Lurk

by Adam Vine

  Dead Gloria’s words replayed in my memory: “I loved him. Okay, he had a bad temper. So what? He was a really great guy. Until he wasn’t.”

  Had she been talking about Antonio, or Andy?

  I closed Gloria’s file and put it back in the desk. I expected the rest of the files would follow suit, building equally damning cases against Officer Skoakland for murdering his friends, but the next folder in the desk, marked “Rebecca”, was surprisingly thin.

  There were only a few things inside, mostly modeling photos, head shots, and glamour makeup ads. Also, a few mementos from her funeral: a photo-copied prayer, a black-and-white picture of Rebecca posing with the family dog (the dates of her birth and death printed underneath a rose motif border), the official coroner’s report of her death, and a handful of Mr. DeLucio’s notes jotted on the back of a Hawaiian sunset postcard: Died from an overdose. Andy responsible? Andy didn’t have to. She was a lost cause. R.I.P.

  The official death report said Rebecca had ingested an entire bottle of thermogenic weight loss pills, and cooked to death from the inside. The coroner had ruled the death accidental.

  I closed my eyes and recalled the memory of dead Rebecca jumping on the trampoline. “I thought these were Tylenol,” she’d said.

  I closed Rebecca’s file and put it on top of the desk. The last file in the drawer was Apple’s.

  In an instant, I realized with cold clarity that I was disturbing a murder scene. I was getting my fingerprints, hair, and skin flakes on everything. My blood started pumping so fast I thought I would have a heart attack.

  Andy wouldn't have made the same mistakes with the others as he'd made with Gloria and Marty. He'd gotten smarter. Not only was he the officer who filed the initial paperwork about Mr. DeLucio’s death, with full control of what went in it, he would have had all the time in the world to cover his tracks, too. If the authorities realized Mr. DeLucio was murdered, that he hadn’t killed himself but had his neck put in that belt by force, then coming here to snoop through his bedroom would make me a suspect.

  I considered covering my tracks and running, but it was probably already too late, and I had to know what was in Apple’s file.

  Apple wasn’t dead. But, as I expected, Mr. DeLucio had still gathered information about her anyway, detailing every step of her downfall from pretty college tomboy to homeless, mentally ill alcoholic.

  Apple had been arrested for multiple D.U.I.s, in 2002, 2005, then finally in 2007, which had resulted in her losing her job at the non-profit organization where she worked. Her driver’s license had been revoked, and she lost custody of her children. Apple had been arrested multiple times from 2007 to 2015 as well, for crimes that ranged from loitering, public intoxication, and harassment, to stalking. But the charges never stuck.

  There was a photo of Apple in the latest stages of her decline, hair all bedraggled and unwashed, her face caked with grease and grime, her teeth rotten and brown, dirty old clothes fraying apart at the seams. The picture was snapped candidly down on Pacific Avenue, and was marked with a nickname Apple had earned in her later years as a homeless panhandler in downtown Santa Cruz: “Chomper.”

  I’d been hearing that name since I moved to Santa Cruz, whenever one of my friends talked about the aggressive nature of the bums downtown.

  My heart sank to read Mr. DeLucio’s notes. I won’t let them take you. I will find a way to satisfy them. It was all because of him. I couldn’t stop him. He was too strong. I never should have let him take you upstairs. I love you. I’m sorry.

  As I went to close Apple’s file, a Polaroid picture fell out into my hands, shaken loose from where it had been buried between police reports. The photo was taken in the garage of Sunny Hill during a party. It showed Andy climbing the stairs up to the kitchen. He was carrying a limp woman in his arms, her red hair spilling over him, all flecked with bright chunks that could only be vomit. The woman was Apple.

  In the picture, Andy was grinning.

  ***

  I carefully wiped down the edges of the Polaroid with the bottom of my t-shirt before placing it back in Apple’s file. It was a futile gesture. My fingerprints were already there, along with everywhere else. A cursory wipe-down wouldn’t do much to remove them.

  As I was wiping down the rest of the Polaroids, I wondered how Delucio could have come by so much information that shouldn’t have been available to the public. I was interrupted by the sound of someone sniffling over my shoulder, a few feet behind me. I dropped what I was doing and turned around.

