Listen

by Rene Gutteridge

  Kay covered her mouth, trying not to acknowledge it, trying to hold back the tears. But there it was, right in front of her. Not what she wore. Or how her hair looked. But something nobody else could see.

  Why was it rearing its ugly head now? Why wouldn’t it go away?

  Kay was unable to look at herself. A deep, heavy cry was unwillingly forced out. It was maddening too, and she slammed her hand against the mirror. It tipped backward and crashed into the wall.

  “Mom?”

  Kay gasped, scrambling to pick up the heavy mirror. “Jenna?”

  “What are you doing?”

  Kay swiped at her face. “Nothing . . . I just . . .” How could she hide this? Gauging Jenna’s expression, she’d been standing there long enough. She opened her mouth, intending to falsely confess this was about Gabby. But as she stared into her daughter’s eyes, she knew that wouldn’t do. It wasn’t fair. To anybody.

  Kay sat on the edge of her bed and motioned for Jenna to join her. Her daughter sat next to her, crossing and recrossing her legs. Stale air and awkward silence wedged between them, but Kay wasn’t going to be deterred.

  “I want to tell you something. About myself. I was about your age, in high school like you and all that. But I wanted to fit in better. I had a few friends, but not the kind that I felt I wanted. So I went against my parents’ rules and started dressing . . . loose.”

  “Loose? You mean, like, baggy clothes?”

  Kay smiled a little. “No. Actually really tight clothes. Low cut. Supershort shorts. Miniskirts galore. I’d sneak them out of the house under other clothes, then change at school. And you know what? It worked. I was noticed.”

  Kay’s shaky hands stroked the silky comforter on the bed. “One day I was coming out of chemistry. I rounded the corner, and there was spray paint all over my locker.” She paused, but not even a deep breath could stop the tears from rolling. She looked away from Jenna. She didn’t want to see her face when she told the next part. “Spray-painted all over my locker were the words slut and whore.”

  Kay finally glanced over, afraid of the shame her daughter would feel toward her. But instead, to Kay’s surprise, the hard and steady glare that had disappeared overnight had returned. Jenna’s eyes sank underneath her furrowed brows as if they were backing slowly into a deep and dark cave.

  Kay quickly added, “I’m just telling you this because it was so painful. It was the worst day of my life. Still is. I’ll never get over standing there staring at those words.” She reached for her daughter’s hand, but Jenna pulled away. Jumped to her feet as if something had grabbed her underneath the bed. “Jenna? What?”

  Jenna didn’t look her in the eye. “Nothing. I get it, okay? It’s a long-winded way of saying it, but I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “Please. Don’t sit there and act like that was an innocent little story you wanted to tell to get off your chest.”

  Kay swiped at more tears that began to fall. “You’re right. But, honey, a mother’s hope is that she can prevent her children from making the—”

  “Same mistake. Yeah, I get it. Except I don’t have to have my mistake painted across a locker. I’ve got you writing it all over me every day, don’t I?” Jenna turned and rushed out of the room.

  Kay fell backward on the bed, too exhausted and emotional to do anything but lie there and stare at the ceiling.

  So they were now back to square one. Thanks to Kay opening her big mouth. She knew there was a reason she had kept it secret all these years. She curled into a little ball and willed herself to sleep.

  * * *

  There was a disproportionate number of cell phone stores to the number of residents in Marlo, but Frank decided on the popular one that offered rollover minutes, free phones, unlimited texting, and every other useless but endlessly fun thing on the planet.

  He tried to stop smiling to himself, but he couldn’t help reveling in Squirmy over there in the passenger’s seat. He’d driven through Starbucks in silence, letting the kid believe whatever he wanted to about Frank’s mood. He didn’t help matters when he refused to let Gavin order.

  Frank glanced over while taking a sip of coffee.

  As if he had superpowered peripheral vision, Gavin turned and offered a tentative smile.

