He finally stood to indicate that the interview was at its end and put out his hand for Frank to shake once again.
“Congratulations.” He said, and Frank now understood that this was meant towards the both of them for concluding this unpleasant interview business.
Frank felt he needed to say something in parting that was both humble and gracious…
“Well, I hate to capitalize on the misfortunes of others…” He began, almost apologetically, “but I’m really glad you had an opening…”
He tipped his head in a nod of thankfulness and deference.
“My wife will be too…”
Keith seemed very pleased with this exchange.
“I look forward to working with you again, Frank. See you Monday morning.”
Frank left the office quickly with enthusiasm beginning to well up.
He’d taken the first step back to normalcy — It felt good — No, it felt better than good — it felt great! And he could just imagine how proud Jackie would be! Two earners in the family chasing the American dream — What could be better than that?
CHAPTER 20 – Normalcy
It was a strange thing to return to patterned life — and Frank expected to feel some resistance — but he didn’t. The getting up at 6:30 in the morning, the jockeying for the use of the shower, the mad hurry of throwing a lunch together and getting out of the house fast enough to be on time for his classes at school — it all made him feel like he had a sense of purpose — He was no longer wallowing around struggling for ideas, procrastinating all day waiting for a writer’s inspiration and then feeling guilty if he didn’t accomplish what he felt he should. The routine felt good — and being around kids again was a wonder — He’d forgotten how good that felt. He was a productive member of society again — useful — transparent in his intent without a hidden agenda and needed.
Teaching children this age wasn’t exactly his specialty and certainly wasn’t as rewarding as when he’d taught high school (where he could really see the effects of his lessons as they quickly digested and applied his teachings), but it wasn’t as much work either. If he was honest with himself, he’d more likely call this babysitting — his days consisted mainly of keeping the peace between the diverse variety of different types of kids in this Santa Monica school, and seeing that they understood and followed the basic routine he laid out.
After a week and a half, he had his days worked out pretty well — He was a rotating substitute so he usually alternated teaching the same two classes each week. He had memorized most of the faces and connected them with the names and was really beginning to enjoy himself — in particular he found it fascinating that the kids had almost no sense of pretense. They were completely real and had no inhibitions about being themselves. Once or twice he’d caught a child trying to lie and all he had to do was pause and give them a hard stare and the truth came tumbling out. Oh, if it were only so easy with adults.
Evenings too had changed for him radically. Now, when Jackie came home from work, they actually had information to exchange — and she seemed to really enjoy hearing about the different kids and their assorted antics. It felt more like they were partners now — both holding up their side of the bargain — not parasitical or imbalanced as he had now come to see their past.
Two weeks had become three and all was well and comfortable. The kids seemed to like him and he was beginning to loosen up around them. At first he’d been concerned — he knew parents had become highly sensitive and over-protective in this generation and he didn’t want to come off the wrong way. He knew his humor could seem a bit brusque and again, he wasn’t used to treading so lightly or being so conscious of being politically-correct. But his fears in this regard seemed to be without merit. Without exception, the parents were kind to him and seemed both appreciative and welcoming — and this had really added to his pleasant sense of well-being and rapid adjustment to his new life.
Then came Thursday.
He’d had another good day at school — His kids (as that’s what he had now come to call them in his mind), had done exactly what he’d asked of them all day long without a single hitch and had seemed to have had fun doing it. They were becoming conditioned to him — They would settle down immediately when he entered the classroom and would listen attentively to every word he said. At first he had thought he might have frightened them — but this thought was soon replaced by something he had heard many years before — Children needed discipline — whether they showed it or not, they craved it. An undisciplined child was an unhappy child. Children needed clear structure and order. Give them this and they will grow to the best they can be.
He’d come home from school around four o’clock feeling proud of “his” kids. Only one child in the last week had needed to be punished and he had taken it like a man. His time in the corner with a dunce cap on his head had made an example of him and he was unlikely to push the little girl next to him in the future. Nor were any of the others likely to get out of line. It had seemed a bit cruel at the time but he had asked another teacher and had been told “time-outs” were commonplace and totally acceptable. He hadn’t asked about the cap — He considered this to be a reasonable alteration of an accepted treatment.
He had immediately walked Argus around the block and then settled in at their small dining table for a light snack. Jackie wouldn’t be home for hours and he was famished. As he nibbled on a piece of toast and jam, it occurred to him that he usually read the newspaper while he ate (especially at Breakfast) to catch up on the news and that the paper had been absent for the last several days. The last time he’d asked Jackie about it, she’d said that the paperboy had been missing their house but that she didn’t want to complain because she didn’t want him to lose his job. At the time, he’d thought it was just another example of her hyper-considerate character and had taken it at face value. When she had added apologetically that she’d be sure to catch him soon and talk to him herself to correct the problem, it had quickly slipped from his mind.
