Entry Wounds: A Supernatural Thriller

by Brandon McNulty

  Once Ken set his candle aside, he grabbed Robby and sought out Eddie, who had taken a seat under a dripping oak tree.

  As they approached the boy, someone grabbed Ken’s elbow.

  It was Angela. She was crying, her eyeshadow in raccoon-like smears. Her chin fell against his shoulder as she wrapped her arms tight around him.

  “Ken,” she said, her voice muffled. “This is the worst.”

  He slid his left arm around her back. As her sobbing escalated, he lifted his cast to pull her into a full hug. Staring past her shoulder at the table, he noticed a photo of Angela with her students on a field trip. They were inside an underground crystal cave, one that resembled what Pete had drawn in his notebook last week. Ken could only imagine what she was going through, losing one of the many students she inspired.

  Another teacher came over to hug Angela, and Ken released her. He and Robby headed for the tree where Eddie sat, hanging his head, oblivious to the evening drizzle.

  Ken squatted beside the boy. “Great speech, Eddie.”

  “Yeah,” Robby said. “Powerful stuff.”

  Eddie shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Nothing I say will bring him back.”

  “In a way you did,” Ken said. “He’s back in our minds.”

  “Eh. Wish he was just plain here.”

  “We all do.” Ken twitched when a raindrop struck his neck. “It’s frustrating because it never should’ve happened. Not sure if you heard, but he OD’d on pills laced with fentanyl.”

  “Yeah. Fake Oxys. Makes no sense.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Pete was no pillhead.” Eddie lowered his voice. “Don’t tell nobody, Mr. Fuj, but we smoked weed together all summer. Sometimes we’d have a beer, and one time Pete tried shrooms so he could draw something trippy. No pills though.”

  Ken frowned. “Any idea where he might’ve gotten them?”

  Eddie shrugged. “We knew a guy, but the guy only deals weed.”

  “Who’s your guy?”

  Eddie clammed up.

  “Eddie?” Ken leaned closer. “C’mon, I need to know.”

  “Lay off him, Ken,” Robby said. “If he says his guy only deals weed, that’s probably the case. Pete might’ve hooked up with another dealer.”

  “Who else might Pete have known?” Ken asked.

  “No idea.” Eddie turned to Robby. “Funny you said ‘hooked up.’ Pete was bragging all month about some girl he was with. Thought he was bullshitting, but what if he wasn’t? What if his girl got him pills?”

  “Who’s the girl?” Ken asked.

  “Didn’t say.” Eddie shrugged. “Eh, he was probably lying. We’d always trash-talk about that stuff—he’d joke about banging my sister, I’d joke about banging his, that sorta shit.”

  “The other day Pete was upset over a girl,” Ken said, scanning the crowd. Through the drizzle, he spotted Lexi Isaacs by the memorial table. She had tears in her eyes and one of Pete’s framed drawings in hand. Her father was nowhere in sight, presenting a great opportunity to speak with her. “Thanks for the help, Eddie. Hang in there.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Rain patted Ken’s shoulders as he returned to the pavilion. When he approached Lexi, she didn’t react. Her attention was absorbed by the drawing she held. It depicted a floating castle comprised of human skulls. Her finger traced the structure’s walls. Ken had to call her name twice before she heard him.

  “What? Oh, Mr. Fujima. Hi. Did you want to see this?” She offered him the picture, and he remarked how eye-catching it was. She smiled. “I gave Pete the idea at lunch last year.”

  “Turned out great,” he said, noticing the meticulous detail that went into each skull. “It’s nice that you helped inspire him.”

  “Yep. Anytime I thought of something, I’d tell him.”

  “Didn’t realize you two were so close.”

  “We weren’t.” Her shoulders sank. She sounded frustrated. “We only hung out at lunch. I invited him to the movies sometimes, but he always said no. Guess I was too weird for him.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up.” He chose his next words carefully. “Pete might’ve just been interested in someone else.”

  “Oh, he was,” she said bitterly.

  “Sorry to hear,” he said. “Listen, when he stormed out of my class the other day, he mumbled something about girl trouble. Any idea who the girl was?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It might. I’m trying to figure out why he OD’d. Don’t want other students stumbling down that path.”

