Closet

by R. D. Zimmerman

Todd turned around, saw Michael's brother-in-law standing there, the pistol aimed at him, and gasped, “Rick.”

  “Then I'm going to kill you,” smiled the balding man, “and everyone will assume you killed the others too. Won't that be a tidy ending to all this?”

  38

  At first she wasn't sure.

  Janice hung up the car phone and then climbed out of the Cherokee, not wanting to believe what she'd just heard. Had that merely been a car backfiring? She looked toward the highway. No, 35W was too far away. The sound had been much closer. It had to have been a gunshot from within Jeff's house.

  She broke into a run, charging across the empty lot toward the large house, where lights were burning in several downstairs windows. Only seconds later she heard it again, a loud, harsh noise. Definitely a gun, definitely fired somewhere in the house.

  “Oh, shit, Todd.”

  She'd seen him go in, disappearing through the front door. So now what? Had he been gunned down? Was he lying dead?

  Janice rushed up to the dark brown garage, hesitated. Much as she wanted to, it didn't make any sense to go charging into the house. If she could do anything, it was from out here. She started to move around the garbage can, then bumped into something. A large green box. The recycling bin, packed full of bottles and cans.

  And again. A blasting, explosive sound.

  Janice flinched, hurried up behind the fuel oil tank, stood there trying to make sense of this. What the hell was going on in there? She stared at the bay window—the dining room, she presumed—but couldn't see any activity through the thin window coverings. She heard music blaring and thumping away. But where were they?

  She rushed around the side of the house, toward the rear, but couldn't see anyone or anything. Damn it, she thought, turning around. What could she do? Ring the front doorbell and run? If nothing else, the odd surprise of it might derail or at least slow whatever was now happening.

  Suddenly a light blinked on in a rear window. Standing on her toes, she saw a bathtub, a mirror on the opposite wall. Moving to the side, she saw Todd, bent over and holding something. Or rather someone. A body. Her mind exploding with fear, Janice couldn't discern what had happened, just who had been shot.

  Then she saw Todd turn around and look back, the fear crudely evident on his face. Janice slipped to the end of the oil tank, peered at the far end of the room. She saw the gun, now trained directly on Todd. At first she couldn't see the figure holding the weapon, but then he stepped through the doorway, moved in a bit. Oh, God, thought Janice, her heart stopping as she recognized Rick.

  Everything was clear, yet nothing was. Regardless, Janice saw the gun in Rick's hand and knew she had only a precious few seconds at most. But how? She spun around, scanned the ground, and her eyes fixed on a handful of bricks stacked up alongside the garage.

  39

  “Life is nothing but smoke and mirrors,” said Rick, holding the pistol steady on Todd.

  “It was you?” asked Todd, his voice faint as he sank against the claw-foot tub, Rawlins awkwardly in his arms. “You killed Michael?”

  “He figured out what was going on.”

  “The others too?”

  “You're not listening, Toddy-boy. Like I said, life is nothing but smoke and mirrors.” Rick smiled, ran one hand over his balding head. “I gave investors a product and a reasonable return on their investment. Similarly, I'm now going to give the law a gay murderer. As they say, case closed. I'll go back to my darling wife and back to my successful business.”

  “But … but what about …” Unable to finish his thought, he looked down at Rawlins. “You mean he—”

  “He's just a good cop, that's all. Michael apparently said something to Jeff and presumably Rawlins about the account. An unfortunate turn of events that I'm about to correct.”

  Todd's hand tightened on the handle of the cleaver, and he lifted it slightly. “You bastard.”

  “Put down the knife, Todd, before I blow your flicking head off.”

  “I can't believe you killed your own brother-in-law.”

  “Drop the knife.” Rick turned the gun on the other man. “Or maybe I'll shoot Rawlins first. Say, in the stomach. Or—ouch—the crotch.”

  Reluctantly, Todd lowered the large knife to the floor.

  “That's good,” said Rick. “I'm sorry about all this, I really am, but it was either Michael or I lose my wife and almost a million bucks. Plus my business, of course. And getting rid of Michael worked. Quite beautifully, actually. I still have my money, and now I've got my wife back too. What in the hell would you have done?”

