by David Beers
19
A Portrait of a Young Man
Years Earlier
Lori had chosen her words very carefully.
She spent time planning this conversation, because it might be one of the most important conversations of her entire life. She didn’t want their talk to sound overly planned, though. She needed it to sound fluid, as if Scott’s input helped shape the decision.
“What would you say to John finishing high school overseas?”
Scott laughed from the counter, holding it in because if he opened his mouth, he would spew coffee all over the kitchen.
“What?” he said, after swallowing, a smile across his face.
“I think it would be an amazing opportunity for him,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks. I believe we could do it.”
“I mean, I know we could do it, Lori—but why? First, private schools are a lot of money. A lot of money. And the schools here are fine.”
“It’s not about whether they’re fine or not. I think that for him to go overseas for two years would be absolutely fabulous. When he applies to colleges, to put that on his application? That’s going to set him apart from everyone.”
Scott shrugged, conceding the argument. He took a sip of his coffee.
“Have you even talked to him about it?”
“Not yet. I wanted to see what you would say first.”
“Well, there’s a lot to discuss. When are applications due? It’s eight months until the next school year starts. What are the costs? What will he say?”
Lori nodded, a rush of happiness taking over as it appeared he was at least okay with discussing the possibility. “Yeah, I’ve been looking into it. It’s about twenty thousand a year. We have the college fund ready, so we’re not paying anything there. We could afford forty thousand.”
Scott’s lips tightened. “We could afford it, but it’s not something I want to do lightly. What’s he going to get being over there that he can’t get here?”
Lori smiled. She knew her husband well enough to know that if even a crack existed in the door to opportunity for his children, it would open no matter what.
“I want to talk to you about something,” Lori said.
“About?” John answered.
Lori had waited until the two of them ordered lunch, and they would have some uninterrupted time together. He didn’t go into school today because of a dentist appointment, and now they sat in a small diner called The Grill.
“How are you liking school?” she said.
John smiled. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked me that before.”
“I know. Outside of the one incident when you were younger, you’ve never gotten in any trouble, and your grades are always fine, so I figured things are good. Are they?”
“They’re okay,” John said and took a sip of his Pepsi.
“Your father and I have been talking about something very important and we want to see what you think about it.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“We wanted to see how you would feel finishing high school in London?” Lori laid the question gently across the table, like a feather floating from the sky.
“London, as in London, England?” John’s eyes widened.
“Yes, the same.”
“For two years?”
“Well, during the school year. Holidays and summers you’d be back with us. So it’s really only a year and a half or so.”
“You want me to go?” John asked. She couldn’t see all of the emotions on his face, but she knew his mind was turning. Trying to understand what this meant and why it was being offered.
“John, I’ve talked to Dr. Vondi….”
A pause. “What did he say?”
Lori sighed and leaned back in her chair. She knew it would come to this. Because she could tell Scott any number of reasons why John should go, but she couldn’t do it with John. She didn’t consider what she told Scott lies, because they were all true—just not the reason that mattered. John, though … he would know. Even if they never spoke about it, always using something as an intermediary, their connection was too strong for lies.
“He said he’s concerned about you.”
“Hasn’t he always been?” John asked.
“I think …,” she paused, wanting to make sure that he understood the gravity of what she said. “I think he’s more concerned now than he has been before.”
She looked at her son, pleading with him to understand what she was saying. To not make this difficult. To accept what she offered and get out of anyone’s reach who might harm him.
“How’s school?” she said, though not meaning school at all.
John’s eyes narrowed. God, she wanted him to just tell her the truth. To recognize what was happening and what could happen if they didn’t act.
“It’s tough,” he said.
He didn’t mean school, though—because school had never been tough for John.
“See, then there could be some benefit to you trying London out. If you don’t like it after a semester, we can always bring you back.” Lori saw tears in his eyes, not quite on the verge of spilling over, but close. “Honey, I love you, more than you’ll ever know, and that’s why I’m asking you if you’ll go. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. The choice is yours, but … I don’t know what will happen if you stay.”
He nodded.
“And, John, it’s not like you’re going to Haiti. London is one of the most historical cities in the world. Your American accent will have the girls swooning. You’re going to have fun over there, much more than you would here.”
“Okay,” he said.
Neither of them spoke much the rest of their meal. Lori felt relief that the conversation was finished. She knew this would be hard for John, but he couldn’t stay; if he did, she didn’t know what Vondi would do. She didn’t know what John would do.
A fresh start.
That’s what he needed.
Seven months had passed since John sat in The Grill with his mother and was told he needed to fly across the world.
Now he looked at his room, a world that he started creating at ten years old. Six years of world building, and he had to decide what to take and what to leave.
