The Secrets on Forest Bend

by Susan C. Muller

  Sunday morning, Adam picked Ruben up at nine o’clock. Friday’s rain had washed the air clean and the sun was shining. They pulled off without saying a word, but Adam waved to Mamacita, standing in the doorway. One block later, Adam stopped in front of a drugstore. “Would you mind getting me a box of Sudafed?” he asked. “The big box,” he yelled as Ruben started into the store.

  They stopped at several stores along the way. Sometimes Adam went in, sometimes he sent Ruben. At two hardware stores, he bought drain cleaner. At a camping store, he bought propane. By the time they reached the lake, Ruben was shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

  “This is beginning to get expensive. Any chance I’m going to get my money back?”

  “Not likely, but you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you’ve done your good deed for the day. For the year.”

  “Yeah, speaking of that, I don’t know exactly what that good deed is, but I’m getting a bad feeling about what you have in mind. I think it’s time you let me in on your plan.”

  Adam opened the car door and started up an overgrown path to the cabin. “No way. The less you know for sure, the better. It’s for your own protection. Let’s get that cooker. How much propane do you have?”

  “Enough. I’m not ever getting my cooker back, am I?”

  “I’ll help you build a new one. What about those iodine water purification pills you bought over the Internet when you had that brilliant plan to camp out in the woods? Do you still have them?”

  “You might as well take them, too.”

  When they returned to town, Ruben protested about being sent home. “I’ve been in on everything up till now. You might need my help to finish it. If this doesn’t work, you’re going to have one pissed-off ghost on your tail.”

  Damn. He’d never been able to put anything over on Ruben, but how he’d figured this one out was a mystery. “That’s why you have to stay here. You’re not even on her radar screen, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Adam filled the car again before he got home. This time he paid in cash. When he reached his house, he called his parents, mostly to indicate he’d been home. Now he’d involved them in his mess. If the shit ever hit the fan, his mother would forgive him, but his father would never look at him the same way.

  He turned on the TV and ordered a pay-per-view boxing match. It wasn’t much of an alibi, and wouldn’t stand up if everything went south, but it was the best he could think of.

  In the garage, he grabbed a box of rubber gloves, then changed clothes and left again. He’d done all he could to cover his tracks. He hadn’t done anything illegal yet, and he already felt like a crook. How was he going to feel when he’d finished?

  On the way to Jillian’s, he stopped at a drive-through to buy a hamburger and milkshake. He hated to take the time, but he hadn’t eaten all day and couldn’t afford to run out of energy.

  At four, he pulled up behind Jillian’s. When he got out of the car, she was waiting, looking as determined as he felt.

  “Here, put these on,” he said, tossing her a pair of rubber gloves. “We have to wipe down every item with Windex before we load it in my trunk. Just using a cloth isn’t good enough. We don’t want any fingerprints to show up.”

  It took an hour, but they wiped down everything, even the items Adam had bought or found. They took off any labels that might indicate which store had sold the product. When they finished, it all went into the trunk of Adam’s car.

  “Okay, give me five minutes to get clear, then call Heather and tell her you want to meet. I’ll need at least an hour, maybe more. Do you think you can keep her occupied that long?” Putting himself at risk was one thing, but endangering Jillian was a knife through his heart.

  Jillian nodded. “How will I know when you’re finished?”

  “Keep your phone on vibrate. I’ll let it ring three times to make sure you feel it, then hang up.”

  He squeezed her hand before he shut the car door, unsure if he’d live to see her again.

  Jillian could feel her nerves acting up, but decided that was natural. Heather would expect her to be upset. She didn’t try to fix her hair or make-up. It would give Heather something to complain about, and the more time she wasted, the better.

  When she got to her car, she stood with the door open and called out, “I’m headed to the park, Heather. Let’s see if we can talk about this.”

  On the way, she stopped at a gas station and bought a super-sized Diet Coke and some Hostess Twinkies.

