Relentless

by Mike McCrary

  He tries to speak, his lips move, but nothing comes out.

  “What?” Todd asks.

  “What do I do?”

  “We’ll get this guy. Only a matter of time. No one is a complete ghost. Not in today’s world. There has to be a footprint of this asshole somewhere.”

  “I should just pay him.”

  “With what?”

  “I could—”

  “You don’t have any money, man.”

  “I can figure something out. Equity from the house, maybe. The girls’ college plans.”

  “Do you hear yourself?”

  Davis’s eyes are on the road, but the images barely graze the inside of his head. He’s on autopilot, lucky that he knows his way around this area, otherwise he’d be lost in more ways than one.

  He pulls the car into a small grocery store parking lot in a space toward the front. After sliding it into park he slumps back, pushing himself as deep into the seat as he can. He presses the phone hard to his ear, as if that will help make the conversation between him and Todd better. Make it clearer. Easier to accept, to understand.

  “Then tell me,” Davis says. “What the hell should I do?”

  “Like I said, do nothing. It’s the easiest and the hardest thing in the world to do right now. Give me the rest of the week.”

  “He keeps calling. He keeps slamming me with texts. I’m going to have to find a way to pacify this guy.”

  “You don’t think you can just ignore the asshole?”

  “He’s just getting more and more pissed off. I’m afraid he’ll come looking for me, and eventually he will find me. You don’t know this guy. He’s a different kind of animal.” Davis pauses. “I can’t have that, Todd. Not with Hattie and girls.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We’re not going to let it.”

  Davis watches a mother push a cart with her baby sitting in the front. The child’s face is bright with eyes stuffed with wonder. The mother tickles the baby’s belly, smiling and laughing along with her child. The baby giggles and bobbles its head without a care in the world. A perfect blank slate, only needing to be loved and shown the world by people who care. He thinks of the girls when they were that way. God he misses it. He thinks of them now, of how they need him more now. They need to be protected by those same loving and caring people from when they were babies. He’s possibly put them in harm’s way. He’s broken his unwritten contract with them. His heart jumps to his throat merely off the thought.

  “A week is a long damn time. A lot can go wrong in a week.”

  “I know.” Todd thinks, then says, “Okay, how about this? Tell Justin that you don’t have any more money. Literally. You can’t pay him.”

  “Already did.”

  “Convince him. Go next level. Cut off contact.”

  “He’ll freak the hell out. This guy’s not stable. He’ll go crazy.”

  “Tell him you’re bankrupt after all those charges."

  Something in Todd’s statement rings true to Davis. He lets the word bankrupt turn over in his head.

  “I don’t have any money after putting it all into the business.” Davis talks while he thinks, using his spoken words to string together his thoughts. “I never had any to begin with, I just wanted people to think I did.”

  “Yeah,” Todd says, not sure what Davis is doing here. “I guess so.”

  Davis lets the idea swirl, taking laps around his clouded mind. He knows that will make for an uncomfortable-as-hell conversation, to say the least, but it will buy them some time. Time for Todd’s people to find something useful or, better still, find a way out of this. That’s all Davis can do right now. Buy time.

  “Maybe,” Davis says more to himself, “I’ll tell him that. He can’t squeeze blood from a stone. More I think about it, you’re so right. He will freak out, but let him. Maybe I’ll give it a day, if I can. The more time we can stall the better.” Davis nods to himself, taking a second to think. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll try.”

  “Okay, man. You know best,” Todd says. “Try not to stress too much. I’m on it.”

  “Thanks, man. I know you’ve done a lot—”

  “Don’t thank me yet.”

  Davis smiles as he hangs up, taking a minute to get ahold of himself. He knows Todd isn’t much for sentimentality, and stopped Davis before he could properly say “thank you.”

  Checking his face in the rearview mirror, Davis sees his eyes are puffy and red. Much like Hattie’s when he left. His skin is blotchy, as if he’s been crying for days. He has, in a way. The stress has gone to work on him. He might not have been crying actual tears, but his mind has been processing sadness all the same. Perhaps the body doesn’t know the difference, processing sorrow the same way, no matter how you express it.

