Possession

by Rene Gutteridge

  “This is going to be my bedroom,” Conner said, pride stretching its way across his grin. His backpack and Etch A Sketch sat in the middle of the room. The tent was by the window. “And Mom says I can arrange it however I want. I’m going to put the bed there, by the window, and I’m going to make a secret hideout in my closet.” His shoulders suddenly slumped. “When is the TV coming? And I want my video games.”

  Vance ruffled his hair. “Soon, buddy.” He guided Lindy out of the room, and they returned to the empty living room. “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head. “Joe called again.”

  “What?”

  “I just hung up with Karen Kaye. She’s an attorney here. She had left a flyer on the windshield of my car.” Lindy was talking fast, breathing hard.

  Vance put a hand on either shoulder, glanced over his own shoulder to see if Conner was still in his room. He was. Watching. And his hands were squeezed together like when he prayed. “Okay, talk slowly. Tell me what Joe said.”

  “He said we’re up to nine thousand dollars.”

  Vance wanted to gasp, to strike something, to kick something over, except there was nothing in the room to kick. He let go of Lindy’s shoulders, trying to compose himself.

  “He said that each day he has to hold our stuff is an extra thousand dollars. Each day, Vance!” She started crying. “We only have fifteen thousand dollars. That was for the new deli. What are we supposed to do?”

  “What did this attorney say?”

  “She said that it sounded like a scam. She said to contact the police.”

  Vance nodded, but inside he knew how useless that was going to be. At least in the short term.

  Lindy put a hand on his arm. “Vance, I think we should go to the police. Make a report now.” She smiled a little as she wiped her tears. “And I know what you’re thinking: this isn’t going to help what’s going on. But we’ve got to do something and at least get the ball rolling.”

  Vance felt helpless.

  Conner bounded into the room. “Do I have to sleep in the tent again tonight? I want my bed.”

  “What do we tell him?” Lindy whispered.

  Vance walked to the front window of his new home and stared at the redwoods. So much for new beginnings.

  6

  “So you were with the police force in Maryland?” Officer Hill, chubby and unenthusiastic, asked as he worked on the report, printing as slowly as if he were just learning the alphabet.

  “That’s right,” Vance said.

  “Well. Welcome to Redwood City.”

  “Do you think we’ll get our stuff back?” Conner asked.

  “We’ll do everything we can.” Hill’s answer was flat and rehearsed and not the least bit convincing.

  Conner’s voice quivered. “He stole everything I have.”

  Vance pulled him onto his lap, squeezed him tight. “I’m sorry this is happening, buddy.”

  Conner turned to him. “You’re a cop, Daddy. You’re supposed to stop people like this.”

  “I’m not a cop anymore,” Vance said, glancing at Lindy, who only looked away. “But I’m sure the police officers in Redwood City understand how big of a problem this has caused us.” He shot Hill a look.

  “I only have the five toys I brought in the car. That’s it. Mom doesn’t even have anything to cook with. We don’t have anything.” Conner broke down and buried his face in Vance’s chest.

  Lindy looked like she was about to do the same. “Sweetie, come on. Let’s see if we can find a vending machine. You want a soda or something?”

  “Down the hall in the waiting room, ma’am,” Hill said.

  Conner nodded and climbed off Vance. Lindy took his hand, and they disappeared down the hallway.

  Vance caught Hill’s attention. “You understand what a nightmare this is.”

  “Sure. We’ll get this over to our property crimes unit and see what we can do.”

  Vance leaned forward. “What would you do if you were me?”

  “Sir, you’ve done the right thing by coming in and filing a report. We’ll do everything we can to figure this out. The contract that you signed makes it more difficult, and you may find yourself in court. But we’ll investigate this to see if there is a crime being committed here.”

  Vance searched the officer’s eyes to see if underneath the compliant facade there was another message he was trying to convey. But the only thing returned was the blank stare of a man who loathed desk work and couldn’t wait to get home to his TV dinner.

  The fifteen-minute drive back from the police station consisted of their eight-year-old throwing a temper tantrum like a four-year-old. Vance’s patience grew thin with each raging bark that came from the backseat. Yet really, could he blame the kid? He’d promised that their stuff would arrive safely, and now it not only wasn’t safe, it was very possible they might not ever see their things again.

  Finally Conner settled down a little, distracted by a cough drop that Lindy handed to him. That was the great thing about having an eight-year-old with a slight case of ADD. He had very little focus, even on important things.

  Lindy touched Vance’s arm, lowered her voice. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should just pay it.”

  “What?”

  “Even if we did have a case, it could be tied up in the courts for months. Years. Is it worth it?”

  “Lindy, we can’t let this guy win. Give up half of our savings to this rodent?”

  “I’m just saying, let’s get this over with.”

  Vance didn’t say anything. He squeezed the steering wheel to keep himself from saying what was really on his mind. There was no way he was going to let this happen to his family. There was no way this was going to be the beginning of his new beginning.

  His cell rang. “Hello?”

  “Vance, it’s Andy.”

  “Andy, hi. You got my message?”

  “Yeah. Listen, with what’s at my disposal, I couldn’t trace that number. It’s locked down. If you had more, like an address, that would help.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Vance sighed.

