A Killer Harvest

by Paul Cleave

  “So you think your mom is wrong?” Olillia asks when he’s done telling her everything, including his mom’s reaction to him wanting to help Detective Vega.

  “I don’t know. I mean—I guess I see her point. The guy did save my life.”

  “By killing somebody,” she says.

  “True.”

  “Then he left you on the tracks to get run over.”

  “I’m not so sure he did. I think I might have wandered back onto them.”

  “Even so, you were on the tracks and almost died. There is one thing, though, that you haven’t explained,” she says, and he knows what’s coming. “Why would Detective Vega think you might recognize somebody from Vincent Archer’s house?”

  It’s a difficult question to answer. He wants to be able to tell her the truth, but he’s frightened of her reaction. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to think I’m a freak.”

  “Surely you don’t think I would ever think that,” she says.

  “No, but you might think I’m crazy, because it’s a crazy thing to tell. Promise me you won’t get up and leave, that you’ll let me explain everything to you before you do anything.”

  “Now I’m worried,” she says, and she looks worried. “Did you do something yesterday you haven’t told me about?”

  “It’s nothing like that,” he says.

  “Then what?”

  “Have you ever heard of cellular memory?”

  She tells him she hasn’t, so he tells her what it is. He gives her the racing car–driver analogy. A guy with a sick heart gets the heart of a racing car driver who died, then wants to become a racing car driver. Since they’re in a building full of books and plenty of computers wired up to the Internet, he figures he can back up everything he is saying with anecdotal evidence, but it turns out there’s no need. She’s fascinated. He can tell she knows where he is going with it before he begins to talk about his own surgery. She doesn’t ask any questions. She sits patiently while he tells his story, eyes big and face full of amazement.

  When he’s done she nods a few times, and smiles. “Wow,” she says. Then the smile disappears. “It must have been scary for you, going through that. So what do we do now?” she asks. “Is there some way to stop it from happening?”

  “You believe me?” he asks.

  She looks confused by his question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because it all sounds insane.”

  “But you said it’s true,” she says.

  “It is true.”

  “Then why would I think it was insane?” He isn’t sure how to answer, and before he can figure it out, she carries on. “So you see your dad dying.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That must be horrible,” she says, looking upset at the thought. “Do people think that cellular memory fades?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody really knows anything for sure.”

  “It must be . . . I don’t know. I don’t think I could handle seeing what you see. You’re way stronger than anybody gives you credit for,” she says, and he doesn’t know how to respond to that, nor does he get the chance, because she carries on. “Let me ask you something. When you saw photographs of Simon Bower, you recognized him. How did you recognize Vincent Archer?”

  “Detective Vega said he didn’t have a criminal record, but my dad must have dealt with him at some point.”

  “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Your dad knew a lot of people,” she says. “Who else do you recognize?”

  “Mom and dad, and Uncle Ben too. And me. We’re all people my dad saw not long before he died. Maybe there’s a time limit on it.”

  “Which would mean Vincent was somebody your dad must have seen not long before he died.”

  “Maybe he was. Maybe he was there that morning, and Uncle Ben didn’t see him.”

  “So Detective Vega thinks you might recognize someone from the photographs in his house?”

  “Somebody, or something. I want to help too, but I guess Mom is right, we could end up causing trouble for the person who saved my life. Doesn’t seem fair.”

  “What if we find him first?”

  “What?”

  “We find him,” she says, “and we figure out if he’s a good guy or a bad guy, and then you know whether you should be thanking him or phoning the police. At least it will give you some answers. Not knowing who he is or what he’s capable of will only keep you awake at night.”

  “How are we going to figure it out?” he asks.

  “The same way Vega wanted you to figure it out.”

  “Wait, wait a second, are you saying we go to Vincent Archer’s house?”

  “Why not?”

  He almost laughs. “I can think of a hundred reasons why not.”

  “And I can think of one really good reason why we should.”

  The thought of breaking into a house gets his heart racing. What if he gets caught? Aside from getting a criminal record, and having Principal Mooney absolutely forbid him to return to his school, his mom will ground him for the next two years. Olillia is staring at him. He wants to do it so as to not disappoint her. Plus, she might think it’s cool.

  “What you need to ask yourself,” Olillia says, “is how much you want to find this guy. I’ll help you, if you want me to.”

  “I have no idea how to break into a house.”

  “Nor do I, but I’m sure we can figure it out. Or, if you like, we can stay here and start on our homework.”

  “Okay,” he says, the word escaping before he can hang on to it. Still . . . he can take it back if he wants to . . . Only he doesn’t want to.

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, let’s figure out where he lives.”

  They use the online phone directory and come up with two possibilities. Olillia pulls out a set of car keys. “Let’s do this,” she says.