  Slapping his cheeks, he tries to snap out of it.

  Todd will do everything he can to make this right. Davis knows Todd feels somewhat responsible too. He’ll never admit it, but he knows Todd, and he knows that Todd feels guilty for sending Davis out to LA in the first place. Todd has busted Davis’s balls about being married with kids for a long time. Todd lives like a trust fund baby frat boy, and he is all that to some degree, but he loves what Davis has and the family he’s built.

  Over drinks, many drinks, Todd has confessed that he wants a family. Wants someone to come home to. Someone he cares about, and someone who cares for him, regardless of income. It was the only time Todd has ever truly left himself wide open to Davis. It was the rawest form of Todd that Davis has ever seen. The next day he tried to talk more about it with Todd. Todd acted like he had no idea what Davis was talking about. Told him to stop projecting his married misery on him and went on a rant about how married zombies are always trying to force their shit on single people.

  It’s also not lost on Davis that Todd has more selfish, business-oriented reasons to get this Justin situation resolved. The Justin problem, as Todd previously stated, can quickly become a business problem, and that’s a problem that greatly affects Todd. If you bundle all that together—the business, Todd’s feelings about Davis and his family—then it’s pretty clear Todd will stop at nothing to help Davis fix all of this.

  A true alignment of interests.

  Davis turns up the radio. “Blue Skies” by Willie Nelson plays. He loves Willie, and much like he did with the Pixies song, he tries to let the music calm him down. Take him to another place.

  His phone buzzes. There’s a new text from Justin.

  hey i know ur not a txt guy so i’m moving on to email. got this great app with a delay. so the email i just sent to you will go out to your all your contacts in like 24 hrs from now. just fyi. lemme know if you want me to stop it.

  Davis fumbles, tapping and swiping fingers to move over to email on his phone. There’s a single red number one. A single unread message from JR FUN INC. He taps it fast.

  There are no words in the email. No explanation. No threats. Only images.

  A lot of them.

  A gallery of dirty deeds, all with Davis as the star.

  Some of them he’s seen, others he wishes he didn’t. It’s an ocean of depravity that no man with a family wants to see his face being a part of. It’s an avalanche of colors and shapes. Bodies. Flesh pressed together. Mouths pressed together. Smiles. Laughing. Tongues licking. Teeth biting. Faces frozen in pleasure. Others in pain. Women Davis doesn’t remember. Skin stretched tight over muscles slick with oil.

  Two are even more graphic images.

  Pictures of Davis penetrating deep inside a now familiar woman. The green-eyed beauty from the grocery store. Her mouth is open. Her eyes closed.

  Davis focuses on his own eyes. They seem crazed. Fixed pupils looking like bullet holes. Focused and distant at the same time. He knows it’s him, but it’s not him at all. More like a copy of him, living a separate life he has no knowledge of.

  Scrolling down the email he finds one more picture.


  The pictures seem to have been placed carefully in an order. An order designed to escalate in intensity. Each one a little worse. Each one a little more embarrassing. Each one becoming harder and harder to look at. But the last one, this is the one Justin has been holding on to, all of these images building to a finale.

  It’s of Tilley.

  She’s lying on the floor of Davis’s hotel room in LA.

  Her throat is cut wide open, blood having poured out onto the carpet.

  Davis drops his phone onto the floorboard of the car. The picture matches the flickers of memory that have been popping in and out of his head. She was alive in his memories, at least he thought so, but now he knows different.

  Is that what Justin was talking about in that parking lot?

  Did I kill her?

  “No,” Davis says out loud, then screams, “No!’

  He rolls down the window letting some air in. His stomach twists and turns as he sucks in deep breaths, fighting back the urge to throw up. It’s as if every ounce of blood in his body has raced to his head. The pounding is unbearable. Can’t feel his hands or his legs. His face feels like it’s pressed against a frying pan. His eyes are wide open, but see nothing.