  Heather was waiting when she arrived. “You look like a slob. Couldn’t you have put on some make-up or changed your clothes? That hair-do is absurd, but if you’re going to wear it that way, at least fix it.”

  “I haven’t been in the mood to get dressed up lately.” Jillian flopped on the table.

  Heather was wearing skin-tight jeans with a logo on the pocket Jillian suspected most other women would have recognized. The fabric of her blouse screamed money. Her high heels had red soles. Jillian didn’t know what they were, but she knew stars often wore them to red carpet events. Heather obviously thought she had the upper hand.

  “Boo-hoo-hoo. Don’t give me that sad story. I take it you’ve considered my offer.”

  “That wasn’t an offer. That was a list of demands.”

  “Whatever it was, do we have an agreement?”

  “I can’t do it, Heather. Not all those things. Maybe we could compromise on some of them.”

  Heather ignored her and looked at the cup in her hand. “Is that a Coke?”

  “Yes, can you see the bubbles?” Jillian swirled the cup until it foamed. “Look at this Twinkie.” She broke it in half slowly, letting the cream layer string out. “Do you remember how much you liked these? Mother didn’t want you to have them because you might gain weight, but I was already fat, so what difference did it make? Sometimes I’d hide one for you and you’d come to my room late at night to eat it.”

  “I remember eating your Twinkie, but it wasn’t because you saved it for me. You hid it for yourself. You were selfish even then.”

  “I guess we have different memories.”

  Jillian glanced at her watch. It had been less than fifteen minutes. How was she going to keep this up for an hour?

  “What’s the matter, Jillie? Got a hot date?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. Adam said he wanted to come over later this evening to talk.” Jillian made quotation marks with her fingers. “I imagine he wants to break up with me. You were right. Telling him was a big mistake.”

  “Well, that’s one problem we won’t have to argue about. I say good riddance. You can do better.”

  “Maybe, but I kind of liked him. I want your promise that if we break up, you’ll quit bothering him. Forget about him entirely.”

  Heather ignored her. “Let’s talk about the other things. Are you ready to cooperate, or do I need to show you what can happen?”

  Adam was right to take drastic steps. Even if she never spoke to him again, Heather would torment him for years to come.

  “I said I would compromise, and that’s what I’m willing to do.” Her voice was rising, and she struggled to bring it under control. “I’ll give up Adam. I know I can’t have him, not after telling him about you. He’s not the type to let it go and pretend he didn’t hear me.”

  She threw the Twinkie in the trash, uneaten. “I’m not selling the business. I have no interest in running a dress shop and wouldn’t be very good at it. The store belonged to Daddy and we’re keeping it in the family. I’m not moving out of my apartment either. I like it there, and it suits me just fine. I will spend more time with you, though.”

  She waited to see what Heather would do, and she wasn’t disappointed. Heather swung her arm at the table, and the cup of soda went flying.

  “That’s not what I said. I want you to live with me in our old house, like we used to.”

  Jillian spoke quietly, afraid the lies would catch in her throat. “It can’t be like it used to
be, Heather. Mother and Daddy are dead. It’ll never be the same. What we can do is find a new way to be together. I’ll turn the electricity back on and buy a TV, then I can come over in the evening and we can watch it together. There’re lots of shows on now you’d like——reality shows, talent shows. Maybe we can go to the movies, or shopping. I’ll take you for a ride in the country when the wildflowers are blooming.”

  “I’m willing to let you keep the store. It belongs to our family. But I want you to move home.” Heather sounded determined, but not angry. At least not yet.

  Jillian switched to another subject. If she agreed too easily, Heather wouldn’t believe her. “There’s something else I can’t do. I can’t go on a date and have you watching over my shoulder and making comments. It drives me crazy, and I’m not going to do it. I’ll come home afterwards and tell you about it. At least about the date part—where we went, what we talked about, that type of thing. I’m not going to talk about the personal stuff. That has to be my business.”

