The Forgotten

by R. L. King

  Jason stared at the words, eyes wide. That wasn’t the kind of thing you saw every day. That was fucking Jack the Ripper territory. You’d have to be pretty damn pissed at a guy—or a class A psychopath—to do something like that to him. The police, said the article, had no leads, but advised members of the public to be careful and to avoid going out alone at night. No shit, Sherlock, he thought.

  He found two similar stories: the first was a businessman who had suddenly and inexplicably tossed a 61-year-old female stranger in front of a commuter train, and the second was a small camp of transients who’d all been slain around their campfire, their throats cut and their bodies laid out in a wheel-spoke pattern with their feet facing the fire. The businessman was in custody and, as of the article’s publication date, was on suicide watch—he claimed he had no idea why he’d done it and had immediately collapsed, distraught, as the train had crushed the screaming woman’s body. No suspects were in custody for the hobo camp murders. Cynically, Jason wondered how high a priority that would be, given the nature of the victims.

  He sighed, tossing the last paper on the pile. Of course, all of this had nothing to do with Verity—except that it made it even more imperative that if she was out there, he had to find her fast. Sure, she’d been a resourceful kid when they were growing up, but she’d spent the last five years living mostly outside normal society. The thought of her out on the street with violent gangers and dismembering murderers and mentally unhinged bums made his blood run cold. Why was he sitting here reading newspapers when he should be out there looking for her?

  He gathered up the stack and headed back to the front desk to drop them off with the librarian. On the way, he spotted an odd-looking group huddled around a table at the end of the fiction section. Jason stopped for a moment to look at them through a gap at the top of one of the shelves. There were five of them—three men and two women. All of them wore shabby clothes and had various bags on the floor next to their chairs. Two of the men and one of the women seemed to be having a hushed and urgent conversation, while the other woman, barely into her twenties, stared dreamily out the window and the other man scribbled something on a piece of paper with such force that he broke his pencil and had to dig in his grimy coat for another one. Even from where he was standing, Jason could smell the funk of unwashed bodies. He glanced over at the librarian, who was watching the group with distaste. She caught Jason looking at her, shrugged, and returned to stamping books.

  Jason moved to her desk and dropped the stack of papers on it. “Thanks,” he said.

  “You’re quite welcome,” she told him. “I hope you found what you were looking for.”

  “Not really, but thanks anyway.” He cocked his head toward the table with the shabby group. “They come in here a lot?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Almost every day. I don’t think they have anywhere else to go.”

  “They bother anybody?” He was thinking of the news stories about the growing groups of transients.

  The librarian shook her head. “No, they’re always quiet and keep to themselves. I just wish they’d bathe occasionally.”

  Jason nodded in sympathy. “Eh, probably just in here tryin’ to stay warm.” He waved farewell to her, and was halfway to the door when something occurred to him—one of those sudden intuitive insights that his dad used to refer to as “cop flashes.” He stopped and turned back, heading over to the transients’ table.

  The three having the conversation looked up as he approached. One was a leathery, middle-aged man whose bearing suggested ex-military and whose florid cheeks suggested current alcoholic; one was an older woman with wispy, gray hair and watery blue eyes; and the third was a bookish-looking, dark-skinned man in his mid-twenties with a scraggly beard. The middle-aged man spoke to him, his voice authoritative and a little challenging: “Somethin’ we can do for you?” The other two looked fearful, and seemed to be doing their best to melt into the scenery. Meanwhile, the young girl and the scribbling man continued with what they were doing, ignoring Jason.

  “Maybe you can,” Jason said. He moved to the edge of the table and hunkered down—he knew from experience that when you were trying to get something out of somebody, towering menacingly over them wasn’t the best approach. “I’m looking for somebody, and I thought maybe you guys might have seen her around.”

  “We ain’t seen nobody,” said the younger man, but he didn’t look at Jason.

  “It’s okay, Benny,” the middle-aged man said, his tone surprisingly gentle. His squinty gaze settled back on Jason. “What makes you think we might’ve seen anybody?”

