Death Perception

by Lee Allen Howard

  “I certainly will, Mrs.— Loretta.”

  Kennet switched off the phone, turned, and jabbed Alex in the gut with it. Alex grunted, surprised, and grasped the phone. Kennet hurried out the door.

  Chapter 33

  Grinold followed a dump truck down Smithfield on his way home from work, annoyed that it was going so slowly. Dirt and stones rolled off the load and hit the nose of the Town Car. He cursed and slowed even further.

  Kennet knew what he’d done to Delores. When Kennet said that there was a murderer in their midst, Grinold figured the young man was referring to the polluted alcohol he gave him. On second thought, Kennet would have been more direct about it, as he was concerning the fiasco with his mother. So he must have been talking about Delores, whose death he discerned when he cremated her.

  Kennet knew he’d killed her. And if Kennet did something foolish, like approach the authorities with his psychic suspicions, they might disbelieve him, but it could trigger a chain of events leading to an investigation, one that might reveal something suspect to ruin his reputation. He wasn’t about to let that happen.

  The dump truck turned into the Metco industrial park and then rumbled over the railroad tracks. Grinold stepped on the accelerator and then lowered the visor against the glaring afternoon sun.

  He simply must find another way to kill Kennet. Something that’ll do away with the corpus delecti.

  He barked in sudden laughter. The answer was obvious. There was indeed another way to get rid of him, one that would leave no trace. At least no identifiable trace. Kennet’s cremains could be delivered to the Youghiogheny River with a few flushes, and that would be the end of him.

  And I won’t even have to donate an urn.

  • • •

  “I brought you a present. . . .” A coy smile graced Christy’s delicate mouth.

  Kennet turned toward her on the log bench. The glow of the campfire played across her clear features and painted her blonde hair with melted gold.

  “I like presents,” he said. “What is it?”

  She reached into her backpack and pulled out a package wrapped in Christmas paper. Santa’s eyes twinkled above his rosy cheeks and cherry nose. Kennet shook the package but it didn’t rattle. It was soft.

  “Open it.”

  He tore into the paper and pulled out a bag of marshmallows. “Just what I wanted! How did you know?”

  “Nathan told me.”

  He leaned over to kiss her but stopped. He really liked Christy. Liked her more than anybody he’d dated in high school, which had been only a couple of girls. Why was he holding back? He studied the fire in her green eyes. Two clear, beautiful eyes. And then he knew why he hesitated.

  He was afraid. Afraid that he would become a man like his father, a man who would turn violent and treat her like Sir treated Ma. But he roped that thought and hog-tied it. He’d never felt that way toward anyone, especially Christy, and he probably never would.

  He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Thanks. I love them. They’re extra special because you gave them to me.”

  She brushed the curls off his forehead and caressed his cheek.

  “Season’s greetings.” Nathan stepped up and handed them two long sticks, the ends whittled sharp.

  Kennet and Christy accepted the sticks, and Nathan slipped away, losing himself among the partygoers who milled about, talking and laughing over the Dave Mathews Band grinding from Tyler Murphy’s Civic. But for Kennet, no one else was there at the edge of the woods between Alex Keckler’s house and Good Shepherd Cemetery. No one but him, Christy, and the campfire. And marshmallows. He speared two puffs on each stick, and they held them to the flames.

  Ashley Tanner moseyed through the woodsmoke and handed them a small stack of photos, the ones she’d taken at the last party. Kennet complimented Christy on how photogenic she was.

  “I look best when I’m around people I like,” she said. He put his arm around her shoulders and watched as she sorted through the pictures.

  “Wait,” he said. “Let’s see that one again.”

  “This one?”

  He accepted the photo from her and leaned toward the firelight with it. In it, Rick Hannah was mugging and lofting his beer. Kennet felt a pang of sorrow. Beyond Rick’s dark hair the background was even blacker, but Kennet could make out the towering junipers at the cemetery against the dusky skyline. And just above Rick’s shoulder floated a bright orb, almost blue. Not quite round. More like a shrouded figure. But it was indistinct, and the picture was too small for him to be sure. He thought of Viola Wilkes, the ghost woman in the Air Force uniform.