  “I don’t know why you think you have any say in this. I told you what would happen if you didn’t do what I said.”

  “Come on, Heather. We have to work together on this. I think I’ve met you more than half way.” She was exhausted. Dealing with Heather was harder than running ten miles.

  “I gave in on the store, and that’s all. If it bothers you that much, I won’t talk to you while you’re on a date, but I’m still coming along. And you are moving home.”

  “I tell you what, let’s try it my way for a while and see how it works. I’ll come by the house after Adam leaves. It probably won’t take long for him to tell me he thinks I’m crazy and doesn’t want to see me anymore. Then I’ll tell you all about it—what he said, what I said, everything. There’s just one thing. It’s sort of spooky driving up to the house at night. I know there are all those candles on the coffee table. Could you light them for me before I get there? That way it won’t seem so scary.”

  “I can’t light candles, you know that.”

  If she couldn’t convince Heather to try, all her efforts would be wasted, and Adam didn’t have a chance. “Of course you can. If you can knock a cup off the table or cause a mirror to fall, you can light a candle. You lit one for me when I was hiding in the storeroom. Just wave your arms and say abracadabra, or whatever it is you do. Light them all. I can’t see in the dark like you can.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been anywhere near the storeroom, but I suppose I could do it if I wanted to.”

  “Okay, now, I need to go to the drugstore before Adam comes over. Do you want to come with me? We could wander up and down the aisles and look at the make-up and stuff.”

  Heather followed Jillian to the car and sat in the front seat beside her. Jillian couldn’t risk looking at her watch again, but she was able to glance at the dashboard clock. Twenty more minutes. She could do it. She’d drive slowly. Sweat began to trickle under her arms.

  Adam didn’t have any trouble finding the house. Jillian’s directions were clear. It was an interesting area, with an almost rural feel due to the distance between houses and the overgrown woods to the back. The house was sprawling and old, with off-white wood that was dingy with mildew around the base. The trim and front door had been painted blue, but the color had faded over time.

  It may have been Heather’s influence, but the house didn’t have a welcoming feel. Pictures of children laughing and playing didn’t spring to mind. He was certain it hadn’t been a happy place for Jillian to grow up, but it was the perfect place for what he was about to do. It was a place where evil would feel right at home.

  Driving up to the front of the house, he gripped the steering wheel and looked around cautiously. Was Heather gone, or just sleeping? He sat in the car for several minutes, hoping she’d make herself known if she saw him. Although what he’d do then, he had no idea. The air was laden with moisture, but the rain held off for a while.

  Finally, he went to the back of the house and kicked in the door. He paused to see if there was any reaction, then hurried through to unlock the front. The stench of vomit and urine filled the air. Jillian was right. Heather had no sense of smell.

  It took multiple trips to unload the car. Wearing the rubber gloves caused his hands to sweat and made every move more difficult. Leaving his car in the driveway worried him, but he’d put mud splatters on the license plates, and that was all he could manage.

  He forced himself to go upstairs to Heather’s bedroom, just in case, but there was no sign of her. The closet was open and contained several pageant ensembles, nothing else. The walls were lined with her trophies and ribbons. Pictures of her in various costumes sat on the dresser along with a single bottle of Opium perfume, complete with tassel. As he leaned forward to sniff the bottle, a chill ran down his spine. How many times had he noticed that scent over the last weeks without realizing what it was?

  He finished unloading the weapons from the car. Some went under the bed in the master bedroom and others he put under the sofa. The rest he placed in the kitchen, spread out for easy reach. He placed any drug in a plastic pill bottle on the kitchen counter. The rest, especially the baggies of crystal meth, went into the master bathroom. He put them in a corner, next to a wall. They were out of sight from the main room and protected by the bend in the counter. The bathroom, like the rest of the house, hadn’t been touched in twenty years. Probably not since Jillian’s mother died. Signs vandals had used the home for drug parties were everywhere.