The school year went by too fast. He hadn’t thought it would; next August had felt like a lifetime away. But now, next month, school started and he would be in another country, away from everyone he ever knew.
It’s for the best, he told himself.
And he knew that to be true, though he didn’t want it to be. He wished that he could say his mother and father didn’t love him and they were sending him away because they didn’t want to be around him anymore. None of that was true, though.
If he stayed, something would happen. Something really, really bad. Even now, he wasn’t sure putting an ocean between him and whatever this was could stop it. But, staying, especially with Vondi in the picture, wasn’t an option anymore. John felt like he might break—and soon.
He didn’t know if his mother understood the seriousness, how close he was each day to doing something irrevocable. The only thing keeping him from it was the thought of leaving.
And now, the day was almost upon him. He had one more week in the States and then he—and all his possessions—would be put on a plane to London.
Get started, he thought.
And so he did, picking through his clothes and putting them in suitcases. He wondered what kind of outfits they wore in England, if his wardrobe would be laughed at. Packing was good. It took his mind off the real reason for leaving, letting him imagine what life might be like if he quit contemplating murder.
20
Present Day
The first thing Alan noticed was that the room didn’t smell like bleach. Which wasn’t a good sign, at least not for his main investigation.
“So they’re going to go ahead and classify this as a murder?” Susan said.
“Yeah, that’s the plan.”
“No one has seen the priest? What’s his name again?” she asked.
“Charles Rapport.”
“When did he go missing?”
“First report was two days ago,” Alan said.
They both stood in the doorway to the priest’s office, not entering yet. Alan didn’t want to go in until Susan asked her questions, because when he went inside he would be focused. She would be, too, as long as she was able to ask whatever she wanted first.
“What have the crime scene techs taken so far?”
“Blood samples. Hair fibers. Fingerprints,” he said.
“So pretty much everything. You just want to take a look at the room?”
“Yeah, I’d like to lay my eyes on it before they clean everything.”
“And nothing else on the priest?” Susan asked. “No leads as to where he is.”
“Nada.”
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s go.”
She walked in first and Alan followed. The blood spatters were completely different than the ones Hilt usually caused.
“It wasn’t done with a gun,” he said as he knelt in front of the bar. Susan remained quiet, walking around the priest’s desk. He looked at the wall behind the bar, seeing that it was scuffed and dented some. “The perp must have shoved him into this, then cut him.”
Susan was quiet besides the sounds she made opening the desk drawers.
Alan stood up and walked back to the door, careful to step over any bloodstains. He looked out into the hallway where two uniformed police stood about fifteen feet further down. “Hey, can I get a look at the church member names? You have the list around here?”
“Sure,” the policeman on the right said. The man turned toward Alan and he saw the folder. Alan met him midway and the cop handed it to him. “We’ve been cross-checking the list for priors, so far nothing has shown up.”
“Thanks,” Alan said, not really listening to him, but flipping the pages quickly, looking for the letter H. He flipped one more page and found what he wanted. “Fucking-A!” he shouted, elation running through him.
He didn’t bother saying anything else to the two policemen, but jogged back to the priest’s office.
“Hey,” he said. “Guess who’s a member of this church?”
“You’re kidding,” Susan said, standing up from the bar.
“On page eight, John Hilt.”
“Holy Christ,” she said. “That’s three people.”
“I know,” Alan said, smiling. “Still think I’m off the mark with this guy?”
Susan walked to the doorway, pulling the rubber gloves off her hands. “It’s unbelievable. Do you think we can get a warrant?”
“I think we’ve got a good chance at it. This many people don't die around a single person. No one’s luck is that bad.”
“We can’t tie anything with physical evidence, though,” she said.
“Oh, I bet we can with this one. No bleach. His DNA is all over this office.”
“He’ll say he came in often for spiritual counseling,” Susan said.
“Probably. But the DNA combined with the other two murders connected to him? We’ll get a warrant. Then once he’s in jail, we’ll find the priest’s body then investigate London. It’s game over for him.”
Scott opened his eyes. He stared at the coffee table in front of him, and blinked a few times.
He didn’t remember falling asleep, not on the couch or anywhere else for that matter, but here he was, waking up.
He looked at the piles of paper on the coffee table and immediately a surge of adrenaline shot into his body. He fell asleep after reading all the files. That’s what happened. He hadn’t been able to hold his eyes open anymore.
Scott groaned as he pulled himself up from the couch, his body aching more than slightly. He was too old, but apparently not too foolish, to be sleeping on the couch. He sat up and looked at the papers scattered across the coffee table. Yes, he remembered the end of last night and was actually shocked that he fell asleep given what he’d found.