  “Michael was … was your friend.”

  “That's what I thought too, until he came to me and confronted me with what he'd found. We had lunch and he threatened to go to both Maggie and the police.”

  “About your business?”

  “Don't you get it? I poured my heart and soul into that company, as you well know. I helped create and market some of the best software out there. But I almost went under, which was when I had to bring in outside investors. They gave me money, of course, but they also took part of my company. So as far as I'm concerned, I've just been skimming off the cream of the profit and repaying myself money that's mine. My bookkeeper's keeping some for himself too, of course. He's put in his time.”

  “You asshole.”

  “I liked Michael, I really did, and everything would have been fine if he hadn't gone snooping around. But I suppose you can blame that on his sister, my dear, money-hungry wife. You'd never think she was a gold digger, would you? So sweet-looking and all.” Rick shook his head. “But she's not so sweet. Hell, no. A couple of months ago she went to Michael before she even told me, her husband, that she wanted a divorce. I mean, is that sick or what? I thought we'd patched things up long ago, that our marriage was good again, but, no, she goes to him and tells him this is it, end of the line. And then she tells him how worried she is about a settlement on account of my business being a little up and down. My finances were such a secret, she said, so couldn't he just take a look at some of my papers and tell her what she might ask for? Next that sneaky bitch goes out and photocopies a bunch of my bank statements, the post office box number I was using for the phony billing, and hands them all to her brother, the accountant!”

  “So none of this had to do with being gay or—”

  “Hell, no. I could give a fuck about all that. Michael once said queers are society's scapegoat, so that's where I got the idea. I made it look like it was a gay thing so that the cops would look in the other direction. Like I said, smoke and mirrors. You got caught up in it quite by accident, which worked entirely to my advantage. You're the suspect, not me. And in the end everyone's going to think that you, Todd Mills, Emmy Award-winning reporter, were nothing more than another twisted fag, a psychopath homo killer who killed his lover, plus an anonymous young man, and then Jeff and Rawlins here. They'll believe it, of course, and they'll look no further.”

  A volcano of fear and panic welled up in Todd. All his life he'd been consumed with the fear of who he was. And obsessed with what people thought of him. The very suggestion that he might be portrayed as yet another lie, a worse one than he had ever imagined, fused with his grief and fury over Michael's death, and in turn sent a crazed shot of adrenaline rushing through his body. He'd hidden for so long, denied not only his internal strength but his integrity as well. But no longer, and never again.

  “No!” he shouted.

  Crazed, he shoved the still-unconscious Rawlins to the floor, then lunged for the meat cleaver. All he could envision was attacking the very man who'd caused all this.

  “Stop it, Todd!” shouted Rick, waving the pistol wildly. “Get back!”

  Suddenly the bathroom window exploded as an enormous object shattered the glass and came flying into the small room. Rick jumped back, shielding himself as shards of glass and a brick crashed into the tub, and in that instant Todd grabbed the meat cleaver from the floor. Desperately, Todd hurled
the knife at Rick's right hand, and the cleaver bit deeply into one of Rick's fingers. As blood poured from a gaping wound, Rick screamed out and dropped the gun. Todd in turn lunged for the pistol, but Rick kicked it with his foot, which in turn sent the gun spinning deep beneath the claw-foot bathtub. His hand dripping profusely with blood, Rick ducked out of the bathroom.

  Through the broken window, Janice shouted, “Todd! Todd, are you all right?”

  Todd yelled, “I'm going after Rick!”

  First, though, he pressed himself to the floor and stretched as far as he could beneath the tub. Realizing he'd never reach the gun, he left the unconscious Rawlins and rushed out of the room after Rick. Todd charged past Jeff—who still lay motionless in the back hall—past the back door and the bag of spilled charcoal, and into the kitchen. Rick stood at the sink, clutching his hand and wrapping a towel around the bloody wound.

  “You faggot bastard!” shouted Rick.

