Gray baby: a novel

by Scott Loring Sanders

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  rapping vigorously with his knuckles against a pane of glass as he peered into the house.

  What the hell? I heard every word Swamper said on the phone. He never mentioned my name. There's no way they could know. Yeah, well, maybe Mr. Henderson said you stole Bosco. Clifton glanced at Mr. Henderson's house but saw no lights on. He's not even home from work yet. I can't go up there. I can't speak to a cop. What if it's about your mom? What if that guy ... Shit, don't say that. You have to go talk to him. You have to. I know, but what the hell does he want? Just remember, you've got a gun stuffed down your pants. Don't let him see it. He grabbed the end of his shirt with his free hand and stretched it down, making sure it covered his waistline. I'm going back to Swamper's. Screw this.

  But just as soon as he thought that, the cop turned and began walking toward the squad car, his head pointed at his feet. When Bosco saw him, his hackle raised and he began barking, pulling on the leash. The police officer snapped to attention and immediately saw them standing in the street. Though dusk had settled in and lights were on in some of the neighboring houses, casting little yellow rectangles onto their respective lawns, there was still enough visibility for Clifton to vaguely see the cop's face. And immediately his heart sank. His stomach dropped as if he'd just raced over a

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  bump on a country road. It was Scarface. No question about it. And then he heard the man's voice over Bosco's barking. That evil voice he hadn't heard in eight years, though he'd heard it many times in his nightmares. "Hey, are you Clifton Carlson?"

  Clifton jerked on the jump rope and said, "Shut up, Bosco." To Clifton's surprise, he stopped barking, but the fur on his neck still stood erect like the bristles of a stiff hairbrush. "Yes, sir," said Clifton, his voice so meek that it cracked.

  "Come up here, son. I gotta talk to you. You got a good hold on that dog?"

  Clifton tightened his grip on the rope, wrapping it once more across his knuckles. "Yes, sir."

  "Well, come here then," said Scarface, who leaned against the car, resting his backside on the edge of the hood.

  Clifton slowly approached as his cheeks flushed. Apprehension overwhelmed him, but as he got closer, he realized he'd been wrong. It wasn't Scarface after all, but some young-looking cop he'd never seen before. Thank God. It's not him. Yeah, but he's still a cop. And don't forget about the gun.

  Bosco hadn't barked again, but as they got closer, he stiffened and a low growl emitted from deep within his chest like the distant hum of a kid's dirt bike.

  "Do me a favor, would you, son, and tie that dog up." There

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  was something soothing and easy in his voice. It made Clifton relax a little. His heart still thumped a mile a minute, but at least the tension in his body subsided slightly. "Ordinarily, dogs love me. But as soon as I put on the uniform, can't find a one that doesn't want to rip me to shreds."

  Clifton relaxed a little more as he walked past the officer and tied Bosco to one of the posts of the carport. The man's voice must have settled Bosco, too, because his hackle had almost completely flattened out. Clifton patted his head and said, "It's okay, boy." Then he turned to face the cop, having absolutely no idea what was going on.

  The officer still leaned against the hood of the car, and from inside it, muffled squawks from the scanner seeped out over the idle of the engine. "Son, is your mama's name Sabrina Carlson?"

  As rapidly as the tension had eased from Clifton's body, it returned. As was normal with any child who lost a parent, there was always a heightened sense of apprehension over losing the other. It was almost the same fear that his mother had, only in reverse. And with one major difference. What would become of him? Where would he go? Just after his father had been killed, that was the single greatest worry he'd experienced. It had subsided to some degree over the years, but it always lurked underneath the surface. And now he was

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  faced with a cop in his driveway, asking about his mother. Clifton's mouth had gone dry and he found it hard to swallow. He choked out a feeble response. "Yes, sir. That's her. What's wrong?"

  "About two hours ago, we picked your mama up for driving under the influence over in Samford. She's down in lockup right now. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you that, but she wanted you to know."