“Most likely nothing will come from it,” he said, his voice sounding full of sleep, though his mind was already racing.
Most likely, nothing would, but he didn’t have any other places to look. The further he dug in the notebooks last night, the more he believed something was wrong with John. Not like Lori had said at the end of her life, but the shrink was certainly worried about him.
His notes, though, were too sparse to tell the whole story. Scott was beginning to think he wouldn’t find anything with substance, and then he saw a bill.
For a psychiatrist.
Dr. Trevor Brighton.
And who had signed the bill?
Dr. Gerald Vondi.
Alicia looked at her phone.
For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to answer her father's call.
She didn’t know why he was calling, but he normally didn’t. Usually, he relied on the kids to call him, and that’s how it had always worked. Except this time. And what else could he call about but John?
Alicia sighed.
She reached for the phone and put it to her ear.
“Hey, Dad,” she said.
“You don’t like it when I call?” he said, smiling through the phone.
“It’s just that you never call, and I have a feeling this might be about John.”
“An old man can’t call his own daughter anymore without an ulterior motive?”
“Well, is it something other than John?” Alicia said.
“No, sweetheart,” he said and all the levity in his voice left like air from a popped balloon.
She sighed. “I figured. What’s up?”
“Well, I’m not really sure why I’m asking you this, or what it has to do with anything, but … do you remember the psychiatrist that your mother and brother used to see?”
Alicia didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She never thought about Dr. Vondi. In fact, she made a conscious effort to avoid him or anything about him. “Why?” she said.
A pause from her father then, because she never responded like that to him. She usually answered his every question, and did it happily.
“You wanted me to worry about John, and I am. I don’t want to talk about it all right now, but I know that the guy died, yet nothing stands out to me about it, so I was wondering if you remembered anything at all?”
Alicia didn’t want to remember what her father asked. Indeed, she wished she didn’t know the answer to his question.
She had been twenty or twenty-one, John around eighteen. She hadn’t seen him for some time, as he only returned from Europe for school vacations, but he finally came back, graduated with his diploma.
How long had he been back before Dr. Vondi died? Lord, time took away so many memories; she truly didn’t know. Six months? A year? She didn’t feel it had been longer than that—or not by much, at least.
The death would have stuck in her mind no matter what, as her family’s psychologist had died, but not like this. A place she refused to venture to.
The college semester was about to begin, for both her and John. She must have been a junior and he going into his freshman year. The summer was on the tail end of it’s life, getting ready to die so that autumn might live, and both she and John were laying at the pool. Normally, Alicia would have had a friend over, but for some reason she didn’t that day. John never invited anyone to the pool, and when he came by himself, he usually chatted with her and her friends, but mainly read or listened to music through his walkman.
That day, though, only the two of them occupied the pool, warm sun tanning both of their skins. John usually gave Alicia and her friends space, sitting at the other end, presumably so that they could gossip as needed without worrying what he might hear. Again, that day was different. He sat on one of the pool chairs beside her, letting the back down so that he could tan.
She turned her head, surprised to see him sitting so close, but she didn’t say anyth
ing. She closed her eyes and went back to feeling the sun’s warmth.
Maybe thirty minutes passed and Alicia turned, lying on her stomach.
“Mom told you about Vondi?” John asked.
“Huh?” Alicia said, reaching up to pull one of her headphones out of her ear.
“Vondi. Did Mom tell you what happened to him?”
“She said he passed away. That was it.” Alicia opened her eyes and looked across the chair to her brother. She was quiet, waiting to see what he had to say. Nothing, though, apparently, and after an awkward, lengthy pause, she said, “Why?”
“I don’t think she told anyone how,” John said. “Just that he died.”
“Should she have gone into more detail?”
John didn’t move at all, just sat with his sunglasses on staring up into the sky. “I don’t know. I just feel like I have to talk to someone about it, but she doesn’t want to. She won’t.”
“Why not? Was she closer to him than you were?”
“Oh, yeah. Without a doubt.”
“Are you okay? I mean, you can talk to me about it if you want, John. That’s fine.”
“I’m not sure I can,” he said and Alicia felt something—hope, maybe?—drop inside her. John never confided in her, and she, even if subconsciously, liked the idea that he might. Especially about something so large.
“You can, John. I won’t judge no matter what you say. You can’t keep things like that inside; it’s not healthy.”
Another long pause, which to Alicia, stretched on for an hour. Perhaps she was excited about her brother opening up, or maybe she just desperately wanted to know how the man died, but it seemed as if that pause would never end.
And when it did, she wished that it had gone on forever.
“Someone cut him. He was walking down the street and they cut him.”
“He was killed?” she said.
John nodded. Alicia’s mouth hung open but he lay still, calm.
