The Complete Bleaker Trilogy Box-set

by Jeremy Peterson

  “But where? It’s a nightmare out there. Tell me what happened. Please, I want to know.”

  Jill let out a deep, exaggerated sigh. “I think I just met Trent’s wife.” She didn’t bother to mention the part about her mother.

  “Really?” Kevin said. “I didn’t even know he was married.”

  “You wouldn’t. I think she’s been dead a long time.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Troy Baker saw the flashing lights and jumped out of his seat. He raced to the window, the .45 Glock he had bought last fall at that pawnshop in Lincoln in his hand, pointing at the floor. He peaked around the curtain and let out a nervous breath. No cops. It was only the flashing lights of the snowplow.

  Jesus Christ.

  He set the gun on the coffee table and opened its bottom drawer. More pawnshop purchases: A Plastic Jesus figurine he had bought as a gag, and a glass pipe. The baggie of crystal meth, however, wasn’t from the pawnshop. That he had bought from a friend-of-a-friend in Sidney, which was just a few towns over.

  He sparked his lighter, put it to the pipe and took a long, soothing hit.

  After a hearty cough, he said to the empty room, “Relax, everything is going to be just fine. She’s a good kid.”

  Suddenly, a voice called out to him. He instinctively tried to hide the pipe, until he realized that the voice was coming from the drawer. It was Jesus. Or rather, the plastic figurine.

  “It’s too risky, man. You can’t trust a girl like that.”

  Troy stared at the figurine. On a base level, he understood that it was strange to talk to an inanimate object, but on this day, it felt completely normal. He only hesitated for a moment. “She’s not like that. I think it will be okay.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. You can’t just sit here. That stupid bitch is gonna’ talk. All little girls talk. Goddamn it, what were you thinking?”

  Troy held his head in his hands and aggressively massaged his temples. “I don’t know.” Of course, he knew what he was thinking, but he wasn’t in any mood to accept personal responsibility.

  “You need to find her,” Jesus said. “Talk to her and make her see this the right way.”

  “I’ve got to find her. Talk to her, and make her see this the right way.” He looked at his watch and thought about his next move.

  “I need to get dressed. Get cleaned up. Go find her. Sweet talk her.” He always talked to himself when he was high, so talking to Jesus was a nice change. “No, no, no. I have to end this. But how do I end it without her freaking out on me?” He shook his head maniacally as he paced the living room floor of his cramped apartment.

  “You have to convince her,” Plastic Jesus said.

  “I’ll convince her, yeah. I’ll talk my way out of it like I always do. She hangs on every word I say; has since the first day of school. This will be easy.” He reached for his phone, but hesitated. “What if she’s with that pig? What if they’re waiting for me to call?”

  “Stop it,” Jesus said. “You’re being paranoid. If he’s with her, you’re already fucked. And get me out of this drawer for God’s sake.”

  “Right, sorry.” Troy set the figurine on the coffee table. “I’ll find her and make it right. If she’s already spoke to the pigs, then I’ll bail. Not ideal, but whatever.”

  Troy stepped into his sneakers and grabbed the expensive leather jacket that hung next to the door, not bothering with the winter parka that he kept in the closet. He pushed open the door, and for the first time, stepped into the storm.

  The snow had slowed, but the wind had only seemed to get worse. It bit into Troy’s cheeks and assaulted his light jacket, but he barely felt it. In fact, it exhilarated him.

  I am finally alive.

  After trying Methamphetamine for the first time two months ago, it was now the only time he truly felt alive.

  He unlocked his Camaro and slipped into the frozen leather seat. He turned the key, but heard only the dull click of a low battery. He tried again. This time only silence.

  Fuck.

  Dead battery.

  He crawled out of the car and noticed that it wouldn’t have mattered anyhow. The snowplows had pushed almost four feet of packed snow at the end of his driveway. The rear wheel driven Camaro would never have made it through, and even if it could, it would be nearly useless on the snowy streets. At least with him behind the wheel.

  He frowned and fought the urge to dart back inside for another hit.