  Jason shrugged. “She disappeared around here. Figured if you guys know the streets, you might have spotted her. I’m not from this area.” He forced himself to keep his expression neutral—up close, this bunch positively reeked with the mingling odor of unwashed clothes and bodies, cheap perfume, and the whiff of alcohol. He was surprised there wasn’t a little green stench cloud hovering over the table.

  “Well,” the middle-aged man said at last, “I doubt we seen anybody. We keep to ourselves.” Benny nodded, still not meeting Jason’s eyes. The young girl was still looking out the window, and now she’d started humming to herself. The scribbling man forked a furtive glance at Jason, then returned with a vengeance to his project, breaking another pencil with a loud snap. He looked frantic for a moment until the old lady reached down, rummaged in her large flowered tote bag, and produced another pencil. He snatched it up and resumed his scribbling.

  Jason watched him without seeing him, beginning to think he’d made a mistake coming over here. He glanced at the clock on the wall: 5:45. He’d planned to grab some dinner and then head over early to the Kona Club so he could get the lay of the land before the meet. He’d have to leave soon if he was going to do that. “Uh…that’s okay,” he said, rising and turning to go. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “What’s she look like?” Benny asked suddenly.

  Jason turned back, startled. “Huh?”

  “Your sister. What’s she look like?” Now the young man was looking at Jason. His eyes were eerily steady, dark and unreadable.

  “I—uh—didn’t say anything about her being my sister.” Suddenly Jason was on his guard, the little hairs on the back of his neck standing up as a chill ran through him. “How’d you know that?” he demanded.

  Benny shrugged. “What’s she look like?” he asked again.

  “Benny knows things, sometimes,” the old lady said apologetically. “He don’t mean no harm.”

  Jason took a deep breath, and realized to his shame that he couldn’t give a good answer to the question. It had been three years since he’d seen Verity. “She’s…uh…seventeen. Dark hair, big dark eyes…probably dressed in black. Kinda goth-looking, you know? She was always into that.”

  Benny digested that information. “Lotsa girls like that on the streets,” he said at last.

  “Girls not safe on the streets,” the middle-aged guy said, sounding indignant. “Somebody snatch her, or she run away?”

  “Ran away,” Jason told him. “She was—staying at a halfway house.” He felt like he was losing control of the conversation, and didn’t want to give too much away to a group of strangers who might well be dangerous or unpredictable. “Listen, if you happen to see anybody who looks like her, ask her if her name’s V, okay? That’s what she goes by. Tell her that her brother’s looking for her. Put the word out. Librarian says you guys come here a lot—I’ll check in. You find her for me, I’ll make it worth your while, okay?”

  For several seconds all three of them looked at him. Then the young girl who’d been looking out the window turned to face him too. “He’s good,” she said dreamily. “He’s a good one…” Then she turned back to the window again, and said no more.

  Oddly, that seemed to solidify a decision for the middle-aged man. “We see her, we’ll tell her,” he said. “Not likely
we will. If she’s got any sense, she’ll stay away from strangers. If she hasn’t got any…” he shrugged. “What’d you say your name was?”

  “Jason. Just tell her Jason wants to talk to her. Tell her she doesn’t have to go back.” He looked at the clock again. “I gotta go. But I’m serious—I’ll be back. And—thanks.”

  It wasn’t until he’d pulled out of the parking lot and was halfway down the street that he realized what he’d noticed only subliminally when he was inside: the man scribbling with the pencil had been drawing, over and over, a series of symbols that looked similar to the ones he’d seen at the rest stop and the motel.

  Chapter Twelve

  Monterey Road was a long drag, full of seedy businesses, nightclubs, trailer parks, and abandoned buildings. Definitely not the nicer end of town, but that didn’t surprise Jason too much. Obviously, Charles wanted to meet him someplace they wouldn’t be seen, which made Jason wonder just what kind of information he was planning to divulge. His nerves were jangling, his brain spinning out all sorts of possibilities of what might have happened to Verity when he finally spotted the Kona Club.

