by Sean Platt
“That’s it, isn’t it?” she said to his nonresponse. “You’re fucking that white trash bitch.”
“She’s not a white trash bitch!” Craig said, jumping to Stacy’s defense fast enough to curl Colleen’s lip in the way that he hated.
And even though Craig hadn’t intended to say what he had, he couldn’t stop himself. He’d bottled the truth, putting up with her haranguing for so long, playing a charade, and for what, that he finally exploded in a single brutal moment of truth.
“You want to know why I don’t touch you? I don’t touch you because I can’t stand to look at you!”
She stared at him, stunned, mouth agape, tears welling up.
“What?”
Instead of taking it back, Craig continued, telling Colleen how much she had changed, and that he was tired of being made to feel that he was always wrong. Tired of having to pretend that she hadn’t changed for the worse, that she’d become as cold and callous as her mother. He ended with, “No, I am not sleeping with Stacy, but I’ll say this — for you to call her a white trash bitch shows what’s wrong with you. And if you can’t see that, then I don’t know that we have any hope.”
Colleen’s face went stone cold, lips pursed tight. She glared at Craig, her contempt no longer hidden behind crooked smiles and rolling eyes. “Get out.”
“What? Get out of my own house?”
“It’s more my house than yours.” She was, of course, talking about the fact that her father had helped them with a generous loan for the down payment, an advance that neither Colleen nor her father would ever let him forget.
That did it. The kid gloves were off. Craig was done pretending. Done putting up with her shit. Done being made to feel worthless because he wasn’t rich or cultured like her stuck-up asshole father.
“You know what? Fine. It’s your house. Fuck you and your daddy.”
And Craig stormed out.
As I sit in the car watching morning light slowly nudge the shadows, I can feel the rawness of the fight as if I’d just had it myself.
No wonder Craig was sleeping in the parking lot.
I finally get out of the car and start walking toward Baker Street, hoping I can catch Stacy before she leaves, without drawing attention from Frank.
I stop at the end of Baker and wait patiently at the corner, using the cover of a tall red fence to stay out of Old Man Wilbur’s line of sight. Now that I’m in Craig and have some of his memories, my blood boils at the old man’s accusations that Craig and Stacy were having an affair. Hell, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Wilbur accidentally let his suspicions slip while chatting with Colleen, or maybe another of the neighbors who then told her.
I can see the old man sitting on the porch, using a newspaper to hide his voyeurism. How can someone devote so much of their time to spying on his neighbors, spreading gossip, and generally making other people’s lives miserable? He may not be an assassin, but his chatter can have the same effects on people’s lives. Maybe if the assassin comes today, Wilbur will get caught in the crossfire.
I smile at the thought.
At the end of the block, Frank’s front door opens.
I step back behind the corner, waiting a moment, then peer around the fence again. Tommy is walking up the block toward the bus stop. But he isn’t alone.
Frank is with him.
What the hell? Why is Frank walking him to the bus? Maybe he’s going as Tommy’s protector, to stand by and make sure that Evan and his friends don’t start anything. Or maybe he’s going to intervene and kick their asses himself. Frank is a hothead. But having been inside his mind, I also know there’s a small part of him that probably doesn’t want to see Tommy hurt. Does he like Tommy? No. Does he wish Tommy lived somewhere else? Oh yeah. But he doesn’t want to see the boy physically hurt by a bunch of punk kids. So maybe Frank will stand up for the boy, even if doing so might land his ass behind bars.
Come to think of it I almost hope Frank goes off on Evan. Maybe seriously injures the punk. Put Evan and Frank both out of commission for a while.
I hide as they reach the end of the block then turn to head up 112th Terrace to the bus stop.
I make a run toward Frank’s house.
I’m not even part way there when Old Man Wilbur calls out from the bench, “Hello, Mr. Carson.”
I turn, wave, and am eager to move on.
But he isn’t done yet.
“Going to see your lover?”
I turn, angry, wanting to kill the gossip with my fists.
He stays seated on his porch swing but lowers his paper. “Of course, you’re not really Craig, are you?”
He winks. I see the briefest flash of light in his eyes and realize that he isn’t Old Man Wilbur.
“You?”
“The Asian woman, and the mailman, yes. Come here, come here,” he says, waving me over.
“I don’t have time; I have to talk to Stacy.”
“You should make time. You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
I step onto the porch.
“Please, sit,” he says, moving his paper aside.
I don’t want to sit next to him. I don’t trust this man in the least, and don’t want to waste whatever window I might have with Stacy to convince her to get Tommy so we can take off together. It seems like the perfect solution. I doubt Craig could take Frank in a fight or defend himself without a weapon, but I do think he’s smart enough to hide them for a while until Frank either gives up looking or drinks himself to death.
“So, where are you going?” the assassin asks.
“To convince Stacy to get the hell out of her house. Frank is dangerous. Now I see why you’ve been trying to — ”
“Kill him,” the assassin says.
“Yes.”
“And yet you stopped me, twice.”