  Officer Skoakland was standing in the doorway.

  “Find something interesting, Drew-Buddy?”

  I gasped. “S-s-sorry,” I said. “You s-s-s-start…”

  Officer Skoakland raised one eyebrow. “Startled you? Why? Were you doing something wrong?”

  “Uh, n-no-no sir. I was just looking for my glasses.”

  I checked my face with my hands. My glasses were there. “Thought I might’ve left them in here, y’know? Uh, but, here they are, right on my face. Oops.”

  Officer Skoakland chuckled. “Whoa, hey. You going somewhere?”

  I started sweating. My teeth began to chatter.

  He reached into the breast pocket of his uniform and pulled out a Baby Bears brand tissue, which he offered me. “Come on. Blow your nose before you degrade yourself.”

  Not seeing much of a choice, I took it, and did, getting snot all over my shirt.

  “Look, buddy. I get it. You’ve got a lot of questions right now, that’s normal. But poking around a dead guy’s bedroom is not going to give you the answers you're looking for.”

  You murdered him, I thought, like you murdered Marty and Gloria. Like you would have murdered Rebecca and Apple, if they weren’t well on their way to Six Feet Under on their own.

  “It’s pretty creepy in here,” I said.

  “It’s pretty creepy in here,” Officer Skoakland echoed in a high falsetto voice.

  He’s mocking me. He’s going to kill me, too. Oh, God. I don’t want to die. I’ve never felt the inside of a vagina – never even seen one in real life. I need to finish my chip tunes record. I need to become famous. I need to lose all this weight. I need to hit the gym with Carter. I need to-

  “Calm down before you crap your pants,” he said. “Christ, you’re shaking worse than those geezers at the nursing home I just came from. Some ninety year-old, wheelchair-bound woman keeps stealing people’s watches! So they call me. What am I gonna do, fuckin’ arrest her? Like, excuse me, ma’am, you can’t just steal other old people’s shit, you’re gonna have to come with me. What? No, I’m not Charlie. Who’s Charlie? Oh, he’s your son. Did you just have an accident, ma’am? God, that’s disgusting, adorable, but disgusting. You can’t arrest a woman with a steaming, fresh load in her adult diaper, Drew-Buddy. You just can’t do it.”

  Officer Skoakland took the tissue out of my hand and used it to wipe the sweat from his face.

  “Drew, let’s cut the bullshit. You’re breaking and entering.”

  “I didn’t break anything-”

  “I’m gonna let you off with a warning. Mostly because I don’t want to have to explain this to Them.”

  “To who?”

  “You know who.”

  “To the… the Union?” I said.

  Officer Skoakland raised an eyebrow and laughed. “The hell you talking about? You smoking the funny stuff?”

  “Never mind. Uh, thanks,” I said. I started toward the door.

  “Wait,” Officer Skoakland said. “Drew, turn around.”

  “Yes, Officer?”

  “For fuck’s sake, dude. Call me Andy.”

  “Yes, Andy?”

  “I…” His eyes panned over the ruined monuments of Benjamin DeLucio’s bedroom. “I’m not a bad person,” Officer Skoakland said.

  “I didn’t think you were.”

  “I’ve done some bad things in my time, sure. Everyone has. But I always did them for good reasons.”

  I
stared at the gun on his hip and bit back my words.

  “Hey. Hello? You still with me? You got something you want to say?”

  “I believe you,” I said.

  Andy put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks, Drew-buddy. That means a lot to me.”

  “Um… officer? I mean, Andy?”

  “What’s up, pal?”

  “Why are you here, anyway?”

  Officer Skoakland’s smile and hand dropped slowly in tandem, his fingertips brushing the pistol at his hip. He nodded to the door and said, “Get the fuck out.”

  ***

  “Clench your butts and tuck your nuts.”

  Jay walked into the living room of Sunny Hill carrying a case of Black Dog IPAs. I was still rushing to finish setting up the board game tables I’d been working on for the last few hours. The theme was Casino Night. I’d decorated the living room with poker-themed tablecloths and napkins I found in the basement, plus tinsel, streamers, and computer-printed postcards that read, Sunny Hill Casino – Grand Opening!

