The Crippling Terrors (Tracking Ever Nearer Book 1)

by Jeff Vrolyks

  “Boggs, and I know. I know it hurts.” I need to get her mind off that stuffed bear, he thought. “Hey, guess what your boyfriend said about you?”

  Holly removed the tissue from her eyes and looked at him. “What did he say? I need to see him, Kloss. Can I go see him?”

  It was difficult for Kloss to say no to her with tears running down her cheeks. “You just met him! Are you in love with him or what? I can’t believe this, Holly. What gives? You want to make babies with him or what?”

  “Kloss Johannus VonFuren,” she said indignantly, “you know me better than that.”

  Kloss did know her better than that, but that’s not why he said it. He got her mind off of Anne’s stuffed bear. He decided to add another distraction.

  “What did I tell you, Kloss? No smoking in here.”

  Kloss lit it anyway. “Sorry sis, I need a smoke and I’m not going all the way out front.” She acquiesced. Kloss looked outside as he smoked. “There are two news vans in the parking lot now. Hmm, I wonder why they are here,” he said facetiously.

  “Maybe people are hospitalized because of the fire and it has nothing to do with you. Not everything is about you, you know.”

  “Not everything, but too much is. I hope you’re right.”

  “You never answered my question about Kevin.”

  “He looks good. He didn’t seem like he was in much pain.”

  Holly tapped her thigh impatiently. “And?”

  “What?”

  “You said my boyfriend said something about me. What was it?”

  Kloss was shocked. She was beaming, glowing, a minute after she bawled over that damned Pooh bear! “Uh, I don’t remember.” She inhaled to let him know he was about to get it. “He said nice things about you, private things. I can’t tell you what a dude tells another dude about a chick, come on—it’s in the rule book.”

  “Well tell me something. Anything!”

  “He likened you to a baseball mitt, worn and old, rubbed with oil.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I’m… I’m old and worn? And oily?” She looked at the only exposed skin she had, her arms.

  Kloss laughed. “No. He said that you fit him like a glove. A perfect mitt. If you were a guy, you’d understand. I was drooling over it. I guess you had to be there. The guy is more nuts for you than you are for him, if that’s possible.”

  Her glow returned and Kloss could see the wheels turning in her head.

  “Turn up the television!” he said.

  Another reporter was on location, this time in Davis.

  “Shortly after three this morning, police found the two wrecked vehicles and the body of an unidentified man. One of the two vehicles is registered to Kloss VonFuren.”

  “Patrick, we recently reported Kloss’s residence in Vacaville was burned in the fire last night as well. How about that, huh? A house and a truck the same day? Conspiracy theorists will have a field day with that!” (laughter)

  Doctor Lee knocked and opened the door. “How are you feeling, Holly?”

  “Great. I want to leave.”

  “Does it smell like cigarette smoke in here or is it just me?”

  Kloss choked back a smile and said, “I thought I smelled smoke too. There are jerks who stand by the front door and smoke, and all that nasty cigarette smoke drifts down to us. I hate that.”

  Holly hid her smile under her hand. “Yes, I hate smoke too, though not as bad as my brother. He has no tolerance for smoking. You should hear the song he’s working on, Doctor Lee. It’s a song about how smokers have no manners and smoke wherever they want and don’t care about the people who have to breathe it in, even if they’re sitting five feet away and have a headache. How does that song go again, Kloss? You were just singing it for me. Sing the doctor a verse or two from it.”

  Kloss wasn’t amused. He glared at Holly. “Uh, I already forgot how it went, unfortunately. I guess I can’t sing it.”

  Doctor Lee coaxed, “Aww, come on Kloss, let’s hear it! What’s the name of it?”

  Holly said, “I think he called it Smoker’s Have Stinky Butts, or something like that. You also said you’ve played it so many times you’ll never forget it, so lets hear it, brother.” Holly gave her big brother a big smile; he wasn’t reciprocating it.

  He muttered an obscenity under his breath and cleared his throat. “Smokers, smokers, you think you’re rad. Smokers, smokers, you stink really bad. Puff, puff, puff, you think nobody minds. Cough, cough, cough, even your body minds.”