  In the kitchen, he sat Jillian’s camp stove and Ruben’s two-burner cooker on the counter. He paused, looking at the cooker, already missing the carefree days he and Ruben had spent at the lake. It was unlikely that life would ever be the same for him. Tomorrow he could easily be dead, maimed, or in jail. What would he do if he couldn’t be a cop? Repairing cars no longer seemed a viable option. At least Jillian would be free, no matter what happened to him.

  The kitchen was still fully stocked. He looked under the counter and pulled out the three largest pans he could find. There was a soup pot, a roasting pan, and a large sauce pan. He dug through the drawers until he found a metal spoon with an extra-long handle. It clattered as he dropped it onto the counter and he froze, listening for any sign of Heather.

  Several of the gallon containers of antifreeze and drain cleaner went on the kitchen counter and others on the floor. He opened one of the bottles of drain cleaner and poured some in each pot, making certain to coat the sides and leave an inch in the bottom. If only he had time to let it corrode the inside of the pot, but he had no idea how long that took. It could be an hour or a week. At any rate, once started, he couldn’t wait. Heather might notice his handiwork at any time.

  Fumes were beginning to build, so he moved quickly. If he passed out before he finished and Heather found him, what would she do to Jillian? Some of the containers went into the bathroom, but he worried Heather would see them, so he hid them in the tub and drew the curtain. The other items he spread around the kitchen. He carried the empty bottles he’d found in his workshop trashcan outside the kitchen door and placed them in a large plastic bag.

  The kitchen table and chairs were still there, although three of the chairs were broken. Of course, nothing about this was going to be easy. He found one chair that looked sturdy and made himself comfortable as he began opening the packages of decongestant. When he had a large pile, he found a mixing bowl and started crushing them. He left two boxes intact and hid them in the master bathroom.

  He opened the lid to all the containers, along with a bottle of bleach he took from his laundry room, then held one of the drain cleaners above the counter and released his grip. The side split and the pungent liquid ran over the counter near the cookers and into the sink where he placed a bowl full of Clorox. He had to jump back to keep from getting splashed.

  The arrangement of candles was still on the coffee table as Jillian had promised, but they were burned down to stubs, anothe
r sign of use by drug addicts. Two large, decorative candles on the mantel had also been used. Thank goodness he had thought ahead and included several candles in the box of items he brought from home. He had planned to drip wax on some plastic lids and stand the candles in it, but the burning in his eyes warned him lighting anything would be a dangerous mistake. Instead, he smashed the bottom of the candles onto the lids and stood them upright as best he could.

  One candle he laid on its side, as if it had been knocked over.

  Adam checked the house to be sure he had everything in order and nothing could be seen without going into the other rooms. Finally, hands trembling, he began to open the valves on the propane tanks. He carried two small tanks into the living room and put them under the sofa with the tip of the nozzle sticking out. He was afraid they would make a hissing sound that would give them away, but he didn’t hear anything.

  The odor was already becoming overpowering. If Heather had any sense of smell, she would immediately know something was wrong. Even without it, the fumes might burn her eyes. It couldn’t be helped; there was no going back now. He hurried out of the house, closing the back door tightly and locking the front door behind him. The deep breaths he took as he ran for the car did as much to clear his mind as to clear his lungs.

  Several miles down the road, he pulled behind a filling station and put the rubber gloves, the paper towels used to clean off fingerprints, and the blanket used to cover the bottom of his trunk into the dumpster. No one was watching, so he slipped into the restroom and washed his hands several times. He even splashed water on his face and the back of his neck.

  He turned the car around and waited until he had driven well past the house in the opposite direction before fishing out the disposable phone that had been among the items taken from Marshall’s stash.

  “911 Operator. How may I assist you?”

  Adam slurred his words. “I need to report a lab.”

  “A lab, sir? Like a dog?”

  “No, like a meth lab. Where they mix up drugs.”