  Not wasting a moment, Rick grabbed a wine bottle from the counter and hurled it. Todd ducked and the bottle crashed into pieces behind him. Desperate to stop Todd, even delay him for a moment, Rick yanked the toaster from the wall and threw it.

  “It's over, Rick!” shouted Todd as he dodged the small appliance.

  “Like hell!”

  “Janice is outside. You're going to have to kill her too.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “She's called the authorities.”

  His face red with frenzy, Rick grabbed a simple roll of paper towels and threw it at Todd as hard as he could, then continued on, lunging for the knives that were placed so carefully in a block of wood. The paper towels merely glanced off Todd, ricocheting off his shoulder and onto the stove, where they landed on the still-flaming burner.

  “You're not getting away with this!” Todd yelled as he grabbed a frying pan from a rack and lunged toward Rick.

  Behind Todd, the paper towels caught fire, tumbled off the stove, and rolled toward the back door, where the broad puddle of spilled lighter fluid burst into flames. Almost simultaneously, a rich blue fire snaked across the floor and down the basement stairs, where recycled newspapers, a straw broom, a can of turpentine, and a variety of other items were stashed. In seconds a cloud of black smoke came eagerly to life and started billowing upward.

  Rick grabbed a long, arching knife in his left hand and awkwardly took a swipe. Todd held out the frying pan, blocked the blade. Rick danced to the left, took another slash, missed completely. Todd saw the crazed glaze in Rick's eyes, knew he was more dangerous, more desperate than ever. And when Rick came diving at him again, Todd ducked and fell back against the refrigerator. Rick's blade came slashing at him again, and this time Todd swung the pan and caught Rick on the knuckles.

  There was a loud rumbling, and Todd glanced at the now fiery doorway to the basement. A moment later there was a second explosion, this one larger and causing the entire house to rock. Suddenly there was a sharp screeching noise, and the two old gas fixtures in the kitchen exploded. Blue flames nearly two feet tall erupted, and Todd knew at once that the gas lines were on fire.

  Todd seized the moment, swinging the frying pan as hard as he could and smashing Rick on his wounded right hand. Rick screamed in pain, dropped the knife, and clutched himself. The next instant he kicked at Todd, then turned and darted out of the kitchen, through the back hall and toward the front of the house. Todd started after him, hesitated, glanced back at the flames. Shielding his face, Todd rushed through the smoke now pouring out of the basement and found Jeff still in a heap on the floor. Grabbing Jeff by the shoulders, Todd started dragging him toward the bathroom, which Janice had entered via the other door.

  “I've got Rawlins!” she shouted as she wrapped an arm around the dazed man and helped him to his feet. “Rick ran upstairs!”

  The old gas fixtures in the dining and living rooms were spewing flames as well, and Todd dragged Jeff after Janice and Rawlins, all of them hurrying toward the front door. Rich black smoke started pumping out of the heating grates in the floor. This entire hulking, bone-dry structure was going to be consumed within minutes.

  Finally dragging Jeff onto the porch, Todd looked out and saw the flashing lights of the Channel 7 van in the front yard. Determined to give them the truth, Todd left Jeff there and turned back into the house.

  “Todd!” shouted Janice after him. “No!”

  But he paid her no attention, running through the front hall and bounding up the steps two at a time. Upstairs he started down the second-floor hall, already thick with smoke. Just ahead of him another gas fixture was spewing flames, this one scorching and burning the flowered wallpaper, and he ducked his head as the smoke bit at his eyes.

  Suddenly a figure leapt out of a room toward a set of stairs leading upward. The attic. Shit, thought Todd. The door slammed shut and seconds later Todd grabbed for the handle. But it was locked. He pulled and twisted as hard as he could, but it didn't budge.

  “Rick!” shouted Todd. “Rick!”

  Todd tugged to no avail on the locked attic door. He desperately opened the next door, and a cannon of smoke and flames burst out, blasting Todd in the face. It was the back stairs, entirely engulfed in flames, and Todd stumbled back, coughed and gagged for air.

  “Rick!” he shouted one last time.

  But there was no answer.