  “Whoa. What is all this?”

  I threw my hands in the air and said, “Surprise! It’s game night.”

  “Game night,” Jay said. “Wow. Look at all this. You really did the place up.”

  “Carter and Natalia are sober now, so I wanted to make it fun. Didn’t want them to feel left out.”

  I led Jay through the casino, showing him the different games. “We’ve got classic Hold ‘Em, Cards Against Humanity, Settlers of Catan, Scrabble, and Game of Thrones the Board Game. But the learning curve on Game of Thrones is pretty high. It takes about four hours to learn for frequent strategy players, more like seven or eight for you filthy casuals.”

  Jay looked at me sideways. “Are you on one right now?”

  “What?”

  “Drew, man, are you high?”

  “Uh, no. Just on life.”

  Jay scrunched his nose. “Man, you need to lay off the otter pops.”

  I scratched my head. “Actually, I just started the Paleo diet, as of last night. I read about it online.”

  “Way cool, man. Far out. Stick with it.”

  Jay gave a second look to the game tables and took off his hat. “You, uh, you really think we’re gonna have time for this stuff? I was hoping at some point we could hit the bars.”

  “Took me four hours to set everything up,” I said. “You can go out another time. The bars aren’t going anywhere.”

  Jay nodded. “So, where is everybody?”

  I shrugged. “Carter and Natalia are probably at A.A. Sam will be here later. He’s driving up from LA tonight.”

  Jay set the beers down on the Settlers table. “Sam. How the hell is Sam?”

  “He’s Sam.”

  “Sam the One Man Band. Remember when he straight passed out on your floor? The night we attacked the trees in your backyard with those big-ass scissors?”

  “You did most of the attacking,” I said. “We almost got kicked out when our landlord saw the damage.”

  “You talk to Bea?”

  “Not since Wednesday.”

  Jay whistled. “She still mad?”

  “You would know. You talk to her more than I do.”

  “Drew, is everything cool with us, brother?”

  “Of course it is. Why?”

  Jay sighed. “You know what? Fuck it. You said Carter and the Ukrainian are still at their A.A. meeting?”

  “They should be. They usually get home around eight-thirty.”

  Jay checked his watch and exhaled a sigh of relief. “Good. We’ve still got time to get drunk.”

  ***

  I'd thought about calling the cops on Andy. Even if the evidence wasn't airtight, it was enough to cast some serious suspicion on him, and who knows? There was a lot there, maybe enough to put him behind bars, or at least get the cases reopened. I’d be a national hero. I could already read the headlines: Killer Cop Convicted! University Student Uncovers Serial Murders! SCPD Whistleblower Signs Horror Movie Deal for $20 Million!

  But I didn’t call. I sat with the number to the Santa Cruz Police Department’s anonymous tip line dialed into my iPhone, ready to push send, while Jay and I pounded beer after beer in the grease-stained gloom of the kitchen. I couldn’t shake the premonition that there was a piece of Andy’s motivation I wasn’t seeing, but would, if I just waited.

  But I was mostly afraid that if I ever did make the call, the complaint wouldn’t make it further than the dispatch desk, and within minutes, Andy Skoakland would be at my front door with a gun in his hand.

  ***

  I decided I could let the Paleo Diet thing slide one more day. We ordered from Pizza My Heart and smoked weed on the porch until Carter and Natalia got home. Jay got a hold of Bea, who said she was getting off work early, around ten.

  When everyone was at the house, we popped a bottle of Martinelli’s sparkling apple juice in the living room and I gave a toast to Carter’s first full week of sobriety. I’m sure I stuttered and it all came out a big mess. Afterwards, Carter wrapped me in one of his crushing bear hugs.

  We played tabletop games for about an hour until Jay and Bea got bored. Jay took out his bong and started packing a bowl, but I could see the idea of smoking made Carter apprehensive, so I said, “Jay, why don’t we keep it sober tonight?”

  He looked at me strangely and said, “We’ve been blazing and getting sauced since five o’clock, man.”