“I didn’t know he was a monster. And for the record, I didn’t try to stop you two days ago when I was Tommy. Hell, I even left his front door unlocked for you. Where were you then, or yesterday when I was Ruby?”
“I had more pressing concerns.”
“What?”
“None of your business. I don’t control where I go, any more than you do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in this body today, the least-equipped body to finish this job. Which is why we need to talk.”
“Talk,” I say.
“I need you to kill him.”
“What? No, I’m not a killer.”
“I feel that today is the last possible day to get this done. And I’m afraid this body won’t work.”
“So you want me to do it? Let’s say for even a moment that I didn’t have a problem murdering someone in cold blood. What about Craig? I commit a crime in his body, and he’s the one who will pay.”
“That’s not our problem.”
“What?”
“It’s not our problem. We’re given these bodies to use as needed. We can’t concern ourselves with what happens once we’re done.”
“You can’t honestly believe that.”
“I have a job to do — simple as that.”
I shake my head, trying to make sense of what the old man is saying. “Okay, you claim you’re an assassin, but you help people, right? Even though you don’t know the reason, you believe it’s for the greater good or something, right?”
He nods.
“Then how can you not care about the people whose bodies you’re in? What good is your mission if your choices are leaving more victims behind?”
“Hey, it’s not my first choice to screw Craig over. If you can find a way to do it without the guy getting caught, then by all means, please do. But you can’t let your fear of getting him in trouble prevent you from doing what must be done.”
“I haven’t agreed to do anything.”
He sighs deeply, then suddenly he’s waving his hand.
I look up to see Frank returning home alone. He looks at us both, waves without bothering to smile, and continues along to his house.
&nbs
p; “You have to kill him,” the assassin says. “Tonight.”
I’ve spent the past few hours sitting inside Wilbur’s house with the assassin, mostly at the dining room table, looking outside, watching Frank’s house, waiting for Stacy to leave so I can run out and flag her down. I guess she’s not working today, but I’m hoping she’ll find a reason to leave.
The assassin is going over various methods of killing people while I wait. He says that this is a refresher course — I should know this all instinctually, even if my memories are gone. To say it feels odd to have this little old man plotting murder in such a blasé manner is an understatement. He doesn’t give names of victims, but he does say he’s killed people of all walks of life — politicians, clergy, businessmen, stay-at-home moms.
He’s sitting across from me at the dining room table, both of us drinking a beer, when I ask, “Have you killed children?”
“Of course.”
I’m surprised, outraged even.
“How can you justify killing children?”
“You act like we have a say in any of this. We get the names on The List, and we do our job. I learned long ago that it’s pointless to question The List.”
“You don’t have to do your job. Can’t you call an audible, decide no, you're not killing a child?”
The assassin’s smile is grim enough to give me chills. “You’re poking. I told you I’m not getting into this. I’m sure your mind was wiped for a good reason. I won’t be the one to screw things up.”
“You’ll ask me to do your job, but you won’t tell me what I need to know?”
“You know what you need to know: Frank has to die. Tonight. Everything else is noise.”
“Come on, give me something. Where are our bodies? Who is making us do this? How long before we get our lives back? If we’ve been hired, how are we paid? It’s not like I can access some Universal Body Jumper’s bank account.”
“Body Jumpers?”
“Yeah, that’s the only thing I could think to call this. You got another name?”
“I won’t tell you the official one, but I’ll tell you how we refer to ourselves.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Karma Police.”
“Karma Police?”
“Yes, we serve justice to those who are ordinarily beyond it.”
“So, you’re an organized group of body jumping vigilantes?”
“I prefer enforcers.”
“Enforcing what? Some shadow group’s arbitrary sense of justice, or karma? Who are you all to decide who lives or dies? And how can killing a child, or ruining innocent people’s lives, ever be karma?”
Wilbur looks at me. “I can’t expect you to understand without context. And I can’t provide context without risking your wipe. Suffice it to say the system works. Though you might not always see it immediately, we’re doing great things. You can’t possibly argue that killing Frank is a bad thing, can you?”
I stare at the bottle in my hand, wanting another beer, but not wanting to dull my senses in case I need to spring into action soon.
As much as I’d thought about killing Frank over the past few days and how many problems it would solve for Stacy and Tommy, whenever I start considering the realistic ramifications of actually murdering the man in cold blood, everything crumbles.
I try to elucidate my feelings. “It’s one thing to kill someone when you’re defending yourself or a loved one. I can do that. I have done that.”
The assassin raises a finger. “Oh, you’ve done far more than that.”
I continue, unabated. “But what I cannot do, regardless of what you say I’ve done in the past, is kill without provocation. It’s wrong.”
“No, what’s wrong is ignoring a problem you’re able to fix. To ignore a growing evil as it comes closer to delivering its threats. That is what’s wrong, to merely sit by and let something terrible happen when you have the foresight and ability to stop it.”
