Good & Dead #1 (14 page)

Jim didn’t answer, but continued into the room toward Charlotte.

“Miss Charlotte?”

“Oh, Jim!  This is the boyfr—” Charlotte stopped at the look on the big man’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“There are some cops downstairs.”

“Why?” Charlotte asked, putting down her tools.

“They say they need to ask you some questions about a homicide.  What are you keeping to yourself, beautiful?”

Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment.  “There was a….”

Michael knew she had been trying to get her mind off of what had happened.  He walked back into the room to answer for her, since Brad just stood there looking stupid.

“A woman was killed in the alley behind the theatre on opening night,” Michael said.

Jim crossed his big arms.  “What has that got to do with Miss Charlotte?”

“Um…she was the last one to leave.  That’s probably all it’s about.”

“I’ve already told them everything, which is nothing.  I didn’t see anything.  I wish I had….”

Brad finally sprang to action, putting down his tools and patting her on the back.

“Miss Charlotte, I’m very glad you didn’t see anything,” Jim said, “God knows you’ve seen enough in your young life already.”

Charlotte glanced at Michael and Brad at those words, before taking a deep breath and retrieving her coat from the ladder she had laid it on.

“I might as well get it over with,” she said, donning her hat and mittens.  She marched right out of the room at a determined pace.  All three men glanced at each other before deciding to follow her.

“Miss Charlotte,” Jim said when she reached the main doors before them, “wait.”

Jim was huffing from the half-jog down the stairs.  He gave her a long hug and said something to her that the others could not hear.

She smiled weakly at him and waved at the two younger men before turning to open the door.

“Wait—“ Michael said, unconvinced by her business-like demeanor, “Do you want me to come with?”

Charlotte glanced at Brad. 

“I was already about to go.  I’ve got that make-up final in an hour,” Brad said apologetically. 

“I’ll be alright, guys.” Charlotte’s cheeks were flushed red.  “I’ll be fine.”

“Let him go with you, Miss Charlotte.  Please,” Jim’s eyes were full of fatherly concern.  Charlotte gave in under his gaze.  She shrugged at Michael with a half-smile.

There was a sharp knock on the door and a dark shadow on the other side of the frosted glass.

Jim opened it and put his full and impressive size between the young officer and Charlotte.  “She’ll be out in a minute.”  His tone left no room for debate.  Jim closed the door in the man’s face and turned to give Charlotte a bear hug.

Brad glared at Michael while her face was buried in Jim’s dusty jacket.

“Young man, take good care of her,” Jim warned, releasing Charlotte and catching Michael in a hug as well, “I hope we see you again.”

“Brent,” he added, patting Brad on the back so hard he coughed, “thanks for coming.”

Michael and Charlotte rode in silence.  The two police officers on the other side of the glass talked about baseball.  Charlotte stared out the window.  Michael tried not to breathe in the smell of blood and urine and wondered what the dark stains on the back seat were.  He would've given anything for his old sense of smell.

He had never been to the police station before.  The outside was very formal and beautiful, but the inside was another matter.  He had gotten the impression that police stations were tidy.  This was utter chaos.  Once they got past the first desk and the first set of paperwork, they came to a huge room with low ceilings and about thirty desks all backed up into one another to form rows.  Florescent lights flickered and buzzed from the stained ceiling onto mountains of paperwork and uncomfortable office chairs.  Everywhere, uniformed and plain-clothes police officers worked busily.  They turned down a short hallway and came to a stop outside a tiny office.

"Take a seat," their badged escort said before disappearing.

It was barely bigger than a closet.  A desk sat in front of mismatched filing cabinets, and two ugly purple chairs waited in front of the desk.  Charlotte sat, as ordered.  Michael tried to sit, but his knees banged into the front of the desk.

"Ouch," he said, pushing the chair as far back as it would go.  They still hit the desk.  Michael squeezed in sideways and was forced to cross his legs in a very ladylike fashion.

Charlotte snorted.  "I'm so glad I met you."

"Did you just snort?"

She stuck her tongue out at him.  “I feel like I've been sent to the Principal's office."

"I can't imagine you ever being sent to the principal's office."

"This would be the first time," she said proudly.  "I can't imagine you got into much trouble, either."

"You may be surprised.  I'll have you know, I got a week's detention once."

"What?” She leaned forward in her chair. “What for?"