  “So,” Frank said, lowering his voice to sound the slightest bit irritated, “you don’t like working with me.” He had to sip more coffee to keep from smiling.

  Sweat burst onto Gavin’s forehead. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s not personal; it’s really not. You’re a great cop, the way you found that girl and everything last night. I have the utmost respect for you in every way. But sometimes personalities clash and that can’t be helped—”

  “What’s wrong with my personality?” Good grief, he was having so much fun.

  “No, no. Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you. I mean, not you. Your personality. And you. There’s nothing wrong at all.” The kid looked like he was about to hyperventilate.

  “Calm down. Let me let you in on a little secret: don’t be a tattletale. You learned that in kindergarten, right? Guess what. It applies to the police force too. I’d risk my life trying to save you. Right here, right now. And you’re going to go in and complain that I’m not easy to work with? Doesn’t bode well, my friend.” Frank was pretty sure he’d already discussed this before, but maybe it didn’t stick.

  “I wasn’t . . . I wasn’t tattling. I didn’t say anything bad about you. I just felt like I could possibly learn a little more from someone who wanted a rookie.”

  “Nobody wants a rookie, Rookie. I’m glad you’re eager to learn. There’s nothing wrong with that. But as important as police work is, what’s more important is camaraderie. You gotta trust the guys you’re working with. Okay?”

  Gavin grinned. “Now you’re teaching me something.”

  “Oh, brother. Don’t go all sentimental on me. So tell me, how’d you get this idea about cell phone spying?”

  “I saw it on the Internet once.”

  “Just stumbled upon it while searching the World Wide Web?”

  Gavin shifted. “I had an ex-girlfriend. Thought she was stalking me. Seemed to know where I’d be. Someone told me she could’ve loaded this thing on my, you know, phone.”

  Frank pulled to a stop at the light, looked at Gavin, who didn’t seem to want to make eye contact.

  “All right, fine.” Gavin sighed, a finger tracing the dashboard. “Yeah, okay, I looked into it. I was a freshman in college. I’d been serious with this chick since high school. She went to college and swore we’d stay together, but then she didn’t have time to see me. I got suspicious.”

  “You do it?”

  “No. I just looked into it. Had heard in the frat house that it could be done but nobody really knew how.”

  Frank pulled into the parking lot of Cell Buy, with its tacky storefront promising deals of the century that were apparently not profitable enough to help them afford anything more than neon cardboard for the grand announcements. “This the store you went to?”

  “No. The one on the other side of town.”

  “Let’s go.” Frank got out and walked in, Gavin trailing.

  One guy stood behind a half-circle counter, cradling a phone in his shoulder and talking fast. Without glancing up, he continued typing on the computer and carrying on the conversation. “Yeah, that’s right. Two years . . . Uh-huh. Then you can get the BlackBerry upgrade. . . . Sure, come on in. We’ll get you signed up.” He dropped the phone into his hand, then snatched a cell phone off the counter. “Sorry, dude. . . . No, I’m not busy.” He suddenly noticed both of them. “Let me call you back.” He snapped his phone shut. “Help you?” His name tag read Dave.

  “We’re needing some information.”

  “Looking for a new plan that can save you money?” He seemed to suddenly remember the smile that was supposed to go with that pitch.

  “No.” Frank approached the counter, put his hands fl
at on top of it. “I’m looking for a way to spy on someone.”

  “We’re a cell phone store.”

  “With a cell phone.”

  Dave blinked. “Let me get Pat. Pat knows everything.”

  A few seconds later, Dave returned, followed by Pat. In every world, including the techno-geek crowd, there is the revered. Apparently Pat was that person. Dave offered him a front-row spot at the counter, pulled up a stool for him, decided he needed to do introductions. “This is Pat, our store manager. I’ve never seen him unable to answer a question.”

  “Officer Merret. Officer Jenkins,” Frank said, studying Pat. He had a certain self-assurance you normally didn’t find among pale-skinned, superskinny, hairless males with a Bluetooth sticking out of unusually large ears.

