“Is she a friend of your dad?”
“I don’t know. I think maybe he’s scared of her.”
“What’s her name?”
“I don’t know. That’s all I remember about her. Red hair and smiling.”
Bonnie nodded thoughtfully, and did not know what to make of any of it.
“Anything else?”
“Two girls kissing.”
“What?”
Evan was looking down at his hands again.
“Two girls. I think they’re kissing. Their faces are, like, pressed together, but I thought…” His voice trailed off.
“What did you think, Evan?”
“I thought they were melting together. Pieces were falling off.” He shuddered as he said this, as if a draft of cold air had caught his neck.
Bonnie said nothing for a moment.
“Maybe you’re remembering a bit of a movie. Dad likes scary movies, doesn’t he?”
“Uh huh, but this was real.”
“And that’s everything?”
“There’s a boy.”
“A little boy?”
“He’s big, like a grown-up, but he’s always smiling, and spit keeps coming out of his mouth. His name is Henry.”
“Did you tell the doctors or the police any of this?”
“I was scared.”
“Hmmm. How big is the blackness? I mean, how long? What do you remember before?”
“I remember Dad’s birthday.”
“That’s July twenty-first. That’s more than two weeks ago.”
Evan nodded.
“You’ve lost two weeks?”
He looked more frightened than ever.
“Last night you said your dad was coming to get you, that he was going to take you to them. By them, you mean the boy and the lady and the two girls kissing?”
“Uh huh.”
“What do they want you for?”
Evan was quietly thoughtful for a few seconds. “They want to change me.”
“Into what?”
“Something else,” Evan said.
For the first time, Bonnie felt some of the boy’s fear, felt it as her own.
“Can you remember anything else, Evan?”
He shook his head.
“Anything. Please, Evan, think hard.”
“I can’t remember anything!” He was on the verge of angry tears now.
She sensed that there was something else, something he wasn’t saying, but she decided not to push. Their relationship was fragile enough already.
“Evan, I want to call that policeman, the one from the hospital, and tell him what you said.”
“Will I get into trouble?”
“No you won’t. I promise you. And nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let your daddy take you, or those other people. I promise. Okay? Believe me?”
Evan nodded, and he smiled a worried smile, but he did not look convinced.
Shep sat on a wooden bench in a small park in a run-down residential neighborhood. In the park were swings, some monkey bars, a couple of picnic tables, a lot of trees, and a pack of kids. Sunlight, dappled by the leaves of the trees, warmed his face. He leaned back, arms hooked over the back of the bench, and relaxed. He had his Thermos flask of coffee beside him and a bag of honey-dip donuts. He watched the small bungalow on the other side of the street, perhaps a third of a block away.
Most of his anger had dissipated overnight. Yesterday he had been careless, and it had nearly cost him a lot. The redhead was good. She had known he was following her.
Thinking about it, he shook his head and smiled bitterly.
The bitch.
His neck still stung where the kid had scratched him, but now he had the red line covered with a bandage. So far, nothing in the news about the shootings.
Yesterday afternoon he had returned to the house on Empire Street, but the chance for a surprise strike had slipped away. The place was deserted. The blinds and curtains were all open. The redhead did not return. When he had driven by the place this morning, a FOR SALE sign had been planted on the front lawn. If it had been their base, they had abandoned it for another.
He sipped his coffee. The morning was beautiful, cool, breezy. Almost made him wish he didn’t have a job to do. Nice day to walk around with nobody to watch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a day like that.
Behind him, the screams and laughs of the kids in the park came to a sudden stop. A moment later a softball thumped off the back of the bench, just missing his right hand, and bounced to a stop a yard in front of him. Shep stood up, picked up the ball, and sat down again.
Within moments, a young boy, perhaps nine years old, was standing at the end of the bench, looking at him. The kid had a baseball glove hanging from one hand. It looked too big for him.
“What do you want, kid?”
“You picked up our ball.”
“What ball?”
The kid opened his mouth, closed it again, looked back at his pals, and then at Shep.
“You picked up our ball,” he said again.
“This ball?”
Shep popped the ball out of hiding, caught it, and rolled it between his fingers. The kid followed the movement with narrow eyes.
“Give it.”
Shep held up his other hand. In it was a five dollar bill. The kid’s eyes left the ball and focused on the bill.
“Throw the ball to your friends, then sit down a sec. Answer a couple of questions, and I’ll pay you.”
Shep tossed the ball. The kid caught it. He stared at his friends a minute, thinking about it. Smart, Shep thought. Finally, greed won out over prudence. The kid tossed the ball, then sat down next to Shep. Stupid.
“Give me the money first.”
“Answer the questions first,” Shep said.
“What kind of questions?”
“See that house over there? The white one, with the green trim. Just over there.”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“You know who lives there?”
The kid thought about it. “Yeah, sure. A lady.”
“Just a lady?”
“Yeah. My mom says …” His voice trailed off.