  Although the news did hit Clifton like a punch to the stomach, it wasn't as bad as what he'd feared. In fact, after a moment of processing, it sort of relieved him. At least she was alive. And this had nothing to do with the missing girl. And now, as he began to get over the initial shock, he realized that the emblem on the side of the squad car was Samford's. This officer wasn't from Crocket's Mill. "What do you mean, 'she wanted me to know'?"

  "She was frantic. Once I got her in a cell, she begged me to get in touch with you. Crying and screaming that you were home all alone with a maniac on the loose. I reckon you're aware of the little girl that's gone missing over here?"

  If you only knew, he thought. "Yes, sir."

  "Well, your mama heard about it on the television. Said she couldn't find you anywhere. Said she was so upset about everything that she went to a bar before work to calm her nerves. After I arrested her, she begged me to check on you.

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  Once I settled her down and realized that you were a minor, I called the house a few times but got no answer. Ordinarily, I'd have called a Crocket's Mill officer to deal with it, but they got their hands full right now. So here I am."

  Clifton couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd held only one view of the police for the majority of his life, and that was that they were monsters. Evil, with no compassion. But this cop seemed sincere. He actually seemed human. "So what's going to happen to her? I mean, is she coming home?"

  The cop shook his head and looked at Clifton with empathy. "Ordinarily, we'd let her sober up for a few hours and then release her. But after doing standard background checks, I found out this is her third offense. She's gonna be locked up until someone posts bail."

  A hard rock formed in the pit of Clifton's stomach. "Did you say third? As in three times?" He couldn't believe it. She'd never told him about any previous convictions. He suddenly felt angry and betrayed. What else had she kept from him?

  "I'm afraid so. She actually might be looking at serving a little time. It'll depend on the judge. Again, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but because you're a minor, I needed to come by. Not to mention your mama was wrecked with worry. It was the least I could do. You got a family member's house you could go to? Otherwise, I'll have to contact DSS. Department

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  of Social Services. You'd have to sleep at Emergency Care for the night."

  "Yes, sir," Clifton lied. "I can go to my grandmother's."

  "Well, if you want to get some of your things, I'll take you there."

  The rock in his stomach got harder still. "That's okay, I can walk."

  "Actually, I'd feel better if I took you. We still got some nutcase running around out here. You don't need to be taking any chances."

  Clifton again marveled at the compassion of the cop. The kindness. If only Scarface had been like this guy, my life could have been so different. But as quickly as he thought that, he suddenly got nervous again. He'd just lied to the officer. He figured he could have the cop drop him off at any random house, but what if the man wanted to talk to his "grandmother."

  "Really, I can walk. It's not that far. I still have to feed my dog, get changed, and--"

  Clifton halted when the cop quickly turned his head in the direction of the car's radio, as if looking at it would help him hear better. A static-filled voice crackled over the air. A woman's voice. And whatever it was she said, it sounded urgent. He couldn't make out one word, but the officer seemed to

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  have no trouble. "Shit," he said as he pushed himself off the hood. "Looks like they've found a body. You sure your grandmother's ain't too far?"

  "It's right down the road," he said,
pointing in the direction of Mr. Henderson's house. "I'll be fine."

  The cop started moving toward the car door. As he opened it he said, "Well, you get there and stay put. Tell your granny she can call a bail bondsman in the morning to get your mama out. Shouldn't be more than a few hundred dollars. I'll let your mother know you're okay when I get back to the station."

  "Okay. Thanks." He wondered what his mother would say when she heard he was at his grandmother's. But at the moment, that was the least of his worries. They've found a body.

  "And I'm telling you, get yourself inside. We don't know who this guy is or where he's at, but he's still out there. I gotta go."

  The officer hopped in his car, mumbled something into his CB, then turned on the blue lights as he reversed out of the driveway. He punched the accelerator and sped off. Clifton looked at Bosco, who was now lying on the cool of the concrete. "I'll get you home in just a minute, boy. Let me grab my stuff first."