  He didn’t make eye contact as he said, “What can I do for you?” Instead, he typed on the computer, his full attention on the screen.

  “First, you can give me some outstanding customer service,” Frank said.

  Pat swiveled so he faced Frank. He didn’t say anything and his expression remained neutral.

  “They want to know how to spy on someone using a cell phone.”

  Pat, his expression unmoved, said, “We of course don’t sell anything like that here.”

  Frank leaned in. “Of course. But let’s say we wanted to do this. Hypothetically, how would one go about doing it?”

  Pat tilted his head to the side, a superiority-complex kind of smile nibbling at his lips. “It’s easy.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s a program you load onto the cell phone.”

  “What does it allow you to do?”

  “Pretty much whatever you want. You can listen in on phone calls. You can retrieve call logs. Any data or pictures.”

  “You can even listen to conversations when the phone is off,” Dave added, then cleared his throat. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “You’re telling me,” Frank said, “that this program allows someone to listen in on whatever is going on in a room, even if the phone is off?”

  “That’s right,” Pat said. “The only way it doesn’t work is if the battery is taken out.”

  “Is this kind of thing readily available?”

  “Sure. It’s all over the Web.”

  “How do you get it on the phone?”

  “You have to have the phone in your possession to download the software.”

  “So if it’s a girlfriend or someone you want to spy on, you have to snatch the phone, download it, and give it back.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Or you could have the software already on a phone you were selling.”

  Pat started to nod, then stopped and glanced between Frank and Gavin. “What?”

  “Hypothetically.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Let’s say you wanted to listen to an entire town’s conversations. You load up these phones with some software, send them out, something like that?”

  Pat’s otherwise colorless skin suddenly flushed pink. “In theory.”

  “You guys doing that here? maybe thought it’d be a fun kind of prank? maybe got a little addictive, thought you’d take it a little further?”

  “No. I can prove it. Pick any phone you like in the store. I’ll show you the programs on it. Or take my phone. You won’t find anything like that on there.” Pat slid his phone toward Frank, crossed his arms, and waited.

  Frank slid it back. “No, thanks. That’s all the information I needed.”

  Pat leaped to his feet. “Wait a minute. What are you saying? You think we’re behind this mess? we’re bugging people’s phones?”

  “No, man. Just trying to figure some stuff out.” Frank held out a hand to shake.

  Pat stared at it for an awkwardly long time before shaking it.

  “Thanks for your time. Next visit I’ll look into that text-messaging package.” Frank winked, then turned and left the store, Gavin right behind him.

  As soon as the door closed, Gavin rushed to Frank’s side. “See? See! It could work. I mean, here these guys are, selling phones that are going out to all the residents. How easy would it be for them to download that program onto these phones and—”

  “No, it’s not them.”

  Gavin stopped on the sidewalk, watching as Frank opened his car door. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re not doing it.”

  Gavin dragged his feet and got into the car, closing the door. “How do you know that? You’re a mind reader or something?”

  Frank tried to give the poor kid a break. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this. It’s not going down like you think.”

  Gavin slid down in his seat and stared out the window of the cruiser.

  Frank glanced at him. “I’m taking a break. Where do you want me to drop you?”

  * * *

  Damien stood in his boss’s office for a solid ten minutes listening to Edgar blow off steam. He yelled questions but didn’t leave time for responses before going on, so Damien just took it. There was no point in arguing. He couldn’t explain any of this anyway.

  “Now get out there and get me what I want!” Edgar commanded, jabbing his finger toward the door.

  But Damien didn’t budge. He stayed there and stared his boss down. “What is going on with you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We’ve known each other a long time. You’re acting strangely. You’re yelling at me like I’m some sort of idiot. Is there something on your mind? something you need to tell me?”

  Edgar stood still, huffing, glaring, a vein on his forehead throbbing.