  At least it was there and still open. He’d sort of wondered about that, actually. The lights were even on, including a couple of flickering sodium-vapor floodlamps casting weird illumination over the parking lot. A big neon sign in green and yellow near the door announced the club’s name along, with a jaunty palm tree whose fronds spread out over the letters. Below the sign, another smaller one in red proclaimed Cocktails – Live Music. The whole place looked like it had stepped bodily out of a time warp from about thirty years ago.

  The lot was about half full, mostly with older cars and a few motorcycles. Jason debated whether to park somewhere conspicuous or somewhere hidden, and decided he’d take the chance on someone seeing him here in order to be sure his bike was still around when he came out. He parked near the door, then slipped a ten-spot to the gorilla checking IDs inside the door. “Keep an eye on it for me, will ya?” he asked, hooking a thumb back at his Harley. “I’d appreciate it, man.” He couldn’t afford it, but it was a lot cheaper than having to get a new bike. The guy merely nodded, pocketed the bill, and waved Jason in.

  Inside, the Kona Club was pretty much like every other dive bar Jason had ever visited. The only thing that made this place a little unique was the Polynesian theme—a dusty stuffed parrot in an oversized, faded lei perched on top of the ancient TV above the bar, some nonfunctional tiki torches had been deployed in various corners, and a sign near the cash register, flanked by two fake coconuts with colorful umbrellas stuck into them, exhorted customers to Try Our Special – You’ll Never Get ‘Lei’d’ This Cheap Again!!

  He wondered if Charles was here yet, or if he’d even be coming. Maybe he was sending somebody else. Maybe he wasn’t coming at all. All Jason could do now was wait and see. He ordered a beer and took it to a table as far back as he could go. Settling himself in a chair against the wall where he could keep an eye on both the front and the back entrances, he waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Only a few minutes after eight, someone slipped through the crowd and dropped into the chair across from him. “Wasn’t sure you’d come,” the newcomer said. He looked a little out of breath, and more than a little nervous.

  Jason hardly recognized Charles. Instead of the neat, button-down New Horizons shirt and dark blue jeans, he now wore an oversized Oakland Raiders jersey under a leather jacket, a do-rag covered his bald head, and he held a pair of dark sunglasses which he tossed onto the table. He looked more like one of the gangbangers that Jason had seen on the street than a respected staffer at a halfway house for kids with issues.

  Instantly he was on his guard. “What’s—going on?” he asked, making sure to continue checking the ways in and out in case there were any unexpected surprises in store.

  Charles leaned forward. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said under his breath. “It’s about Verity.”

  “I figured that.” Jason took a swig of his beer and tried to look nonchalant—just a couple of buddies having drinks after work. “But why slip me a note? Why not just tell me when I was there?”

  “Look,” Charles told him, glancing around. “I don’t want to stay here long, so just listen, okay?”

  “Do you know where Verity is?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do. But listen to me.” He leaned in closer. “That place—New Horizons—there’s something going on there. Something bad. I think Verity saw something she shouldn’t have, and it scared her.”

  Jason stared at him. “Something bad? Bad like how?”

  “I dunno, man. I’m not sure I want to know. But every once in a while we get kids in there—they show up for a day or so, then they disappear. I mean vanish. We got our long-term residents, like your sister—they’re usually okay. But the new ones—orphans, mostly. State kids. They come in, and then one day they’re just—gone.”

  “Where do they go?”

  “I don’t know. Delancie says they get handed off to the proper authorities—like they’ve done something wrong. Maybe they have, I don’t know. But it’s happened too many times. Always with younger kids, like 13 or under. We haven’t had a new resident in a couple of years, ’cause we’re full up. But yet these kids still show up. And the weird thing is, they usually show up secretly. Like, nobody sees ’em come in.”

  “But you do?”

