Orphans of Wonderland

by Greg F. Gifune

  “I’m sorry, I know this is difficult. Almost done. According to the reports, the shooting took place on a Sunday morning at approximately ten o’clock.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Any idea what he was doing?”

  “No.”

  “Could he have gone out to grab a Sunday paper or maybe something at that convenience store?”

  “He had paper delivery, and if he needed something at the store, he drove.”

  “Maybe he just went for a walk?”

  “As I said yesterday, he often had pain in his legs and feet. He didn’t walk anywhere unless he had to.”

  Joel watched the street, looking in the direction Lonnie had walked on the last morning of his life. This was a city with a heavily religious population, lots of Catholics and churchgoers of different denominations. Most would be at masses or services at that hour of the morning on a Sunday. Good day and time to commit a murder on the street; there’d likely be fewer witnesses. “Do the police have any clue as to why he was there?”

  “If they have any theories on that, they haven’t shared them with me.”

  “Did your dad have a cell phone?”

  “Yes. It was archaic but he had one.”

  “What about a computer?”

  “He had a laptop, a very basic model. He wasn’t very computer savvy. The police have it, along with his cell. I’m supposed to get both back at some point.”

  “Okay. Do you know if the convenience store was open when the shooting took place?”

  “I asked the detectives that and they said it was and that they’d spoken to the clerk on duty that morning. He was the one who called 911. He heard the shot but didn’t see anything. By the time he got outside, whoever had done it was gone.”

  Joel’s phone beeped, signaling an incoming call. The ID read BILLY.

  “Thanks, Katelyn, I’ll be in touch.” He switched to the other call. “What’ve you got for me?”

  “No such plate, kemosabe. It doesn’t exist. Sure it was a Rhode Island tag?”

  “Positive.”

  “Maybe you took the down the wrong info.”

  “No, it was accurate.”

  “Then they’re using fake tags, counterfeit plates.”

  “Okay, thanks. Talk to you soon.” Joel hung up, slid his phone back into his coat pocket and slowly climbed the steps to Lonnie’s apartment building. He took a quick look up and down the street one more time, but the Crown Vic was nowhere to be seen.

  As he reached the front door, the black iron bars on Lonnie’s first-floor apartment windows caught his attention. Not surprising, he supposed, given the neighborhood. But as the daylight behind him shifted, he noticed something more, just beyond the bars and dingy panes of glass.

  The dark and distorted silhouette of something watching him through the window…

  Chapter Nine

  Startled, Joel hesitated at the front door. Far as he knew, Lonnie’s apartment should’ve been empty. It was possible the landlord or perhaps the police were inside, but whoever was in that window didn’t look like an adult. The silhouette was small in stature, more like a child or a dwarf, and appeared disfigured, as it stood at a strange angle, noticeably bent to one side, indicating an odd curvature of the spine and a rather unsettling, twisted posture, its arms drawn in close to its chest.

  Whatever he was looking at was still registering in his mind when it slid away from the window and out of sight. He gave the street another quick scan. Nothing parked along either side that looked like a police car or official vehicle, nothing out of place, and nothing that looked like it didn’t belong there. He pushed open the front door, stepped inside the building and found himself in a small foyer. Straight ahead stood a row of mailboxes built directly into the wall. To his left, stairs that presumably led to the second and third floor units; to his right, Lonnie’s apartment door. He located the gold key on the ring, leaned in close to the door and listened a moment. No sounds of movement or anything else. He knocked lightly. Nothing. He knocked again, harder this time, but there was still no response.

  Joel pushed the key into the lock, turned it and opened the door. “Hello?”

  “Nobody’s in there,” said a raspy female voice from somewhere behind him.

  He looked over his shoulder to the stairs and found a middle-aged woman standing on the landing, looking down at him with a quizzical gaze. Her face was pockmarked with scars from what were likely bouts of acne in her youth; her hair was shoulder length, parted in the middle and dyed blonde, with black roots running the length of the part; and she was clad in jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirt featuring three cats and the phrase Crazy Cat Lady emblazoned across it.

