“Oh hey, Simon,” His dad turned to him and said. The way he said that was very... Simon wasn't sure what. Weird somehow. Friendly, like the way people are supposed to great each other but his father never spoke in that tone. And he never said his name. It was always 'boy' and 'Goddmmit you little shit.'
“Where's Mom?”
“She's gone,”
“Gone?”
“Yeah... she's uh... she's gone to the store.”
Simon sat down and said “Oh...” but for some reason he didn't believe him. His father just went back to staring out the window again and it got so uncomfortable that Simon had to get up and go to his room just to be able to breath. Once in his room Simon found himself staring out the window too. His window faced the front of the house and Simon sat there for who knows how long waiting to see his mother when she came home. He waited and waited and waited and waited. Finally he went back down stairs and his dad was still just sitting there in the living room, only this time he was in a different chair staring at the floor and he still wasn't drinking and that was when Simon knew for sure something very, very bad had happened.
He walked into the basement half expecting to find his mother beaten and dead in the corner. His dad had taken to bullying her around too and she was so small and even though she was a mom really she was just a girl and Simon feared that one day his dad would hurt her for real. But the basement was empty. A pile of laundry waiting to be washed was stacked against the machine and Simon stood there and stared at it for a moment. It reminded him of her. She was always doing laundry it seemed, folding and ironing and sorting the whites from the darks. The pile sat there sadly, missing her like he missed her. Where was she?
He went back up stairs and after working up the nerve asked his father:
“Where's mom?”
“Go brush your teeth. It's bed time.”
“But we didn't even have diner yet.”
“Oh,” he said and led Simon into the kitchen where he proceeding to make him two Bologna and cheese sandwiches and poured him a glass of milk. Jacob sat down across the small rickety table from Simon and watched as he timidly nibbled at one of the sandwiches. There was a look on his face that Simon had never seen before. Like he was stuck in a day dream. A sad one. He almost wished he was being grumpy and mean like usual because at least then he would know how to respond.
The sandwich was kind of dry. Mom always used mustard, she knew mustard was his favourite and always put on extra. He got up and went to the fridge to retrieve the yellow French's bottle. The fridge was, as always, stocked with beer and Simon thought maybe one would cheer up his father, or if not cheer him up at least make him normal again.
“You want a beer Dad?” He asked still staring in to the cold contents of the ice box. Then his father made a sound which caused his heart to sink into his feet. It was like a gasp, and then there was another and Simon realized with utter terror that he was crying. Him. His dad, the biggest, meanest guy in the whole world. Crying! He didn't want to turn around and see that. All he wanted to do was run. Run right out the door into the coolness of the night air and hide in the shadows and not learn the truth of where his mother was or what happened to her. But he couldn't. He had nowhere else to go.
He slowly turned to face his father who was crying into his big hairy hands. His muscular back raised and dropped with each sob and before long Simon felt the urge to cry come over him too. He almost went to his father and hugged him, but just couldn't bring himself to do it. Simon reasoned he must be very embarrassed and that's why he was covering his face with his hands, so he just left him there and want to his room and stared out the window some more. He imagined his mother coming around the corner with an arm full of groceries and that funny tight lipped smile of hers and he tried to imagine how that would feel inside to see her there.
The next day his father didn't wake him for school. It was nearly ten o'clock when he finally climbed out of bed and went downstairs still dressed in the clothes he wore the day before. He found his father sitting on the couch, just sitting there, not doing anything.
“You're up,” He said. Simon nodded, and wanted to ask if mom came home but he already knew the answer. “Go get some cereal,” his dad said and he did as he was told.
Once he had slurped the last sugary mouthful of milk from his bowel of Sugar Crisp his father came into the kitchen.
“Get your shoes on,” he said. “We have to go somewhere.”
Simon allowed himself a brief moment of hope that maybe they were going to get his mother from wherever she was but his father still looked very sad and Simon had to admit that probably wasn't the case.
Simon fidgeted in his seat next to his dad in his old green Buick as they drove for what felt like all day. He wanted to ask where they were going but decided that knowing or not didn't make a difference at all. They were going to where they were going and he would know where they were once they were there.
Finally, late in the afternoon they came to a church in a small town and it was none too soon because Simon had to pee like nobody's business. His dad pulled the car up along the curb around the corner from the church and parked. He reached into the back seat and grabbed Simon's backpack.
“Here,” he said and handed it to him.
“What's this?” Simon asked feeling the weight of it. It was stuffed with things now but when he brought it home from school the day before it just had a couple of his notepads in it and a half eaten sandwich from lunch.
“Don't worry about that right now. Listen. Head on inside. I will be right in.”
“In the church?”
“Yeah. In the church. I will be right in.”
“Okay dad,” he said and climbed out. He walked up the steps to the church which Simon had to admit was kind of scary looking.
“Simon,” his father called to him through the window.
“Yeah Dad?”
“Nothing... head on it.”