  Todd groped for the wall. The smoke was so thick he could barely see. His eyes burned and blurred. The stairs, where were they? Ahead. Yes, he told himself, right up there. And finally the wall gave way and he was there, right at the top of the staircase. He glanced back, saw the billowing smoke and the bristling flames. Todd wiped the smoke from his eyes and stumbled downward.

  A voice yelled, “Todd!”

  Janice was rushing up, grabbing him by the arm. Leading him on. Through the entry. Out the front door. Onto the porch. Into the night. Todd paused, coughed deeply and painfully, then turned back into the house.

  “Come on, doll,” coaxed Janice.

  “But … but Rick …”

  “Both the police and the fire department are on the way.”

  “He's in the attic.”

  “They'll do what they can.”

  Todd turned and glanced across the front yard. Jeff was sitting on the sidewalk, his head bent forward, rubbing his neck. Rawlins was standing next to a tree, his hand over his eyes. And then, as Janice helped him down the front steps, Todd saw two people rushing toward him. One of them was holding a microphone in her hand. The other was aiming a large video camera at him.

  “Todd!” called Cindy Wilson. “Todd, can we have a few words? What happened inside?”

  He looked at her, then at Mark Buchanan. Of course he'd given Janice their number, told her to call the station. Of course he'd wanted this disaster captured on videotape. But now that they were here, what was he to say, how was he to put it?

  “Todd, any comment for the CrimeEye?”

  He coughed, cleared his throat. He wanted to tell Cindy and all of Channel 7 to go to hell. And yet he wanted to show them and every viewer the truth.

  “Is this live?” he asked.

  She looked at her watch, and replied, “No, but the ten o'clock news comes on in about four minutes.”

  “Okay, okay …” he said, his mind struggling to switch gears. “Call the station and tell them this is going to be their lead story. Then get Mark over to the garage. He can get a good shot of the whole house from there. Then get me a rag or something so I can clean up. You can—”

  “Forget it, Todd,” Cindy said bluntly. “This is my story and I'm going to be doing the interviewing. You're not taking this one from me, got it? Now, you either let me ask you some questions or I'll proceed without you. Which is it?”

  Todd looked away, stared up at the burning house. No corner of his life had escaped untouched, had it?

  “Okay.” He turned back to her. “But Channel Seven has been making me look like shit, and I won't take it.”

  “Fair enough.” She tu
rned to Mark and said, “I want you to set up by the garage. We're going to do this one live. And ask the station to give me the lead spot.”

  “No, don't ask them, tell them. Insist. Make it clear you're the best they've got.”

  “Right. Tell them we have to have the lead.” She glanced at the burning house. “Tell them we got the hottest thing yet.”

  Todd then turned away from her, walking across the grass. So what was he going to say? Was this his chance to publicly lambaste Channel 7? To curse them for portraying him so negatively, for making it seem he was guilty before proven innocent, all in the name of ratings? Or was this his chance to stand on a soapbox and lecture Channel 7 and all of their viewers on how his morality was defined not by his sexuality, but his deeds? Or Michael, should he tell them how much he loved him, how deeply he would miss and mourn him? All of the above, realized Todd. He'd work it all in. As well as his resignation. Yes, that too.

  Something shattered behind him, and Todd turned. The dining room window crumbled to bits, and flames began pouring out, licking the side of the house. He stared up at the third floor, thought for a moment he saw Rick in one of the front windows. No, perhaps not. In any case, it was too late. Even though he heard sirens approaching, they'd never be able to save him. God, no. The entire house was a goner.

  Before and after. In the closet. And out. Nothing, Todd knew, would ever be the same again. Why, he wondered with a melancholic yet huge sense of relief, had it taken him so damn long?

  “I was afraid they'd take me off the case,” said a voice behind him.

  Todd turned, saw Rawlins standing there, and didn't know what to say.

  “I saw Michael down at the bar after your fight. And then I got up the gall to stop by his place later on. I wanted … I wanted to … well, I wanted him to dump you so that he and I could …” Rawlins shook his head, looked away. “I thought it would be great, the two of us back together again, but Michael wouldn't hear of it. He said thanks, but he already had a Mr. Wonderful.”