"Randy and I got caught setting up a LAN party on the school roof."

"No, you didn't!"

"We did.  It would have been awesome, too.  We had the new WOW expansion and six cases of Mountain Dew."

"Good Lord."

"Ms. Charlotte Birdwell." Detective Paole had arrived.  He stood in the doorway with a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of papers under one arm.  He walked around behind the desk and sat his mug down on a flowery coaster.  The stack of papers hit the desk with a loud thud. 

"Good afternoon," Charlotte said, sitting up straighter in her chair.

"Who's this?" he asked, gesturing to Michael.  "He looks familiar."

"This is my friend Michael," Charlotte replied. "I think you met him at the theatre the other night."

"Wallace.  Grim Reaper.  Scared shitless.  I remember you now."

"Thank you, sir," Michael fumbled.

"Ms. Birdwell," the detective said after a sip of very black coffee, "What time did you say you left the theatre on October 28th?"

"I think it was around 3:35 on the morning of the 29th, Sir."

"Why so late?"

"We had a little opening night party.  I stayed after to clean up."

"No one stayed to help?"

"No, sir.  I told them they could go home.  This play is my midterm for a class, and a lot of the cast and crew are friends, just helping me out.  They'd already worked so hard, I just told them to go."

"Hmmph," he took another sip of coffee.  His face didn't look any more alert with the caffeine than without.  There were dark circles beneath his eyes and stubble on his chin.  He had thick brown glasses he kept pushing back up the bridge of his crooked nose.  "You've worked pretty hard yourself, I'd say."

"Sir?"

Detective Paole picked up the top folder on the stack of papers and opened it up.

"You grew up in Washington Heights.  You graduated from high school, which almost no one from that neighborhood does.  You're about to graduate college.  You've got all these uptown, educated friends who, by the look on your face, I'm guessing have no idea who you really are, do they?"

Charlotte’s cheeks were flushed red.  She didn't look at Michael.

"No," he said, throwing the folder back onto the desk.  "I thought not."

Charlotte cleared her throat.  "Excuse me, Sir, I don't understand what any of this has to do with—”

"The victim has been identified as one 'Barbra Whitfield'."

The color drained from Charlottte's face.  "Ms. Barbra?"

"You knew her?" Michael asked in surprise.

"Yeah." Charlotte put her head in her hands. "She's a friend of—" her voice trailed off.

"What was that, Miss?" Detective Paole asked, a crooked smile on his face.

Charlotte sat up even straighter.  "Sorry.  Yes.  I knew her."

"I'm so sorry," Michael said, "Was she a friend of the family?"

Charlotte looked uncomfortably at Michael, then at Detective Paole.

"Ms. Whitfield was a close acquaintance of Ms. Birdwell's mother."  He was answering Michael's question but looking at Charlotte.  There was a challenge in his eyes.  "In fact, Ms. Laurie Birdwell was listed as her emergency contact."

"I can't believe she's dead.  I hadn't seen Ms. Barbra in years."

Michael reached for a tissue from the desk and handed it to her.

"Tell me, Ms. Birdwell, what do you think a woman…" He cleared his throat. "…from Washington Heights was doing in your new side of town?"

"Oh, God," Charlotte said, "She was there to talk to me, wasn't she?"

"We found this letter in her jacket," the detective said, pulling a photocopy of what looked like a torn piece of notebook paper from between the files on his desk.  He handed it to Charlotte.

Her hands trembled as she read it, and tears splashed onto the page as her eyes reached the bottom.

"She was coming to give me this."

Michael felt he shouldn't be there; shouldn't be hearing this.  He thought about asking her if she wanted him to leave.

"You made quite a clean break from your past, Ms. Birdwell."

Charlotte shrugged.  "I kind of had to."

"Mr. Wallace, did you know Ms. Birdwell's mother spent three years in prison for solicitation?"

Michael's eyes narrowed.  "No, I didn't know that.  It doesn’t seem like it’d be any of my business."  But the detective wasn’t looking at Michael.  His eyes were fixed on Charlotte.

Charlotte was stiff in her chair.  She didn’t look at Michael.

"Does anyone at your school know that?" the detective asked meaningfully.

"Wait—you think—?"  Charlotte stood up suddenly.

"A surprise guest from your past, showing up in the middle of your new life?  You couldn't have liked that very much."

"I didn't even see her!  I cleaned up and I left!  I had no reason to look into the alley!"