  “Hi,” he said. “I just saw someone through the window, actually.”

  “You sure?” she asked with a heavy regional accent. Her eyes were dark and rather attractive—the sole survivors, it seemed, on a face that had been much prettier many years before. Since then, life had taken its toll on her, and it showed. “There shouldn’t be nobody in there.”

  “Are there any children in the building?”

  “Nope, just me and a bunch of whiteheads.”

  “Whiteheads?”

  “Oldsters. You know, senior citizens. I’m just bustin’ balls, I like old people.”

  “Maybe the landlord’s in there.”

  “Nah, he’s never here unless he’s collectin’ the rent. He still comes to the door every month like it’s a hundred years ago. You can’t mail it. He has to pick it up. Real piece of work, this guy, nose hair for miles, you could bead these things, I shit you not—and far as I can tell he never got the memo about the whole deodorant thing. Smells like an Italian sub.”

  “Is he a little person by any chance?”

  “Huh?”

  “A dwarf.”

  She squinted as if she were losing sight of him. “Dude, why the hell would he be a frickin’ dwarf?”

  “Never mind.” Joel pushed the door, letting it swing open, and looked inside. He couldn’t see the entire apartment, but from his position in the hallway, the areas he could see appeared to be empty. “Strange,” he said, “I could’ve sworn…”

  “I heard the knockin’, but obviously you got a key so…can I help you, or…”

  “I’m a friend of Lonnie’s,” he told her. “I have permission to be here. His daughter gave me keys to his place.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s his daughter’s name?”

  “Katelyn Burrows.”

  “Okay, I guess you’re legit.” The woman frowned and nervously combed a renegade strand of bright blonde hair out of her eyes. “You know what happened to Lonnie then, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Joel said, his patience already waning. “I know what happened to Lonnie. Katelyn asked me to look into things for her.”

  The woman arched a penciled-on eyebrow. “What are you, like a private detective or somethin’?”

  “I’m a reporter.”

  “Oh.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. I’m off the clock anyway, just here as a friend.”

  “You and Lonnie were bros, huh?”

  “Since high school.”

  “Was awful, what happened to him. He was a wicked good guy.”

  “Were you two close?”

  She nodded, looking sincerely pained. “I only knew him for like a year, but we got pretty tight. He was a sweetheart. I miss him.” The woman offered a quick, self-conscious wave. “I’m Bea.”

  “Joel Walker.”

  She moved down the stairs and offered her hand. “Good to meet you.”

  “You too.” Her hand was warm, her wrist adorned with numerous bracelets. She continued shaking his hand long after it seemed appropriate, so Joel subtly pulled free. “I’m going to go look around now, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don�
�t mind,” she said with a shrug, absently scratching the corner of her mouth with a hot-pink acrylic fingernail. “I work for the post office, but I took a vacation day, so if you need to ask me any questions or whatever, let me know, I’ll be right upstairs.”

  “I’ll do that,” he said, slipping into the apartment. “Thank you.”

  “Top of the stairs, bang a left, first door on the right.” Bea smiled, revealing teeth stained from years of cigarette smoking. “Number three.”

  “Got it.” Joel smiled back, then closed the door behind him.

  He stood there a moment, listening. Once he heard Bea going back up the stairs, he turned and saw that he was standing in a living room. Just off the main room was a bathroom and small bedroom, and a kitchenette filled the rear wall of the apartment. He remembered the shadowy figure in the window and, realizing he was alone in the apartment, felt his apprehension grow. “Is anyone in here?” he asked. “Hello? Look, I know someone’s in here, I saw you in the window.”