  “What about your neighbor’s truck?” Plastic Jesus asked.

  Troy turned around, and his mind raced. In his neighbors parking stall, sat an over-sized tow truck, with the words NEBRASKA TOWING printed on the side panels. In apartment number five, Carl Sinclair, the owner and operator of Nebraska Towing, lived alone. Unlike Troy, who had just moved to this small town in the middle of nowhere because it was the only place to offer him a full-time teaching job, Carl grew up in Chaplin Hills with his parents and two younger brothers. A few months after Carl graduated high school, his parents divorced. His mother took Carl’s two little brothers back to her home state of Arkansas, while he and his father stayed here. That was ten years ago. After the divorce, Carl’s father took up drinking full-time and was working on complete liver failure, but the leukemia couldn’t wait. It struck first. His funeral was three years ago to the day. Carl didn’t have a girlfriend, and he didn’t drink. But he loved that truck.

  Troy looked at the truck and smiled. With its powerful diesel engine and oversized tires, Troy had always thought it looked ridiculous. But now, with his car useless and buried, he was beginning to gain a new perspective. He chuckled at the irony.

  “Good idea, Jesus. The redneck’s truck will work just fine.”

  He crept up on it and peaked into the passenger window. The door was locked, as Troy knew it would be. Most people in this sleepy little town didn’t bother with locked doors, but Carl had a special relationship with his truck. Troy chuckled and shook his head.

  From his jacket pocket, Plastic Jesus said, “You’ll need the keys.”

  “Yeah, no shit, Jesus. But how am I going to do that?”

  “You’ll have to steal his keys, genius.”

  “Okay, I’ll steal his keys. Wait, how should I steal his keys?”

  Plastic Jesus rolled his painted, porcelain eyes. “It’s easy, dip shit. Carl works second shift. He’ll be sleeping for another couple of hours. Candy from a baby.”

  “Right,” Troy said, and once again pondered racing back inside for another hit of crystal.

  “After you get the keys,” Jesus interjected, reading his thoughts. “Get the keys before Carl wakes up. You do that, and you can get as jacked up as humanly possible.”

  “All right, all right. Jesus, you’re pushy.”

  Troy looked around, but could see next to nothing through the darkness and the blowing snow. He walked as casual as he could to Carl’s front door. The curtains in the front window were partially open and Troy could see that Carl’s apartment was set up identical to his own.

  That will be helpful, he thought.

  There was no sign of Carl. And no sign of his truck keys.

  “He probably sleeps with the key ring around his finger,” Troy said under his breath.

  “Don’t be so negative,” Plastic Jesus said, “They’ll be hanging on a hook just inside the front door. Over the kitchen counter.”

  “Okay, Jesus. I hope you’re right. But the door is probably locked, anyway.”

  “Stop whining and get on with this before that bitch puts you in jail.”

  “Fine.”

  Troy opened the screen door, cringing at the squeak of the door spring.

  “You’re fine,” Jesus said, “keep going.”

  Reluctantly, Troy followed orders. He gripped the doorknob and held his breath.

  It won’t turn, he thought. Please (don’t) turn.

  But it did turn, and the door swung open slowly. The heat from Carl’s apartment washed over him and Troy felt a brief
moment of clarity.

  What am I doing?

  “Go!” Plastic Jesus screamed in his ear, and Troy stumbled into the warmth without thinking.

  Once inside, Troy quietly shut the door behind him and stood on the stranger’s threshold. His breath caught in his throat and then expelled out of him in a rush. Aside from the moonlight pouring through the window, the apartment was dark. Like his apartment, the front door opened to a small living room and a kitchen separated by one cluttered counter. A single bedroom lay straight ahead, with a bathroom to the right. The smell of greasy pepperoni wafted over him. Troy saw a pizza pan setting on top of the stove. Eight pieces of half-eaten pizza crusts littered the pan.

  “He’s watching his carbs,” Troy said.

  Plastic Jesus didn’t respond. Jesus wasn’t talking, but he had been right about one thing. There, hanging on a hook below a chalkboard grocery list with nothing but hamburger helper and Mountain Dew listed, was the truck keys.