  Damien crossed his arms. “It’s the site, isn’t it? You’ve been reading it. From the look of your bloodshot eyes, reading it nonstop.”

  Edgar sat down in his chair, pushing a few papers around. “Just leave me alone.”

  “But we’re frie—”

  “Go.”

  Damien turned and went to his desk, where his early-morning coffee was now cold. Cream circles floated at the top. He stirred it with the little red stirrer anyway as he tried to process the idea that evil had not arrived in their town with horns and a pitchfork. In fact, he thought, with much disgust for thinking it, that this kidnapping of Gabby Caldwell might’ve been easier to handle had it been a convict on the prowl in the quaint town of Marlo.

  But no, it was not evil from the outside. It was evil from within. Evil that had disguised itself so brilliantly that no one ever suspected it.

  Damien heard footsteps on the carpet and looked up.

  Reginald Boren, the staff photographer, hurried up to Damien’s desk, out of breath. “Sorry,” he said, putting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. “I took the stairs. Elevator’s too slow.” He yanked the camera strap off his neck and pulled a cord out of the small satchel at his waist. “You gotta see these.”

  He knelt beside Damien’s computer, plugged something into the computer. Within seconds, a picture popped up on his computer.

  “Look at this!” Reginald said. “Can you believe it?”

  Damien made himself look. “This is Caydance?” She was trying to cover her face with a jacket as she left her house in an SUV.

  “Yes. Caydance is the blonde. Zoey is the brunette.” He pushed a key. The brunette was on the screen, with a hand extended as she faced what was sure to be a lawn full of people with cameras. Both men stared for a moment. “They look so normal, don’t they?”

  “They’re friends of my daughter’s,” Damien said, then punched off the computer screen. “How am I going to tell her this?”

  Reginald unplugged his camera and leaned against the edge of the desk. “Yeah. This is whacked-out. I’ll let you know when I’ve got them downloaded.”

  Damien nodded and Reginald left. Damien reached to turn on his computer screen again, but someone else was already standing over him.

  The mail clerk greeted Damien and tossed a bundled stack of letters on his desk.


  “Thanks,” Damien said.

  Then he handed Damien another stack. “And give this to Sheryl. We’re not speaking.”

  Damien didn’t stop him. It was just another day in the office these days . . . a night of reading on the Internet, a day of cold silence toward former friends.

  He pushed both stacks aside, determined to get this article written. How could he even start? What could he possibly say to make sense out of any of this?

  Cold. Hard. Facts.

  Yeah, this was as cold and hard as it came.

  Something caught Damien’s eye from the stack of mail. It was the letter on top. In bright red ink next to his address were the words Open immediately underlined twice. There was no return address. A small, greasy stain bled into the corner of the envelope.

  Damien lifted the rubber band and pulled it out of the pile. He slid his letter opener underneath the flap, tearing it neatly. He held his breath, not in anticipation but rather from fear the thing was laced with anthrax. Was it so far-fetched these days?

  He carefully pulled out the folded piece of paper. Didn’t seem to be any powdery substance involved. He let out the air he was holding in and opened the paper.

  A crossword puzzle.

  And an amateur one at that. Just a handful of words to solve? Please.

  He threw it down and stared at his screen. He had to get comments from the police department. Or at least call Frank, who’d be willing to be an unnamed source for a good friend. He needed to try to get quotes from the families, knowing full well they would have nothing to say.

  Leaning back in his chair, he grabbed his favorite crossword pen and decided to do the little crossword puzzle. Puzzles always relieved stress. Besides, this one was curious. Simple. And with no key, which always accompanied a submission. The theme read Listen.

  One down. Guaranteed, like taxes.

  Easy. Death. He jotted it down, but the word felt heavy, morbid.

  Five across. Also, always spelled wrong.

  Too.

  Four down. Steering, made easy.

  Power.

  Damien hurried through the puzzle.

  Life. And. Of. Now. Stop. Tongue. Can’t. Stake. Much. Are. In. Is. At.