  Doctor Lee clapped exuberantly. “All right Kloss, great song! I wish my smoker patients could hear you sing that!”

  Kloss scoffed, “Yeah, don’t we all wish that.” He gave Holly another dirty look. “Doctor, maybe you guys should do some more tests on Holly. Before you came in she was complaining about pains in her bottom. Maybe a rectal examination would do her good?”

  Holly’s eyes widened. “You don’t remember that after I said that, I realized that it was because I was sitting on a fork? Then you said something about how since you’re almost thirty and have a family history of prostate problems that you should have it inspected, just to be sure you’re healthy for the big tour. I’m sure Doctor Lee wouldn’t mind testing you real quick?”

  “Doctor Lee, allow me to put forth to you a question,” Kloss said. “I was wondering what kind of procedure could remove this painful growth I have on my ass. It’s been here for twenty-two years, thinks it’s funny, and lately has been giving me a lot of grief. I’d like it removed and disposed of, right away.”

  Doctor Lee realized he was caught in the middle of something. “I’ll come back a little later, guys.”

  After the doctor closed the door on them, Kloss said he was going outside to smoke without being harassed, and he’d be right back.

  * * *

  Kloss returned to the bench out front and lit a smoke. After a few puffs he glanced down the walkway and saw people approaching him. Reporters. He patted his left rear jeans pocket and felt the bulge he was hoping for.

  Kloss had become cunning in handling the media over the years. There were times he actually enjoyed dealing with them. It became somewhat of a game, ruining an interview. After the first or second question, it was good to throw them a curveball, throw them off their game, make it difficult for them to edit it out of the interview.

  One such instance Michelle Flores of Channel Five News pressed Kloss for an interview. He used ‘the naked picture’ bit when she asked about a riot succeeding a concert. “Michelle, why do you keep emailing me naked pictures of yourself?”

  He soon learned that a non-airable remark in the middle of a half dozen questions only meant a little extra editing back at the office, unless it was live—live interviews all but ceased when word spread of his shenanigans. But what would viewers make of him standing in front of one backdrop and then instantly be standing in front of another? The key was to say his non-airable remarks as he repositioned. That way if they edited what he said they would have to endure a confused viewership, as the background had changed.

  But it didn’t end there. They caught on and adjusted. Kloss meant high ratings: where there’s a will there’s a way. They began approaching him when he was in front of a bland enough backdrop that a simple shift in location wouldn’t be plainly obvious to viewers. After the first time, he swore he would be better prepared next time. Soon after, a reporter approached him in a parking lot; there was nothing but cars and distant hills in every direction. Kloss had recently read an article about a syndrome that gave him an idea, Tourette’s Syndrome.

  “Kloss, can you tell us if the litigation between guitarist Gerry Manderin and Dense Records has anything to do with his absence from the last two shows of the tour?”

  “Pig fart! Sure, Linda, he was tired from having Jockstrap titties!... having traveled from Buffalo that morning. Pig titties! Jockstrap fart! Monkey balls! So it was just a lack of sleep that caused titties! Linda’s titties! Linda’s pig titties!... that caused it.�
�

  That prompted the first few journalists to stop mid interview and storm away without a word. They were stunned more than they were upset. After a few failed interviews they adjusted. They aired the segment using the disclaimer that he had Tourette’s Syndrome. That was a backfire that he never saw coming. Touché, Patrick Keenan, Touché. An organization that raised money for Tourette’s research asked Kloss to be their spokesman. Kloss stewed over that, imagining the journalists laughing it up in front of the water cooler with their coworkers. He needed a fresh new idea, and found one. Now was the time to implement it.

  “Kloss VonFuren? I’m Regina Oswald, Channel Seven News. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you have a minute.” Regina preened with a flicker of her hair and a smoothing of her pantsuit. A skinny subservient camera man stepped forward to get a good shot of Kloss.

  “Sure. Go ahead, Regina, ask away,” he said enthusiastically as he took a drag from his cigarette.