  They grab their bags and take the back door into the parking lot. Olillia’s brother took the day off from teachers’ college and let her borrow his car. Because she’s only on a learner’s license, she’s not allowed to drive by herself, or with passengers who aren’t experienced drivers. They figure if they’re going to break into a house anyway, they might as well start the adventure by driving illegally. The car is a red two-door coupe that sits low to the ground and doesn’t have any backseats. They put their bags into the trunk. Olillia looks cool, he thinks, as she swings in behind the steering wheel, and it makes him even more eager to learn how to drive. She puts on a pair of sunglasses and manages to look even cooler before plotting the first address into the GPS on her phone. A moment later they’re heading for the exit of the parking lot. He lowers himself in the seat so the policeman in the patrol car parked out front won’t see him. He’s never been driven in a car by someone his age before, and it’s weird, like they’re kids playing grown-ups. The policeman doesn’t follow.

  It takes ten minutes to reach the first address, a single-story house in a street of single-story houses, only this one looks better maintained and has an immaculate garden. “Hard to know,” she says, as they approach it. “Should we go look at the other one too?”

  “This is the one,” Joshua says.

  “You recognize it from a dream?” she asks.

  “No. That parked car we just passed is an unmarked cop car. It has somebody sitting in it.”

  “You can tell that?”

  “Same car that Uncle Ben drives, and Detective Vega, and the same kind of car we got driven to the police station in this morning. Makes sense they’d want to keep watch on the house. So much for taking a look around.”

  “Do you always give up this easily?” she asks.

  “Only when I’m breaking into houses owned by murderers.”

  She drives around the corner and pulls over. “Let’s give it a few minutes,” she says.

  “Until what?”

  “So what do you want to do after you graduate?” she asks, not answering his question. “What do you want to be?”

  “I don’t kn
ow,” he says.

  “I want to be dancer,” she says.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s just a dream, really, but I love ballet. I’ve been practicing most of my life. I really want to perform onstage one day, at least that’s the goal, and there are so many others out there with the same goal . . . the bar is just set so terribly high.”

  “I bet you’re amazing,” he says.

  “You’re sweet,” she says. “Wait here.”

  She jumps out of the car. He hears a hissing sound from the back. He opens the door. She’s crouching by the back wheel letting the air out of the tire.

  She smiles at him and says, “It’s all part of the plan.”

  He climbs out. “What plan?”

  “We’re not giving up on getting into that house.”

  “And how are we going to do that with the police officer watching?”

  “It’s not we anymore,” she says. “It’s you. And he won’t be watching.” She stands up and puts a hairpin back into her hair. “In one minute, I want you to walk up to the house and find your way in.”

  He sucks in a deep breath but can’t get his racing heart under control. It was a mistake coming here, but he can’t bring himself to say that. Olillia has already seen him being bullied; he doesn’t want her to see him chickening out of this. His fear of breaking and entering is dominated by his enjoyment of having an adventure with her. “Okay,” he says.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. If I get caught I’ll—”

  “You won’t get caught.”

  “Well, on the chance that I do, I’ll say I was trying to help them out.”

  “Which you are.”

  “In a way my mom wouldn’t find out.”

  “Exactly what we’re doing.”

  “And I won’t mention you at all,” he says.

  She leans forward and kisses him briefly on the cheek. He feels himself turning red, and when she pulls back, he sees that she’s blushing too. “You won’t get caught. See you on the other side,” she says.

  She hops back into her car and does a U-turn. Joshua’s face is still feeling warm from the kiss. The flat tire makes a slapping sound as it goes around. She takes the corner and goes back in the direction they came from. He walks to the intersection and watches. She drives past the parked car then pulls over twenty yards past the house. She gets out and puts on a big show of looking dejected when she sees the flat tire. She opens the trunk, gets out the jack, then studies it as if it’s the first time she’s ever seen one. She drops it, pulling her foot out of the way in time, then picks it back up. She carries it to the side of the car, studies the area around the flat tire, then studies the jack, then looks confused by it all. By the time she has the tire iron out and is struggling to move the lug nuts, the officer on duty has stepped out of his car. He walks over and Joshua can’t hear what they say, but a moment later the officer crouches down with his back towards the house and begins to loosen the nuts.

  Joshua walks to the house. He goes through a gate into the backyard. His hands are shaking. He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be doing this. He should go back through the gate and leave. He checks the windows. Locked. The back door. Locked. Putting a rock through the window will draw attention. Sweat is dripping down the sides of his chest. His forehead is damp. This would be easier if he were here with the police. They’d kick in the door and . . .

  That’s it!

  He races back through the gate. The police officer is still hunched over the wheel. Joshua crosses over the front lawn to the door. Sure enough, it’s been smashed in. That’s how the police gained access yesterday. It’s closed, but he can see the lock has splintered away from the frame. The door makes a soft groaning sound when he opens it and does the same when he closes it behind him.

  FIFTY-THREE

  “First of all—”

  “Levi,” Principal Mooney says, cutting the boy off. “We don’t need one of your diatribes here. Let’s show Detective Vega what a great student you can be, and show her what kind of good young man this school produces.”

