Authors: Lauren Beukes
Broken Monsters (31 page)
Layla wakes
from muddy dreams at the sound of the front door opening. She thought she was too wound up to sleep, but somehow she drifted off. She moves to check her phone and remembers she can't risk turning it on. NyanCat is curled up tight next to her, a warm furry ball of reassurance. She sits up and turns on the light, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“You're not supposed to be here,” her mother says, stopping in the doorway. There's something wrong with her. “I thought you were going to stay over at Cas's house again.”
“I needed to talk to you,” Layla says, sick with terror. It makes her feel hyperattuned to everything. The sound of Gabi throwing her keys onto the desk by the front door, the bug pattering softly against the lightbulb, the glassy brightness of Gabi's eyes. “Have you been
crying
, Mom? Are you drunk?”
“I've had
a
drink. Grown-up's prerogative. It's been a bad day.” She walks into the kitchen with particular deliberation. The soft pop of a cork, the clatter of ice: the good whiskey she keeps in the cupboard above the sink for special occasions or especially shitty days.
She comes out holding a coffee mug, drops onto the couch next to her daughter and rubs NyanCat behind the ears. The cat opens one eye and nudges its head up into her hand, purring.
“Least someone still likes me.”
“I saw the news,” Layla says, carefully. She's never seen Gabi this shattered.
“Yeah, well.” She takes a sip from the mug, which is three-quarters full, Layla notices with alarm. “I got demoted and Travis's parents are dropping the charges. So, you and me, beanie, we got a load off. Although I spoke to your dad earlier, and he's riled. He said you had
not
called, as instructedâ” She notices the revolver on the table and stops midsentence. “Why is my gun out of the safe?
Jesus,
Layla.” She puts down the mug with a sharp clang and picks up the gun, flicking open the barrel to reveal that one bullet is missing. “What did you
do?
” Totally alert now.
“Did someone hurt you? Shit, did you kill someone?” There's a sharpness in the way she says it that Layla hears as: “Am I going to have to get a shovel and a carpet to wrap him in?”
“I wasâoh God, Mom.” Layla grabs the mug and takes a big gulp of the whiskey. Gabi doesn't stop her. It tastes like gasoline, burning down her throat into her chest. But there's a soft blob in her mouth. She sets the mug down and spits into her hand, jerking her head like a cat, until she gets it out: the moth that was pattering against the light, half-drowned, still moving limply. “Oh God,” she says again, in revulsion, but it's like the bug has made way for the words to come spilling out. All of it, in between racking sobs. The dumb shit they were doing online, trolling pervy boys on SpinChat, VelvetBoy and the diner and all the awful messages she's been getting, and Jonno's offer and the money and their stupid, stupid blackmail ploy and the tussle over the gun.
Gabriella listens attentively and doesn't say anything until Layla runs out.
“Why didn't you tell me about this?” she says in a very soft, very dangerous voice. It's worse that she's not rampaging around the room breaking stuff. She once saw her mom throw an apple at her father's head in the middle of a particularly bad argument. It smashed in a splatter of pulp against the doorjamb.
“I was trying to sort it out. It was my fault. I didn't want you to have to deal with it.”
“You're fifteen years old! You can't sort out
shit
.” Gabi closes her eyes. “Give me your phone.”
Layla hands it over, contrite. “The messages are horrible, you shouldn't look. I can't even face turning it on.”
“And get your jacket.”
“Where are we going?”
“Tomorrow, you're getting on the first plane to Atlanta.”
“What? No!'
Gabi drops Layla's phone in the mug of whiskey.
“Are you crazy? Mom!”
“But right now, we're going to go dig a bullet out of a playground, so it doesn't mess up some future case if someone gets shot nearby. I've already screwed up one case. I'm not having this on my damn conscience too.”
“I'm sorry.” Layla trails after her, desperate. “Please don't send me away.”
“Do you know where my toolbox is? We're going to need pliers, maybe a screwdriver to pry the slug out. Did you see where it went?”
“I said I'm sorry!”
“That doesn't cut it, Lay.” Gabriella turns on her. “That's not enough. Sorry means that you
stop
doing stupid shit.”
(773)-936-[Redacted]
Caller #0054
Hi there, this is Amber Parkwood. The psychic. I helped your department with the train-track murders a few years ago?
Yes. Please could you ask the detective who found the body to call me. I have critical information from Daveyton Lafonte.
Yes, he has my number.
She.
Of course. Excuse me.
Her energy is very male.
