Children of Chicago

by Cynthia Pelayo

  “I didn’t think there was anything more to say, but yeah, let me talk to him.”

  Lauren approached the front desk in the lobby. The boy turned to his father to say something as soon as he saw her.

  There was a quick heated exchange followed by, “I’ll be okay, Dad.”

  “I’m not waiting in the car,” the father said. “If it’s just about your bike, I can stay right here.”

  Lauren looked from the boy to the father. “How are you both doing? You can just tell me right here what you need to tell me.”

  The boy looked at his father again. “My bike was stolen, and someone said I should talk to you.”

  At first, Lauren thought it was a joke. As she tried to make out the word ‘What?’ the boy pressed his dad to wait for him outside.

  “Fine, I’ll wait there.” He pointed to the vestibule.

  Lauren asked the boy to remind her of his name.

  “Johnny,” he said. “Sharkey, Jr. Just Junior’s good.” He shot a look over to his father in the vestibule.

  “Stolen bicycle? I’m a homicide detective. What’s really up?”

  “It’s the best thing I could think of from making sure he didn’t freak out.” The kid placed both hands on the counter, looking at his fingers. “It’s different kids that be doing it.”

  “What?”

  “The tagging, Pied Piper. It’s never the same person. That’s part of it. There are lots of kids thinking about doing it, about calling him, the Pied Piper. They don’t realize how bad it can get.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this.”

  “Because I saw him that night.” Junior turned around again to make sure his father was not watching. “I saw you the other day, at Young Chicago Writers, with Jordan. He’s next...”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw him, up on the 606-trail tagging the piper’s name. I thought you’d want to know. I think he’s trying to call him.”

  “Johnny,” the boy’s father called out to him. “Everything alright?”

  “Yeah, she said I need to make a police report for my bike, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m going to get it back anyway.”

  “Well, come on, then, let’s go!” His father said.

  “Junior,” she called after him. “Thank you.”

  Lauren ran back to her desk, grabbing her jacket and bag.

  “Where you off to?” Van asked.

  “Left my stove on.”

  “Funny,” when he said that she was already halfway down the station.

  “Medina?” Van called.

  “Gotta take care of something,” she shouted behind her.

  She waited until she got to her car before she texted Jordan.

  “Where are you?”

  “Church.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Bloomingdale and Lawndale. Why?”

  “Stay there. Coming.”

  “?”

  He was at the trail. So far, Junior’s story checked out. Evening traffic had begun, cars blocked intersections. Medina drove her car right up onto the curb on Fullerton and Cicero Avenues. Car horns screamed. Tires screeched. Metal crushed into metal somewhere, but her car was fine.

  She drove. Fast.

  The car propelled her forward. At Fullerton and Pulaski, her foot pressed down on the gas.

  Yellow light.

  Press.

  Red light.

  Press.

  In her jacket pocket, she felt her phone vibrate. It was Jordan. She knew what he was planning, plotting, wasting. She was not going to allow him to lose himself.

  She parked at the hydrant. Night was lurking at the trail head. A former factory loomed behind. The large exhaust pipes that ran the length of the massive yellow brick building that was an abandoned factory made the structure look like a creature from another world. The black water tower on the roof of the building bore her threat’s name in white and gold, for the entire neighborhood to see; Pied Piper.

  The Pied Piper was here, and he was luring all of Chicago’s children to him with promises of salvation. But what these kids did not realize was that the Pied Piper was a liar. Yes, things would be good, for a short time. Your problem would be taken care of. That horrible parent, sibling, teacher, friend, enemy—whoever would be killed by the Pied Piper. But what he did not tell you is that he would return, again and again, and if you did not kill someone else for him, then he would kill you.

  When Lauren got to the Lawndale Avenue access point at the elevated trail, there was no one there. She walked down the ramp and looked up at the work the graffiti artists had been commissioned to do.