  Vega is sure the school produces lots of great young men but is doubtful Levi is going to turn out to be one of them. She’s tempted to tell him if he gives her something useful, she’ll cut him some slack when their paths cross again—which no doubt they will. He’s that kind of kid.

  “Fine, whatever,” Levi says. “There’s this guy who was hanging outside the school, right? Creepy-looking guy.”

  “Creepy?”

  “Yeah. I figured he was offering candy so he could fiddle some of the ugly kids.”

  “Levi . . .” Principal Mooney says.

  “Did you tell anybody about him?” Vega asks.

  “No.”

  “If you really thought he was there to hurt somebody, why not report him?”

  “Because it wasn’t my problem,” he says, which is something Vega thinks sums up this generation of kids. Anything happening beyond the range of a selfie doesn’t affect them.

  “That’s a disappointing attitude,” Principal Mooney says.

  “Yeah, well, whatever,” Levi says. “Do you want me to tell the rest or what?”

  “Please, go ahead,” Vega says.

  “So I’m keen to get home so I can do my homework so I can become a doctor or a lawyer or such, but I’m hungry so I go to the convenience store, right?”

  “Which store?” she asks.

  “The one with the giant homo who works there,” he says.

  “Levi . . .”

  “What?” he says.

  “Just tell me what happened,” Vega says.

  “So it’s the store on the corner of Lambrose Street, you know it?”

  “I know it,” Vega says. It’s between the school and the turnoff for the train tracks.

  “Wow, you really must be a great cop,” he says.

  “Goddamn it, Levi!” Principal Mooney says, then he sighs and looks up at the ceiling before looking back at them. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said that, but please, Levi, can you behave yourself long enough to tell Detective Vega what it is you told me.”

  “Sure, I can do that,” he says. “So, I see this guy drive past again when I’m on my way out. So I start heading home, and then—”

  “You’re walking? Biking? Driving?” she asks.

  “Biking,” he says. “Suddenly I’m seeing him again. He’s parked up on the opposite side of the road on the other side of the train tracks, waiting all over again.”

  “And still you did nothing,” Principal Mooney said.

  “Like what exactly? Ring the police? Tell them there’s a guy in a car? Yeah, right.”

  Principal Mooney sighs heavily but doesn’t have a response, because the kid is right.

  “So I’m heading home, and Mikey calls to say he’s got my smokes . . . I mean, not smokes, I mean stuff . . . stuff for homework, and. . . .”

  Principal Mooney is grimacing.

  “Mikey?” she asks.

  “Yeah, Mikey. So I’m heading there, and wouldn’t you know it, here’s this guy again, he’s pulled up a couple of streets down from where he was last time, and he’s walking to the train tracks.”

  Vega loads up the photographs on her cell phone. “Show me this man,” she says, and Levi swipes through the images.

  “Any in here of you?” he asks.

  “You’ve earned yourself detention for the rest of the week, Levi,” Principal Mooney says.

  Levi doesn’t answer him. He keeps swiping, then stops on the one of Vincent Archer. “That’s him,” he says. “But here’s the thing, you take the detention off the table and I’ll tell you what else I saw.”

  “Fine,” Principal Mooney says.

  “Okay, so every time I saw this guy, I saw another guy further down the street. Outside the school this other guy was parked a hundred yards away. Creepy, but not as creepy. Same when I came out of the corner store. This guy was on the other side of the train tra
cks facing the same way as that other guy, just watching.”

  “So there were two guys,” she says.

  “I don’t know if they knew each other or what, but there were definitely two of them.”

  “When you saw this first man entering the train tracks, did you see this other man?”

  “He was getting out of his car and starting to follow too.”

  Another teacher comes into the assembly hall, followed by Michelle Logan. Michelle looks at Vega, but then quickly looks away. Principal Mooney excuses himself and walks over to greet her, leaving Vega and Levi alone.

  “You think you can give me a better description of this guy?” she asks.

  He turns to see if any of the teachers are in hearing range. There aren’t. Vega knows he’s about to say something to annoy her. “My memory will work better if there’s something in it for me.”

  She frowns. “Like what?”

  “You know what I mean,” he says.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “It’s like in the movies,” he says. “The amount people remember is equal to the amount they get paid. It happens all the time.”

  “Are you seriously doing this?”

  “It worked a minute ago for getting out of detention,” he says. “Plus it’s not a free world, lady, despite what people say. You want something, you gotta pay for it.”

  “How about this. You tell me what it is I want to know, and I don’t break your arms for calling me lady,” she says, poking a finger hard enough into his chest that he can feel all those hours she puts in at the gym. His face goes pale. She hopes it leaves a bruise. She knows he won’t dare say what she did, because it would dent his pride. “I know how cool you think you are. How tough you think you are. You don’t help me and I’m going to find a reason to throw you into a holding cell where you’ll learn what a tough guy really is.”

  “You’re bluffing,” Levi says.

  “You really think so?”