  I have come by the highway home, and lo, it is ended.

  Even in the heat of the campfire, a chill passed through him. Love was fleeting. It might last for a lifetime, but life was short, and he wanted to get started.

  He touched Christy’s face. He studied her eyes for a moment, and then kissed her gently. Her mouth was warm and soft and sweeter than marshmallows. She kissed him back, slipping her hand behind his neck. A delightful frisson tingled down his spine and headed straight for his groin. He wanted to lead her away, into the woods—anywhere they could be alone. But he didn’t think she’d go, and perhaps it was too soon. He broke away, his heart doing little tricks in his chest.

  Kennet loaded their gooey sticks with another set of marshmallows and as they toasted them over the coals, he confided in her about his situation at the care home, how Ms. Costa and Alex were trying to drive him out. He thought better of mentioning anything about Flavia’s murderous activities, but told her how Alex had threatened him and leaned on his chest, nearly breaking his ribs.

  “That’s just mean,” Christy said, her voice tinged with anger.

  “Yeah, he’s a jerk,” Kennet said. “But we already knew that.” He looked at the picture again. Poor Rick. Only twenty-three, and Alex didn’t care that he was dead.

  Alex stood on the other side of the fire ring, arms crossed defensively. The heat wavered, distorting his face, but not enough to hide the cruelty in his cold, yellow gaze. The guy looked miserable. And guilty. He was guilty, guilty of a lot of things. Dealing drugs. Abusing residents. God only knew what else.

  Alex’s shimmering face drew closer. “What are you looking at, asshole?”

  “Not much,” Kennet shot back.

  Alex sneered, working his mouth as if to spew something nastier.

  “Why don’t you just go away?” Christy said.

  Alex’s bloodshot eyes grew wild with venom. “And whyn’t you just shut your stupid mouth, bitch?”

  Kennet jumped up from his seat, leaped over the fire and landed on Alex, sending his beer flying and Alex careening backward. Alex sprawled in the weeds with a grunt. Kennet straddled him and started pile-driving his fists into Alex’s square face.

  Christy screamed, “Kennet!”

  Strong hands pulled him off Alex, who writhed in fury, too stoned and drunk to defend himself. Nate, Tyler Murphy, and a few other guys got between them and held them apart, giving placating commands.

  Despite Alex’s state, it was all Tyler and Pete Hernandez could do to keep him in place, and they were big guys. “You touch me again, you scrawny little shit, I’ll beat your fuckin’ head in!”

  “And you ever talk to Christy like that again, you’ll be sorry you opened your stupid mouth.”

  Nathan let go of Kennet’s arm.

  “No, Nate.” Christy inserted herself between Kennet and Nate and grabbed them both by the arms to keep them away from Alex.

  “If you can’t behave yourself, Keckler,” Nate said, “then get the hell out of here.”

  “Yeah,” Tyler said, “parties are about fun, not fighting.”

  “You had a bit too much,” Pete said. “Why don’t you go home and sleep it off?”

  Alex shrugged off Tyler and Pete and swiped blood from his face. Mouthing more obscenities, he stalked off in the darkness toward his place.

  “You’re lucky he didn’t get up,
Doc.”

  Nate was right. But Kennet had given it no thought when he launched into Alex. On any other day, Alex could have pounded him to a pulp. But the nasty prick had no right to talk to Christy that way. He needed to be taught a lesson.

  “But thanks for sticking up for Christy.” Nate clasped Kennet’s hand. Kennet winced. His knuckles were killing him.

  “Oh, Kennet . . . let me get some ice.” Christy hurried off toward the tub where the keg was chilling.

  Nathan speared three marshmallows on one of the sticks. “Better watch your back from now on.”

  With the adrenaline dissipating, Kennet felt shaky and weak. “I suppose. You could keep an eye on it, too.”

  “Always, dude. Always.” Nate clapped him on the back and thrust the marshmallows over the dying embers.

  Christy returned with a handful of ice in a plastic Foodland bag. She nursed his wounded hands and they ate marshmallows, trying to lighten the mood with jokes and laughter. But the magic of the evening seemed ruined.

