Hope For Garbage (12 page)

CHAPTER 27

Trevor opened his eyes to a mirage of blurry images.  Waves of blue and green light passed in front of him; everything was out of focus.  An unfamiliar voice with a British accent came from somewhere in the blur.  “Trevor, can you hear me?  Your eyes will need some time to adjust to the light.  Give it some time.”

Immediately a throbbing sensation began above his left eye.  It felt like someone was stabbing him with a dull pencil.  The ripple of pain shot through his head and forced him to close his eyes again.

The Brit continued, “You are in the hospital Trevor.  You suffered some head trauma and it may take a little time for your vision to return to normal.” 
He put something cold under Trevor’s shirt causing him to flinch.

“
I’m Dr. Novak.  I’m a neurosurgeon at Southwest Hospital. Do you remember anything that happened Trevor?”

Of course he remembered.  That asshole u
ncle of his destroyed the Box and came at him with an axe!

Trevor opened his mouth to speak, but his head hurt so bad, the words came out in a shriek, “Yes I remember.  Jesus, can I get something for the pain?”

“We are administering the medicine now.”  The doctor’s voice sounded farther away.  “We want to bring you out of sedation occasionally to see how you’re healing.  Everything seems good so faarrrr…”

The words faded away from Trevor and a blanket of numbness settled over him.  Pain-free and relaxed, he drifted into the nothingness once again.

***

Lorene and Bea drove from Tom Tyminski’s house in silence.  When they had gone to his home, there was no one there.  They knocked and knocked, but got no answer.  When they went around back to try the other door, they were faced with an awful scene.

Bright yellow crime tape circled the perimeter of Trevor’ backyard.  In the center, stood the Box that Trevor took such pride in—a black, crumbling pile of burnt wood and ash.

Underneath the rubble, Lorene could see metal tools that had managed to survive the flames.  Perhaps some of those tools could be salvaged for the boy.  She tried to
think of something positive…the scene was just so horrible.

Of all the boys Bea could’ve gotten mixed up with, it had to be this one.  It was pointless to try to ta
lk her out of seeing him again.  The girl had a mind of her own and would have to learn on her own.  Lorene liked Trevor a lot, but the drama in this boy’s life was more than most adults could handle, let alone a teenager.

Out of nowhere
Bea yelled, “Turn there!”

The girl scared her
half to death. “Bea! What are you yelling about?  This isn’t the way to the freeway.”

Bea was pointing to a white sign on the side of the road, “There!”

As they got closer Lorene could read the black lettering,
Westwood Cemetery- est.1814. 
The bad feeling that was sitting in the pit of Lorene’s stomach suddenly grew times ten.  Against her better judgment, she slowly pulled the car into the driveway leading to the cemetery. 

Lorene was pretty sure she knew the answer but she asked anyway, “Now, what’s this about?  Why do you want to go
here
Bea?” Lorene wondered how much Bea knew about Trevor’s mom.  What exactly had he told her about his past and that horrible day?

Bea looked the same way Lorene felt—tired.  She
spoke in almost a whisper, “Trevor told me his mom is buried here.  He told me a little bit about her, and I guess I just want to see.”

Lorene sighed and continued down the drive.  The cemetery was enormous—nothing but scattered grey
stones over vast green hills that seemed to go on forever.  How would they ever find the McNulty site?

Bea must
have been thinking the same thing, “Maybe they have a caretaker or somebody we can ask.” 

Lorene scanned the cemetery and spotted a small brick building to the far right side.  As they approached the building, Lorene noticed an old wood sign out front that had seen better days.  Black, painted letters were
chipped and faded in creepy cemetery fashion—OFFICE.

They parked the car and went inside.  The small room was dimly lit and had a pungent musty odor.  A reception desk sat on one side, and an array of stone samples lined the opposite wall.  Church music played quietly in the background.

Lorene rang the silver bell on the desk and an elderly lady emerged from a room in the back.  She was a tiny thing with patchy gray hair and glasses.  Her back was hunched over so low, the edges of her pink cardigan almost touched the ground.  She took careful baby steps toward them as they waited patiently.

“He
llo.  What can I do for you?” she creaked.

Lorene
spoke loudly, “Hi.  We were wondering if you could help us locate a grave.”

The elderly woman suddenly fell back into the chair behind the desk.

“Oh!  Are you okay?”  Lorene asked.

T
he woman ignored her, and at a snail’s pace reached into the desk drawer.  “Sure, I can help you with that.”  She opened up a large three-ring binder in front of her.  “I’ll just need a name and year of death.”

Lorene glanced over at Bea who was on the other side of the room reading the gravestone samples.  “Well, we aren’t sure of the year exactly.  It was a few years ago,
2010 I believe.  The name would be McNulty, Paula McNulty.”

The old woman abruptly stopped flipping through the pages and looked up at Lorene.    She lowered her glasses and peered
over them, her eyes so scrunched up, Lorene was sure they were closed, “
The
Paula McNulty?”

“Uh, yes.  Paula McNulty.”  Lorene confirmed.

Without warning, the woman slammed the binder shut, making Lorene and Bea both flinch.  “Well, I know that one.  Kind of infamous around here you know.”  She rattled it off eerily, “It’s section twenty-three, row fourteen, grave six.”

She continued, “You drive straight back to the large angel monument on your right.  If you walk
due east from there to the middle of that section, you’ll find it.  There are metal markers in the ground next to all of the sites with numbers on them.  The number you want is 23146.”  She scribbled it on a post-it note and handed it to Lorene.