Please ask her to call me. It really is critically important. Daveyton says the next body is going to be found in the river.
(412)-873-[Redacted]
Caller #0106
Hi, yes. Um. I have information about the man you're looking for.
Clayton Broom.
My name? Louanne.
You need my last name too?
All right. It's Becker.
No, Bee not Dee. That's B-E-C-K-E-R.
I dated him a few years ago, well, we went on
a
date. It was a mistake, I was drunk. I never would have⦠But never mind that.
The last time I saw him? I'm getting there, I'm getting there. Coupla weeks ago, before Halloween, he comes and finds me. Middle of the night, he hunts me down to a parking lot in Traverse City, can you believe that? And knocks on my car window.
Yes, I was in the vehicle at the time. I was sleeping in my car, all right? You never had a rough patch?
Fine, establishing the facts, whatever. Think I don't hear you judging me?
I'm trying to tell you what happened. Be patient, jeez! First you want every little detail, now you want me to rush?
Clayton knocks on my car window, wakes us up, me and Charlie.
He's my kid.
No, he can't corroborate.
He's two years old, ma'am! He can just about say mama and bottle and Buzz Lightyear.
Okay, Clay knocks on my window, scares the bejesus out of me. He's all talking crazy. About how he misses me and we can be a family. Then he starts in on his usual crazy shit. About this other dimension and I don't know. Like God gave him magic 3D glasses so he could see angels and devils.
No, not actual glasses. He always used to talk like that. Ever since I've known him. The waitresses at the diner used to rib him about it. I guess I encouraged it. I'm not proud of that.
Oh, yeah. Yeah, I think he's definitely capable of all those things they say he's done. Stalked me halfway across the state, didn't he? Nearly ran me and my boy off the road when I took off. Serves him right he crashed his truck. Scared the bejesus outta me. But shit, if I thinkâ¦
No, I don't know where he is now. He has a house in Detroit, don't he? You checked there?
No, that was the last time I saw him, smashing his car through the trees. I didn't stop to check.
No. I didn't call 9-1-1.
I just didn't.
I was scared. I didn't want to get involved.
I wasn't leaving the scene of an accident! I didn't cause it! He did. Going crazy like that.
Oh God, he's mad crazy. I never thought. I never would haveâ
No, I didn't hear anything from him after that. I guess I hoped he was dead. Not dead. That he'd learned his lesson. I took off anyway.
Pittsburgh, yeah that's where I'm calling from. It's nice enough. That's a lie. You try to get away, but every place is the same, you know? You're still right there in it.
I didn't want to report it. I wanted to forget the whole thing. I tried to put it outta my mind. Didn't even think about it again till I saw him on the TV. Hey, is it true what they're saying on the Internet?
Even though I was nearly one of his victims!? And you can't say? Don't I got a right to know?
I will take it up with the detective. You bet. You tell him to call me.
Yeah, I'll be willing to testify 'bout what happened. If it helps you put him away.
This is the best number to get me on.
I don't have a permanent address right now. I'll give you my mom's in Burton.
Hey, you think I got a legal claim against the state?
For, I dunno, undue distress from being stalked by a madman who should have been locked away?
Well, can I get a restraining order?
Yeah, yeah, fine, I'll get a lawyer. Somewhere. No harm in asking. Not like the law is part of your job.
No, that's all.
Hey, hey wait. You still there? What do you think he was going to do to us? To Charlie and me?
(313)-402-[Redacted]
Caller #0114
Yes. Police. The killer is outside my house! He's outside my house right now!
What? No.
No, he's black.
I don't know. Maybe early twenties? Thirties. It's hard to tell. He's got a black hoodie and a backpack.
What is he
doing?
What do you think he's doing! Figuring a way to get in and chop me up and stuff me like a turkey for Thanksgiving! Just like all those other murders on the news.
Excuse me? What kind of question is that? Have I been drinking? You should be asking where the killer is. You should be asking what
he's
drinking.
You mean right now? He's walking. Like he doesn't have a care in the whole world. Yeah, right past my house.
Don't tell me to calm down! He's outside my house! He's going to break in here and kill me in my bed and the police don't give a flying fuck. I know my rights! I can stand my ground. That murdering son-of-a-bitch comes near my front porch and I'm gonna blow him away!
Hell yeah, I think you
should
dispatch someone. Right away. Damn straight.
For my own safety? I got a shotgun, lady. But all right, I'll stay on the line. But you tell your boys they better get here fast, because otherwise I'm going to shoot the shit out of the murdering nigger before he tries to do the same to me.