  Davis knows he has to look at his phone again, but he never wants to see those images ever again.

  They can’t be real.

  He rubs his hands together, shaking them hard while trying to gain control over the trembling. It’s not working. Picking up his phone from the floor, he goes back over to the last text from Justin. His heart freezes as he rereads the words over and over again.

  so the email I just sent…

  will go out to your all your contacts in like 24 hours...

  lemme know if you want me to stop it.

  25

  His brain has been set ablaze.

  His body quivers in sudden, intense bursts. His guts dive down hard as he turns one question over and over again: is this the end? Is this the end of everything he loves? A single, paralyzing thought that nothing will ever be okay again. If Hattie sees those pictures, that’s it. Game over. She’ll leave, and who could blame her? She’ll take the girls and there’ll be nothing Davis can do about it. If those pictures get out to all of his contacts, to all of his business contacts, to all of his friends and family, he’ll never be able to look anyone in the eye again. No one will speak to him. They will distance themselves from him completely. No one will give him safe harbor.

  Not even Todd.

  The company will be lost or, at the very least, Davis’s part will be. Davis hasn’t even begun to consider the legal problems if the police see those pictures. Tilley has to have been reported missing by now.

  Justin has just been playing with him before now. Toying with Davis like a dog with a tiny bug. Justin was on the fringes of breaking Davis’s life in half in the beginning, but the mood has changed. Now Justin pressed a button, went nuclear, and blasted Davis’s existence to smithereens.

  Davis rocks back and forth in the seat with his face wrapped in his hands. The sight of those pictures has burned into his head. He doesn’t remember them being taken. Doesn’t remember being in any of those situations. With any of those people. Any of it. How can the brain erase things like that? Gloss over everything that happened in those pictures? Davis knows he was drugged, but that can’t explain everything, can it?

  Can it explain away all the sexual acts with those people?

  Can it grant forgiveness?

  The last picture has shaken Davis to the core. The picture at the bottom of the email is cemented in his head, and is not going anywhere. The one of Tilley. Her throat cut wide open. Her blood so dark, spilled out into the carpet. Her lifeless eyes staring up toward the sky, perhaps looking up to Davis’s. Looking to him for answers. Asking why, why did he do this to her?

  How could I not remember that?

  How is that even possible?

  Looking out the car window, he sees a man walking toward the front door of the store. Something about him is familiar. The profile. The walk.

  Is that Justin?

  “What the hell?” Davis whispers.

  Davis can’t completely make out the features, but it could be him. He’s dressed different. There’s no slick suit. This guy’s in a flannel shirt and dirty jeans with a beanie over his head, but it could be him. There’s something so damn familiar about him. Davis shakes his head, trying hard to clear the fog. He squeezes his burning eyes closed, then opens them, working fast, blinking hard to try and get a better look.

  The man opens the door with a slight bow, letting a mother and baby exit the store. The same mother and baby Davis saw earlier. The man smiles and waves to the baby. Davis now sees that the man has a large scar, maybe a birthmark, on the side of his face and is missing a few teeth. It’s not Justin. Not even close.

  I’m losing it.

  He can feel paranoia wrapping around him like an unwanted hug from a stranger. Fingers digging into his back, squeezing hard, robbing him of his ability to breathe. Davis’s eyes dance around the parking lot, scanning for Justin, knowing that he’s there watching him… but not knowing for sure. He’s being careful, he tells himself. He knows deep down inside that the odds of Justin finding him out here are remote, but Justin is playing a different game.

  A different kind of animal, like he told Todd.

  Davis is playing checkers while Justin plays chess.

  His phone buzzes. Davis almost throws it out the window.

  It’s a text from Hattie.

  U still at the store?

  Davis realizes he’s been gone awhile. Time has gotten away from him. He has no idea when he left the house. He’s even forgotten why he’s here in the first place. His mind is mush, a useless mass taking up space inside of his skull. He thinks, knows he needs to get inside the store and get something.

