Detective Jack Stratton Box Set

by Christopher Greyson

  Jack closed his eyes for a second, but he could still feel her glaring at him. “I need to think. It’s two in the morning, the university is closed, and I just got home after a very long day. My turn for a shower.” He called out sarcastically over his shoulder, “Make yourself at home.”

  Although Jack wanted to, he forced himself not to slam the door.

  4

  Drama Queen

  Jack stood under the shower, lost in the sensations of each muscle as it relaxed and thanked him. There was nothing he loved better than a long, hot shower, and the giant hot-water tank was the best thing about the grungy apartment. Steam filled the small bathroom, creating a mini sauna, but it finally started to run cold. He stood in the refreshing cascade for a minute before getting out.

  He stared into the fogged mirror, but nothing stared back. Maybe that was his real reflection. Misty. Shifting. Empty.

  “You suck. You jerk!” Gina’s and Replacement’s words rang in his ears.

  He ran his fingers through his hair and absentmindedly grabbed a pair of shorts and a shirt from the hamper. He hated putting on dirty clothes, but he’d only worn them around the house yesterday, and considering there was a girl in the living room, it beat going around in a towel.

  Jack was worried. He knew Michelle wasn’t the type to run off. She’d never leave Aunt Haddie. He hoped she just went out to California to check it out, considering a transfer. Maybe she had a boyfriend and decided to take a little trip between classes. Or…

  Think about something else… anything else.

  Jack knew pain and misery too well. He’d had a lifetime of it, way more than his fair share. Thinking that someone else, especially Michelle, might be in danger right now tore him up inside.

  As he methodically got dressed, brushed his teeth, and got ready to face Replacement again, his thoughts zigzagged between his landlady—he’d never seen Mrs. Stevens this mad—and Gina. She’d show up tomorrow and get all her stuff. After that… gone. Too many fights. Jack wondered why he hadn’t kicked her out and sent her packing a long time ago.

  I never can. They all leave—but I never do.

  Jack’s mind wandered back to Kelly. He cut her off, too, but she didn’t give up on him. She wrote to him every day. She waited for him to come back from Iraq. But when he saw her at the airport... He couldn’t even talk to her. Everything had changed. She was the same. The town was the same. His 1978 Chevy Impala was the same. But Jack wasn’t.

  He remembered looking right into her eyes and knowing she didn’t know him anymore. He wasn’t the same man. She’d walked away, and he’d let her.

  Jack didn’t know how much fight was left in him anymore. He lingered at the bedroom door, not wanting to go back into the living room. But of course, he couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever.

  The second he stepped out, Replacement was right back in his face. She must have been pacing outside the door. “What the heck were you doing in there?”

  The twenty minutes he’d spent chilling out in the shower didn’t seem to have calmed her down at all. Her whole body vibrated. “I have to let Aunt Haddie know. Are you going to help or not?”

  Jack hesitated.

  “I knew it! I told her you didn’t care. If you cared about us, you’d have come back already.” She moved forward until he could feel her breath on his face. “I saw the letters with those worthless excuses—after Iraq, you had to go straight on to college. You couldn’t come for a visit? Not one holiday or summer? Yeah, right.”

  Her hands balled into fists. “You’ve probably never even paid your respects at Chandler’s grave. And then to find out you moved an hour away months ago, and you still haven’t visited or even called? That’s low. Really low.”

  Jack couldn’t control the snarl that came out. “Listen, I’ll help you look for Michelle, but if you say another word about Aunt Haddie or Chandler—”

  Jack was cut off when the front door swung wide open and Gina sashayed in, carrying a couple of bags and a drink from the local convenience store. When she saw Replacement, her eyes went wide and she dropped the bags and cup. Soda flew everywhere.

  After an awkward pause, her glare shifted from face to face. “You’re still here?” Gina shook a bright-red fingernail at Replacement. “You—you—little slut! That’s my dress!”

  Before Jack could explain, Gina took three strides and slapped Replacement across the face.

