After The Flesh

by Colin Gallant

  Freddy was everything to me. As much as I might delude myself to the contrary, I was nothing to him. He was my horizon. He was all I could see. I clung to him in fear of what might lie beyond.

  No. That’s wrong. It was not the unknown I feared. We had more in common than either of us realized – or maybe Freddy had always known and not told me. I don’t know. So no, it was not the unknown or a desire for familiarity that kept me from betraying him.

  Just as Freddy longed for the days of glory he had in Prince William Falls, the awe of his peers, I, too, longed for glory. This was my sin. This is my sin. But only then did I realize it. My whole life and all I have done or not done with it has been this one, giant sin; avarice, and something more than a healthy dose of envy. When Freddy killed, I killed. When Freddy caused hurt it might as well have been my fist or my tongue. I wanted to be him, to have his life. The need I felt made my hands slick and red with it.

  I would not turn him in. Not yet. His greatness was still waiting to be discovered. His star was rising but it was still a long way from its zenith. I would wait until then and I would be patient. Innocent blood would flow like melt water and I would leap gracefully over the streamlets and puddles. Once his star was high – and I would know when it was – I would unmask him to the world. I could replace him, steady, dark and dreaming but lacking the beast that dwelled in his heart. That would be my greatness. If not, it was only my dearest fantasy.

  Thinking this, believing it, I was able to find sleep. The building shivered around me as the cold, winter night lay hard and crystalline over the city. I imagined Freddy brought low. My mind and my heart were set adrift. I found capricious rest. Sleep found me and I dreamed for a time of Carrie. I dreamed I was holding her and loving her and not at all did I dream of anything carnal. I dreamed I was her blanket and her shelter. I dreamed I kept her safe and this made me happy. The blood was forgotten in my dreams. Freddy was forgotten. I was in the womb of my own mind and it was safe there. Warm and safe. In my sleep that night nothing could reach me.

  In the last moments of my sleep I was on a beach. The great, hammered tin sheet of the Pacific stretched away from me for a thousand horizons. The sun was high, resting its bulk like a raven on my left shoulder. Its heat poured over me but my feet were in the water, the waves breaking and swirling little eddies around my ankles, my heels sinking a finger’s breadth with every surge and sigh. A cool breeze came in off the water, blowing my hair back, cooling the sheen of perspiration on my skin.

  It was a gentle moment, a peaceful moment. It was that timeless image without the burden of thought or sense. It was a moment possessed of but a single, deeply abstract emotion I can only articulate in the simplest of terms. It was joy.

  The dream began to break up but my sense of joy lingered. Even as my conscious mind began to rise from the depths, I could still hear the crash of surf on the basalt-gray sand and the soft murmur of the breeze through the palms. I knew it was a dream sound but I also knew it was real as well. Seashells and gravel crunched under my feet but I was not walking. I was waking. The blue sky and silver sea faded, replaced by stark, white winter light, pink behind my eyelids and already far too bright for me.

  The surf and wind faded into the background and a sigh of sound remained. I could hear a kind of crackling I knew from childhood. It was the crunch that shattered what remained of my dream. My lingering sense of joy was stripped and scattered like smoke.

  Snap, crackle, pop!

  My eyes shot open as the next spoonful of cereal found its way into Freddy’s mouth. The remnants of contentment, of peace, of everything my dream encompassed blinked out of existence as my bedroom swirled into view. I froze.

  Freddy was in my room. He was eating his breakfast in cautious little bites, not wanting to spill. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside me. His right knee was inches from my forehead and he was naked. I came awake to the image of his flaccid penis laid across one heel like a cast-off tube sock. I can think of very few worse things to wake up to. But I immediately recalled the previous night and the sight of his manhood so close to my nose was the least of my worries.

  “Sleep well?” Freddy asked me. If I had strolled out into the kitchen and found him reading the morning paper, he could not have asked that question more offhandedly. He did not let me answer. “I did,” he told me. “I dropped Tina off early last night and went for a drive – just like the old days. It was nice.” He smiled benignly and ate more of his cereal. “When I got home I all but crashed.”