  Joel quickly checked the bathroom and bedroom but found no one. Back in the living room, he crossed into the kitchenette area and checked the back door to the apartment, which led out onto a paved walkway surrounded by chain-link fence and a gate that opened onto the street. Other than climbing out a window, the back door was the only other exit, but it was locked. That meant if the person he’d seen had left that way, he had a key and used it to lock the door from the outside while making their escape.

  He was obviously alone in the apartment now, but still felt uneasy. Could he have been mistaken? Could what he’d seen in the window have been a trick of light and shadow? It had to be. No, he thought, I know what I saw. Whoever it was must’ve had a key and slipped out the back door while I was talking with Bea.

  He made a quick mental note to find out exactly how many keys to Lonnie’s apartment there were and who had them. He knew all too well the dangers of both doubting what your eyes and ears told you, and in making more of things than they actually were. That uncertainty was what kept you off-balance and vulnerable to the darkness, and like all predators, it understood only strength and resistance administered with extreme prejudice.

  He sighed and looked around. Feeling like the intruder he was, he began checking the place out while doing his best to ignore the voice in his head insisting he was invading his old friend’s privacy.

  Joel decided to return to Lonnie’s bedroom first. It was a small, cramped room that was mostly taken up by the bed, which still had sheets and blankets on it, though they were mussed and thrown to the side. It looked as if the bed hadn’t been touched since the last time Lonnie rolled out of it. On the nightstand next to it were an inexpensive lamp, an ashtray with a half-smoked cigar and two beer bottle tops in it. On the floor between the bed and a small closet, a pair of ratty slippers lay side by side, looking as if Lonnie just recently kicked them off. In the closet he found some shoes and boots on the floor, two uniforms hanging along with some shirts, dress slacks and a few belts. The lone shelf housed folded blankets, another set of sheets and an empty sneaker box.

  A printer, an extra inkjet cartridge and a ream of paper sat on a small desk against one wall. There was an empty space in the middle of the desk where Lonnie’s laptop had once been.

  After going through the bathroom and finding a leaky faucet in the sink but nothing of any import, Joel drifted back out into the living room. Everything looked just as Lonnie had left it, like he’d gone out for a few minutes and planned to be back any moment. There was no preparation here, no locked-down apartment he knew he’d never return to. Much as he might have believed people were after him and something bad was going to happen, he hadn’t expected to die the day he did.

  “Where were you going that morning?” Joel asked the apartment. “Who were you meeting? What the hell was going on, Lonnie?”

  His eyes slowly panned across the room. A recliner…a remote for the television in the corner…a small couch and a coffee table…two end tables…a small bookcase housing knickknacks, magazines and mostly paperback books. On the coffee table, an empty glass, half a bottle of cheap whiskey, a disposable lighter and a plastic ashtray with another cigar stub in it.

  “Tell me,” he whispered. “Talk to me, Lonnie. Show me what I need to see.”

  His eyes fell upon a small storage unit located directly below the windows facing the street. Joel crouched down and opened the double doors. The first thing he noticed was a gun case, as it was the only thing on the lone shelf. That seemed strange. Why purchase a unit like this, then put only one thing in the top half of it that didn’t utilize even half the space? Carefully, he pulled the case free and opened it. An extra clip and a box of ammunition were in place, but the foam cutout where a pistol should have been was empty. The weapon wasn’t anywhere in the unit either, so he closed the case and returned it to the shelf. The bottom section was filled with DVDs and a few old VHS tapes. He pulled out a stack of them. Mostly comedies. Joel smiled. Lonnie always did love comedies. One DVD in particular stood out: Animal House. Joel remembered when it had first come out, his freshman year of high school. Along with Sal, Dorsey and Trent, they’d skipped school and snuck into the theater at the Dartmouth Mall to see it. They’d never witnessed anything like it before, loved it, and every chance they got they’d sneak in or convince Sal’s older brother to go too, as he could get them into the R-rated film as the “adult guardian.” He pictured the whole group of them palling around and laughing, so alive and full of mischief… So…unaware.

