Strawberries

by Casey Bartsch

  THIRTY THREE

  “Could you just pay them off?” Sylvia had avoided the topic of the stolen champagne all night. She let Melissa drive the conversation in schizophrenic rhapsody until the night grew late and they had finished off the Johnny Walker, but now she was back to being concerned for her friend's plight.

  “What darling?” Melissa asked, her words coming out like mist on the air. It took a lot for her to reach her limit, but when she did, Melissa became soft and light, as if she would just float away if not for the liquor's weight.

  “Couldn't you just pay the gangster for the bottle? Maybe throw down a little extra.”

  “I really haven't a clue. We haven't sat down for tea to chat recently. But anyway, I don't have the money.”

  “What? You should have fifty times that stashed away by now. You taught me how for fuck's sake!”

  “Well the cat's out of the bag love. I'm a better teacher than I am practitioner.”

  This shocked Sylvia. With all of Melissa's faults, Sylvia would never have guessed that money management was one of them. In the early days, she had hammered the monetary responsibility nail into Sylvia's skull so many times that she could easily be mistaken for a fiscally savvy version of Pinhead from Hellraiser.

  “Even though I'm seeing double, I know that both of you are quietly judging me,” said Melissa.

  “No, I'm not. Let me help you. Let me pay them off.”

  “I can't let you do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you sure you want to get involved with gangsters?” Bill interjected.

  “This isn't the movies. People don't just get whacked. They just want their money back,” said Sylvia.

  “No, Syl,” Melissa said.

  “Damn it, Melissa, you're going to let me do this,” Sylvia shouted, head in a foggy frenzy. “If I have to pay them ten times what the stupid bottle is worth, I'm going to do it. I don't care about the money. I just don't want you to leave.”

  Despite herself, Sylvia was crying, and the blanket of inebriation made the tears fall like a tiny monsoon from her eyes. Melissa reached out unsteadily, pulled Sylvia toward her, and hugged her close. They stayed that way for a time, from both emotion and the steadying effect that the embrace gave their liquefied minds. Then Melissa kissed her, and their foreheads together, looked her in the eyes. “You are so much better than me, Pet. I love you.”

  Sylvia pulled away, as if she suddenly realized that a thousand eyes had caught her in shameful dealings. Then she saw that the bar had noticeably fewer people than before. When she checked her cell phone, she found that it was nearly two in the morning. Mere moments later, the house lights came on and the bartender shouted last call.

  The remaining party attendees started to flow through the exit like used bath water.

  Bill got up to stretch his legs and Sylvia turned her focus back to Melissa. “Give me a phone number,” she said.

  “Which one? Or will any suffice?”

  “The guy you stole from, just give me his damn number.”

  Melissa made a face, as if to protest, but instead took out her phone. Moments later Sylvia was dialing.

  “Don't call now, you harlot!”

  Sylvia waved Melissa off as the phone rang.

  On the fourth ring, a man answered. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” the man howled.

  “I represent Melissa Cayman. I understand she owes you a debt.”

  “She owes me all the blood I can siphon from her skinny throat.”

  “I would like to come to terms that would prevent that outcome,” Sylvia said, surprisingly soberly.

  “And how the fuck do you think you'll do that?”

  “I'm told the bottle was worth twelve grand. I'll double that in cash.”

  There was a short pause before the man spoke, and Sylvia thought she could actually hear the wheels of the man's mind turning.

  “Fifty and the broad can keep her blood.”

  “Deal. The cash will be waiting for you, or someone of your choosing, at the front desk of the Ritz Carlton on Stockton. It'll be there tomorrow at 5 pm under the name, Methuselah. After pick up, I trust we can consider this matter reconciled.”

  “You get the money there with no funny shit, and we're done.”

  “Thank you, have a pleasant night,” said Sylvia before terminating the call.

  It had taken every drop of her mental stamina to pull off the phone call, and now that it was over, the world began to spin again. The sparkles from the streamers traced bright circular lines in the air like a neon plate of spaghetti.

  “Where in the flying fuck did you learn to talk like that?” asked Melissa.

  “I'm not sure,” Sylvia answered, “I guess these kinds of things are more like the movies than I realized.”

  Melissa called for the waitress to bring them two glasses of water. As Sylvia stared into blurry space, she caught a glimpse of Bill. He was standing with his head cocked up. Sylvia could not see what he was looking at, but he suddenly looked over at her and beckoned for her to come over. Not feeling the least bit like moving, she made a gesture to say no thanks, walking would kill me.

  “No, Sylvia,” Bill called out. “You have to come over here. It's very important.”

  Sylvia slowly got to her feet and began the eternal struggle of staying upright. When she had shambled her way to Bill, she put her arm over his shoulder and leaned against him.

  “Look up,” he said.

  She could see that Bill had been watching a television above the bar. The sound was on, but the music still playing through the bar speakers made it hard to hear. Bill asked the bartender if he could turn the music down, and was obliged, but Sylvia's attention had already waned and she was looking at all the trash that covered the bar floor. She was glad that she hadn't chosen to have the event in her apartment.

  “Sylvia, look,” Bill said again.