  Strangely – and understandably – I was not looking at him, at his face. I could not take my eyes off his groin. There was something absurdly fascinating about it I could not quite place.

  “I didn’t wake you up when I came in, did I?” He asked in that same casual tone. “You didn’t get up during the night, eh?” There was no accusation in his voice. He was just making polite conversation while he finished his breakfast and I stared at his genitals.

  Shaved – shorn clean as a newborn. Freddy was hairless from the chin down. No chest hair, no pubic hair. Even his hips and legs were smooth. I was both horrified and intrigued at the same time. I also knew immediately why he had done it. How I had not noticed the night before is beyond me.

  Freddy drained the last dregs of his bowl like a five-year old. A single drop of milk quivered on his bottom lip, nearly falling before he wiped it away with the side of his hand. He saw me looking. “Cool, isn’t it.” He lifted his penis and a fold of his bare scrotum. “Tina really digs it. She’s gone bald herself.” He winked. “Of course, it has its … other … purposes.”

  Tina might like it but Freddy was never one to do anything solely for the pleasure of others. I had seen the forensics textbooks he had stacked in his bedroom – bought with cash most likely. Just like Holley carburetors and AC Delco ignitions, Freddy was boning up for his next project.

  Hair was evidence. Fibers and skin, drops of blood, fingerprints and footprints – all these items cried out louder than words to those who knew how to listen.

  The blood. My body went numb. He had killed again. I was sure of it. But how many? How many times had I not been woken up in the night? How often had he performed his ritual in blood while I slept paces away, blissfully unaware? How many more would follow?

  “You tied the bag up wrong,” Freddy told me. He set his bowl aside, again being careful. He was never one to relish in a mess. Only in the blood.

  My heart nearly stopped. This was more than I could handle. One more shock and surely, I would die.

  “I tied it up like a lefty – counter-clockwise. You didn’t. You gotta be smarter than that if we’re gonna do this.”

  We? For a moment I thought I had died. That would have made my sunlit bedroom hell. I already believed Freddy had a bit of the devil in him.

  “You can’t fuck up like that. The machine needs its grease. Without the grease the machine breaks down. Be the grease.” It was Freddy’s Zen moment. “Because I don’t need the machine breaking down.”

  I was speechless yet my mind was as clear and focused as the Pacific sky in my dream. I would nod – I felt myself doing it. I would watch him and wait for the time to be right. He could never know I was doing it.

  “We’re cool then,” Freddy decided. He hopped to his feet and took his bowl and spoon. “Think about it, ‘kay? I can’t talk now – got a class.”

  I waited in bed while he dressed and puttered around in his room for what seemed like hours. I heard him in the kitchen and then in the front hall. The door clicked closed with the impossibly loud hollow boom of all apartments and hotels the world over. His footsteps were in the hallway, fading into oblivion. Finally, I was alone.

  I knew I would need to watch him even if I did nothing else. I would be a shadow just one step off his heel. I decided it was not the terror of the unknown haunting me but rather the terror of not knowing.

  -

  Maggie met Freddy’s girl at Easter that spring. I was not invited an
d it would have been impossible to sneak along for the ride. I spent the time alone. I never left the apartment. I wandered from room to room aimlessly. I tried to read and couldn’t. I tried to watch television and that lasted only an hour or two. I think in the end I spent most of the time sleeping.

  For more than a month I had been tailing him. I sacrificed sleep to sit at the back of his classes. I bought coffees I never tasted and could hardly afford to be near him when he met others. I even lay in the back-seat foot well of his car while he cruised half the night away. I fought the need to sleep. I knew if I dozed, he would kill. Now, years later, I don’t delude myself into thinking he never saw me. I think he saw me from the first day and he knew what my plan was. It wasn’t that I was not good because I was. I was damned good. I had tailed Freddy since Freddy knew what a tail was. He was just that much better.

