by Nolon King
“Well, I guess we’ll find out when Jacobs and Taylor get back,” Mal said. “Who wants to talk to Sheila about this? We need to see if Terry’s story matches, then we’ve gotta see if she’s still dealing and if there are any clients, past or present, who might have something to do this.”
“Ought to lock her up. What kind of mother risks losing her kids by selling drugs? Just think of the scumbags she’s exposing her kids to. How many pedo drug addicts or rapists she’s probably sold her … what?” Skippy stopped.
Mal was looking at him, laughing. “Pedo drug addicts? You know, being a drug addict doesn’t make someone more likely to be a scumbag, a pedophile, or a rapist. One thing has nothing to do with another, Skippy, so let’s not rush into blaming the mom, eh?”
“Um,” Skippy said with his finger in the air like a pretentious twat, “if she’s dealing with the kids around, then she exposed them to bad people. Someone like that ought to have her kids taken away. Maybe Alice would still be alive if her mom wasn’t a goddamned dealer.”
Mal shook her head and looked at Mike. “Jesus, this is who Barry thought ought to head up this case with you instead of me?”
“What did I say?” Skippy asked, offended. “You defending dealers now?”
She shook her head and turned to leave.
“I’ll talk to Sheila,” Mike said.
Mal turned at the door. “Don’t let Skippy near her.”
“The name is Stan,” Skippy said, narrowing his eyes.
“Whatever, Skippy.”
Mal headed down the hall, angry and shaking. She couldn’t believe Skippy was being such a dick. How could you compare an addict with a pedo or a rapist? To lump all addicts in with the worst of humanity wasn’t just wrong on a moral level. It was a dangerous attitude for a deputy to be carrying around.
Not all crimes were equal, nor all criminals. Seeing everybody in the same shades of black and white made even a well-meaning person desensitized to nuance. That was one of the easiest ways for a good cop to turn bad.
There had been enough of that under Sheriff Barry’s first administration. Gloria had cleaned house of the worst of them, but if attitudes like Skippy’s weren’t kept in check, the department could decay from within yet again.
Mal entered the bathroom, then went into a stall.
As she sat there, she reached into her pocket where she’d been holding her two Just In Case pills. Now she had only one left.
It would be so easy to take it and make the pain go away.
No. You’re fine.
You don’t need it.
You want it, but you don’t need it.
You’re not anxious.
You’re not on the verge of a panic attack.
You’re just pissed, and you can deal with that.
Put the pill away, Mal.
She did so with a sigh.
Then her phone buzzed with a text.
She grabbed it and looked at the screen.
Katie: Remember how you offered to help me?
Mal: Yes.
Katie: Well, I don’t really have anybody else and don’t know what to do. Can you come get me so we can talk?
Mal: Where are you?
Katie: At school. Supposed to be walking home, but I can’t go back to that house.
Mal: What happened?
Katie: Can you come or should I find someone else?
Mal pondered all the many things that might have gone wrong as fear chewed at her gut. Did Katie get into more trouble? Had she been raped again? Was it an average teenage drama or something much worse?
Mal: I’ll be right there.
Chapter 17 - Howard Loomis
Howard followed Cami for several days, tracking her schedule and getting to know her.
She went to college, worked some nights as a waitress at a nice steak house, and babysat three days a week for the Shaws.
Last Sunday, he followed Cami to their house then to church.
That’s when Mister K decided to test him.
Howard was sitting in his van, watching them walking back to their house together, when Mister K’s voice crackled over the radio. “Are you truly ready for The End?”
“Of course.”
“I need you to prove it by helping me send a message to the others.”
“What kind of message?” Howard asked.
“A message the right people will understand. A message for the Truth Knowers. The ones waiting for my word, to bring the new world into fruition.”
“Okay,” Howard said, eager to hear and know more.
Mister K had been promising to reveal great secrets to him for so long, sometimes it felt like it might never really happen. That Howard wouldn’t ever be ready or worthy of trust.
“I can do it. I’m ready.”
“We will see,” Mister K said.
Chapter 18 - Jasper Parish
Jasper’s door buzzed open just before lights out.
Hernandez entered with his paper cup full of pills. He walked to the sink as the door closed behind him, then set down the cup before turning to Jasper.
“Tell me more about your abilities,” Hernandez said, in barely more than a whisper.
Jasper put his book of Robert Frost poems aside and sat up on his mat.
“Like what can I see?”
“More like, how does it work?”
“I sometimes get flashes, visions, or dreams that come true.”
“When I was a detective in Vero Beach, I was working a missing kid’s case where months went by with no suspects or evidence. Just a whole lot of nothing. The parents got desperate, turned to this TV psychic promising to help find the kid if they’d give her an item of clothing or something. So, they gave her a shirt, then the woman apologized and said he was dead. She couldn’t say exactly what happened, or even where to find a body, only that he died quickly.” Hernandez looked at Jasper. “That something you can do? Touch an item and get a vision or something?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
Hernandez nodded. “If I gave you an item, you could tell me about the owner?”