  Lexi chewed her lip. “When school started, I asked him to the movies, but he said he was seeing someone. He never mentioned her name though. Said it had to remain private till they were Facebook official. Now that I think of it, maybe he was making excuses—lying because he was too embarrassed to be seen with me.”

  “Did he mention—”

  “What’s going on here?” That voice. Soward. Ken turned and caught her glare. There were no tears in the principal’s eyes. Nor was there any strain on her face, only the usual scowl. “Mr. Fujima, what’s with the cast?”

  “Cast?” he said, tucking it into his pocket. “We’re at a vigil and that’s all you’re concerned about?”

  “Anytime you’re around my students, I have concerns.” Her eyes darted to Lexi. “Miss Isaacs, would you give us a moment?”

  Lexi backed away.

  Once the girl was gone, Soward closed in until all Ken could see was her wrinkled face. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Friday.”

  “Friday?” he asked.

  “Yes, Friday. Specifically your extended trip to the bathroom with Peter. In retrospect, I find it interesting. It doesn’t strike me as coincidence that the boy overdosed a day after I caught you in the bathroom with him.”

  “Caught me? I did nothing wrong. He stormed out of class, and I went to help him.”

  “So you say.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “I’m warning you.” She poked his sternum, tapping like an ice pick. “If I find any reason to report you to the authorities, I won’t hesitate.”

  “You won’t have to hesitate, because you won’t find a reason. I’ve never mistreated a student in my entire career. The rumors were never true, and you know it. You’re not afraid of me corrupting students, you’re afraid of me calling out your hiring practices.”

  “How dare you.”

  “I could say the same to you.” He lifted his cast and pointed the unseen gun at her. Not only did he want to shoot her dead, but he also wanted to revive her twice so he could unload his remaining bullets. “You never gave me a chance. The job was guaranteed to your eldest daughter’s boytoy.”

  Soward crossed her arms. “I hope you don’t plan on teaching in this area much longer, Mr. Fujima. Believe me, word gets around.”

  His cast shook with indignation. Inside, his hand swam with sweat. His finger greased along the trigger guard before sliding through. It was so satisfying, having her one pull away from landing on her back and never getting up.

  Even with dozens of people present, he wanted it. Not for the gun’s sake, but for his own. Objectively speaking, there were countless monsters who deserved a bullet more than Helen Soward, but on a personal level, there was nobody he’d rather empty his cylinder on.

  “Ken,” Robby said, breaking his trance. “Getting late. We should head home, man.”

  Ken knew his brother was right. This trip hadn’t garnered any solid info on Pete’s dealer, so it was time to regroup.

  However, he wasn’t ready to leave. He wanted to savor this, savor every second. After years of floundering in Soward’s presence and feeling like she was pointing some unseen weapon at him, now the situation was reversed. It felt great, being on the other side of the gun for once. Even better, she would never know how close she came tonight.

  He held his aim until she backed away.

  Chapter 38

  Two hours after the vigil, Ken’s mind kept r
eplaying his latest encounter with Soward. Something about her aggressive demeanor bothered him. As he sat in the living room recliner watching the Dodgers game with Robby and Hannah, he wondered what drew such venom from the principal. Was it the bathroom incident with Pete? The nepotism accusations? Or something else entirely?

  During the bottom of the third inning, Robby called up Rodano’s and ordered a large pepperoni pizza with sweet sauce. Ken’s mouth watered. Hopper must’ve sensed it too, because he hobbled in from the kitchen. The dog loved their crust.

  “Order a second pie,” Ken said. An extra pie would mean hot food for Glinski downstairs. He had promised her a decent meal after she wrapped his cast earlier today.

  “Can you order a plain?” Hannah asked from the futon. “I don’t eat meat.”

  “Then take the pepperoni off,” Robby said.

  “It’s not the same,” she said.

  “Order a plain,” Ken said. “I don’t think I can stomach anything spicy.”

  Robby nodded, doubled the order, and hung up. “Can’t wait. I’m gonna miss all the pizza places around here. Best thing about the area.”