“Even if I could just do it, what about the fallout? If I get caught, Craig goes to jail. But even if I don’t, what about Stacy and Tommy? What if they witness the murder? How does that affect them? They’ll never be the same. I can’t imagine a world where a traumatized Stacy and Tommy is a great thing.”
“I’d wager that it’s a sight better than a world with a dead Stacy or Tommy, wouldn’t you?”
“Is that what you’re saying — that if I don’t kill Frank, they’re going to die?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. I have a name and a date. Beyond that, I don’t know any more than you. But if that helps you justify killing Frank in some way, then yes, you should expect that their lives will be in danger if you don’t do your job.”
Of course, this isn’t the answer I want.
I don’t know why I’m so hesitant. It’s not like Frank is a good guy. Being inside him, I can appreciate some of the hell he’s gone through in his life, but my sympathy ended the moment he laid a finger on Stacy. Add to that his threat against her, then she and her son are prisoners of an evil man who deserves to die.
But can I walk into his house and kill him point blank? Can I put Craig’s future in jeopardy? The assassin is coercing me to kill a man for some mysterious, unknown reason he either won’t tell me or doesn’t know himself. The situation reeks, and I don’t like being backed into a corner, with the decision ripped from my hands.
No, I need to find another way.
Suddenly, I see an opportunity.
Frank is walking to his car, wearing dress pants, a dress shirt, and a handsome red tie. He’s also clean-shaven. Going on a job interview, I’m guessing. He gets into his car but isn’t leaving yet.
Come on, come on.
I watch the front door, hoping and praying it won’t open again only to have Stacy walk out and join him.
Come on; leave!
He pulls out of the driveway.
Yes!
I wait long enough to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything.
After a few minutes without his return, I leave Wilbur’s place saying, “Maybe there’s another way.”
I don’t wait for a response.
I knock on Frank’s door, heart racing.
Come on, Stacy. Open up.
No answer.
Has she already left? Maybe her car isn’t working, and she got a ride to work earlier before I was waiting.
I knock again, dread in my gut that I’ve somehow missed her. Maybe there isn’t another way. Maybe the assassin is right.
The door opens.
Stacy is standing in sweat pants and a long T-shirt. Her nose and eyes are red.
“Hey, Craig, why aren’t you at school?”
“I called in sick. You sick, too?”
She nods. “Yeah, woke up feeling like crap.”
She’s staring at me, clearly wondering why I’m here.
“Can I come in for a second? We need to talk.”
Her eyes widen. “Of course,” she says, ushering me in.
My heart is a jackhammer as I try to figure out how to start. I know she and Craig have talked about Frank a number of times, and I know she cares about Craig. But I don’t know if she feels the same as he does, that she’d be willing to run off with a man — a married man, no less.
Now that I’m here in front of her, my brilliant plan to save her and Tommy feels like the Dumbest Idea Ever.
“What’s wrong?”
Now or never.
“I want you to run away with me.”
“What?” Her face is blank. I can’t tell if she’s stunned or awaiting a punchline.
“I know this is going to seem crazy and out of the blue, but I love you, Stacy. I want you and Tommy to come away with me, today.”
“Love? You’re married. I’m … with Frank.”
“I don’t love my wife. She’s a cold, callous person driven only by money. I thought we could make it work, but I was fooling myself. I see how kind you are, how much you care about Tommy, and how Frank tre
ats you both. It isn’t safe here, for either of you. Please, let me take you away. We can pack some bags, go get Tommy from school, and leave.”
She’s shaking her head.
I’m overwhelming her, I know. This is coming from nowhere. I’m asking Stacy to uproot her life and flee with me. Suddenly, I feel like maybe I’ve overestimated her feelings for Craig. Maybe his attraction was a one-way street. Maybe she’d never thought of him as anything but her son’s math teacher, and a nice, safe married neighbor.
“I’m flattered,” she says, eyes watering, “but … ”
Oh no, here it comes. She doesn’t feel the same. I’ve misread the situation, and now I have no plan to fall back on.
I double down. Move closer, grab her hands and meet her eyes.
“Tell me you don’t think about me, wonder what it would be like for us to be together. Tell me you don’t think about running away every night when you lie down with that monster.”
Tears stream down her cheeks.
I can see it in her eyes. She has thought of Craig like this. The feeling is mutual. But her practical side won’t allow the impulsivity. She’s scared. Too many variables.
“I love you,” I say, going all in.
She’s shaking her head. “Where would we go? Frank will find us and kill us all.”
“I won’t let him.”
She shakes her head again, smiling at me sweetly, but also like I just don’t understand the danger.
“He will find us. He’s told me so. If I ever leave, he’ll kill Tommy and me.”
“I won’t let him.”
“Where would we go? What would we do for money?”
“I don’t know, we’ll figure it out.”
“I’m sorry, Craig, that’s not enough. I need a plan. I need to know how we’ll survive. Otherwise, I’m only moving Tommy from one scary situation to another. At least now I know we’re relatively safe.”
“He hits you, both of you.”
“Tommy told you?”
I lie and say yes.