Simon entered the church but it was so dark and creepy inside that he didn't like being in it by himself so after a moment he came to wait on the steps for his dad. His was temporarily blinded from coming back out into the light. Just as he eyes adjusted and he could see clearly again he saw his dad's green Buick make a u-turn on the street and drive away. Simon thought he must be going to park and when ten minutes passed he thought that he must have gone to the store for cigarettes or something and when thirty minutes passed he thought maybe he got a flat tire. By the time an hour and a half passed he didn't know what to think.
The sky was starting to get all glowy and red, the way it does on summer nights when it feels like the day will never end. Like it was so bright and sunny outside that the night couldn't touch the world, and it was going to be like that forever. Warm and hot and perfect. But reds slowly turned to purples and Simon's little shadow sitting next to him on the steps to the church began to shrink along with his hope that his father was going to come around the corner any moment, panting and out of breath, explaining he was in a car accident or got lost and how sorry he was.
Before that happened though an old priest came out onto the step and saw him sitting there. Simon looked at him with eyes full of questions and tears and the priest slowly nodded his head like he wasn't surprised at all to find a boy on the step.
“How long have you been sitting there?” The old priest asked .
Simon wasn't sure, so he just said, “A long time.”
“Where are you parents?”
“I don't know... I'm here with my dad. He... he went somewhere. I don't know where.”
Then the priest sighed, looked at the backpack at Simon's feet then looked up to the sky as if maybe God was going to tell him where father was.
“Well, you better come on in.” he said.
Simon did not want to go back into the church. It scared him. But what scared him even more was the thought of having to stay by himself outside all night, in who knows where. He slowly got up and followed the priest into the
building.
“What is this place?” Simon asked, feeling it was only polite to make conversation.
The priest stopped and placed his hand on Simon's shoulder and said, “This is an orphanage.”
CHAPTER 24
It took Mary four attempts to punch the address Jeremy had given her into the navigation app on her phone. Her hands hadn't stopped shaking in weeks. Even during the tiny bit of sleep she was fortunate enough to get, she shook.
How was she going to tell her sister Wendy that she'd known all this time where Cindy was? And that it's literally the worst place imaginable?
The irony that her life had turned into some kind of slasher movie was not lost on her. Though she tried her best not to blame herself for everything that was happening, and if she could convince herself of that, maybe she could convince Wendy and Jeff also.
Stuffing her hands into her pockets just to keep them steady, she stepped out of the elevator and into the main lobby. She tried her best no to look at the undercover FBI agent posing as the concierge.
Should she say hello? She always said hello to Brian. But this wasn't Brian. If it was just a new guy would she still say hello?
“Hello,” she chirped, as she made a beeline for the front door.
The noise of downtown Los Angeles hit her like a rogue wave, washed over her and smothered her. There were cars parked and cars driving by. People walking and people standing along the bus stops. Windows, windows everywhere. Everywhere there were windows in storefronts and office buildings and the tall condominiums sparsely planted here and there, shooting up and away from the endless and epic concrete sprawl of L.A as if trying to reach the stratosphere where the air is still fresh.
She looked down at her watch as she made her way to the parking garage across the street. It was seven on the dot. She was to leave at seven fifteen, go the coffee shop on Palm Way and Crescent, get a coffee then exit through the back door where a black sedan would be waiting for her. Then she would be taken to a hotel where she would meet with Jeremy, Agent Costa, Wendy and her husband Jeff.
She reflexively stopped shy of the darkness of the parking garage and looked around. She knew there were more FBI Agents following her; protecting her, but didn't know what they looked like. If she caught someone glancing at her through the windows of the car as they drove by or as they walked passed her, she had no way of knowing if it was them, or him, or just some guy. She had long, long ago grown accustomed to men looking at her but suddenly that early teen panic of being leered at by every male she passed came crashing down on her harder than the first day of high school.
Once inside the familiar confines of her car she was able to breath again, though she kept looking in the rear view half expecting Mister to be back there waiting for her, like that classic movie cliché.
Driving up Oweiga road was an exercise in mental fortitude. No music, windows up, doors locked, hands strangling the steering wheel like it was Mister's throat. Red light, green light, left turn, right turn, the digitized voice of her GPS. Twenty minutes later she was at the coffee shop. She parked on the street like she was instructed and went inside.
Stepping into the cafe, trying her best to seem as casual as possible she wondered if there were FBI agents in there too. It was a surreal feeling to have to wonder who around you in the world were real people, that is to say, themselves, and not pretending to be someone else.
She got her coffee, medium black, and went the back where she found the exit and sure enough the black sedan she was told would be there, was. She dumped the coffee in the can on the street and got in.
“Mrs. Stien. I'm Agent Green,” the man driving the car said. “Please keep your head down until we are on the freeway.”
Mary slouched down in her seat and tried not to cry.