  “The local shit is that good?” Hannah asked.

  “Hell yeah,” Robby said, lying back on the couch. “Nothing out in LA can compare. When we moved here, pizza went from my fifth-favorite food to the undisputed champ.”

  “It’s both cute and sad that you rank your foods.”

  “I meant when I was a kid,” Robby said. “That’s when we moved here.”

  “Believe me,” she said, her tone sharp, “I know when you moved here. It was when I moved into an orphanage.”

  “Poor you,” he said, sitting up. “Like that makes it okay to kill my father.”

  “Where were you the other night?” she snapped. “You could’ve saved him. Oh, wait, you were busy with a thick, juicy needle.”

  Robby launched from his seat. “How about I stick a thick, juicy fist in your gunshot wound?”

  “How about you both shut up?” Ken said, scrolling through local news on his phone. Their bickering was starting to agitate him. “Robby, take Hopper outside so he can do his business.”

  “We should let him piss on the futon,” Robby said.

  “Enough. Go. And both of you, stop acting like first-graders.”

  After Robby took the dog outside, Ken turned to Hannah. Her face was red, her cheeks wrinkled. She looked like one of the mourners at the vigil.

  “You okay?” he asked. “Your side bothering you?”

  “I’m good.”

  “You don’t look good.”

  “That’s flattering.”

  “Seriously, you okay?”

  “It’s nothing.” She shifted, wincing as she did. “Just that comment about acting like a first-grader.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just a saying.”

  “Ken, I was in first grade when my parents died.”

  Harsh silence hung between them. His instinct was to apologize, but he knew she hated the word sorry, especially when it came from a Fujima. “Want to vent about it?”

  She shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

  “Can’t be more complicated than my situation,” he said, patting his cast. “Tonight I pointed a hidden gun at my boss while attending a vigil for a student whose murder I’m trying to solve so I don’t have to shoot innocent people. Top that, Miss Complicated.”

  She smiled. For a moment she shut her eyes, then said, “Want to know why I’m a vegetarian? See, when I was little, Michelle and I were eating ham sandwiches on the Saturday afternoon my parents died. Mom made them for us—ham with cheese and a little mustard. Michelle was a faster eater than me, so she finished hers quick and went outside to play.

  “I was still eating when Dad got home. Usually when he came home, he’d chase after us and give us big hugs. That day, though, he walked past me in the kitchen as if I didn’t exist. By the time I followed him into his bedroom, he’d already gotten into the shower. I noticed his nightstand drawer was open. Inside was a big silver handgun.

  “That was the first time I’d seen a real gun. I thought it’d be cool to run around chasing bad guys, so I stuffed the rest of my sandwich in my mouth and grabbed the pistol. It was huge and heavy in my little hands, so I held it like a shotgun. Once I got a grip, I stuck two fingers inside the trigger guard and squeezed as hard as I could.

  “Then it happened. Boom. Loudest thing I’ve ever heard. The noise damaged my right eardrum and sent me to the hospital. I still remember the inside of my head throbbing like hell and the lingering taste of that ham sandwich. I never ate ham again and eventually lost interest in all meat.

  “At the hospital a doctor wrote a prescription for the pain. Dad visited the hospital pharmacy while Mom took Michelle and me back to the parking garage. Soon as we got in the car, I started crying because I realized I’d left my favorite stuffed giraffe in the doctor’s office. I begged Mom to go back and get it. When she finally caved, she told Michelle and me to wait in the car.

  “We waited.

  “And waited.

  “In the meantime, this ugly green car kept roaming around like it was looking for a parking space. The guy in the passenger seat stared at us. We got scared and thought we were gonna get kidnapped. Then Michelle spotted our parents. Dad had a little white pharmacy bag. Mom had my giraffe. They were arguing about something.

  “Then came the sound again. Boom.

  “Next thing I knew, Mom screamed. She fell, and the booming sounded again and again until Dad fell next to her.” Hannah sniffled and shook her head. “They never got up.”

  Ken felt himself sinking into the recliner. Twenty years ago in LA his father drove an ugly green Chevy. He sold it right before they moved to Pennsylvania.