  Kennet would have to watch out for himself. Alex would be after him with a vengeance. But Kennet meant what he’d said. If Alex ever bothered Christy again, he would make the bastard wish he hadn’t. Alex could count on that.

  Chapter 34

  Kennet jogged up Smithfield past Foodland and the Texaco station, Sunday church bells ringing in the distance. He was glad he had no hangover. But he hoped Alex was hurting. Maybe his father had been like Alex when he was younger—minus the muscles. With or without the muscles, this thought turned his stomach.

  At one time he’d felt pity for guys like Alex, seeking to be compassionate about the forces that had formed them or, rather, malformed them. But now he believed in choices. Despite what life dished out, everyone had a choice. You could choose to react poorly, or you could endeavor to rise above. Either way, you were responsible for your actions. And Kennet decided he would cut no slack to the selfish and vindictive.

  He needed some computer time, which was also a good excuse to see Christy again. When he reached the Springers’ he bounded up the front steps and rang the doorbell.

  The door opened and Kennet’s heart sank. Oh, my God . . .

  Christy stood like a limp rag doll behind the screen door. She had a black eye and a puffy split lip that began to tremble the moment she saw him.

  He wrenched open the door. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

  She fell into his arms, and he held her while she wept and shook.

  “Christy, who?”

  “Alex.” She lifted her damaged face to his. Worse than the bruises was the hurt in her eyes.

  Hot blood thundered in his head. “That sonofabitch. I’ll—”

  “Don’t.” She touched her cool fingers to his lips, but he grasped her wrist.

  “What the hell happened?”

  She took him by the hand and led him to the kitchen where they sat at the glass-topped table in the warm sun streaming through the large window over the sink. It still smelled like the morning’s coffee.

  “He was waiting for us when we got home,” she said. “It was about one a.m. He jumped out of the front bushes and started whaling on Nathan with a ball bat.”

  “Holy shit. Is Nate all right?”

  “He looks a little worse than I do, but at least he didn’t have to go to the hospital.”

  “God!” Kennet jumped up and started to pace, running his shaking hands through his curls. She watched him from her seat at the table. “Did he say anything?”

  “The idiot had a nylon pulled over his head, but we knew it was him. He had a cut on his nose that you gave him, and no one we know is that built. Or stinks that bad—even Nate. The only thing he said was a whole lot of swear words. After he got a couple of licks in with the ball bat, I went after him. I was afraid he was going to kill Nate.”

  “God, Christy . . . I thought he was after you.”

  “He was,” she said, massaging her temples. “But he knew he had to take Nate out first.”

  “Damn straight.” Nathan stepped into the kitchen. A purple-brown goose-egg marred his forehead, and his nose was swollen and discolored.

  “Ah, shit. Nate . . .”

  Nathan waved his hand in an “it’s nothing” gesture. “Little sis snagged the bat off him and planted a homerun swing right in his keister.”

  “I think I broke his tailbone.” She giggled but immediately sobered. “That’s when he turned on me.” Dejection washed over her. “I can’t believe he’d hit a girl. What a loser.”

  Kennet massaged his fists. They still ached from last night’s workout, but he was eager to use them again. He wanted to turn Alex’s face into hamburger. And he no longer felt guilty about it. He was nothing like his father, who hit to take out his frustrations on the defenseless and undeserving. Alex was like Sir, and if the bastard couldn’t control his rage, he deserved to be taught a lesson.

  Nate went to the freezer to get a handful of ice, which he wrapped in a paper towel and held to the lump on his forehead. He sat down next to Christy.

  Kennet forced himself to sit down too, but adrenaline had his heart in hyperdrive. “What did your parents say? Did they want to call the police?”

  “They’re at the shore,” Christy explained.

  Nate said, “We’re not going to the cops unless that dickhead shows up again. I doubt he will. He didn’t get away without feeling some pain.” Nate smiled. “I didn’t want you to have all the fun last night.”

  “Yeah,” Christy said. “Nate loosened a few of his teeth.”