  “Yeah, but Carter…”

  “Carter doesn’t mind. Do you, Carter?” Bea said.

  Jay passed her the green.

  Carter shook his head. Natalia put her hand on his arm. “Marijuana is not my particular problem. I’m personally not about to touch that shit, but you all have at it.”

  While Bea was taking her hit, Jay said, “So, how does everyone feel about going to the bars? I mean, you guys are welcome to join us,” he pointed to Carter and Natalia. “But I don’t want to derail your mission.”

  “No worries,” Carter said.

  Natalia said, “We’re pretty tired.”

  “I’m down,” Bea said.

  She and Jay looked at me expectantly.

  “I can’t believe you guys. We didn’t finish a single game,” I said.

  “Sorry, dude. I’m just not really in the mood,” Bea said.

  Jay scooted next to me on the couch. “How about this. We’ll go to the Red Room, have a few drinks. Then we’ll play these games when we come back. Video games, too. We can play all night. This stuff will probably be more fun when we’re drunk, anyway.”

  “No they won't. Tabletop games go straight to hell when you throw booze in the mix. Everyone gets over-competitive and starts cheating.”

  Bea cast her eyes to the floor and whistled. I stared at the black and white playing cards piled on the coffee table. The Sunny Hill Casino was a bust, dead in the water. All my hard work was for nothing.

  “Say, Drew,” Jay said, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

  I brushed his hand off. “What?”

  Jay recoiled like I’d bitten him. “Hey, take it easy, man. I was going to ask if you could come with me to the basement real quick, to check if there’s an extra sleeping bag, or – I mean, not a sleeping bag, sorry – some blankets, or something. I forgot mine.”

  “You forgot it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh. I didn't know you were sleeping here.”

  “Where else would I sleep, man?”

  “Why don’t you just take the couch?”

  “Drew, you pissed on this couch last weekend. Did you forget?” Bea said.

  I clenched my teeth and smiled. “Oh, yeah.”

  Jay waved her off. “Hey, hey, it’s cool, okay? We’re all sitting on it. I’m sure it came out. Ry scrubbed this thing like a Mexican.” Bea hit him. “Sorry, a Brazilian,” Jay said.

  She hit him again, betraying a smile. “Ugh. You’re the worst!”

  Jay blocked the third hit, deflecting Bea’s hand with his wrist. “We do
ing Kung Fu now? C’mon. Have at me.”

  They exchanged slaps and blocks until I interrupted. “You know what? I’ll go down and check if there’s something for you to crash on. Sure I can find you something nice and comfortable, Jay. And Bea.”

  They continued play-fighting until I got up and left the room.

  Carter clapped for my attention as I was exiting the kitchen door. There was a look of sympathy in his eyes. He waved an unseen thumb across the couch towards Bea and Jay, then pinched an imaginary joint between his lips with his other hand, grinned, and mouthed the words, We the storm.

  I rolled my eyes and walked away.

  ***

  My hand wrapped around the cold, rickety metal of the doorknob and I slid the key into the lock. I knew the glue that tied all of this together had to do with something called the Union.

  But what is the Union? I wondered. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I realized I already knew. The answer was in every horror movie I’d ever seen. The Union was the Monster. It was the dead people buried under Sunny Hill. It was their desire to take revenge on our world for their sorrow. It was the mechanism that allowed them to do that, by manipulating us, the living, through the pictures, although I suspected their powers were far greater, and could extend to any form of secondary image – mirrors, dreams, reflections in a pool or lake.

  My thought train halted mid-revelation as I entered the garage. The lights were on. No one had been in the garage for over a week. Listening carefully, I made my way toward the Hobbit door. Someone was crying, just on the other side of the basement wall. It sounded like a little girl. Jay must have given me something. That motherfucker laced the weed again, so I wouldn’t be an impediment to him hooking up with Bea.

  The weeping got louder as I drew closer, the sobs becoming more hysterical. There were other voices layered underneath the little girl's gasping cries, melding into a single, deafening cacophony. The cries turned into screams. The voices rose in pitch, shrieking so loud I had to cover my ears.