That would’ve all been well and good except that he now noticed a corner of a newspaper sticking out of the kitchen trash. His first thought was that it had been a mistake — She’d been at home that morning, after he’d left, and maybe it had been delivered then and she had quickly read it and —
— But why immediately throw it away? If that were the case, she’d know he hadn’t read it yet and…
He shook the smelly coffee grounds from the crumpled section and tried to dry off the big brown stain in the middle with paper towels before transporting it to the kitchen table. The last thing he wanted was for it to collapse and fall on the floor and make a mess. When it was almost dry, he dashed it over to the table where he’d already laid out several layers of paper towels to absorb any more moisture that might bleed through. In his mind, he was struggling to avoid making a big deal out of this minor possible betrayal but, against his will, it had already become one.
Why had she thrown it away? It felt somehow as if she were trying to hide something from him…
It took only a few seconds for him to find out why.
He carefully unfolded the soggy paper, then delicately separated the clinging pages, and flipped back to the beginning.
There it was, right on the front page, a big, dark aggressive and nasty headline that viscerally slapped him in the face and almost left his cheek stinging with the shock of it:
CHILDREN MISSING FROM SOUTHLAND SCHOOLS NOW AT THREE
His heart thumped against his chest at the capitalized text that was all too familiar and almost word-for-word from Eli’s past. He quickly scanned the article. Three kids, from age six to eight, had recently disappeared from two different schools (the school Frank currently taught at wasn’t one of them). The police were seeking any information from possible witnesses and warning parents to be extra cautious and watchful.
How could he not have heard of this? Why hadn’t Keith announced it to the school or sent out a school bulletin?
So what if their school hadn’t yet been one of them — It soon could be..!
And then there was Jackie… He already knew what she’d say — She’d done this to protect him… She didn’t want to upset him… You’re damn right, I’m upset!, he thought. Should he chalk this up to yet another coincidence?
He re-read the article again. Not much there — three kids, young, two boys, one girl, missing, no witnesses, no suspects yet, no bodies found, the schools were local.
Co-incidence. CO-incidence.
The thought kept rolling around in his head and got rejected each time.
How many abductors could there be? The M.O. was the same… Still… There wasn’t enough to absolutely connect it to... It was strange — Yes. Absolutely. Concrete? No way.
His inner logic kicked in and rebuffed him — He wasn’t seriously thinking that it was —
The photos of the three missing children peered up at him from beneath the headline. Billy Wasau. Alex Woody. Linsey Hammons. They were all cute. All innocent and smiling. All so young. What was the commonality? He was sure detectives were swarming all over the case thinking the same thing.
He left the dining table, went to his room, and slid the shoebox from under his bed where he’d stored the yellowed articles and the ring that he’d found in Eli’s room.
Shoebox under the bed — Why’d he done that—just like Eli..? Was he trying to imitate him — putting these things in a shoebox and putting the shoebox under the bed? It was a creepy coincidence, he hadn’t even thought about it before… There it was again — Co-incidence…
Something was wrong — every nerve was jangling — Something was wrong..!
He shook his head hard like it was literally full of cobwebs that would detach and fly loose and leave him once again clear-minded.
Not enough to go on. Not enough to make a solid connection. Coincidence. CO-incidence.
He re-read the article yet again, eyes darting across the page. What was he missing? Where was the link? Coincidence. Let it go… Coincidence…
Something didn’t click — something wasn’t right. His eyes moved to the upper left corner of the paper like magnets — Wednesday, November 2nd — Wednesday — today was Thursday!
He burst out the front door and ran to the sidewalk, searching… There, three doors down in the driveway — a Newspaper — it looked fresh… He got there quick — Sure enough — Today’s…
He raced back to the dining room table and slid the stained newspaper out of the way. He set down the new newspaper and flattened it out. His hands were shaking — badly. Calm down… Calm down… His fingers felt blunted, he had trouble flipping the pages. He finally fumbled to the local section — then swung the rest of the paper away and exposed the whole page with a dramatic flourish.
MUTILATED BODY OF CHILD FOUND IN HILLS.
His breath stopped in his throat. For a moment, his heart forgot to beat or he forgot to breath — What-the-fuck!
He scanned the article quickly, trying to keep it together. She’d known. She’d thrown away yesterday’s paper and must have taken todays… She’d known it was the same and had tried to keep it from him!
And it was confirmed as the same M.O. — His M.O.
The dead child found was Billy Wasau — One of his hands had been severed and he had bled to death. The hand had not been found. There were still no leads. The body had been dumped in a local park, in some bushes. It had been found by a jogger. That was it. Concise and to the point.
Not possible. People don’t come back from the dead. NOT possible. Stay logical. Be reasonable.
He reread the article again. Once, twice, three times, four, five… The words were few and there was nothing more to glean, no matter how hard he tried to squeeze something out of them. An innocent boy was dead, two other children were still missing, parents were in an uproar, no leads.
Coincidence? No way. Too many exact details were the same. But that didn’t mean —
The thought hit him suddenly and with the impact of a speeding bus: Maybe he wasn’t dead? Eli hadn’t been truthful about so many things — why start with his own death? Could he have faked it?