  She lowered her voice to almost a whisper and advised, “There’s going to be children watching this broadcast as well. Are you sure you want to be smoking on TV? It might set a bad example.”

  “And setting an example is why I began playing music in the first place,” he said sarcastically. “Why don’t you guys use your fancy editing and airbrush my cigarettes out?”

  “Fifteen seconds,” the camera man said.

  Kloss took another drag from his smoke and said, “We all have our vices, Vegina. Yours is looking for ratings in other people’s misery; mine is smoking. Give up yours and I’ll give up mine.”

  Regina ignored him and gave a thumbs up to the camera man.

  “We’re going live in five seconds,” he said.

  Live? Kloss smiled and patted his left rear pocket once more for good measure.

  “Four… three…”

  Regina had her microphone an inch from her smiling mouth. “I’m with Kloss VonFuren, lead man of the band VonFurenz. As you’ve heard from watching Channel Seven News, Northern California’s hard-hitting premiere news source, the Vacaville fire has burned down twelve houses, one of which belongs to Kloss VonFuren. A new development, which Channel Seven was first to break, was—”

  “You want a gold star?” Kloss said inwardly, perhaps not inwardly enough.

  “—that his truck, a late model Hum V, was found totaled outside Davis, involved in a fatal accident. First, I’ll ask what everyone is wondering: a car and a house? At the same time? What are the odds? And what are your thoughts on it?”

  Kloss looked around leisurely, allowed an awkward moment before replying, “If you want odds, speak to a mathematician or a bookie. But if I had to take a stab at an answer, I guess I’d say… the odds are pretty goddam good. Don’t you think? Ask the guy scraping up the dead dude in Davis and the other guy digging through the ashes in Cattlemen Ranch. Yeah, I’d guess those odds would be right at about a hundred percent… but again, I’m hardly a mathematician.”

  Regina began to pull the microphone toward her mouth: Kloss pulled it back and added, “Channel Seven’s hard-hitting premiere news source should note that the house that burned down is not mine. It was mine. I moved several months ago. But don’t let a little thing called research slow down your reporting. The important thing is getting your facts wrong before your competition does.”

  Flustered, Regina responded, “For those of you just tuning in, I’m with the singer of VonFurenz, Kloss VonFuren. Owner of…previous owner of a house burned to ashes in last night’s fire, and owner of a vehicle involved in a fatal accident last night as well. Kloss, they didn’t tell me you had such a sense of humor, but please if you could refrain from using profanity, we’re live. So where—”

  “I used profanity?” Kloss interrupted.

  “—were you.” She whispered from the corner of her mouth, “You blasphemed.”

  “You can’t say goddam on TV? Are you for real?”

  Regina cleared her throat and smiled nervously at the camera. “Kloss, our listeners, your fans” she emphasized, “would love to know how your truck came to be involved in the fatal accident.” She moved the microphone to Kloss, hand not quite steady.

  “I’d love to, Regina. And I do love my fans, but I just learned of the accident myself, thanks to the hard-hitting news team of Channel Seven. So I can’t comment on the details because I don’t know them. Obviously it’s troubling. The guy who hit my truck was reduced to pavement pulp. What was he, a burglar or…?”

  Regina regained her composure with a smile. “That is correct, an alleged burglar and car thief.”

  “Yeah, that’s a shame. Tragic, really. Wouldn’t you say, Regina?”

  “Yes, tragic, very tragic.”

  Kloss hung his head and sniffled once. “I just had it waxed, too. But did that dude give a crap? Why do these things always happen after a wash or detail? I wonder what the cost is to get brains buffed out of black paint. But anyway, the one thing that I’m sure your listeners are wanting to know is this: why does Regina Oswald’s left breast sag down lower than her right breast? I’m sure there’s a good story there, it just needs to be uncovered. Or should I say they need to be uncovered.”

  Regina lowered her microphone and shook her head. The camera man whispered to Kloss, I’ve noticed that too. Regina glared at the camera man. Her face reddened, eyes blazed. She whispered forcibly, “Do your goddam job and mind your business!” Regina looked at the lens of the camera and snapped back to her detached journalistic professionalism with a warm and glowing smile. She mentioned again how she was live with the front-man Kloss of VonFurenz. She turned to face Kloss and startled, gasped.