  “Hannah, I—”

  “Don’t.” She held up a hand. “It wasn’t your fault. But me—if I hadn’t fired that stupid gun, we would’ve stayed home that afternoon, and maybe things would’ve been different.”

  Ken pushed himself up by the armrests. Rather than burdening her damaged eardrum with an apology, he knelt beside the futon and patted her hand.

  After a moment she sighed. “Know what I hate most about that day? I hate how normally on Saturdays we had what Mom called play day. We would visit the Griffith Observatory with our dog or drive outside the city to fly kites. I always looked forward to it, and we should’ve had it one last time.” She met his eyes. “If there’s anything you want to do before we leave here, you should do it. Whatever you love about this town, enjoy it while you can.”

  Ken glanced at his elbow, at the edge of his cast. Right where Angela had grabbed him tonight before they shared a teary hug. Perhaps there was still time for a goodbye. After he killed another dealer tomorrow, maybe he could ask her out to breakfast or something.

  The doorbell rang. He got his money ready for the pizza. When he opened the door, it wasn’t a delivery boy.

  There on his doorstep stood Officer Isaacs.

  In his hand was a black-and-white printout of Hogwild lying dead inside the concession stand.

  Chapter 39

  In the past forty-eight hours Ken had experienced many things that struck him as bizarre. If he’d been told last week that he would soon witness his father’s execution, grab an undroppable revolver, and shoot three people dead, he wouldn’t have believed a word. Now, however, his attitude toward reality had shifted. He’d developed a tolerance to the absurd. He could believe almost anything.

  For that reason, he didn’t even blink when Officer Isaacs flashed the photo of Hogwild’s corpse. Didn’t faze him one bit. Ken was honestly more surprised that the pizza wasn’t here yet.

  When the delivery boy arrived moments later with a short stack of cardboard boxes, Officer Isaacs pulled out his wallet and paid for the food. Now that was surprising. He grabbed the boxes and took a whiff of the rising steam. After a satisfied sigh, Isaacs asked, “What’d you order?”

  “One plain, one
pepperoni,” Ken said flatly. “Both with sweet sauce.”

  “Nothing beats sweet sauce,” Isaacs said. “Funny how we agree on certain things. Like that, and how the world is better off without Mr. Hogwild.”

  Ken’s pulse beat within his neck. He said nothing. Chances were, Isaacs suspected him but didn’t have hard evidence. Keeping calm was critical.

  “Relax, Fujima. I’m not here to arrest you. Can’t blame you for shooting the bastard after his slimy cock left your brother’s mouth.”

  Ken froze. Had Isaacs witnessed the whole thing? Or was he guessing based on evidence?

  “In fact,” Isaacs continued, “I’m glad you did it.”

  “You’re…what?”

  “I said I’m glad you did it.” Sincerity radiated from Isaacs’ steel-blue eyes. “People like Hogwild add nothing but misery to this world.”

  Ken suspected he was being lured into a trap. Continuing this conversation was too risky. He slid his sweaty index finger through the trigger guard and nodded at the pizza boxes. “I’ll take those, thanks.”

  Isaacs frowned. “Can I come in?”

  “No.”

  “Not as a cop. As a neighbor.”

  “Some other time.”

  “You know, last night a couple neighbors bothered me about another noise complaint. Said they heard a loud bang coming from your house. At the time I had my hands full with Lexi. She cried all night over her buddy Pete, so I didn’t have time to pay you a visit. Then this morning I decided to follow you around. Hoped you might lead me to something good—and you did—but I never pegged you as the type to whack your brother’s dealer. I was impressed.”

  Ken cleared his throat. “Impressed?”

  Isaacs glanced up the street. “I ever tell you about my daughter?”

  “You said she thinks I’m a great teacher.”

  “Not Lexi.” Isaacs swallowed hard. “Talking about my older daughter Jess. Years back, she was in a situation like your brother’s. Now she’s in long-term rehab up in Shickshinny. If you want to share a couple slices together, I can tell you more. If not, that’s fine. But Lexi mentioned you were trying to figure out who’s responsible for Pete’s overdose. If you ever need to pick my brain, give me a holler.”