Frank pondered the possibilities. He hadn’t really seen the corpse — He hadn’t made sure Eli was really dead — why would he? He’d been too freaked out by Eli’s promise to return. He’d assumed that when he saw that glaring stare fixed on him, he was dead… But what if —
He had to be realistic here — This sounded too crazy — It would’ve been damn near impossible to fake out everybody… There were so many people involved — from the Coroner to the Undertaker… There must be another explanation…
But what if there weren’t? What if this outlandish idea were true?
He knew how ridiculous it sounded. He couldn’t mention it to anybody… Jackie would think he’d lost his mind for sure. It was what she seemed to fear most from her latest actions… He couldn’t tell anybody… Except… maybe Fernando… It was risky but… maybe…
He wrote a quick note to Jackie — He knew he’d be out late and didn’t want her to worry. He’d take the newspapers with him and dispose of them later. He hated to conceal things from her but she’d started it…
He wrote that he was going to a fellow teacher’s bachelor party… That should give him enough time…
***
It had started to rain as Frank made his way into Hollywood in his VW. The rain beat a steady rhythm against the windshield and his old wipers were having trouble keeping it clear, squealing against the glass and clacking hard at the end of each stroke.
He’d packed the few necessary tools and odds and ends into the trunk and was trying to think how he could broach the subject properly with Fernando. He pulled up outside the crusty apartment building and let the engine idle and defroster run at full blast. What could he say that wouldn’t sound completely “out there”?
Fernando was the only one besides Jackie that knew about his suspicions regarding Eli. And he was the only one that had actually met Eli and had some idea of what he was like. Of course, that was before all the other information had come to light but…
Frank made his way up the flights of stairs without having settled on a plan. The rain against his face and head felt good — He’d have to wing it—decide how to handle it based on how Fernando behaved…
After all — It wasn’t everyday that you asked someone to help you dig up a corpse.
CHAPTER 21 – Apartment Visit
Fernando watched TV with his four-year old daughter Marta on his lap and his girlfriend Rosa next to him on the couch. When there was a knock at the apartment door, he somehow knew immediately who it was without surprise — They didn’t get many visitors and it somehow made sense that Frank was overdue to get in touch.
He lifted his little girl and handed her over to Rosa who accepted her with a clear expression of forced tolerance. It was one of those strange things about Rosa, it would’ve made sense if this were because Marta wasn’t her biological offspring (Fernando was well aware of the Latin tendency for jealousy), but it had nothing to do with that. She simply had no maternal instinct. In the past, Fernando would’ve never been in a relationship with a woman with this characteristic — but with Rosa, he was willing to overlook it without even being able to say why. The easy answer would’ve been her amazing aura of sexuality but he thought it was more than that — he just didn’t know what. There was something warm and magnetic and hypnotic about her that he couldn’t put his finger on… Besides, the issue of children didn’t come up very often since Fernando had only very limited visitation rights. He didn’t know how his ex-girlfriend had managed it but when he’d gone to court, the judgment had gone against him with the speed of the wind and he didn’t have the money to fight it. As it stood, he saw Marta one night a week and on those nights, Rosa usually chose to do something else. Tonight was an exception.
He moved to the door, finishing a mouth full of special cake he’d brought home for his daughter and trying t
o lick his fingers clean before reaching for the knob. When he swung open the door, there was Frank, just as he’d expected.
“Hey, Frank —” He asked with his mouth still full and with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “Come to go ghost hunting again?”
Frank replied with a straight face and hands in his pockets.
“Maybe.”
Fernando glowered.
“That was a joke, Frank. We’re lucky we didn’t get busted for bein’ at the hospital that night. They called me in for questioning first thing the next morning. You know that Lidia died the same night we were there, right..?”
Frank shook his head, surprised and saddened.
“No… I didn’t hear anything about it… That’s terrible…” He took a moment to absorb this and then asked: “Why would the Police question you?”
Fernando stepped to the side of the doorway for Frank to come in and watched his eyes dart quickly around the apartment taking in the details. He could almost tell which items he was noting in the Tiajuana-style decorated apartment — the black velvet paintings, the several crucifix, large and small, hanging on the walls, the collection of wrought-iron candle holders, and Marta’s colorful drawings taped to the far wall. Fernando knew his place wasn’t much but he was still proud of it. It was a long way from what he’d come from…
“I didn’t say the Police, Frank — Management. You know they said she killed herself but she could barely move..! I heard her hand was almost totally cut off her wrist, there’s no way she could do that!”
Frank had come inside far enough to notice Rosa and Marta on the couch and froze.
“Hi.” He said a bit awkwardly and gave Fernando a look. He leaned in and whispered. “Should we really be talking about this in front of…”
Rosa and Marta seemed amused and watched the exchange. Fernando laughed.
“It’s alright. This is nothing compared to the movies she watches.” He wagged a finger at Marta. “Movies that her mother lets her watch!”
After Death Page 17