“What does she say, your mom?”
“She says the lady who lives there is a slut.”
“She does, does she? You ever talk to the lady?”
“Nah.”
“Anybody else live there?”
“Yesterday, I saw a kid go in and come out. He was sick or something.”
“Anything strange ever happen over there?”
“Like what?”
“Like, I’m asking the questions, you tell me.”
“No.”
“Okay, fine.”
“What about the money?”
Shep put the five away and took out a quarter. He tossed it to the kid.
“Hey! You said five bucks!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You asshole!”
Shep turned growling. The kid bolted.
“Tell your mom I said she’s a slut!” Shep yelled.
“Asshole!”
Shep laughed. He put a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and poured himself another coffee. Two cups and four cigarettes later, the kids who had been playing in the park trooped by him single file. The boy with the answers flipped him the finger. Shep waved.
It was nice to have silence. He had fifteen minutes of it before being interrupted again. Across the street, from the white house with green trim, the woman and the boy emerged. They stood on the step, locked the door, then walked down to the street. The boy walked with his hands stuffed into his pocket, and when the woman reached to put an arm around his shoulders he drew away. She did not reach for him again. The boy was very watchful. Shep had seen the look many times. It was the look of somebody being hunted.
They crossed the street and walked toward him. Shep crushed out his cigarette.
When the woman and boy were a few yards awa
y, the boy glanced at him. Shep smiled.
“Hi,” Shep said.
The woman glanced over, saw his smile, and smiled back.
“Beautiful day,” Shep said.
“Yes,” she said.
Then they were past. Shep lit another cigarette. He did not move from the bench.
As the morning wore on, the temperature rose, but in the shade it was comfortable. It was a very relaxing morning. He grew tense only twice. Once, when a dark sedan slowed as it passed the white house across the street. Shep could see nothing beyond the car’s dark glass, but he knew. It was them, watching for the woman and boy. Drive-by surveillance. The car circled the block three times, and then did not come back. Perhaps the driver had seen Shep, and had spooked. But probably not.
The second moment of tension came when a woman opened the door across the street and stared at him. Shep stared back.
“What are you doing there?” she called across to him.
“Sitting,” Shep called back.
She went back inside and closed the door. Her face appeared in the window every few minutes, watching him. He ignored her.
The woman and the boy returned before noon. They had a shopping bag with them. This time, when the boy looked at him, Shep grinned and gave the thumbs-up. The boy smiled nervously and looked away. The woman smiled. She was very pretty.
When they were back inside the house, Shep rose and stretched. He yawned. He took a minute to clean up the cigarette butts, toss them in the trash, then walked back to his car, two blocks away. If he was going to stake them out properly, he needed supplies.
He had not yet figured how Bonnie Laine and Evan Laws were connected, to each other or to the freaks, but that they were connected, he had no doubt.
He had needed a way to reach these fuckers, other than the house on Empire Street. Now he had it.
Evan was watching Wheel of Fortune when the doorbell rang. Bonnie came through from the kitchen.
“Don’t worry. I know who it is.”
She answered the front door. Evan listened to the voice of the visitor, recognizing the even, reassuring tones.
When Lieutenant Peterson came into the living room behind Mom, Evan stood.
“Hi, Evan,” the policeman said.
Evan said nothing.
“How’s your finger?”
“Itchy.”
“Well, that’s a good sign. Means that it’s healing.”
Evan sat down again. He didn’t say anything about the stump growing.
“I told Detective Peterson what you told me,” Mom said. “Like we agreed.”
Evan now wished he hadn’t said anything. Since he had told Mom about the lady with the red hair and the smiling boy/man, he hadn’t been able to get the pictures out of his head.
“Mind if I sit down, Evan?”
“No.”
Peterson sat down next to him. “Maybe me and Evan should talk man to man.”
Mom looked at him. She looked unsure. “Oh, well, maybe I’ll just go and finish up supper,” she said.
When she had gone, Peterson looked steadily at him. Evan felt uncomfortable. He felt like he had been telling lies.
“So,” Peterson said. “Tell me about the lady with red hair.”
Evan took a deep breath and told him everything. The policeman had more questions than Mom, but Evan had no more answers. He gave the detective the same story.
Afterward, Peterson went through to the kitchen to talk to Mom. Evan listened to their conversation over the noise of the television.
“I’m glad that you called,” Peterson said, “but I’m not sure his memories mean anything.”
“They frighten him,” Mom said.
“Yes, I can see that. But, I’m not sure there’s anything to them. My own boy has quite an imagination, too, and half the stuff he talks about is out of this world.”
“What about his dad coming to take him away, or give him to some people?”
“Obviously, he’s suffered a trauma. His memory loss is reasonable.”
“Reasonable?” She shook her head, frustrated and growing angry. “Couldn’t it mean something else?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Two girls kissing. The redhead trying to kiss him. Could Harris have been …” She could hardly get the words to come out.