"I read the review for your play.  Sounded pretty good.  And that's a tough critic, from what I'm told.  You wouldn't risk a reappearance of your old crew ruining your shiny new life."

"I didn't kill Ms. Barbra!" Charlotte yelled.

"Sit down, Ms. Birdwell."

"I didn't kill her!  If I had met her that night I would've—"

"What?  Introduced her to your college friends as your whore mother's whore best friend?  Showed them that you're just the bastard daughter of a cracked-out prostitute?"

"Hey, now!" Michael said, rising, too.

Charlotte sat down and cried into her hands.

"What the hell, man?" Michael snatched a kleenex from a box on the desk and held it out to Charlotte.

Detective Paole smirked at Michael.  He lifted Charlotte's folder off the stack of papers and opened it.  He perused its contents, looking bored.  Finally, he seemed to have decided something.  "Alright, Ms. Birdwell.  You can go."

"What?" she asked, looking up and wiping her red nose.

"This is all circumstantial.  I can't hold you right now.  But don't go anywhere."

"Seriously?" Charlotte said, shaking.  "I am not a killer.  I've worked so…” She shook with anger. “…
so
damn hard to get out of that place-- You think I would throw all that away just to kill my Mother's friend?  I would've known I would be the first person you'd come to in your investigation.  If it had been me, don't you think I would've moved the body?  I wouldn't have been honest about who she was if I'd seen her.  You're right.  I'm a horrible person, okay?  But that doesn't mean I would kill her!"

Detective Paole pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair, studying Charlotte's tear-streaked face.

"I've seen people kill for a metro card, honey.  A pack of cigarettes.  You clean up nice, but you grew up with the rats."  He shrugged.  "You're a rat."

Michael led a shocked and inscrutable Charlotte out of the police station and hailed her a cab.  Her expression shifted from angry to sad to scared so many times on their way out the door that Michael was sick to his stomach just watching her.  He opened his mouth to say something comforting but his mind was a total blank.  He knew he should say something.  He just didn’t know what.  Her lip quivered as the familiar yellow vehicle slowed to a stop. 

“I’m sorry about your friend,” he offered.

Charlotte gave him a tear-streaked smile and shrugged.  “It’s been three years since I saw my mother, Michael.  Three years.  And I never once thought about Miss Barbara.  They were so close.”  Her lip trembled. “More like sisters than friends.  Now my mother has no one,” she said, her voice cracking.  “And she was only there to bring me that letter from my mother.  If I had just called, even once…”

Charlotte’s hair was caught in a sudden gust of freezing wind.  Michael stepped in front of her to shield her from the icy blast, and she looked up at him with sadness and guilt and hurt so deep in her eyes that he wondered how he’d never noticed it there before.

His voice caught in his throat.  “I’m sorry,” he said again.  He felt stupid and useless.  He gestured to the police station, “That detective is a douchecanoe.”

She shook her head and laughed, and put her glowing smile back in place.  But Michael had seen her now; she wouldn’t be able to fool him again.  “Yes.  A total ballsack.”

Michael startle-laughed so strangely that a passing child jumped.  The cabbie honked and rolled down the window to holler at them.  “You getting in or not?”

Charlotte opened the cab door and started to get in, but turned back.  “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” he promised.   

She shut the door without another word.  Michael watched her go with a heavy feeling in his stomach.

His own journey home was a long one.  Michael was so distracted by his thoughts about police and his worries about Charlotte that he didn’t notice Randy’s rusted out car parked outside his building. 

It wasn’t until he reached the top of the stairs that he remembered Randy’s game of Dungeons and Dragons.  He leaned his forehead against the door and rubbed his temples.

I can’t keep this up.

They were already in there.  He could hear them laughing from the hall.  Michael tried to think about past games and get into the spirit of things so that Randy wouldn’t have reason to pester him about his odd behavior.  It used to be something he looked forward to all week, something he would never have forgotten about.  Randy usually cooked some of his spicy chili and the others would bring the paper bowls and chips.  In two years of overdue papers and un-studied-for midterms Michael always found time to plan a fun adventure for them. 

He could muster up enough energy to get through one game.  Maybe it’d be good for him.  Michael readied his apologies and opened his door.