“Maybe. Like I said, I don’t always control what I see. Sometimes I get nothing. I can’t make any promises.”
Hernandez nodded as he dug into his pocket. He pulled out a pack of Marlboro Red then tossed it to the prisoner.
Jasper looked at him curiously. “I don’t smoke.”
“Tell me about the owner of those cigarettes.”
Jasper turned the pack in his hand. It wasn’t a fresh pack, despite never being opened. The corners weren’t sharp, and the edges were worn beneath the plastic wrapping. He closed his eyes, searching.
A glimpse of memory — an old man picking up the pack off the counter then walking outside. Then another nearly identical scene.
He met Hernandez’s eyes. “They were yours. But your father took them. He picked them up off your kitchen counter. Said they were poison and you ought to quit — if not for your stupid ass, then for your son’s.”
His expression fell somewhere between amazement and anger. Perhaps Hernandez was angry Jasper could so easily peer into his tragedy.
“It was the last time you saw your father alive. A few hours later, you were pulling him out of his car after it blew a tire then slammed into a tree. Your cigarettes were on the passenger side floorboard, along with all the contents of his glove box. Your father died instantly.”
Hernandez snatched the pack of cigarettes away from Jasper and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’ve got, but it ain’t right.”
“You’re right.” Jasper nodded. “A lot of people would love to have whatever this is, but it wasn’t there when I needed it most. I’ve seen winning lotto tickets, sports scores, and people dying. Even managed to save a few. But I couldn’t see shit for the two people that meant everything to me. Didn’t see my wife getting cancer and dying and didn’t see my daughter being abused or killing herself. So, yeah, it ain’t right.”
Hernandez stared at th
e cigarettes in his hand, likely thinking of his own loss. But he wasn’t just mourning his father, Jasper could feel it.
“Who is Frank?”
Hernandez looked up, eyes wide before narrowing on him.
“You’re thinking about him. Frank Tagliano. He … he worked here, didn’t he?”
“I swear to Christ, if you’re fucking with me, I’ll kill you myself,” Hernandez spoke through gritted teeth.
“I’m not fucking with you. You know nobody here knows about the cigarettes. You didn’t even tell your wife, did you?”
He shook his head.
“You’re here because of Frank, right?”
Hernandez nodded.
“What do you want to know?” Jasper asked.
He reached into his pocket, grabbed a metal pen, then handed it over. “What can you tell me about this?”
Jasper turned it in his hands. A Parker. He wasn’t sure if the pen was expensive, but its quality felt high. “You said you wanted to write a book, so he gave you this and a fancy leather journal to write in.”
Hernandez said nothing.
“And he’s dead now, isn’t he?”
Hernandez nodded.
“It happened here, didn’t it?”
Another nod from Hernandez.
“I … I can’t see how, though. Do you have anything from when he died?”
He shook his head. “No, you didn’t say I needed something a person had on them when they died.”
“I don’t always. But I’ll need something else. He gave this to you. I’m getting more of your feelings than his.”
Hernandez took the pen back, wiped it off on his shirt as if Jasper had tainted his friend’s possession, then shoved it in his pocket.
“You want to know who did it … they got someone, but you don’t think it was really the guy, do you?”
Hernandez glanced back at the door, then at Jasper. “Keep your fucking voice down.”
“If you can get me something else of his, a badge of something he had on him, that might help.”
“I’ll see what I can do. But I had another idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Could you get anything by touching someone here?”
“You got a person you’re thinking of?”
“You might wanna bump into some of 904 Mafia.”
Jasper smiled. “Funny you should mention that. Ran into Young Luther today. He left me a rat in my bed. Knows I’m a cop.”
“Well, see what you can get. If things heat up, find a way to get yourself in the hole again.”
Jasper nodded.
Hernandez tipped his chin toward the paper cup, reminding Jasper to toss his pills.
“What happened with the hit on Wally? Anyone give up Young Luther?”
“Nope. They’re blaming Kenn. And I don’t expect they’ll press further charges for defending yourself. For whatever that’s worth.”
Jasper felt something coming. Whatever it was had bothered Hernandez. “The brass is just letting it go, aren’t they? They don’t care who was really responsible.”
“They like neat bows. It’s in your best interest to leave it alone.” He turned to leave.
“Hey, what happened to that missing kid?” Jasper called out. “They ever find his body?”
“Yeah, but he was alive. Found him a year later, taken by someone who spotted him at a park. That psychic was full of shit. Would love to have locked her ass up, maybe teach her not to fuck with a family’s hopes. But worst of all, she made me feel stupid for believing her lying ass.”
Jasper nodded. “At least the kid’s family had a happy ending.”
Hernandez stood in the doorway. “Don’t make me look like a fool.”
Then he left, the door clanging shut behind him.
“Lights out!” shouted one of the other COs.
Then Jasper’s pod was plunged into darkness.
Chapter 19 - Howard Loomis
Howard waited inside Cami’s pitch-black bedroom.