  He took the key from his pocket, opened the door, and turned on the kitchen light. But it took him only a second to

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  walk right back outside, untie Bosco, and let him into the house, fleas and all. He wasn't taking any chances. He then locked the door behind him. Bosco began sniffing around the kitchen floor, his tail wagging, excited by yet another new set of surroundings.

  Clifton pulled the gun from his shorts, set it on the kitchen table, and sat down. He let out a deep breath as he tried to wrap his mind around everything that was going on. His mother was in jail but at least she was safe. But still, she was locked up behind bars. The thought of her sitting in a cell sent a chill down his arms, but then anger took over as he realized it wasn't her first time. Or even her second.

  Even though he was worried about his mother, his thoughts quickly shifted to the little girl Jesus, the cop said they found a body. A surge of guilt overwhelmed him. Why didn't I call the cops as soon as I saw what happened? That could've made the difference. That little girl might still be alive. I'll tell you why. Because that guy said if you told anybody, you might be next. Don't blame yourself. You had a perfectly good reason. Swamper even said he didn't blame you. And remember, you did call the cops. Yeah, but not right away. She might still be alive. Stop it. Grab your stuff and get to Swamper's. Get there and everything is going to be okay. Yeah, but what about Mom? What the hell's going to happen to her? We don't have any money. How's she gonna get out?

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  Shit, what about me? What's going to happen to me? One thing at a time. Get to Swamper's first, then worry about the rest.

  He grabbed the gun from the table and held it weakly in his right hand. He called for Bosco to follow him and then turned on every light he could find as he ventured to his bedroom. If this was a movie, there would be scary music playing right now, he thought as he slowly crept down the hall. He used the humor to try to keep calm, but in reality he was in a complete panic. What if the guy jumped out at him? Could he actually shoot him? What if he grabbed Clifton from behind? No one except Swamper would know he might be in trouble.

  He continued down the hall, the gun unsteady in front of him, and turned his head quickly from side to side and then behind him as he walked. When he got to his bedroom, he flicked the wall switch and then immediately looked behind the door. There was nothing there. But he still had to check the closet. Bosco hadn't acted alarmed in the least, and Clifton knew he was being ridiculous, but he still had to check. He got a hold of Bosco's collar and pulled him toward the closet. He turned on that light with one hand while pointing the gun into the dark maw with the other. Again there was nothing.

  With a sigh of relief, he sat down on the edge of the bed

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  and finally pulled off the stinky clothes that had been encrusted with fish slime all day. Even though he felt better knowing that the man hadn't snuck into the house, he still felt horrible about the little girl. His mind continued to fill with guilty thoughts because he hadn't acted quicker to help her. He considered taking a shower, but for one, he had a feeling Swamper might get worried about him because, thanks to the police officer, he was already running later than planned. And for two, he didn't like the idea of being in the shower under the current circumstances. He'd seen Psycho a few years ago, and that shower scene still scared him. So he quickly changed into a clean T-shirt and pair of jeans, then grabbed an extra set of clothes. He stuffed them, along with his toothbrush, into his backpack. As he packed, the framed picture on his bedside table seemed to stare at him. It was a shot of him and his father in the front yard, taken only a few weeks before he died.

  He picked up the gun off the bed, shoved it down his pants, and then went back into the kitchen. He thought he was ready to go, but now, like an evening fog dropping over the New River, the paranoia began to settle into his mind once more. He wasn't looking forward to taking Bosco back to Mr. Henderson's and then having to make the journey alone. At night. In the dark.

  He scrambled through one of the junk drawers,

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  thinking there might be a flashlight he could use, but when he found it, the batteries were dead. Then he had another idea. Julie. She had said she'd give him a ride anytime he wanted one. If there was ever a perfect time, this seemed like the one.

  He pulled out the phone book and found her number but then went back and forth over whether he should call. After everything he'd been through, it seemed silly that he'd be acting nervous over something as trivial as calling her for a ride. But he couldn't help it. What would he say? What if her parents answered? He kept looking at her number, and even grabbed the receiver a couple of times, but he couldn't bring himself to dial. Just call her. What's your problem? I know, I'm chickenshit. Well, either do it or don't, but you have to get going. The worst that can happen is she'll say she can't. I know. Okay, I'll do it.