  The news was on, and what she saw sobered her.

  “As we have been reporting all night, the Strawberries killer has been identified.”

  The words Who is Robert Kirkman? were written in a graphic below the anchor.

  “Huh, funny,” Sylvia mumbled.

  Bill asked, “What?”

  But then, as the anchor continued, Bill no longer needed her to answer the question.

  “We have also been reporting on Sylvia Kirkman, believed to be the sister of Robert Kirkman. The authorities are asking that if anyone knows her whereabouts, that they please report them immediately. Her current location is unknown.”

  And there, filling half the TV screen was a photograph of Sylvia in her early twenties.

  “Oh fuck,” Sylvia said. Not in an exasperated tone, but in a way that was as if all previous knowledge of her life had been instantaneously erased.

  “Sylvia, what's going on?” asked Bill.

  “I was. I mean, I guess I still am. I was. Shit!”

  Her legs buckled from the weight of her own shock. Without realizing it, she was on the floor with Bill, Melissa, and the bartender hovering over. Looking past the bartender's head, she could still see her picture on the screen.

  “Sylvia,” Bill said, “Are you alright? What can I do?”

  Then Melissa said, “If you wanted the spotlight baby doll, you could have just asked. Now, pull yourself together and explain.”

  Bill helped Sylvia to her feet and then over to a barstool. The bartender handed her a glass of water, which she consumed ravenously.

  “I was born Sylvia Kirkman, but I don't have a brother.”

  “Well see there, nothing to get so upset over,” said Melissa.

  “Are you sure? Could your parents have just kept it from you?” asked Bill.

  “I don't know. I guess anyone can keep anything secret if they really want to. I'm living proof of that.”

  She slumped, watching her own face on the news, and wondering where they had gotten the picture.

  “I'm going to puke,” she said.

  �
�Good darling,” Melissa said, patting her on the back. “While you do that, I'm going to check the gift table.”

  THIRTY FOUR

  Shelly was feeling rather pleased with herself. Smug even. She had sent in the videos; all de-signed to look as if in real time. She teased the interview, and even threw in the sister for added effect.

  It proved difficult to track down a photo of Sylvia Kirkman. She didn't seem to be anywhere on the net. Shelly had made a few cold calls and was able to discover some names of friends that Sylvia may have had in college, and then she got lucky. One of those friends had taken a photo with Sylvia long ago and had posted it on their Facebook page. A quick crop and Shelly had what she needed.

  By the time anyone found her, or the town of Pleasure, Shelly would have already been there, got her interview, and had the psycho arrested. Not only would her career be made, but she would be a hero as well. Now all she had to do was drive him to his parents.

  Piece of cake.

  She had Jake take the van back to the network. He had protested, but she insisted that she knew what she was doing.

  Now, as she waited in line to pay for gas, looking out at the rental car and seeing the unwaveringly stalwart murderer sitting in the passenger seat, she got her first twinge of fear. She had not been scared of Robert since the night in the barn, but now she was suddenly aware of her complacency.

  Was it worth it?

  As she took her change and headed back to pump her gas, she decided that was the dumbest thing she had ever asked herself.

  Of course it was.

  THIRTY FIVE

  “I'm told that you still haven't been spending much time with the other residents. Is there a reason for that Robert? There are some very nice people out there. I know because I talk to them all the time. A man needs friends, Robert.”

  “A man needs friends,” he repeated.

  “Exactly, friends and family are very important. They give us a reason for living. Hell, a reason for everything, really.”

  Robert's forearms were covered in thick elastic sleeves to prevent any more injury, yet he still attempted to dig through.

  “Do you want a family someday, Robert?”

  “When I am a man. A man needs a family,” he said, smiling.

  “Well, you're a man now, and I think that if we keep going like we are now, we can get you out of here. Maybe by your twenty-second birthday. How would that be, Robert?”

  “I don't know, Doctor.”

  “You've been doing very well over the years, Robert. I really think that we've made great progress in your recovery. You haven't shown any signs of violent behavior in over eight years, and that is remarkable.”

  “When it hurts, I try and remember what you have taught me.”

  “That is very good,” Dr. Willis said, almost absentmindedly as he jotted down notes.

  Robert waited patiently.

  Finally, the doctor spoke again. “So is there anything on your mind? Anything that you want to ask me about?”

  “Do you really think that I could have a family, doctor?”

  “Yes I do, Robert. I really do. You're a very pleasant young man. You just need to remember that when you get out there, there will always be someone that will try to stand in your way. That's the nature of people. The human race isn't very nice to each other. But, you deserve the same as any man, Robert. If you want a family, don't let anyone stand in your way. You just put yourself on a path, and you go for it. Eventually you'll have what you want and need. I promise you that.”

  “Don't let anyone stand in my way.”

  “That's right. Never let anyone tell you that you don't deserve what every man deserves. And, I'm just sure, Robert, I'm just sure that when you reach your goals, everything else that clouds your mind will fall away. Remember how we talked about the pain you feel being in your mind? Well, when men reach their goals, their pain gets replaced by pure joy.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” said Robert, smiling. His lips extended into a thin, curled orifice of glee and satisfaction.