  Replacement swung immediately, fast and hard, but Jack scooped her into his arms just in time and the punch swished by Gina’s face. Even though the blow didn’t connect, Gina squealed and protectively covered her cheek, staggering backward.

  Jack knew Gina. Total drama queen. Even the thought of something happening to her face was enough to terrify her. He’d almost called 911 one time when he heard her screaming, only to find out it was over a broken nail.

  “I let her borrow—” Jack tried to explain, but she cut him off.

  “How dare you!” Gina shouted. “That’s it. Over. I mean it.” Her red lips twisted into a sneer. “You’re pathetic. Poor, poor baby. You’re so sad. Poor Jack has mommy issues…”

  That’s it. Jack had had enough. Gina had just turned that corner when love and lust turned to hate and disgust. She was hitting below the belt, and he wasn’t one to just sit there and take it.

  Replacement, restrained in Jack’s arms, clearly wanted another chance to pound Gina. So Jack released her.

  She sprang forward. Gina shrieked and ran for the door, no match in her high heels for the Replacement bullet train, but then Replacement slipped on the spilled soda and had to catch herself on the doorframe.

  “Wench!” Replacement shouted at the top of her lungs as Gina fled down the hallway.

  For a little thing, she sure is loud. Jack dashed over, yanked Replacement back into the apartment, and shut the door. Wench? Had to be one of Michelle’s words. Some of her insults were a little Shakespearean.

  “What’s wrong with you? Be quiet.” Jack grabbed Replacement by the shoulders and spun her around. “It’s nearly three in the morning. My landlady is gonna evict me. First you sneak into my apartment—”

  “I didn’t sneak,” she snapped as she tried to adjust Gina’s dress.

  Jack’s finely tuned BS detector went off. “Gina let you in?”

  “No… but she found me here.”

  That explained some things, but not others. “Why would you break into my apartment and take a shower?” Jack looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

  “The apartment wasn’t locked, and I waited for hours in your stupid stairwell, freezing, because it was raining like a monsoon. And I didn’t think you’d mind…” She tapered off.

  “Mind? I don’t even know you.”

  Her expression was sad for a brief second. Then she shook her head and returned to glaring. “Well thanks a lot, you jerk.”

  Jack backpedaled furiously. “What I meant is, you’ve changed so much and… you were really young, and—”

  “Whatever.” She held up her hand again and looked away.

  “I do remember you.”

  She still wouldn’t look at him. On the floor by the spilled soda, he noticed the bags of food Gina had left in her haste to leave. He picked up a loaf of bread and some sliced chicken. “Hungry?”

  No reaction.

  He shrugged and went to make sandwiches. He gave her one, then went and sat on his old green couch and looked over at the mess.

  Replacement took a massive bite of her sandwich. “You’re not going after her?”

  “She’ll go to her friend’s house. Whoever that is. I’ve got a hunch we’re done. At least I hope so.”

  “Good move.” Replacement moved to sit next to him. He didn’t argue, just took a bite of his sandwich. “She didn’t seem like your type.”

  Jack nodded.

  “A little wacko.”

  “Ya think?” Jack muttered.

  He watched Replacement from the corner of his eye. She still had the sa
me impish grin as when she was young. It had been so long since he’d last seen her, and so many things had changed since then.

  She hadn’t told him her real name. Maybe she didn’t like it for some reason, and he wasn’t about to ask her about it, and spoil their temporary truce. They ate their late-night living-room picnic in silence. It was funny that it didn’t feel awkward.

  When the sandwiches were devoured, Jack got up and suppressed a groan. His back was still a little sore from flipping the lumberjack, but maybe he could sleep now. He threw the paper plates into the trash and looked at the clock—2:57 a.m. Outside, the clattering sleet had changed to soft snow.

  “You got a ride home, or do you want to crash here? We’ll go out to the university in the morning.”

  Replacement’s face lit up as if she’d hit the lottery. “The couch is fine!” She bounced up and down.