  “Man, sorry to hear about this. Unbelievable. You got a lawyer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help you, my friend.”

  “Thanks.” Vance slowly shut his phone. He couldn’t believe what he saw coming up on the horizon as he approached the house. “Look who is at the house.”

  Like a small building, the yellow truck towered atop the hill, parked against the curb. Vance slowed the car and pulled behind it. “Stay in the car.” He looked directly at Lindy. “Do you hear me? Do not get out.”

  She grabbed his shoulder. “What are you going to do? Don’t do anything crazy.”

  “Just stay in the car.”

  He got out and walked swiftly into his front yard. The door to the cab opened and Joe hopped out. He looked so unassuming, like a good ol’ boy. But Vance immediately noticed his eyes. The whites were dull and yellow, like smokers’ teeth. His irises, a light green, were shadowy from the trucker’s hat he now pulled low on his head.

  “Mr. Graegan.”

  Vance trembled inside. He wanted to punch this guy out, right there on the front lawn. But there was probably someplace in the contract that stated if you punched out a moron, you owed ten thousand more dollars.

  “Your wife told you I called.”

  “I told you to deal with me, not my wife.”

  “I can’t deal with you, Mr. Graegan. You’re not taking this very seriously.”

  “You are a scumbag. And this is a scam. If you think you’ll get away with this, you’re seriously mistaken. I will personally make sure that you don’t.”

  “The problem is,” Joe said, his voice low and calm, “that you don’t understand the power I have in this situation.”

  “I know—the contract.”

  “I’m not talking about the contract.” His eyes drifted toward Vance’s car. He settled an uncann
y stare there for a moment, then returned his attention to Vance.

  And with one swift right hook, Joe fell to the ground. Vance’s knuckles stung like they’d been struck by a match. He shook it out while watching Joe stagger to his feet. He didn’t look back at Lindy. He already knew this was the thing she didn’t want. But there was no way this man was going to imply he had power over Vance’s family.

  Joe stood, pressing the back of his hand to a bloody lip. He didn’t look terrified, as Vance had hoped. He didn’t even look stunned. A measured calm steadied him, and he glared directly at Vance.

  “You can threaten me if you want. But that is only going to make things worse. Now, you have twenty-four hours to get me the money. We are up to ten thousand dollars because I am going to have to hold your possessions for one more day.” Joe’s eyes hardened to a cold stare. “I know you have the money. This is your last chance. If you don’t pay up, you will lose everything.” He took a step backward. “And I mean everything.”

  Joe returned to the cab. It took everything in Vance’s power not to tackle him to the ground. All the old feelings were rising up. That anger at injustice.

  Joe opened the cab door, took one step up, and looked at Vance. He smiled as if they were good friends and he was about to give a friendly wave good-bye. Then he said, “And if you go to the police again, Mr. Graegan, there will be consequences. Besides, you and I both know the police can’t really do much, can they?”

  He climbed into the cab and started the rig. Black smoke puffed from its exhaust pipe. Lindy got out of the car, but Vance held a hand up at her. He turned his mind into a camera, taking as many snapshots as quickly as he could. The license plate was unreadable, intentionally splattered with mud. The flaps were distinct, though. Both mud flaps were the same, and as Vance got a better look at them, a chill shot through him. They appeared to be hand-painted, almost like a childish drawing. A sick feeling rolled against his stomach. He jogged forward, trying to get a better look. It looked like the Death card that was found in the woods near the school where the boy was shot in Maryland.

  It was a tarot card with a distinct design of a skeleton in armor riding a white horse and carrying a black flag. Printed on the bottom was the word DEATH. Neatly handwritten across the top of the card, in blue ink, had been the words Call me God. It was the first time the snipers had communicated with police.

  On the flaps of the bright yellow moving truck was the same image of the skeleton and the horse.

  The truck pulled away, rumbling and grumbling, letting out large sighs when the air brakes were employed.

  He couldn’t catch his breath. What did it mean? Was it a coincidence?

  “Vance?”

  Lindy’s voice startled him. He turned to find his wife’s expression frantic and Conner standing behind her, grasping her arm.

  He swallowed the fear and anger that was starting to consume him. He had to hold it together for his family. He offered a small smile.

  “Okay, so I punched the guy. He kind of deserved it, right?” He grinned at Conner and winked.

  Conner smiled. “You got him good, Dad. Is he going to give us our stuff back?”

  Vance looked at Lindy, hoping for help, but she still looked frightened. “Yeah, buddy. He’s going to give us our stuff back. I think he just needs some time to think about it.” Vance put an arm around each of their shoulders. “Why don’t we go inside. Figure out what we’re going to do for dinner.”

  He let Lindy and Conner walk ahead. He needed air, needed to think, needed to decide whether what was on those mud flaps was going to change this game, permanently.

  “Vance?”

  He smiled at his wife. “I’ll be there in just a second. Go on in. Just need to get a little more fresh air.”

  She nodded, understanding the underlying desperation in his eyes, and they disappeared into the house. He turned to face the great view of the city below the hill. No matter how many deep breaths he took, though, he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was going on here went way beyond a scam for money.

