind the counter (a short Arabic kid, that couldn’t have been much older than eighteen himself) glanced beyond the kid and to Frank.

  Jesus, am I that obvious, Frank thought. He glanced down at himself and then saw the tip off. He had left his sport coat unbuttoned and the left side was bowed out a little, revealing Frank’s sidearm.

  “Can I see some ID please?” The cashier asked.

  “Well, I don’t have any on me.”

  The cashier stared at the kid for a second, as if not understanding him.

  “See,” the kid said. “My wallet got stolen like two days ago, and I haven’t gotten a license in the mail yet.”

  “Don’t you have a temporary license?” Frank asked.

  The kid whipped around. His face was covered with bright red pimples and deep craters where the zits had taken their chunks out of his flesh.

  “Well yeah, but I don’t have it on me.”

  ”You driving?”

  The kid looked at Frank for a long time, finally realizing what all the questions were for. “Oh, no. I walked.”

  “That’s not your car out there?” Frank pointed to an ancient white Escort parked in the diagonal lines in front of the gas station.

  “Well…”

  “I think it’s probably best if you just leave. Buying tobacco under age is a minor crime, but driving without a license is much more serious. I’d hate to have to ask to see your license.”

  The kid opened his mouth to find some kind of protest and apparently didn’t get one that he liked. He simply closed his mouth and slunk out.

  Frank smiled and laid his merchandize on the counter.

  “How much?” Frank asked.

  The cashier smiled at him. “No charge for you sir.”

  Frank thought about his own protest, but decided that he was in Sheila’s camp. He wanted to get this whole thing over with as fast as he could.

  “Thanks.”

  “Thank you sir.”

  Lester was outside of the building when they arrived. Frank had called him on the way in.

  “Hello,” he said to Sheila. “I’m so sorry that we have to be meeting on such a horrible

  occasion.”

  Sheila nodded, but did not speak.

  “I’m Lester Pearson. I run this little place.”

  “Lester, I was wondering if maybe we had some activities for little Karen here?” Frank asked.

  Lester looked down at the girl. His expression was dour. “Well I think that Jill could probably find something to keep their time.” He turned his expression to Sheila. “Jill’s my assistant; she’s very good with children. She has two of her own.”

  “I’m sure that’s fine,” Frank said. “We don’t plan on being here long.”

  ”Sure,” Lester said. “Let me just show you in shall I?”

  The office was cold. It reminded Frank of when he was a boy and his family had

  gone to Washington D.C. It was summer and the city had been a sweatbox. The only refuge from the heat were the museums. It got so bad that they would walk into the first museum they saw just to get out of the heat.

  Frank led the way; he had been here many times before, too many in fact. Sheila followed close behind him. It was like they were a couple on a date at a haunted house and she expected something to jump out at them. Then she would cling to his back for safety and they would have a laugh.

  Only, Frank knew there wasn’t going to be any laughing here. This was not a place for laughs; it was a place for tears.

  The door was shining, stainless steel. Frank turned the handle and walked in. The anteroom outside of the main examination area had seemed cold. Compared to the temperature in the main room, it was like a Nevada summer day.

  How the hell does Lester work in here all day? Frank wondered.

  Sheila tapped Frank’s shoulder and he turned around. Her face had gone white. All th
e color had drained from it; she looked like a person slowly turning albino.

  “If you don’t want to do this, we can leave at any time.”

  Sheila shook her head. “I have to see him.”

  There was a table in the center of the room. It was a steel slab with four thick legs. A sheet had been placed over the table and it curved around a shape. It was vaguely human, but it didn’t look quite right.

  Frank walked up to the table; Sheila didn’t follow nearly so close this time. Frank saw his hand reach out; he had decided that it was better to do this as quickly as possible, like a band-aid.

  He grabbed the top of the sheet and pulled down. His eyes met Sheila’s. At first, she looked as he would have expected, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open into an O. Then, the eyes muddled and her mouth closed. At last, a smile broke out. She pointed a shaking finger at the table.

  “That’s not George!” She said. Her voice rose to a height that was close to hysteria.

  “No, it’s not,” a voice spoke from behind.

  They both jumped and turned towards the door. Lester walked into the room and smiled.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to frighten you. As I was saying, that’s not your husband, that’s another case that I was working on when you called.”

  “Where is he?” Frank asked.

  Sheila’s face fell; it was even more heartbreaking then telling her the news for the first time. She was a child that had been promised a shiny new toy for Christmas and after all the presents were open, had discovered that it was the one thing that she didn’t get.

  “He’s over here,” Lester said. He walked over to the far wall. Though it wasn’t really a wall at all. It was row upon row of steel and glass doors. To Frank, they looked a little like the ovens that you sometimes saw at expensive restaurants.

  Lester selected one and opened it. He grabbed a rubber griped handle and pulled it out. It slid with a noisy smoothness.

  When it was fully out, Lester pulled the sheet off of the body. This time Frank looked at the corpse, it was his guy, Mr. Blunt Force Trauma himself.

  After a second, he shifted his gaze to Sheila and then wished he hadn’t. There was nothing to describe the utter sorrow on her face. It showed in her eyes only. The rest of her face was emotionless. It was as if her eyes were the oasis and the face was a deserted wasteland. Only, it looked like an oasis that would never bring comfort to anyone.