“Could he have what?”
“I mean, could he have been involved in child pornography or something?”
The way she spoke, Evan could imagine something squishy wriggling out of her mouth.
“That’s a huge leap to make.”
They were speaking more softly now, as if worried he might hear.
“What bothers me is that you haven’t made that leap yet!”
“What you’re suggesting is very farfetched, but I’ll look in that direction if you really want me to. His memory should come back, I’d think. If you’re worried about it, I could arrange for him to see a police psychologist under the Victim Counseling Program. He’s not really eligible, but I could pull some strings.”
“You don’t think Evan’s in any danger?”
“I doubt it.”
“But the way he described that boy or man, or whatever, it really sounded like the person who was watching us in the mall.”
“You mean the person you were watching. Couldn’t that be where he got it?”
“I don’t know. He’s frightened.”
“Little boys often are.”
There were noises, and Mom was leading Peterson to the door.
“Bye, Evan,” Peterson said.
“Bye,” Evan said.
“If you remember anything else, you just tell your mom, and she can tell me, okay?”
“Okay,” Evan said.
When he had gone, Mom came into the living room.
“Well, he doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about.” She did not sound convinced. “Memory loss is reasonable after a bad accident. It will all come back.”
She went into the kitchen, looking troubled, to continue making dinner. Evan stared at the television without really watching it.
It will all come back.
It was coming back already, since he had told Mom. Little pieces. Fragments, brilliant and frightening. The redheaded woman. The boy/man, smiling, drooling. The two girls kissing, faces falling to pieces. And something else. Something dark, and shadowy, waiting to be discerned. Something that moved sluggishly, and made horrible sounds, and knew his name.
It will all come back.
That was the problem. It was coming back, and he didn’t want it to. He didn’t want to remember any of it.
Chapter Seven
Evan’s face was white when he came out of Dr. Helen Johnson’s office. She ushered him to a seat beside Bonnie, then kneeled down beside him. Bonnie, who had been reading a well-thumbed magazine about travel in Europe, put it down and cleared her mind of the fantasies that had entertained her for the past half hour.
“Now, Evan,” Dr. Johnson said, “can you sit here quietly for five minutes while I talk to your mother?”
Evan nodded.
“Is he okay?”
“Fine. Come on into the office.”
Evan had already picked up a fashion magazine and was flipping through it. There were photographs of nudes in there, Bonnie remembered, and almost reached to take it away. Under the doctor’s watchful eyes, she resisted.
“I’ll be back in a minute, honey.”
Evan had found one of the nudes. He nodded distractedly. Bonnie followed Dr. Johnson into the office. The walls in here were cluttered with framed diplomas, photographs, and posters. One of the posters was of a woman, face shadowed, head bowed. Above her hung the words, RAPE IS A CRIME AGAINST THE MIND, and at the bottom of the poster, Minneapolis Police Association Victim Counseling Program. Books lined the wall behind the desk, along with a couple of trophies shaped like targets. She had almost forgotten that Dr. Johnson was affiliated with the police department. Outside the office
window, across the street, she could see the courthouse, brilliant in the morning sunshine. Police cars lined the street below.
Johnson was only a couple of years older than Bonnie. Bonnie squirmed uncomfortably as she sat down, feeling inadequate. Helen Johnson was beautiful, and composed, and intelligent, and successful. Everything Bonnie wanted to be, but never would be.
A television on the shelves behind Dr. Johnson was tuned to static. A video camera was aimed at the seat where Bonnie was sitting. She eyed it suspiciously.
“It’s not running, don’t worry,” Dr. Johnson said.
“I’m not worried.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you were. I used the camera with Evan.”
“But why?”
Dr. Johnson clasped her hands atop her desk. Her blond hair, curled around her neck and shoulders, looked shiny and healthy.
“We seem to be getting off on the wrong foot. Can we start over? I’m Helen Johnson.”
Bonnie blushed furiously, realizing how testy she had been.
“I’m sorry, it’s just, well, I’ve been so worried about Evan.”
“I understand that. It’s a lot of responsibility to shoulder without much warning. I think it was very brave of you.”
Bonnie took a deep breath. She smiled, and although the corners of her mouth trembled, she felt better.
“Thank you.”
“I taped the interview with Evan because it’s our policy to do so, and because I thought you might want to see some of it.”
“Oh.”
“But before we go on, I want to know what you think about what’s happening.”
“With Evan?”
“Evan, his father, the police, all of it.”
“I…” The words would not come.
“It’s not a test, Bonnie. May I call you Bonnie?”
“Yes, sure.”
“I just want to see where you’re coming from, Bonnie.”
Bonnie squirmed, uncomfortable with Helen Johnson’s use of layman’s terms. It felt as if she were being talked down to.
“I’m worried, of course.”
“I mean, do you suspect something happened to the boy? Lieutenant Peterson mentioned that you were concerned about a possible pornography connection.”
“I don’t know.”
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