The door was closed, and he was sitting on her bed, wearing his black balaclava.
There was a certain clarity and calmness he found in these silent moments before striking.
It shouldn’t be this way, he shouldn’t feel so serene. A mask made all the difference.
Howard had spent most of his life an anxious, frightened mess, terrified of most every social interaction. He could only do his security job by putting on a figurative mask of who he felt he needed to be. It was almost as if he was someone else at work — confident, unafraid of greeting people, shaking their hands and looking them in their eyes, speaking directly as though their judgments couldn’t destroy him. He was known at work as one of the few installers who could handle even the most difficult customers.
But Howard was something else outside of work. Any attempts to wear that work mask felt hollow and false. He was a nervous wreck who could barely handle confrontation, from a random man looking to start a fight at Walmart to a drunk at a restaurant or the loan clerk at his bank. Howard avoided confrontation at all costs and yet was now actively seeking it for a second time.
The real mask made him feel like who he was truly meant to be. It allowed him to do his job without fear or feelings getting in the way.
It was a mask he learned to wear early, to get through the hell of growing up in that house. Disconnection was the only way to survive Enid. A mask he was perfecting with Mister K’s help, one he needed last weekend when taking that child and carving a blade into her flesh.
He would have lost his nerve without that mask. Would have stopped and responded to her pleas. But Mister K ordered the work done and said God required it.
Howard voiced his lone objection just before he ended her life. “She’s just a child.”
“Children will be the first to suffer in The End. You are sparing her something worse than death. Granting God’s mercy and allowing her entrance into Heaven before the gates close forever.”
“Are you sure?” Howard had asked.
Mister K grabbed his hair tight and forced him to stare into the child’s terrified eyes. “End her suffering or condemn her to the hellfires.”
Howard cried, but only for a moment as the girl begged him not to.
Then he lowered the mask and followed his fate.
Howard was six years old again.
Mom caught him looking at a woman’s cleavage in church. It was the first time he’d seen so much of a woman’s chest. Her breasts were so round and milky when compared to that tanned neckline. Howie had felt an instant mix of titillation and shame, curiosity and condemnation.
He shouldn’t look, but Howie couldn’t help it. He had to know more, to see more.
But then Mom had seen him and pinched his ear so hard he let out a startled yelp and drew the entire congregation’s attention.
More shame.
Mom grabbed his hair tight and dragged Howie into the shower at home. Made him turn the water scalding hot, then forced him to undress and get in.
“It hurts! Please, no!” Howie’s cries turned into sobs.
But still, Mom held him under the water as she yelled, “This pales in comparison to the constant hellfire burning your soul!”
Afterward, she took him to the kitchen and tenderly applied cream to relieve the pain.
“I only do this to prepare you for the cruel world. I love you, Howie. You know that, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He went to his bedroom and cried into his pillow. But those tears only made him feel more shame. Howie wasn’t sure what compelled him, but he removed his pillowcase and put it over his head as a makeshift mask.
Only there could he be someone else, someone who wasn’t in so much pain. Someone who felt nothing and only observed.
In the mask, Howie was safe. From others and his weakness.
The sound of Cami’s car brought him back to the present.
Howard stood and patted at his belt. His knife and pistol were ready in case
he encountered a problem.
He grabbed the bottle and the rag, readied it as he waited for her bedroom door to open.
“Soon,” Mister K whispered in the darkness. “Soon, The End.”
Howard stared at the door and waited.
Chapter 20 - Mallory Black
Mal noticed clusters of kids outside the school and in the parking lot, hanging out. But Katie stood alone, leaning against the fence, a black Twenty-One Pilots hoodie pulled low to cover most of her face.
Mal rolled down her passenger side window of her SUV. “Hey, kiddo.”
Katie looked around, her face flushing. “Sheesh, I thought you’d have your other car.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t even think how it would look rolling up like five-oh.”
“It’s okay,” Katie said, begrudgingly, climbing into the truck and closing the door. “Not like I care what any of them thinks of me, anyway.”
Mal seriously doubted that. Katie’s makeup, edgy hair style, and choice of clothing said otherwise. But she wasn’t about to point that out. The girl would only deny it, and Mal could remember how difficult it could be to fit in at that age. Criticizing a kid for craving acceptance was a shitty thing to do.
“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t flash the lights and siren,” Mal teased.
Katie laughed.
“I still could,” she said, reaching for the buttons.
“Please, God, no.” Katie sank down in her seat, pulling her hoodie even lower.
“Buckle up, it’s the law.”
Katie rolled her eyes as followed the order.
Mal pulled away from the curb. “The eye-rolling — that something you kids are born with, or they teaching it in school?”
“Oh, we learn it. Same place you learn your lame jokes.”
“Touché.” Mal drove without direction. “So, what’s up? Am I supposed to feed you again?”
“Not sure I can eat now. But you can if you want. I’ve got nowhere to go.” Katie put a hand on her stomach. “And I’m feeling anxious.”
“What do you mean you’ve got nowhere to go?”