  Grinning to himself, Jack went into his bedroom and shut the door.

  He lay in bed for almost an hour, unable to sleep.

  If Michelle isn’t in California, this isn’t going to be good. The police will have already checked the hospitals… and the morgue.

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to force those thoughts from his head.

  Think about something else. Something good.

  It wasn’t hard for Jack to remember. He thought about this memory often.

  Michelle was twelve; Jack was already living with the Strattons. While other kids were playing and having fun during summer break, Michelle was hard at work babysitting—wiping snot and changing diapers. As the weeks passed, Chandler and Jack tried to guess what she was going to buy with the pile of money. The boys had gone from guessing a doll, to a dollhouse, to finally thinking that she probably had enough money for a pony. All she would say was, “I’m saving it for something special. Something I’ve always wanted.”

  Near the end of that summer, Jack came for a sleep over. Chandler was forlornly sitting outside waiting for him. The house was dark except for a few candles lit here and there. Chandler said he didn’t want to go inside yet.

  “What’s going on?” Jack asked.

  Chandler said Aunt Haddie’s hours were cut back at work and she didn’t have enough money for the electric bill.

  It was strange that night, and very dark, after Jack snuffed out the candle in his old room at Haddie’s. He hadn’t worried about money and food for a long time, since before Haddie, when that was all he thought about—and keeping warm; when he waited for his mom and her druggie friends to fall asleep so he could look for a half-eaten sandwich.

  The next morning at breakfast, Haddie was quiet; Chandler was almost completely shut down, barely talking; Jack could hardly keep his eyes open. But Michelle didn’t seem troubled. She looked excited as she announced, “I had an idea last night that we should look for extra change around the house.”

  Chandler yawned. “A little change won’t pay the bills.”

  Michelle eyed her older brother. “You never know how God provides.”

  They started to search around the house, behind furniture, under the couch cushions—all over. But they found only a few stray pennies.

  “Aunt Haddie, maybe you should check through your old handbags in the closet,” Michelle suggested. The thing about Haddie was, her faith was strong. She put her chin down and limped rapidly down the hall.

  Jack and Chandler stared at Michelle, but she just crossed her arms and hummed a little tune. A few minutes later, they heard Aunt Haddie yell, “Hallelujah! Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Jesus!” and she flew out of the bedroom waving a wad of cash. Michelle simply smiled. Jack would never forget Aunt Haddie leaping around the kitchen, and all four of them dancing around the table.

  After that, whenever Haddie called Michelle her special angel, everyone knew why.

  It was a sweet memory, one of Jack’s favorites, but it did nothing to stop his worrying or help him get to sleep. With a groan, he pulled the covers back, grabbed his sweatpants, and headed to the kitchen.

  Quietly stepping around the sleeping form on the couch, he could see that the place was spotless. No spilled soda. Replacement had cleaned up. Not only the soda, but all his usual mess, too, and a glance into the kitchen confirmed his suspicions—dishes washed, potholders hung up, dish towels folded. Just like Haddie had taught them.

  Asleep, clutching a thin blanket, Michelle’s fierce little defender looked even smaller. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember her real name. What did Aunt Haddie call her?

  He went back into his bedroom and grabbed the comforter from his bed. Gina had thought his old army-green blanket was too scraggly, so she’d gone shopping one weekend and picked this out for him. He shook his head. It looked ridiculous—purple and white with pink flowers—but it was incredibly warm, so Jack put up with it, displaying the plain purple underside.

  He returned to the couch and gently laid the comforter over Replacement, with the flowery side on top. Her eyes fluttered open. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He watched her snuggle into the warmth. He wanted to walk away, but he knew he’d never get any sleep unless he got it off his chest.

  “Seriously, why are you so angry with me?”

  Replacement slowly opened her eyes. “Do you really need to ask?”

  He’d regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth, but still he nodded.