  Lauren’s breath stopped when she saw the incomplete image on a brick wall. Half man. Half goat. A horned beast. Pan. Panic.

  She ran back up the ramp and ran down the trail. She knew where he would be. Lauren rushed down the boulevard, running as fast as she could as the sun began to set toward Humboldt Park.

  When she got to the lagoon, it was already dark, but she saw Jordan standing there. Night had fallen over this place once again. There was no one here except for them, the cold water, and a creature hiding somewhere in the trees.

  In the distance, she heard sirens.

  “Jordan!” she called out to him. “Hadiya, her family, her friends, none of them would want this. Drop the gun and walk toward me, please,” she pleaded.

  Jordan let out a wail, the sound pierced her ears, his trauma and mourning ripping through her body.

  “Jordan!” she shouted above the approaching siren. They were drawing close. “Don’t do this. Put the gun down.”

  “This will stop it. I told him to take me, and he’s coming. I can already hear the music. It’s inside of me, Lauren. So, what’ll happen if I just shoot myself when he gets here. Will he go away then? He had Fin kill Hadiya. Maybe I’ll just kill him, kill the Pied Piper when he gets here.”

  Lauren’s knees were weak. Her stomach cramped. Her eyes stung. “It doesn’t matter, Jordan. He’s been summoned. He’s coming. It doesn’t matter if you kill yourself. He’s not going to stop. You can’t kill him. Don’t you think I’ve tried?!”

  Blue lights flickered. The shock of a siren.

  “Dammit, Jordan. Put the gun down, now! If another officer arrives and sees you with a weapon...I don’t want anything bad to happen. Please, Jordan. Please don’t do this. We’ll figure out a way together to stop him. You and me. I promise!”

  She shouted again for him to drop his weapon, to walk toward her. She did not want to prompt an accident. She had been known for firing too quickly, too soon, too early. Her own gunshots had killed suspects out in the streets, but there was a reason for her speed with the trigger.

  He sobbed and wiped his eyes with his sleeves, with the same arm that held the gun.

  Lauren held her hands out. “Please Jordan. It’ll just be you and me. Let’s go get coffee…”

  He laughed.

  “I’ll drive you home. We’ll meet at the center, and you can ignore me, and I’ll laugh at your jokes, and I’ll call your mom and her and I will take you to UIC on your first day of classes. I promise. We will get through this together.”

  “Lauren...” He cried. Finally saying her name. Finally, trusting her. “I just want my friend back.”

  A blast fired behind her.

  Lauren screamed.

  There was another shot, and then another, tearing through the air.

  Gunfire erupted behind her.

  She could not hear herself screaming, but she could feel the roar of panic and pain burning her throat.

  The moments were clear, but then not. It was as if a family picture had been submerged in water. The image was there, but then distorted.

  All hearing was lost in her right ear, and a low, ringing took the place of all city noises.

  She screamed so hard, and so long she tasted blood. When the shooting stopped, she felt the heat across
her face, arms, and chest.

  It was a sad silence. It covered everything; the air, the trees, her breath. For a moment she hoped it was her, that she was injured, that she would be the one who would bleed out on asphalt. Perhaps that was the only way to end this. She had started this when she was a child so many years ago in that library when she opened that book, read those words, conjured a killer, and thus made herself one, and now he seemed to be everywhere.

  Jordan’s body was still at first, as if his entire being were placed on pause. He hung there, like a marionette, and then he collapsed to his knees, his hand slowly releasing its grip on the gun, dangling for a moment in his fingers before falling to the ground. He met her eyes, and while she wanted desperately to believe he was still there with her, she knew he was gone.

  Across the lagoon, the man in the black suit appeared. He was always there, always watching. She screamed at him, damning him, cursing him, even though he was already cursed. Even though he had already accomplished panic. He was panic.

  Lauren found herself sitting on the pavement, cross-legged, her head in her hands. Behind her, she heard a wet gurgle. Van.