  “And sweet little Christy Springer, sugar and spice, gave him a good cheerleader’s kick in the balls.”

  “Inflicting brain damage,” she said. “Hooray for our team!”

  Kennet laughed then. They all laughed.

  He explained how Alex and Flavia were treating him, and how they were up to no good concerning the residents at the care home.

  “Can you sleuth this for me?” Kennet handed Christy a slip of paper with the word succinylcholine on it. “I don’t think I spelled it right, but it’s a drug. Find out what it is, what it’s used for, please. I’ll call you later.”

  Christy walked him out to the front porch. “Listen, Kennet.” She turned him around on the second step and draped her arms over his shoulders. “Please stay away from Alex. I think you’re brave and all, and I’m glad you defended me last night, but you caught him off guard. He did us some damage and there were two of us. If you tangle again you might end up on the sorry side. He’s a big guy, and he doesn’t fight fair.”

  “Frickin’ bastard.” Kennet clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.

  “No.” She pinched his chin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Stay away from him, Kennet. I don’t want you hurt, too.”

  “I’ll see him soon enough. He works where I live, remember?”

  “I know that. But avoid him. Stay out of his way.”

  “I can’t promise you anything. But I will be careful.”

  She gave him a warning look, which seemed a bit more ominous because of the shiner, but she eventually let him go.

  “You mean a lot to me, Christy. You know that?” He grasped her gently at the waist. She felt like heaven in his hands.

  “So do you. That’s why I don’t want any more trouble. He was drunk, but he’s hurting now. Let this be the end of it.”

  Kennet nodded, but he didn’t think it was over. Not by a long shot.

  • • •

  The walk along Smithfield felt like a sauna, but when Kennet turned down the lane to Alex’s place, the closer he drew to the woods, the cooler it grew. He couldn’t drop his grudge toward the jerk. He needed a few words with him. But it looked like Alex wasn’t home. His truck was gone.

  He banged on the front door. There was no answer. He tried the knob, but it was locked. He went around the house and found the back door secured, too. As he made his way around the far end of the one-story addition, a breeze mussed h
is hair. He stopped. The disturbance was coming from an open window. A dual fan sat propped between the open sash and the sill, and it was blowing warm air out of the house that smelled of . . . what?

  Vegetation. Odd.

  He pulled a cinderblock from the back steps and propped it under the window. Standing on the block, he managed to open the window farther. The fan fell inside with a clatter. He cringed, but no one was around. At least he hoped so.

  He thrust his upper body through the open window, bent at the waist, and got his legs inside. The fan seemed to be undamaged. He turned it off for the time being.

  I’m in. Now what? Burn the place down? No, arson was a serious crime. He wanted to start a new life, not a prison sentence. Maybe I’ll just trash the place.

  He slipped down the hall to the living room. On second thought, he couldn’t wreck the place any worse than it already was. Crumpled beer cans and fly-swarmed pizza boxes littered the matted carpet. You’ve Tried All the Rest, Now Try the Best! Decidedly, Passarelli’s Pizza wasn’t the best. It was greasy with crust like pasteboard, but it was cheap, and Alex was no gourmand. CDs lay strewn all over the place, along with empty Gatorade bottles, muscle magazines, and drug paraphernalia—pipes and roach clips and bongs.

  The kitchen sink and counter were stacked with dirty dishes and the trash can overflowed onto the grungy vinyl floor. It, too, buzzed with flies.

  “God, what a pig.”

  Back in the hall, he flicked on the light in the windowless bedroom. It stank of sour sweat and something nasty that Kennet couldn’t—and didn’t—want to identify. The bed was unmade and the floor lay polluted with workout clothes, used towels, and skin magazines. An empty pint bottle of Gordon’s vodka lay on the greasy pillow.

  Maybe burning the place down was a better idea after all. Then again, all the innocent vermin will die. The vermin other than Alex, that is.

  He peeked into the closet. It smelled worse there. Kennet pulled the neck of his tee-shirt over his mouth and nose. Piles of clothes and cross-trainers lay jumbled on the floor. A stack of well-thumbed Penthouse and High Times leaned against the back wall.