  “Damnit, Kloss, what is this?”

  Kloss, who was clean shaven, now wore a full beard and mustache. He frowned. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? And don’t blaspheme.”

  Regina stormed off and signaled her lackey to follow. Kloss smiled as he watched them return to their news van. Channel Nine news van was beside Channel Seven’s. A man in a suit and a man in jeans and tee-shirt were laughing hysterically. Kloss recognized the reporter. He had pranked him months ago. Time to get the hell out of here, he thought. Before he reached the automatic front door he caught a glimpse of a reporter trying to flag him down. He ignored him.

  He continued his stride through the lobby and proceeded toward the hallway when the receptionist, Lindsey, stopped him. “Sir, can I help you?”

  “I’m going to my sister’s room.”

  Lindsey fixed on him for a moment before smiling. “Oh, it’s you, Kloss. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you with that… thing on your face.”

  “I have a condition, I have to shave a dozen times a day. Remember what I said earlier, Lindsey?”

  “I will tell anyone asking for you that you left the hospital, got it.”

  “You’re the best.”

  She smiled and sighed wistfully, enamored, and went back to tending her work area with dreamy eyes.

  Kloss entered his sister’s room.

  “Don’t you knock before entering a ladies room?” Holly asked, facing away from her brother as she buttoned her pants under her hospital gown.

  “What are you doing? You’re not suppose to be getting up. Where did you get those pants?”

  “I gave the nurse a hundred bucks for her jeans and tee-shirt.” She removed the gown and put on the tee-shirt.

  “So there’s a nurse walking around in a bra and panties now?”

  Holly giggled. “They wear scrubs. Don’t you pay attention? I’m not going to leave this place wearing lingerie, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t: there are blood stains on it.”

  Holly giggled again. “You should be more concerned with what people will think of you with that dead animal on your face.”

  “It worked, Holl,” Kloss said proudly. “You should have seen the reporter storm off, huffing and puffing.”

  “Sometimes I forget I’m the younger of the two.” She added, “I borrowed a hundred d
ollars that I found in your shirt pocket, for clothes.” Kloss nodded. “That beard, you just produced it right on the spot? That would mean you had it in your pocket all along.” She deduced, “So when you get ready to go out for the evening, you grab your wallet, your car keys, and your fake beard?”

  “I don’t see what’s odd about that.”

  “I know, you wouldn’t. I’ll never forget when we were leaving Arco Arena after the End of Days Tour. And before we got to the bus, some news crew came up and asked about that whole drug related arrest thing with Gerry. You were answering their questions…” Holly laughed as she recalled, “and then you started unbuttoning your shirt as you answered her question! The lady’s face… priceless. She was trying to maintain her composure, but it’s hard when the person you are questioning starts undressing before your eyes.”

  “Yeah, that was Francine. I love messing with her.”

  “I couldn’t believe the undershirt you had on. A bikini-body torso with big boobs. If I squinted just right, you looked like you had a D-cup. I laughed so hard! And then I realized… you must have put that shirt on that morning. Who wears a shirt like that? You were singing serious songs in front of twenty thousand people with a drawing of a chicks torso, a chick with huge boobs, on your undershirt. How could any of those fans take you seriously if you would have gotten hot and unbuttoned your shirt, forgetting that you had that thing on?”

  “I like that story. Tell me another one, Holly,” Kloss said playfully.

  * * *

  I was drifting in and out of sleep when I heard the door creak open. Entering was a slender man wearing worn blue jeans, a tee-shirt reading Nurses Do It With Patients, and thick facial hair covering his face. He had very nice, perky breasts, perhaps a C cup. He closed the door behind him, stepped to me and kissed me on the lips. If only mother were alive to see this.

  “Hi. I had to come see you,” Holly said.

  “I’m glad you did. I’ve been thinking about you all morning. Now I have a face to match my thoughts. And I’ll be honest, you look a little different in the morning before you get all made up.”