  She crawled towards him. He had been shot, multiple times. Jordan must have discharged his weapon out of fear and confusion.

  “Call it in,” Van spit out blood in a spray of gurgles. “Officer down.”

  Lauren looked back out toward the lagoon. She rocked herself back and forth. She dug her nails in her scalp and screamed. Her insides burned.

  She screamed and rocked, one long scream that had been building in her core, not just right now, not just this week. For years.

  “Once upon a time,” she struggled and sucked in the cold air and rocked back and forth. “In a certain country...” She wiped away at cold tears. “A thousand years ago...” She punched the asphalt beneath her, again and again, breaking flesh and bleeding. “Once in an old castle in the midst of a large and dense forest...” All of it. All of those beginnings, those things were not supposed to pertain to the here or the now, but they did. The vagueness of the fairy tale beginning once symbolized that these dark caves, old castles, locked rooms, and dense, dark woods were not of our reality. But Lauren knew now and always they were. And her insides raged. Her screams shook the surrounding trees, and the night laughed as she grieved.

  The man in the black suit removed his hat. He had come to her service so many years ago when she needed him. When she was filled with hate, jealousy, and fury. And so, she had called the Pied Piper to kill Marie. What Lauren did not know then was that he would come back again and again, asking her for other lives.

  “Officer down,” Van coughed, and wheezed, his words softer this time.

  “I can’t do that,” Lauren sobbed, she looked down and saw Van’s face growing pale. She looked back out across the lagoon, the gangly man took a bow. It was as if with that sweeping motion he was telling her I was at your service once, and now you’re at mine.

  Van killed Jordan. Jordan nearly killed Van, but Van was not yet dead.

  “Payment is due,” she said.

  The Pied Piper’s eyes flashed a brilliant yellow.

  Van closed his eyes tight. “Why’d you kill your sister?”

  “I didn’t kill her. The Pied Piper killed her for me because I hated her. I brought her out here, and he dragged her into the lagoon.”

  After Van drew his last breath, Lauren looked up to find the Pied Piper waving goodbye. He would return again someday, as he had over the years, maybe sooner than normal now with his nursery rhyme posted online for all to see.

  Now, anyone had a chance to make this deal.

  “You promised me you’d tell me what happened to my mother! You promised me and I gave you Marie! What have you given me?”

  The fluttering came from within, inside her chest, and then the music. The music called from within and out. His music.

  “I gave you life,” the monster spoke. “The life you wanted, of misery and regret. Your martyred life.”

  Lauren drew her weapon, aimed, and fired. She pulled the trigger again, and again. Each shot across the lagoon was reversed back by him and into her own legs. Lauren collapsed, and as warm blood soaked into her jeans she looked at the canvas of stars above her, points punching into eternity. Many of these lights sparkling above her now in the folds of darkness had been here a hundred years ago or more, had possibly been seen by the Grimm brothers themselves, men who spun tales of horrors and passed them on to children as warnings. But Lauren did not heed the warning, and so she called the ogre in the forest and the witch in the house, she drew the wolf near, and called the Devil.

  He stood over her now, neither monster nor man. God of the wild.

  “One hundred and thirty...” His golden eyes flared.

  “Never!”

  “One hundred and thirty children...and then you’ll learn what happened to your mother.”

  “No!”

  And just then the music erupted, and she was forced to stand on erect, bullet ridden legs. His puppet. The music pulled her to the water. One jagged movement of bone crushing against bone.

  In the water thousands of dead rats bubbled to the surface. Her bloody, battered legs moved against her will. Cold shocking her wounds. Taking her further into the lagoon, the bodies of bloated and rotting rats brushed against her skin. Slimy, peeling, decomposing fury skin pressed against her face and lips. Lauren moved to the center of the lagoon. Her movements not her own, controlled by the music. She tried holding her breath, but the water lapped against her nostrils, and the taste of acrid water shot in the back of her throat, and just as she stretched her head up to gasp for one final breath, she was dragged below.