  He picked up the phone and dialed, feeling a flutter in his stomach. As the phone began to ring, he paced back and forth in the hallway, going as far as the cord would let him before he turned around and walked the other way. On the third ring, he heard Julie's voice answer.

  "Julie? Hey, this is Clifton. I was just--"

  Suddenly someone picked up another line and said, "Hello? Hello? Who is this?" It was her father, and his voice was loud, almost frantic.

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  Clifton began to panic and was about to hang up when he heard Julie say, "Dad, it's for me. I got it."

  "You can't be on the phone right now. We have to keep the line open."

  "I know. I'll hurry." It sounded like she might be crying, and his instinct again told him to hang up. "I'll be right off."

  Her father slammed down the receiver and then Julie said, "Clifton? Sorry about that." She was definitely crying. No question.

  "Yeah, it's me. If this is a bad time ... I mean, I can call back later."

  "No, it's okay." Her voice was weak and completely drained. "I mean ... yeah, it's a bad time. I'm gonna have to get off. It's ... it's my little sister. She's missing. Nobody knows where she is." And now the sobs really began to echo through the phone. "You probably already heard about it."

  Clifton's heart fell into his groin. Could this be possible? All he could think about was the little girl in the ice cream truck, her mouth bound with duct tape, and those panicked eyes looking up at him for help. Now he knew why she'd looked familiar. "Holy shit," said Clifton, his tone subdued and sympathetic. "That's your sister?"

  "Yeah ... we can't find her. After ... after I dropped her off at her friend's, her friend's mother ran out to the store to

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  grab a few things. Maria was outside playing with her friend in the yard. Her friend went inside to use the bathroom, and when she came back ... when she came back out... Maria was gone. She just vanished."

  Clifton was stunned. He had no idea what to say. "Julie, I'm so sorry" was all he could manage.

  "Thanks, Clifton. But I gotta go. We're all waiting for any news and I need to get off the phone."
<
br />   "Yeah, sure, I understand. I'm sure it will be okay," he said, feeling painfully guilty for the lie. The cop had told him just fifteen minutes before that a body had been found. But he wasn't about to mention that. Or the fact that he might have been one of the last people to see her sister alive. "I'm so sorry," he said. And he was sorry, for more reasons than just the obvious.

  "I'll talk to you later."

  Julie hung up the phone while he just stood there, staring at the receiver in his hand. "Can this day get any more screwed up?" he said aloud. He put the phone back in its cradle and then grabbed his backpack off the kitchen table. "Come on, Bosco. You're officially a stolen dog now. I don't give a damn. You're going back to Swamper's with me."

  Bosco looked up with a turn of his head, his tail swishing back and forth. Clifton grabbed the ends of the jump rope

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  and together they walked outside. He locked the door behind him and set off for Swamper's, almost feeling sick. Feeling as disgusted with himself as he ever had. Feeling almost as depressed as when his father had died. He wasn't looking forward to his journey through the creepy blackness, but there was no way he was staying in that house all alone.

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  ***

  Chapter 9

  For the third time that day , he walked up the creaking steps leading to Swamper's house. Other than the death of his father, Clifton's life had been rather dull. As mundane as anyone else's. But how things could change in the matter of a few hours. Earlier that morning, as the sun was just raising the crown of its head over the horizon, life had seemed innocent and tranquil. Later that day, when he'd ridden in the car with Julie, he'd been pretty sure life couldn't get any better. But then, in the thick of the heat after he'd witnessed the abduction of the little girl--of Maria--life had seemed anything but peaceful and tranquil. He didn't know how it could get any worse. And now, with the cool of darkness fully encompassing his surroundings, with the crickets chirping, the frogs singing, raccoons invisibly hunting for crawdads by the