  “All right,” Troy whispered. He reached out and wrapped his fist around the set, careful to avoid rattling them together. For the most part, he was successful.

  Movement behind him. He reached for the gun from his waistband and spun around to face the noise, the keys jangling loudly as he did so.

  It was only a cat. An overweight tabby that seemed to be just waking up. It stood up from its perch on the back of the sofa and stretched its back.

  “Holy shit, you scared me, little fella.”

  Carl’s a cat person … who knew?

  “Go back to sleep, Whiskers, you flea bag.”

  The bedroom door opened and Troy instinctively raised the gun.

  Carl Sinclair, in nothing but a pair of camouflaged boxer shorts, stumbled into the tiny living area. “You climbing on the kitchen counter again, fat ass?” he said, rubbing his eyes, his voice still slurry from sleep. “I’m gonna’ give you away if—oh shit!” Carl finally spotted Troy standing in the kitchen, gun raised. The man stumbled backwards, briefly losing his balance. Troy thought he could see the realization on the man’s face when he finally recognized the stranger in his home. It was relief, Troy guessed. Relief that it wasn’t a stranger uninvited, but a neighbor. A high school teacher, no less. That couldn’t be too bad, right?

  I’m not the bad guy, Troy thought.

  But why was he raising the gun?

  Just tell him you have an emergency and you need to borrow his truck … he’ll understand.

  But the gun was still coming up.

  Carl saw the gun, and the look in his eyes reflected the new information.

  This is bad, the look said. Very, very bad.

  Carl, with both hands held out, opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the dark apartment filled with a blinding light and a deafening crack. Troy fired twice, maybe three times. He wasn’t sure. The only thing he was sure of, was that Carl wasn’t getting up. And Whiskers had disappeared like smoke on a windy day.

  “Gee, I only wanted your keys.” Troy was shaking. And he was still wearing the grimace on his face from when he pulled the trigger. He couldn’t seem to stop grimacing.

  “You did what you had to do.” Finally, Plastic Jesus spoke.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Now grab the keys and let’s get outta’ here.”

  Outside, Troy climbed into the oversized truck and fired it up. The engine rumbled impossibly loud, but Troy’s ears were still ringing from the gunshots, and he barely noticed it.

  “Call the girl,” Plastic Jesus said.

  So, Troy pulled out his phone and called the girl.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The two of them walked briskly, huddled together so much that they resembled a single entity.

  “This storm is ridiculous,” Kevin said, “I’d almost rather be in school.”

  Jill didn’t respond. It was her fault they were trudging through the snow, and she knew it.

  “Your phone is ringing.”

  Jill looked up into Kevin’s face. “What?”

  “Your phone … it’s ringing.”

  She rummaged through her coat pockets and finally found her phone in the front pocket of her jeans. She looked at the name on the ID and let out an exasperated groan.

  She swiped the answer button and spoke into the mouthpiece, “What do you want?”

  Kevin gave her a funny look and mouthed the words, who is it?

  She turned away from him into the blowing wind to gain some privacy.

  “We need to talk. Let’s meet up,” Troy said.

  “No, I don’t want to meet you anywhere. You made it loud and clear what I meant to you last night on the phone … remember?”

  “Now come on, hon, don’t be like that.”

  “Yes, I am going to be like that. And don’t call me that.”

  “Are you home?”

  “No, I’m not home—”

  “Are you with that pig?”

  “No, I’m not with the Deputy. But that’s where I’m going.”

  “You’re going to him?”

  “Damn right! We’re looking for him right now. He’s the only one that can help me.”

  “I can help you,” Troy said.

  “You can leave me alone. That’s the only help I need from you.”

  “You said we, who’s ‘we’?”

  “None of your business.”

  “The cops can’t help you, honey. But I can”.

  “Just leave me alone, asshole!” She angrily stuffed the phone back into her pocket. She glanced at Kevin who stared back sheepishly.

  “I really don’t want to talk about that,” she said.

  “Good.”

  “Good. Let’s walk before we freeze to death.”