  My God, were we ever really those people? Were we ever really that lucky?

  As the memories faded, taking his smile and any answers he’d hoped for with them, he returned the DVDs to the unit, closed the doors and stood up. Watching the street through the windows a while, he wondered how many times Lonnie had done the exact same thing.

  Did you do it on the day you died? What did you see out there?

  He turned away, focused on the apartment again and strode into the kitchenette area. Nothing out of the ordinary, but a few boxes partially packed with utensils and assorted items lay scattered across the small kitchen table and along the floor. Katelyn had said she and Adam had begun packing the place up but hadn’t gotten far. This was apparently the fruit of their limited labor.

  Something drew his focus back to the bookcase in the living room. He moved toward it, this time noticing numerous gaps in the rows, indicating several books had been removed from the shelves. What remained were mostly novels, predominantly crime and suspense thrillers, along with a couple horror and science fiction tomes. Some celebrity biographies, sports-related books and nonfiction pieces having to do with local history rounded out the collection.

  Lonnie was everywhere here…and nowhere at all.

  In the eerie silence of that empty apartment, with nothing but shadows and the residue of what had once been his friend moving all around him like the ghosts they likely were, more than anything, Joel felt a tremendous sense of grief. Sadness was tangible here, as strong and dominant as Lonnie had once been.

  But there was something more here as well. Evil. Evil was here, in this place. Joel knew it well, recognized it for what it was when it slithered into his brain and curled up in the warmth of his blood, nesting in his mind before beginning its work. It hung in the air like the pungent and rotting thing it was, hidden in those same shadows, watching and whispering its lies from the world no one could see.

  And it was pleased.

  He remembered the forest all those years before, the makeshift stone altars his investigation had led him to, the blood and animal bones and carcasses he found there, the satanic symbols painted and carved everywhere, the evil dripping from the trees, oozing from the muddy ground, filling his lungs with each breath drawn. He’d never witnessed what actually happened in that awful clearing in the woods, but he didn’t have to. Those responsible for it were gone, but the evil they had conjured remai
ned. Waiting…

  Waiting for you, Joel.

  Rubbing his eyes and drawing a deep breath, Joel paced about for a moment, doing his best to clear his head and push away the darkness, the demonic growls and whispers that for so very long now had lived at the outskirts, the very edges of his sanity, so easily awakened even after all this time, ready to pounce like seedy scaremongers from some carnival funhouse, leering at him and bringing forth the same unbridled terror that had crippled him in the past, broken him and left him a shell of what he’d once been, curled up in a ball in the bowels of a hospital for the mentally ill.

  “Stop,” he said aloud, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, ran shaking hands through his hair. “Stop. Now. Stop it.”

  The Devil closed his bloody eyes, returned to sleep amid the flames.

  There had been a time when he would’ve needed pills to rescue him, but he’d learned breathing techniques and ways of distracting his thoughts and focusing them elsewhere when this sort of thing happened. He stayed with them, going through them again and again until he felt his heart rate return to normal and the laughter of demons in the back of his mind go quiet.

  In that moment, Joel wanted nothing more than to go home and feel Taylor’s arms around him, the warmth of her body against his, those eyes searching his with love and understanding, patience and kindness unlike any he’d ever known.

  Instead, he moved quickly across the room to the bookcase and began scanning the book spines, going from title to title in search of…what? What was he looking for? He wasn’t sure, but he’d been drawn to the books. Perhaps Lonnie had answered him after all. He pulled several, flipping through them, but came up empty until he selected an old, dog-eared copy of the Philip K. Dick novel The Man in the High Castle. As he flipped through it, he noticed that a little over halfway through the book, a business card was nestled between the pages. He plucked it free, then tossed the novel back on the shelf.

  The card read: Jerry Simpson, Director of Human Resources, TUSER INDUSTRIES. It listed a phone number and address in New Bedford.