  Freddy had perfected the hunt. He could be with you for hours, an aisle away in the library or grocery store, behind you in a line-up or beside you in a movie and you would never notice him unless he wanted to be noticed. I kept my distance but still I often found him grinning at me from across the street moments before disappearing into the press of the crowd. But I would not give up. In the end I settled on wanting him to know I was watching. Let him decide why.

  So, when Easter came, I was fine to let him go. Tina would be with him. They would be with Maggie. They would have endless games of Rummy or Crib, an old movie or two on the tube. They would wash dishes together after dinner and Maggie would fall in love with Tina. She would embarrass Freddy, but I knew he would be okay with it. Before the weekend was out Maggie would be hearing wedding bells and seeing grandchildren. They would stay in Freddy’s old room, cuddled tightly together in his small, child’s bed and Tina would be a sweet girl. She would not want Freddy’s mother to hear them making love.

  The only concern Freddy had was a four-letter word named John. He never told Tina about his father or about Carrie. He never spoke much about home with Tina but when he did, he only ever said ‘my mom.’

  I think Tina knew Freddy’s father was dead or she suspected it. But she was raised right – she knew not to pry. Family things are private things and she would listen if Freddy talked but she would never ask questions.

  It would happen; the truth would come out. It always does. Tina would be put to the test and I was afraid for her if she didn’t pass. But I knew she would. She had to.

  -

  Maggie met them at the front door looking all of twenty-five again in Capri pants and a dark halter top. Freddy warned Tina that Maggie would embarrass her almost instantly. He admitted this was the first time he had ever brought a girl home since he was a kid. He told Tina she was the first girl he thought his mother would ever like.

  That admission resulted in a rather abrupt pit-stop on the roadside and some nearly spiritual love-making. They say a boy marries his mother and at times Tina’s emotions could be just as overwhelming as Maggie’s. I’m certain Freddy didn’t mind how Tina expressed herself.

  The two women embraced at the door. With the speed only women can muster they became best friends. Freddy got the bags from the car while they talked. He made coffee and served it while they talked. He sat across from his mother and his girlfriend, a pleasant smile on his face while the two of them learned everything there was to know about each other in record time.

  “There’s somebody for you to meet as well, Honey,” Maggie announced after the fourth or fifth time expressing her most sincere gratitude for finally getting to meet Tina.

  Freddy’s attention perked. “Oh?”

  Maggie flushed slightly. “You know I haven’t been much into the dating scene since – well, since your father.” She trailed off, her eyes falling to her coffee cup.

  Freddy caught Tina’s curious look as it flicked between him and his mother. He hoped Maggie hadn’t noticed but she might have seen it.

  She must have. Maggie set her cup aside and patted Tina’s hand. “My John was not always the nicest of men – but I’m sure Freddy has told you about it.”

  Tina gave him an indecipherable look and shook her head. “Actually, Mrs. Cartwright, he hasn’t told me anything.”

  Maggie glanced at her son and back to Tina. “No, I guess he wouldn’t. That’s not something you bring up in conversation. I’m sorry I said anything.”

  Confusion mingled with dread on Tina’s lovely face. Freddy saw no hint of anger or disgust. “No. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Fine,” Freddy sighed. He leaned forward and sat his cup down on the coffee table a little too firmly. “I’ll tell you and maybe you’ll understand why I’ve never mentioned it.”

  “No, Sweetie,” Tina told him. The confusion was gone. Only dread remained. “You don’t need to say anything.”

  Freddy shook his head then nodded. “Actually, I have to. You’ll find out eventually – better to hear it from me.” He cleared his throat and retrieved his coffee cup, draining the last of it before setting it back down again. Briefly he wished the coffee mug had been a shot glass. Freddy spun the empty cup on the coaster until he was satisfied, he had not cracked it. “Tina, my father is dead. I killed him. Now you know.” He stood and left, moving to the kitchen where he could be seen to brood and yet be able to hear what they were saying.