  “Vance! Vance!”

  Vance turned at the sound of his wife’s screams. He bolted to the front door, flung it open. Once inside, he first noticed Lindy, crying near the kitchen. His eyes darted to Conner.

  Then he saw it. Their dining room table—the one that Lindy had been so careful to instruct the movers about—sat in the middle of the floor, splintered and crushed into pieces.

  7

  So this was their new beginning. Lindy stood in the kitchen, without utensils, cookware, or even a towel. There was hardly anything in the fridge . . . a gallon of milk, some yogurt. In the pantry were things that could be eaten easily without the use of a stove. Peanut butter and crackers. Raisins. She grabbed a Dixie cup and turned on the tap.

  She’d wanted some time alone. But Vance had refused to let her stay at the condo by herself. So they’d all made their way out to the Target together for blow-up mattresses and paper goods. Lindy wandered the aisles to find a few essentials and to think. Vance took Conner to get two mattresses and then pick out a few toys, including board games to pass the time. Before they left, Vance purchased a bar lock for the back door and a dead bolt for the front door.

  The whole time she had been trying not to cry. After Vance punched Joe out on their front lawn, there was something different about him. It felt like they were reliving the sniper nightmare all over again. She sensed him withdrawing the same way he did after that boy had been shot.

  Before that night he’d been panicked, hustling her in and out of the house, on edge about everything. But then it seemed he vanished right before her eyes. He wouldn’t talk about it. He wouldn’t talk at all.

  There was that same sense of vagueness in his eyes now. He smiled. He assured. But something wasn’t right. She’d always been able to read his eyes. He’d taught her that . . . to always look someone in the eyes and let your gut tell you their intention.

  Conner’s laughter in the other room brought her back to the condo. She walked quietly to her empty bedroom and shut the door. Why was it so hard for them to find their happiness? Their peace?

  Lindy stared at the package of toilet paper sitting by the wall. Her suitcase, with only five days’ worth of clothes in it, sat against another wall. She plopped down on the carpet, lay on her belly, and put her face down. Tears streamed out and there was nothing she could do about it. There was nothing she could do about any of it.

  Except pray. It felt uncomfortable, though. Especially since she was always telling her son to stop it. But he’d do it anywhere—the grocery store, his school. His two little hands would squeeze together as tightly as his eyelids. Sometimes he looked like he was about to burst. His face would turn red. And then, if he was really getting into it, his hand would fly up into the air and he’d start praying out loud.

  So far, the few prayers she’d tried hadn’t done much good anyway. She’d prayed for a new start, for family unity, for safety and protection.

  The bedroom door opened and Vance peeked around it. He smiled a little when he saw her sprawled on the floor. “Meditating?”

  She laughed. “Trying to bury myself.”

  He came in, shut the door, and sat by her. She turned over and looked at him.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I give you my word: we are going to be okay.”

  Lindy looked away, toward the window that was now dark with the night sky. “I can’t believe this is happening to us. It’s like we’re not supposed to make it.”

  “Don’t say that. This is where we’re supposed to be. We’re going to be okay.”

  “We have our family. That’s what counts.” She sat up, curled her knees to her chest, and laid her head on them. “Vance, what if this is part of our new beginning? Maybe we’re supposed to let it go. Let it all go.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean, yeah, this place feels empty. But why don’t we fill it up with us?” She paused, tryi
ng to read him. “I know it sounds corny, but maybe our new beginning means just that. We start completely from scratch.”

  “You mean, just let this guy walk away?”

  “I mean, not let him have power over us.”

  Vance stood and walked to the closet, where he’d put the bags he’d carried with him. He took out his black bag and pulled out a small revolver, the one he’d taught her to use years ago.

  “You remember how to use this?”

  “Vance . . .”

  “Lindy, this guy is not messing around. He got into our house.” Vance checked the gun over. “You remember?”

  “Yes, Vance. Of course I do. You took me to the gun range four times in one month. I know how to use it. You made sure of it.”

  “You keep this with you. In your purse.”

  “I don’t have a permit in California.”

  “Just make sure this is with you at all times.”

  Lindy stood and went to him, lowering his hands as he fidgeted with the gun. “Let him have it all. Let’s walk away from it.”

  “It’s not going to happen.” He snapped the barrel of the .38 Special closed and handed her the gun. “It’s loaded.”

  Lindy stared at it in her hands. It still felt heavy to her, even though it was one of the lightest and smallest Smith & Wessons.

  “Vance, listen to me. I don’t care about all of our stuff. I care about us.” She looked him in the eye. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  His wandering gaze darted to her.

  “I can see it in your eyes. I don’t know what’s going on with this Joe guy and this scam, but there’s something that you know.”

  “What I know, Lindy, is that this guy is dangerous. He’s threatening us. He’s breaking in to our home. I don’t know what he’s capable of, but I have a bad feeling.”

  “I get that.” She sighed, her fingers massaging the cold metal of the gun. “Then let’s just pay him. Get it over with.”

  “I can’t believe you’re giving in to this guy.” Vance walked to the door. “I am going to hunt this man down. At all costs.”