  “When you and Chandler turned eighteen and went off to Iraq, everything changed at Aunt Haddie’s. Before then, if there was a problem, Chandler always fixed it. If stuff broke or something went wrong, he was there, like Superman. And if he couldn’t fix it, he’d call you.” Her eyes searched his face. “Do you get it?”

  Jack shrugged. “He’s Superman. I get that. But—”

  “If something happened that Chandler couldn’t handle, you’d show up and take care of it. Chandler would just pick up the phone, and you’d come, and everything would be okay. To me, you were like… I used to call you Batman.”

  Jack’s shoulders slumped. He couldn’t tell her, or anyone, what happened in Iraq. What the hell does she want me to say? She doesn’t get it. Chandler really was like Superman, but I’m no Batman. I was like stupid Jimmy Olsen following him around.

  “So when Chandler died, I kept thinking you’d come back and fix everything.”

  He waited silently, unable to defend himself.

  Her eyes conveyed her hurt. “But you didn’t come back. You didn’t even try.” Her voice cracked. She rolled over and burrowed into the comforter.

  Jack swallowed. “I’m sorry.” For so many things.

  The comforter moved up and down as she nodded.

  Jack walked back into the bedroom, shut the door, and closed his eyes.

  I’m no hero. I’m the guy who killed Superman.

  5

  Fish Out of Water

  IRAQ

  Six Years Ago

  Jack adjusted his assault rifle and looked back across the dimly lit room at Chandler and the two other soldiers next to him. When Chandler lifted his huge machine gun and nodded, one of the other soldiers moved to stand behind Jack and to the left.

  Jack pushed the door open, and his gun snapped up. His visual sweep showed a square interior with open cabinets against one wall and a table and chairs against the other. Rubbish littered the floor.

  Empty.

  In the middle of the back wall was another door. Jack held up his hand and made two quick gestures forward. He slipped silently into the room and picked his way over the trash-strewn floor.

  One more room.

  Jack reached the second door and stood off to the side. He held up his hand and closed it into a fist. He looked back at Chandler, who nodded. Jack pushed the door open. The room was filled with canisters and gray sacks.

  They’d been briefed on phosphorus bombs.

  “OUT! MOVE!”

  The four soldiers sprinted back through the rooms they’d just cleared. Chandler’s h
uge gun slowed him down.

  Jack dropped behind his friend. “Chandler, run!”

  “I am!”

  “Lose the gun!”

  Chandler tossed it aside. In under a minute, they made it to the front room, where the other two soldiers were frantically shoving against the door.

  “It’s jammed!”

  “MOVE,” Jack commanded, and even Chandler got out of the way.

  Jack lowered his shoulder and hit the door as hard as he could. The door cracked, but it didn’t open.

  Everyone started yelling. “Do something! We’re all gonna die!”

  Chandler called out, “Out of my way!” and charged across the room. When he rammed the door, it moved the wall itself, and the wooden frame and chunks of concrete—with the door still attached—fell forward. As soon as it landed in the dirt, the four soldiers scrambled out and ran.

  Jack remembered looking back in terrified fascination, his hearing completely gone. Through the hole where the door had been, like dragon’s breath, flames were shooting out. The fire was so hot it flicked blue and white before wrapping together into red and yellow streams that floated skyward.

  He ran until he saw Chandler, and flopped down on the ground beside him.

  “Thanks.” Jack couldn’t hear his own voice, but Chandler nodded.

  The other soldiers joined them, and the four men watched the flames consume the place where they had last stood.

  Jack finally said, “You have to get faster, bro.”

  “Oh yeah? Why don’t you get bigger?”

  They laughed.

  Chandler pushed at Jack’s shoulder. Jack pushed back. Chandler pushed harder.

  “Wake up,” Chandler said in a high girl’s voice.

  Jack looked down, puzzled. The hand. Tiny, white, with a little silver ring. Not Chandler’s.

  “What?” Jack’s eyes opened.

  Replacement pushed him again. “Get up!”

  Dazed, Jack scooted away to the far side of the bed. “What’s the matter with you?”