  Had Dr. Willis been paying attention rather than writing notes, he may have noticed a gleam in Robert's eye that had not been there previously. The sort of gleam that one only gets when the mind instantly and violently understands.

  THIRTY SIX

  The alcohol was playing a cruel trick on her.

  Despite how much she had consumed, the sedative effect that liquor usually gave just wasn't working on Sylvia. The hours ticked by as she sat on one of the stools at the kitchen bar and tried to figure out what to do next. Half of her mind wanted to take action, but the other half wanted to will her eyelids to close. Her head was beginning to throb. The liquor had not deprived her of that wonderful side effect.

  It was five in the morning, and still the clock kept stubbornly tick-tocking.

  She grabbed her bottle and shook a few pills into her hand, but just as she was about to throw them back with some lukewarm coffee, Bill stopped her.

  “Are you sure that you want to do that?”

  “You said you weren't going to screen my drug intake,” she said, aggravated.

  “I'm not the pill police,” he said, “I just want to advise you that this might be a time to stay as clear headed as possible.”

  “I think that I may have to disagree. I think that this may be the perfect time to go into a coma.”

  “How many do you have there?”

  “I don't know. Four. How about I just take two?”

  “Deal. Let me have the other two.”

  Bill grabbed two beers from the fridge and then they both swallowed down their pills with the hair of the dog.

  “I hate this,” Sylvia said, “I need to get out of here. I have to be doing something right now rather than sitting here not doing.”

  “Well, the news said that the cops wanted to question you. Maybe we should go to them and get it straightened out.”

  “God, no. That won't do any good. They will just look into my life. I don't know if you've noticed yet, dear, but I break a lot of laws.”

  “I guess you're right.”

  “It will take them a little while to find me, but they will eventually. I'm going to have to leave this place soon.”

  “Then we better get packing.”

  “No, I don't need to pack. All of the necessities are ready to go. I can be out of here in five minutes.”

  “What about all of your stuff? Bed, chairs, clothes, everything.”

  “Those are just things. I can always get more.”

  They sat. Sylvia tapped her foot so fast that even a humming bird would get dizzy if it watched too closely. Every ten seconds she would sigh loudly as if she were trying to exhale everything that was blocking her brain from coming up with the perfect solution. Between sighs, she was holding her breath without thinking, and it was causing her skin to flush. “I need to talk to my parents,” she said abruptly.

  “What time was it that you called them last?” asked Bill.

  “It was about an hour ago, but it can take them days before they check their messages. My parents tend to stay away from that kind of thing. They don't even own a TV, so they probably don't have a clue what's going on, and who knows if their phones are even charged.”

  Bill, probably sensing her need for sustenance, went out to the bakery to get bagels. It had been awhile since Sylvia had eaten, and even though the possibilities of vomiting were high, she was going to give breakfast a try.

  Pacing her living room, she continuously checked her phone, though she was certain she hadn't missed anything. She felt like she was thirteen again, and praying that whatever pimple faced boy crush she had at the time would call.

  When Bill returned, she shoveled three full bagels into her gullet before he even had a chance to start his first. She even skipped the cream cheese. Her stomach now full and only passively threatening to implode on itself, she began tapping her foot again. “My parents aren't going to call. I have to go to them,” she concluded, the food
giving her a fresh decisiveness.

  “We can do that. Do you want me to check flight times on your laptop? I should have the web page pulled up in an hour or so,” Bill said, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “I can't take a plane. If they're looking for me, I don't want to leave a trail. And you aren't coming.”

  “What do you mean I'm not coming? Of course I am.”

  Sylvia hadn't even considered bringing Bill along. She was so used to taking care of business on her own that her mind just never made the leap to consider a companion. She was in survival mode, and that had always been a solo endeavor, but now, she wondered if she could survive better with help. The concept of a team was as foreign to her as mu shoo pork.

  “Unless you expressly forbid it, I'm coming with you,” said Bill.

  Sylvia took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “I want you with me. Also, I need your car.”

  “That was very romantic.”

  “Hush up. I do want you with me. But you will be meeting my parents, and it is possible that I have a brother that will murder us all.”

  “Parents I can handle. Murderous brothers are new to me, so let's play that one by ear.”

  He wrapped his arms around her.

  “New to me, too,” she said.

  “Get your stuff, and then we'll stop by my place so I can pack a bag.”

  “We have to go by the Ritz, too.”

  “Um, OK. Why?”

  “To save Melissa,” Sylvia said as she knelt down to a rug on the floor. She flipped the dusty carpet over, and then pulled up two boards that were not nailed down. Under the floor was a duffel bag and a small pouch. She grabbed both.

  “What is that? Are you going to tell me that you're also some sort of spy now?”

  “Money and passports. A few driver's licenses. I'm not a spy. I just don't use banks.”

  Bill watched in awe as she took stacks of money wrapped with rubber bands out of the duffel and placed them into an old Amazon box before taping it shut. Then with a black permanent marker, she wrote Methuselah on the top.

  “How much was that?”

  “Fifty thousand. I'm leaving it at the front desk of the Ritz so Melissa doesn't get whacked.”