  Their eyes looked at her with hate.

  The missing and murdered children of this city, all lived here at the bottom of the lagoon. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. These were his children. The true payment he sought, and the Pied Piper demanded more.

  Their smiles stretched back wide.

  Rotted arms reached out to her, their beaten and battered and swollen bodies.

  Then, Marie appeared. Black curls floated around her pale face. Black veins as thick as millipedes bulged across her skin.

  Her eyes were filled with violence. She kissed Lauren’s cheek, and then raised a key to Lauren’s eye, a golden key.

  The key.

  Lauren could no longer hold her breath. She grasped her neck. Eyes rolled back in her head. And just as she opened her mouth wide to allow death to consume her they arrived.

  “Goddamnit, Detective!” Officer Bauer reached down and lifted Lauren to her feet. She was still on land. Dry. Her legs uninjured and unharmed.

  “I’m fine, but, Van...” She motioned to her partner on the ground. Tears filled her eyes, and she did not know if those tears were for Van, Jordan, the children or herself.

  “It’s alright, Detective. You should go. Take a seat. Did you want some coffee? I’ve got some in the car.”

  Lauren stood there, trembling. He was in her mind. The Pied Piper invaded her thoughts long ago, and he was watching. She followed as the paramedics loaded another young person into their vehicle. The Pied Piper had taken from her another person who mattered, because something about Jordan made her feel less like the murderer she always knew she was.

  When Lauren got home, she showered, changed into her academy pants and sweatshirt, and finally stood in front of the cupboard and retrieved the key. The golden key and opened her father’s office. She had almost expected to see him there behind his desk, in that creaky, worn chair, coffee mug in hand. The room hummed with the sound of his computer, which she had never bothered turning off.

  After he died, she had locked the door, hoping to forget this room even existed. She wished that the house would swallow up this space, sealing up the cracks along the door frame, taking this room and those memories to someplace where the heaviness of his life and job would not have to be tapped into again.


  In his final days of cognition, her father spent a lot of time in this room, like always, but there was an absolute frenzy about his movements. He would reach for this, arrange that. He was preparing, and now she could see what he had been making, notes for Washington to leave behind for her.

  A thick manila folder lay beside his computer where Washington said it would be. Her father’s badge was on top of it.

  When she opened it, it was as if all feeling in her legs had been lost. The chair caught her. In the manila folder there were evidence pictures, surely never seen by anyone besides her father, Washington, and now her. First of the lagoon, the trees, and then there was a picture of the Grimm’s Fairy Tales book laying on the sidewalk, and then a picture of the first page within:

  This book belongs to: Lauren Medina

  Then, inside the folder there was the actual book, her book, her copy of the Grimm’s Fairy Tales and the inside page her father had torn out before turning it into evidence.

  Her father had known all this time that she was at the lagoon with her sister. He had known this entire time she had killed Marie. He had protected her all of these years. One daughter, the killer of his other. Cain and Abel. Lauren and Marie. He even arranged Washington to train her, to shield her from what she had done as a child so long ago.

  But still, she was a killer.

  As long as the Pied Piper roamed the city, she would continue to be forced to kill, unless she stopped him, cursed by the loathsome hatred that had consumed her in her youth. The key on the desk reminded her that she had the power to open doors, the book to a new story, and to flip the page to the beginning of a tale that could save her; one in which the maiden destroys the creeping and detestable monster set at destroying her life.

  About the Author

  Cynthia “Cina” Pelayo is the author of Loteria, Santa Muerte, The Missing, and Poems of My Night, all of which have been nominated for International Latino Book Awards. Poems of My Night was also nominated for an Elgin Award. She holds a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism, a Master of Science in Marketing, a Master of Fine Arts in Writing, and is a Doctoral Candidate in Business Psychology. Cina was raised in inner city Chicago, where she lives with her husband and children. Find her online at www.cinapelayo.com and on Twitter @cinapelayo