Everyone was there, seated around the tiny table, fully engaged in a battle.  Bell sat on a folding chair, wearing a tight gray dress with knee-high brown boots, shaking a handful of dice.  The guys were all as still as statues, watching her with such a level of fascination that for a moment Michael thought they were actually under some sort of spell.  She raised her hands up to her red lips to blow on them for good luck and noticed Michael standing there, his mouth hanging open.

“Michael!” she said. “Welcome home.”

Everyone turned to the door in surprise.

“Hey, Michael!” Randy said, “Did you forget about us?”

“I…” Michael was dumbfounded.

“Come on in, Michael,” Bell said, gesturing to an empty chair next to her. “I’ve been telling your friends about how we met when I was moving in.”

“Awesome, man,” Randy said, walking to the kitchen to stir the large steaming pot on the stove.

“Okay…”

Bell smiled at him.  Michael was getting really tired of that smile.

His friends had been in the same room with a killer for the better part of an hour and she was sitting comfortably, eating his best friend’s chili and smiling mockingly about it.  Michael ran a hand through his hair and forced a smile.  “What…are you playing?” He asked the room. 

“I stepped in as a temporary DM, since you were so late,” Randy said with a great deal of pomp.  “I think it has gone swimmingly so far.”

“He’s making crap up,” Joe said.

“We are attempting to empty the Castle Anthrax, which has been over-run with goblins,” Randy said, sitting back down.  Michael noticed he chose the sturdiest chair and sat lightly, glancing at Bell.

“Your neighbor stopped by looking for you,” Brian said, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses, “so we asked her to take your spot.”

The guys all looked at Bell with goofy smiles.

“I’m sure you did.”

The hot girl nerd.  She was an elusive mythical creature, dreamed about for generations.  They thought they’d found her: they’d never forgive him if he asked her to leave.

“I didn’t think you’d be into this kind of thing,” Michael said to Bell, trying to sound friendly.

“It’s not really that complicated,” Bell said, “Your Armor Class is how difficult you are to hit.  If you get hit you lose hit points, and your bonuses affect the damage you can inflict on your enemies.”

All four men crossed their legs, each with varying degrees of success in subtlety.

“We are just about to open the dungeon door,” Joe said through a mouthful of chips.  “Grab a character sheet.”

Michael stood there uncomfortably.

“Come on, Michael,” she said, patting the empty folding chair next to her.  “Isn’t this what you live for?”

The question went unnoticed by the group, but neither its meaning nor her mocking expression were missed by Michael. 
What is she even doing here anyway
? 

“Fine,” Michael said.  He sat carefully; the table was so small that their thighs were almost pressed together. 

“Here are the extra characters,” James said from Bell’s other side, handing her a stack of papers.

“Thank you,” Bell said with her wickedly beautiful smile.

James made a sound a little like a rooster and turned it into a cough.

Bell passed them to Michael, put her arm around his shoulder and whispered into his ear while no one was looking.  “
This
is the life you can’t give up?”

Michael’s shoulder twitched involuntarily at her breath on his ear.

“You alright, Michael?” Randy asked.

“I’m fine,” Michael shrugged Bell’s arm off his shoulder.

Michael wasn’t thinking about how dangerous it was to oppose Bell.  He was getting tired of being scared.  He was getting tired of keeping secrets. He was getting tired of lying to his friends. 

There’s that anger,
Bell’s voice teased him
.  Let it out to play, Michael.

He stared down at the character sheets without really seeing them.

“I’m tired of my elf maiden,” Bell said, handing it to Michael, “why don’t you play her?”

“Michael doesn’t know how to play any ‘her’,” Randy teased.

“Ha ha,” Michael read the elf’s stats.  She was a mediocre level one. 

“I’ll take this one,” Bell said after leafing through the pile.  “Level 13 Barbarian…90 hit points…ooh, a great axe.  I like this one.”

“That shouldn’t be in there,” Michael protested, “Where did you get these, Randy?”

“Alright, let’s kill stuff!” Randy said, wiping some errant crumbs off of the battle mat.

“Yes,” Bell said, looking pointedly at Michael, “Let’s.”

Michael tried not to glare at her.

“I try the door,” Joe said enthusiastically.

“Not going to check for traps?” James asked, chewing on the end of his pencil.

“Hey, don’t help him,” Randy said, already rolling.  “What’s your reflex?”

Joe checked his sheet.  “Twenty,” he said hopefully.

“aaaaand the floor falls out from under you.  You fall fifteen feet onto a bed of spikes.  You take 16 damage.”