(313)-690-[Redacted]
Caller #0132
He gotâ¦he got Ramón. You gotta come. He killed him. I can tell it's him by the shoes. Them red shoes. I gave him those damn shoes. But he's stuck.
You gotta comeâ¦
It's right here.
Where I'm standing! Here. It's corner of, let's see⦠I'm looking. Jefferson and, I, I don't know. The street sign has fallen down. Where that big mural of the eagle is. By the bus stop. Where the kid was killed. You know the one? Please come. Right away. Please.
(313)-690-[Redacted]
Caller #0132
It's me, again, I'm sorry. 'Bout earlier. Iâ he's my friend.
Are you on your way? Please, you gotta come cut him down. He's stuck here with the bears and the balloons and
I got the other street name. It's Clare. Corner of Jefferson and Clare. You got it? His name's Ramón Flores. I got to go. I know where he is.
Not Ramón. Ramón's right here. Aren't you listening? The man who
did
this to him. He's covered with, oh God, all kinds of stuff. I can'tâ.
It's some kind of pattern. I don't understand it. Like the chairs.
What do you mean, what do I mean? The chairs. The fucking chairs! The patterns. He infects you. He brings things out!
No, I can't wait here. You just come get Ramón down. You phone Diyana. No, wait. Don't phone her. She can't see him like this. Phone Reverend Alan. Get him to keep her at the church. She mustn't come down here. Under no circumstances, you hear! She can't see this. Oh, Ramón, I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry. Jesus.
No, I can't wait, I told you. I have to go find him. I know where he is. The chair told me. I have to go.
(212)-495-[Redacted]
Caller #0133
Hey! Is that the hotline?
Oh man, this is so cool.
No, I'm phoning from Fort Greene, in Brooklyn. We've got a theory about the killer. We know who she is. Well, me and Martin. Some of the others on the board think it's unlikely, you know, being a woman, but if you look at the footage from the party, there's this one woman who is acting incredibly suspicioâ
What? The Detroit Monster board. On Reddit.
No.
(606)-553-[Redacted]
Caller #0146
Yes, hello, Detroit PD.
Because I'm using a voice distorter.
Because I want to be anonymous.
This is not a waste of police time! We are doing your job for you. You should be grateful.
(919)-167-[Redacted]
Caller #0398
We've figured out who the killer is. It's Clayton Broom!
No. I didn't see it on the news. We worked it out from the evidence.
Wait, it was on the news? Shit, I haven't checked the board this morning. Yep. You're right. There it is. My bad. Well, hope you find him!
(313)-690-[Redacted]
Caller #0132
I know where he is. I found him. There's a truckâ
No! Don't hangâ
Ramón was
a good disciple. He worked so hard to help Clayton move all the furniture and the newspapers and the sculptures to the place they had chosen. He helped arrange them, even though he didn't understand and he got scared when he saw how the dream was alive in them, how things stirred and rustled and turned their heads to look.
But it was able to reassure him that this was as it should be, that they were bringing everything together like storm clouds. The dream could feel it. The possibilities catching in people's minds. But it still had to show them what could be.
Ramón wanted to bring Diyana to show her that the work he was doing was important, and his friend, TK, because he didn't believe in this stuff, and he wanted to show him what could be possible. But the dream said he had to wait, there was one more thing it needed him for.
But he was upset when Clayton pulled the Police out of the car in the garage and told him they were going to do something special.
Ramón started crying then. Louder when he saw what the dream had made for him, his new head. He called out for Diyana and he fought. He hurt Clayton. He cut his arm with a chisel he picked up from the tool rack, tried to stab him in the neck. But it was only a chisel, not a knife, and Clayton was bigger and stronger and although the physical pain was alarming, the sharp burn of it firing through his nerves, the dream could push through it.
“This is what you wanted,” it told Ramón over and over, until he stopped struggling. “This is what you wanted.”
It tucked the envelope into Ramón's mouth, his real mouth, underneath the big papa-bear head, like he was a mailbox. (Don't Kill the Messenger.) The card inside was hand-lettered.
Come One! Come All!
Everyone is invited!
Clayton Broom First Time Ever Solo Exhibition!
The Fleischer Body Plant
One Day Only! Don't Miss Out!
They will find it and they will come, like disciples, and so will the reporters with their television cameras and their helicopters and the arrogant young man with his Internet, and everyone will see what they are supposed to see.
They will bring all their eyeballs, and all their minds will open like doors, and then maybe they will all be free too.