  “I watch, man. After the first time, I just kinda keep my eyes open. I don’t say anything—you get the impression real quick around there that if you want to keep your job, you just do what you’re told and don’t make waves.” Again, Charles looked over his shoulder as if he expected somebody to be sneaking up on him. “But they always come in at night, or in the early morning, when the residents are still in their rooms.”

  “So what’s this got to do with V? You think she saw one of these kids show up? You think she saw what happened to ’em?”

  “I just know she was scared to death that night. When I saw her, I was making rounds—she was running out of the kitchen, white as a ghost. Eyes were like half her face. She talks to me sometimes—it’s like I can get through to her best, ’cause I listen, and I’m not big on judgment unless it’s something that might be dangerous. Anyway, she wouldn’t tell me what she saw, but whatever it was, it scared the hell out of her. She told me she had to get out before they caught her.”

  “Before who caught her?” Jason demanded.

  Charles shook his head. “I don’t know, man, and that’s the truth. Might be Delancie…might be Tony…might even be the director of the place. He ain’t around there that often, but he shows up occasionally. All I know is that I believed her.”

  “You said—Delancie said, too—that she gets delusions sometimes. Hell, I know she does. I’ve seen ’em myself. So how do you know this isn’t one of those, and you didn’t just help a mentally unstable girl run away to who the hell knows what?” A little anger crept into Jason’s voice now.

  “Listen, Mr. Thayer—” Charles said, his dark eyes boring into Jason’s.

  “Jason.”

  “Jason. I’ve been around. I’ve had this job for three years now, and before that I was into some bad shit. Gangs, drugs, booze—I’ve seen a lot of people during some pretty bad times in their lives. And I’ve seen Verity when she was having her episodes. I’d bet my job that she wasn’t makin’ this up, or seein’ things that weren’t there. She saw something, and I believed her.”

  “So you helped her get out?”

  Charles nodded. “Yeah, when she couldn’t get hold of you, I knew she had to go somewhere. I couldn’t go with her—it would’ve looked too suspicious. But I gave her the name of a friend of mine who could put her up for a few days, and a little money to call a cab. There’s a pay phone down at the end of the block. Told her to go to my friend’s place, and I’d check up on her when things died down.”

>   Jason’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why would you do all this for her? You two weren’t—you didn’t have something going, did you? ‘Cause you’re, what, in your mid-twenties, and that would be—”

  Charles smiled, raising his hands to ward off Jason’s words. “Nah, man, it wasn’t anything like that. She was just a friend—we just liked to talk when we had a chance. Besides, I’m not her type.”

  Jason frowned. “She’s not into—what? Older guys? Black guys?”

  This time, Charles almost chuckled. “She’s not into guys at all.”

  For a moment Jason could only stare at him. “Wait. She’s—?”

  “You didn’t know? Yeah, I guess maybe you wouldn’t, since you haven’t seen her in a long time.” His brow furrowed and his expression grew hard, almost like he was the protective big brother, and Jason was the interloper. “That a problem?”

  “What?” Jason was startled by the question. “Why would it be? It just surprised me. She never told me, is all.”

  Charles nodded. “All right. Anyway, that’s the story. I think it’d be better if you found your sister and got her the hell out of here. Take her back to where you come from. Like I said, I don’t know for sure if there’s really anything going on at New Horizons, but I’d bet a lot of money there is, and I’d hate to see her back there. I’m gettin’ out myself as soon as I get paid at the end of the month. I’ve finally saved up enough so I can make a move.”

  “If you think something’s up there, why don’t you call the cops?”

  For a long time Charles just looked at Jason as if he were trying to decide if he really was that naive. “Come on, man. Be serious. For one thing, I can’t prove a damn thing. For another, they don’t even bother with stuff like this around here anymore. And most important—I’m not exactly the law’s favorite guy, you know? Like I said, I used to run with a gang, and I still deal a little weed on the side for extra money. I ain’t in any hurry to get myself locked up, not with the stories I’ve heard about what it’s like inside these days.”