The acid churning in her belly surged up her throat and sat sourly in her mouth no less than three times as she rode the elevator up to the hotel room where the meeting was to take place. The dinging of each floor sounded as loud as church bells. The final toll rang, crushing her soul, filling her with dread.
Mary stepped out into the hallway and straightened out her top, looked at herself in a mirror hung over an elegant console table across from the elevator. She wanted to run. She wanted to leave and never come back. Turn off her heart and her love for her sister and her niece and just treat it as though they had died. She had enough money to just leave. To just leave and mourn them as though they were dead and refuse to play the mother fucker’s game altogether. But she couldn't... She could. But just couldn't.
“Miss Stien, right this was please.” The large agent said and led her down the hallway. He took a key card from his jacket pocket and opened the door.
A heavy set man who looked the part, greeted them at the door. His mouth was pushed into a half smile, half grimace.
“I'm Agent Costa. But you can call me Jim. Please come in Mrs. Stien.”
It was a very nice suite with a full living room and dining area and a long hall that stretched down to the two bedrooms.
Jeremy was sitting on the couch doing that thing he does so well. Quietly brooding. Mary thought that if brooding was a competitive sport he would be the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world. The way he would just sit there, with his handsome face pulled taunt like a drum and his intense eyes focused still on some invisible point gave the impression that entire galaxies of thought rotated in his mind and he had nobody to share them with.
Mary felt a sudden twitch of happiness when he looked up at her. His eyes were smiling but his mouth was frowning. She hoped he really was a brilliant as she sensed he was. But she could also see there was something very painful, something very cold and sad inside of him. She prayed that he would be able to hold it together long enough to help them all get through this.
“Hello Mary. Can I get you anything?” He asked, standing up. “There's coffee.”
“Coffee? God, no thanks. What's the opposite of coffee?”
“Midazolam,” he said “but unfortunately we have none of that here. How about some water?”
“Sure,” she said sitting down on the warm spot on the couch he just vacated.
As Jeremy went to get the water Agent Costa sat down on the armchair across from her.
She nodded and smiled politely and looked down the hall anxiously in the direction Jeremy just left in.
“Have you spoken to your sister?”
“No. Where is she? I thought she was going to be here.”
“They'll be here soon. We wanted to speak with you first. Have you told anyone about any of this?”
“No,” she said, staring down at her feet.
“Mary, listen to me. It's okay if you have. I know how scared you are. You'd be crazy not to be scared. And I wouldn't blame you if you needed someone to talk to but for your safety and the safety of your family we need to know exactly who else knows about this.”
“Nobody knows.” She insisted. “Mr. Costa, I don't have a ton of people in my life. Nobody I would trust to keep a secret like this anyways... If this didn't involve Cindy I would have told my sister about it... but it does and so I didn't.”
“Okay,” he said, and seemed a little more reassured. “Okay good.”
Jeremy returned with the water and she took it and sipped gratefully.
“Has there been any more contact?” Costa asked.
“No.”
“Anything out of the ordinary? Someone hanging around the building?”
“I've hardly left my apartment and when I have I can't walk ten feet without feeling like someone is about to grab me, or kill me, or something. I've been scared to even order a pizza.”
“I understand,” the agent said, though she doubted it.
“What are you going to tell them?”
“Your sister and her husband?”
“Yeah. What are you going to tell them? Do they need to know how long I've had the video?”
Costa and Jeremy exchanged a look as though the
y were communicating telepathically.
“Well, I'm sure they know how long their daughter has been missing. And because of this video we now know why. I'd say how long the video has been in your possession is irrelevant, as far as they're going to be concerned.”
Mary didn't have the presence of mind for this she just wanted a straight answer. And besides, she wouldn't be asking if she thought it would be ‘irrelevant’. It wouldn't be irrelevant to her if it was the other way around and she knew her sister and husband wouldn't think so either.
“So you don't have to tell them or you do?” She asked.
“If it's what you want, we can tell them you received the video in the mail yesterday and contacted us immediately.”
“Yes, yes that's what I want.” She said in between long gulps of water. “Are you going to show them the video?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Good,”
“Do you have any idea why he would be targeting you? Do you know anyone who you suspect could actually be this guy?”
“I have no idea... Has Jeremy told you what I do?”
She felt ashamed even bringing it up. She had never felt embarrassed of her career before but there in that room with these serious men, in this context, it made her feel... like child.
“Yes. You're an actress who specializes in horror films.”
She was thankful for him framing it so tastefully but still she felt the need to clarify.
“I was,” she said. “I run a magazine now.” But then had to add a reluctant concession. “About horror movies.”
“So you think it has something to do with your work?” The agent asked.
“Do you have any idea how many sick fucks have contacted me over the years? I've had a lot of twisted shit mailed to me. Messages. Emails. Pictures... Nothing like this though. Nothing real.”
“Well it would be hard to imagine this is pure coincidence. He’s probably familiar with your work somehow. The video was sent to your magazine’s office after all.”
The Black Chronicle Page 14