  Two minutes later, the rumble of an engine poured through the blizzard, quickly followed by two glowing headlamps.

  “Oh, shit,” Jill mumbled.

  “What is it?”

  “Listen, that was Tro—Mr. Barker—on the phone. He said he was looking for me. And I have a feeling that this is him.” She motioned to the headlights that were growing bigger ahead of them.

  “Really? Awkward.”

  Jill didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. She simply stared at the approaching vehicle.

  The truck hit the brakes and slid a few feet on the icy street. The door swung open and Troy Baker stepped out.

  “What are you doing here?” Jill asked, stubbornly.

  “Just get in, and I’ll take you where you need to go … both of you. Come on before I change my mind and you both freeze to death.”

  Jill stepped back. “Go on and change your mind, because I haven’t changed mine.”

  Kevin moaned and Troy only smiled.

  “Listen to your little friend.”

  “God, do you even hear yourself?”

  “What?” Troy said, looking from Jill to Kevin with his most innocent of smiles.

  Kevin reached for Jill’s shoulder. “It’s fine. Let’s take the ride.”

  She let out a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Fine,” she said, finally. “But you get in first. I can’t sit next to him right now.”

  Kevin happily climbed through the passenger door and slid across the bench seat towards his history teacher.

  “Thanks, uh, Mr. Baker.”

  “My pleasure, Kevin. Now help your lady friend in.”

  “Oh, right.” Kevin turned and reached for Jill’s hand, but she ignored the gesture and pulled herself into the truck. She brushed the snow off her pants and slammed the door closed, hoping it would annoy Troy as much as it did when someone would slam the door of his precious Camaro.

  “Careful,” Troy said, readjusting the Plastic Jesus on the dash.

  Kevin chuckled. He looked at the figurine and then at Troy, expecting to see a joker smile. But he saw only genuine concern over the little replica. Kevin’s smile dissolved and he slumped into his seat.

  The truck’s engine roared. Troy put it into gear, and they were off.

  “Try
the Court House first,” Jill said. She looked to Kevin for confirmation.

  He nodded.

  “Maybe the Sheriff’s house too?” he offered.’

  “Yeah.”

  “Shhh,” Troy whispered. He leaned in towards the dashboard, his eyes shifting from the road to Plastic Jesus. “PJ says first stop is the tree house.”

  “Huh,” Kevin asked.

  “Stop the bullshit, Troy, or we’re getting out right now!”

  Troy picked up speed, the truck fishtailing on the snow-packed roads. Luckily for him, the streets of Chaplin Hills were wide and deserted. “Now just calm down. It’s a minor detour. It’ll only take a moment.” He reached for the figurine and readjusted it. “Jesus here said that as soon as we get to the tree house, we’ll know what to do.”

  Jill listened to Troy’s words, but she couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. Only a week ago, she thought that she was in love with him. She thought he was the smartest, most cultured, most attractive man she had ever met. They would lie on Troy’s couch and watch art films, which Troy would explain to her. She would listen and wonder how someone so amazing would choose to spend time with her? Now it made sense. He was crazy.

  It explains everything, she thought.

  Kevin elbowed her and shot her a wide-eyed glance that seemed to say, what do we do?

  She could only offer a blank, hopeless look in return.

  “Uh, seriously, man, this is good right here. If you could just stop, that would be great,” Kevin stuttered.

  Troy ignored the boy’s request and slid around the corner of 8th and Winchester much too fast, barely keeping the truck on the road. Both Jill and Kevin reached for the dashboard, holding their breath. The forest was only a few blocks away now.

  “My little buddy is very excited,” Troy said, “Aren’t you, Plastic Jesus?” He looked to his two passengers expectantly, “Did you hear that? PJ can’t freaking wait!”

  Finally, Jill spoke up. “Troy, what’s wrong? Why are you talking to that thing?”

  “Jesus, that was very rude of her. I know, she shouldn’t have done that.”

  Jill continued, “Troy, stop acting crazy. You’re scaring me.”

  “You can’t talk to the police. You can’t tell them what we did.”