  “It’s not that simple,” Maggie was saying, “It was self-defense.” Freddy listened while his mother told Tina everything. Tina learned about Carrie, how they had grown up together and how it was so obvious they were going to be together forever. She learned about the abusive John Cartwright and not about the dreamer and the singer who had a band and once wrote a song to win a girl’s heart. She learned about one September afternoon when the smell of summer faded from the air.

  Maggie finished her telling and silence filled the house. The old clock on the mantle marked its pace. The refrigerator hummed. Ice dropped in the ice-maker and outside a car alarm warbled before being shut off. A dog barked three times and was silenced by its owner.

  Freddy waited. He breathed it in. This was a powerless moment for him. She would make a choice now, in the next half minute; twenty seconds. Fifteen. I think Freddy’s sanity hung on the outcome of that choice. Footsteps were in the front hall, in the dining room and behind him in the kitchen.

  “I’ll drive you back right now if you want,” he said, “unless you’d rather bus it - I’ll pay of course.”

  Freddy felt rather than saw her come up behind him. Her arms came around his waist from behind him, encircling him. Her body was warm against his back and still he waited.

  “Oh, baby,” she sighed and sniffled. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’ve been such a bitch.”

  Freddy breathed. He took her hands in his as she held him from behind and he waited.

  “I had no idea.”

  He felt the wetness of her tears between his shoulder blades but he did not mind. He hated tears but this time they were fine. Somewhere behind them Freddy knew his mother was watching. She too was waiting.

  “It’s okay,” Tina said. “I … fuck!” She cursed into his shirt. “I just love you, Freddy. I know you’re not like your father.”

  Freddy turned and held her. Over Tina’s head he could see his mother shedding her own tears. He didn’t know it but they were tears of joy. “So, Mom,” he said and kissed Tina on the top of her head, “did I hear right? You’re dating again?”

  All three of them began to laugh. Easter was back on.

  -

  Tim Irwin had served twenty-four years in the British military before retiring a Major. He was seven times deployed overseas in the Middle East and in Africa and his eyes showed it when you talked to him about it. His eyes would just tear a hole right through you. He would see only what was on the far side of the universe. He held that perfect mix of power and vulnerability. Kindness and determination blended in his eyes with simply knowing. This was a man who had witnessed the worst the world has to offer – and the best. He remembered the best. He was a man
Freddy knew he could never fool. It didn’t matter because Freddy decided he liked him almost instantly. He knew Tim Irwin was okay as soon as he saw the look in his mother’s eyes.

  For the last sixteen months of his service Tim was stationed at CFB Suffield in the heart of the Canadian prairies. One trip west was enough to convince him this was where his life after the military would be spent. One glimpse of Margaret – he never called her Maggie – was enough to know she was who he wanted to spent that life with.

  Maggie blushed prettily. She was still looking nearly ten years too young beside this slight man still sporting the severe haircut of his military service. “We’ve talked about getting married,” she admitted.

  “Why wait?” Tina asked. Freddy nudged her and she responded by slapping him on the shoulder.

  “I’m not opposed,” Tim replied in his soft voice. “I would be willing to commit whole-heartedly tomorrow – today even.” He turned his gaze on Maggie. Freddy was growing more and more adept at reading and assessing emotion. He could see the love there.

  “I want to wait,” Maggie said. “Hell, I feel sixteen again.” She shrugged. “I just don’t…”

  Tim was still looking at Maggie. He spoke to Freddy. “Your mother has every right to be cautious and I’ll not be the one to bully her.” He turned to Freddy then, his face alight. “I was rather hoping you would do that for me.”

  “You’re both adults,” Tina said. “Who says you have to get married?”

  The two gazed at each other with something like teenaged longing in their eyes. It was Tim who spoke. “It is rather important.”

  “Holy shit!” Tina giggled and clamped a hand over her mouth.

  Freddy looked at her. “What?”

  She ignored him. “You mean you two haven’t … you’re not? Not even once?”

  Maggie clutched at Tim’s arm. “Call me old-fashioned.”

  Tim was blushing furiously, a look so completely out of place on someone so squared-away there were probably iron-creases on his boxers. “As I said, I’m more than willing to get married.”