“I roll an acrobatics check to reduce the damage!”

“Alright, good luck.”

Joe rolled and mumbled calculations under his breath.

Bell took the opportunity to lean toward Michael unnoticed.  “This is how you’d spend eternity?”

“I only take four damage,” Joe said.

“Alright,” Randy said, disappointed, “but all the damage was to your right testicle and you’re slowed for the rest of the encounter.  James, your turn.”

He took the pencil out of his mouth, “I check for traps.”

“You find a pit trap with a skewered rogue in it.”

“Very good.  I disable the trap.”

“It’s already been sprung.”

“You could help me out,” Joe offered.

“Nah.  I jump over,” he said, returning the eraser end to his mouth.

“Brian,” Randy said, “go.”

“I cast fly on the rogue.”

“Thanks.”

“Michael?” Randy said, gesturing to the mat.

“I jump the pit and open the door,” Michael said stiffly.

“It opens!” Randy exclaimed.

“You’re welcome,” Joe grumbled.

Randy waved him off, “Calm down, you only need one.”

“Alright, you see a large room beyond the door, brightly lit by the torches on the walls.  There are fifty goblins gathered around a cauldron filled with cheese dip—“

“Oh, come on!” Michael protested.

“Alright, soup; foul smelling rat soup,” Randy said.  “They point at your party and the largest one yells ‘Crackers for soup!  Get them!’  Aaaand the lovely Bell.  Take it away, gorgeous.”

Bell spoke immediately.  “I select the largest of the horde and look him straight in the eyes before slowly unsheathing my long sword.  I charge him, using Rage Attack, swinging my weapon in a powerful arc, slicing him in half at the navel.  As his blood slings off my blade to splatter his compatriots I draw my great axe up between the legs of the goblin to his right, cleaving his pelvic bone in two with enough force to lift him off the floor.  I use his momentum to topple the boiling cauldron, scalding all adjacent enemies.  They scream like prepubescent boys.” She paused to brush a strand of red hair from her face.  “Frightened without their mothers.”

They all stared at Bell.  The pencil fell out of James’ open mouth and clattered on the table.

“What?” she said. “That’s what I’d do.”

“That’s what she’d do!” Randy said, knocking over all the goblins on the battle mat.

“Come on,” Michael said, “she didn’t even roll for it!”

“Beginner’s luck,” Randy said, waving Michael’s comments away.

“That was like three move actions and at least two attacks!”

“That’s what she’d do, Michael.”

Michael made a frustrated sound under his breath and turned to Bell.  “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” Bell said, following Michael toward the balcony.

“Don’t scare her off!” Randy called from the table.

I wish I could
.

Michael opened the window to the fire escape and moved aside to let Bell through first.

“Always so polite,” she said, ducking the frame and stepping into the icicle-laden space.

Michael waited until the window was shut before speaking.

“Why are you here?” he asked, the words coming out a lot more rudely than he intended.

“I guess not
always
.”

“I’m sorry,” he ran both hands through his hair, and forced his tone to come out cordial, “Why are you here?”

She smiled.  “I was just coming to congratulate you.”

“For what?” Michael asked.

“Your first kill, of course,” she said, “I honestly wasn’t sure if you had it in you.” 

Michael stared down through the patterned metal floor.

“Of course, your victim was nearly dead to begin with….”

Michael clenched his fists and took a deep breath.  “He was ready to go,” he said it as much for himself as for Bell.

“So the elderly aren’t worth as much as the young?”

“No—”

“Hey, it’s none of my business, really: if you get off playing god then by all means…”

“I’m not playing God.”

“Well what would you call it, then?”

Michael didn’t have an answer for that. 

“I don’t know who you’re trying to fool with this saint routine you have going, but you can’t keep this up.  I know that much.  You think you’re going to be able to sneak into nursing homes for the rest of your life?  In case you have forgotten, Michael, that is a lot longer now than it used to be.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Michael said quietly.

Bell sighed and gestured inside at his friends.  “Staying a part of your mortal life is only drawing out the pain.  These over-idealized friends won’t live forever; especially when they inevitably see something they shouldn’t have seen and I send Joseph over here to slaughter them.  They’re not what you think they are, Michael.  Do you think even one of them would stick around if they knew what you were?” Her hands had settled on her hips. “If they knew what you’d done?”