  What? Think.

  Straining the back corners of broken memories, he struggles to remember why in the hell he came here.

  “Coffee. Shit,” he says to himself.

  Davis answers the text by telling Hattie yet another lie. A lie about how there’s a long line and it’s crazy-busy for some reason. The last thing Davis needs right now is coffee, his heart is a steady redline, but he knows he needs to get in that store and get out quick or Hattie’s suspicion will rise higher than it probably already has.

  Come on, Todd. I’m going down fast. Do something.

  Davis hurries through the aisles, hunting for coffee in an unfamiliar store. The rows and rows of colorful packaging blur. Hard to focus, difficult to stop the swirling thoughts whipping through his bending mind. He grabs a bag of some kind of coffee that looks decent and spots the refrigerated section down a few aisles. Maybe picking up Hattie’s favorite chocolate and peanut butter combo trick would be a good idea.

  A peace offering. Something to soothe the wounds.

  Knowing what he knows it sounds ridiculous, pathetic even, but he’s willing to try anything. Ice cream smoothing over a night of wholesale infidelity and murder? Davis laughs out loud. An older man looks at him strangely. Davis shrugs and continues snickering as he walks toward the front.

  As he nears the cashier, he stops cold.

  The cashier looks a lot like Justin.

  He knows he was being paranoid with the guy outside, but this one, this guy looks even more like Justin. Davis avoids eye contact as he inches up in the line, making his way toward the front of the check out. Stealing glances at the cashier, Davis snaps a series of pictures of the man’s face in his mind then turns them over, flipping them in his head, taking in all the angles.

  His hair is different. Eyes might be a bit wider, maybe narrower, but those both can be altered rather easily.

  It can’t be him. Right?

  The nose looks off too, but again, that can be changed.

  Is he using makeup?

  Davis moves closer and closer. Only a younger man with coupons stands between him and the cashier. Davis feels his heart po
und in his chest. His breathing quickens. His instinct for flight is surging inside of him.

  “Hey there, friend.”

  Davis looks up, panic firing.

  The cashier’s face scrunches up off of Davis’s terrified expression. “You okay, friend?”

  “I’m… fine. Sorry,” Davis says while studying the cashier’s face, still unsure of whom he’s talking to. “Just these, please.”

  Davis sets the coffee and ice cream on the counter, letting the cashier scan them, never taking his eyes off of him.

  “Alrighty then,” the cashier says with a chirp.

  Davis can’t help but notice there’s a strangeness to this guy. He bounces on his heels, almost dancing behind the counter. Like he’s living in his own rhythm. He talks to himself as he scans the ice cream. Not singing a song, but whispering something to himself, maybe even reciting something.

  “Excuse me?” Davis says. “Did you ask me something?”

  The cashier shakes his head with a fast jerk like he’s resetting his head.

  “Nothing,” he says to Davis. “I drift a little bit at times. Sorry, friend. In my own little world, I guess.”

  Davis nods. The cashier goes back to his task.

  “Bet you’ll be the hero.”

  “What?” Davis asks, his tone sharper than he intended.

  “This.” The cashier holds up the ice cream. “Bet the house beasts will love the stuffing out of you for this stuff.”

  “House beasts?”

  “Your kids,” the cashier says, cocking his head. “You’ve got ’em, right? Kids? Children? House beasts?”

  Davis feels bumps rise up along his arms. This guy, this cashier, who is he?

  “How do you know if I have kids?”

  “I don’t. Simply a guess, I suppose. It’s cool if you don’t. I like ice cream, too.”

  The cashier goes back to his task, whistles some uneven tune, then bags up Davis’s coffee and ice cream.

  Davis looks him over again. He’s becoming less and less like Justin. This guy is goofy. Strange, awkward. Very different from Justin. More of a quirky local guy than anything resembling Justin. The way he talks is not at all like Justin, but there’s something about him that still has Davis questioning everything.