“Thank
you very much,” Lorene took the note and grabbed Bea’s arm.  “C’mon, let’s go.”  She just wanted to get this over with.

They got in the car and slowly dr
ove to the angel monument.  Following the old woman’s directions, they walked east to the middle of the section, scanning the names on the gravestones as they went.

“Bea honey, I have to ask why you want to do this.  What do you hope to gain from visiting his mom’s grave?”

Bea was a couple of rows over.  “I don’t know Lorene…I just want to see it, okay?  I’m not sure why.  Maybe because it’s a part of his past.  I’m just trying to understand all of this, you know.  I…”  She stopped mid-sentence.

Bea was now on her knees reading the stone in front of her.  “I found it!”

Lorene stepped carefully through the maze of gravesites and stood behind Bea.  She read the small stone in front of her:

PAULA MCNULTY

February 2, 1974
– September 21, 2010

“Oh my God…”  Bea whispered.

Lorene knelt down beside Bea and put her arm around
the girl.  Chills went up her spine.

Bea’s voice was shaking as she pointed to
the smaller stones in front and read the names:

ALLISON MCNULTY         JACOB MCNULTY

200
7 – 2010                                                    2004 – 2010

Lorene already knew the tragic story of Trevor’s past from researching it.  But seeing these children’s tiny graves was almost more than she could bear.

“W
hat’s going on?  I don’t understand this.”

Lorene could feel tears welling up in her eyes.  The day had been an emotional roller coaster from the start.  “I wasn’t sure about what he had told you, or even if it was
my place to tell you.  I thought maybe you’d look it up online.  You were thirteen when it happened so I’m sure you weren’t keeping up on the latest news...”

“Wait!  News?  Lorene, what are you talking about!?”

“Then you two broke up…I guess I should’ve told you the whole story before this.”

Bea looked more confused than ever; she wanted answers.  Lorene let out an exhausted sigh, “I’m not really sure where to begin.  Let’s go sit over there.”

A small stone bench stood appropriately under a weeping willow.  They sat down and Lorene began telling the story.

CHAPTER 28

Another unfamiliar voice was calling his name.  “Trevor!  Trevor!  Can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes to blurry images which slowly came into focus.  A short smiling Asian man was standing over him.

“Trevor, hello!” he said in a thick Chinese accent.  “I am your nurse today.  My name is Kym.”  He pointed to a large whiteboard on the wall across from his bed.  Giant red letters spelled out, ‘KYM Day Nurse’.

Kym continued talking very loudly with the same stupid smile plastered to his face.  He was not helping Trevor’s pounding head one bit.  “There is a man here to see you.  Do you feel like you can talk?”

Anything would be better than listening to more of Kym.  “Yeah, I guess.”  His throat was killing him.  “Can I have some water though?”

“Sure, sure, of course.”  Kym reached over to the pink plastic water pitcher and poured him a cup.  He held it to Trevor’s lips while he drank.  His mouth was so dry; it felt like his tongue was velcroed to the roof of his mouth.  As the cold liquid went down his throat, it filled all of the parched cracks and crevices.  It was the best water he had ever tasted.

As he finished his drink, a tall
African-American man walked in.  He was probably in his fifties, completely bald, and well-dressed.  He also had a very serious expression on his face.

Nurse
Kym scurried out of the room.  Uneasiness crept into the pit of Trevor’s stomach.

The man walked over to the side of Trevor’s bed and sat in the chair, “Hello Trevor, I’m Detective Mike Walker from the Westwood Police Department.”  He pulled out a badge from his inside coat pocket and flipped it open.

Trevor barely glanced at it.  “Hi,” his voice creaked—God, he sounded pathetic.

“How are you feeling son?”

There was something about the word ‘son’ that made him feel a little more at ease, and Trevor felt his insides relax a bit.  “Truthfully, not so great.”

The detective leaned in closer, “And I’m really sorry about that, but time is of the essence.”  He paused and looked over at Nurse Kym who had re-entered the room.  Kym was standing on the side of the bed fluffing the same pillow over and over.  “Do you think we could have a word in private?” the detective asked.

Kym’s permanent smile suddenly faded, “Oh, sure.”  He looked directly at Trevor, “If you need anything—anything at all—you just push that button.  Okay?”

Detective Walker turned his attention back to Trevor, “Son,
do you think you can answer some questions for me?”

The throbbing in his head was getting worse.  “Yeah, I guess.”

The detective pulled out a pad and pen and Trevor suddenly felt like he was in some bad movie drama—the whole thing was just surreal.  “What do you remember about the events of last Sunday when…” he pointed to Trevor’s head, “this happened?”

He may have suffered head trauma, but it definitely hadn’t affected Trevor’s memory of that day.  The scene was crystal clear in his mind and he slowly began t
elling the detective everything: Uncle Gary swinging his axe like a madman, the look in his eyes, the confrontation in the Box—all of it.  “He must’ve hit me with the axe.  I don’t remember anything after that—just waking up here.” 

Detective Walker was jotting down notes in his pad, “You were fortunate he got you with the blunt end.”

“Yea, real fortunate.”

“Do you have any idea where your uncle may have gone?” 

Trevor’s stomach turned, “You don’t know where he is?  Seriously?  Jesus, he could be anywhere—I have no idea.”  Then a thought suddenly came to Trevor, “But, Mr.T was there… maybe he saw something.  Did you talk to him?  And my dog Jip!  Is Mr.T taking care of him?”

The detective looked down at his pad of paper, “Your dog is fine.  A woman named Carol Sorak is taking care of him.  She said she was a friend of yours.”   He paused, “By
Mr.T, I assume you are referring to Tom Tyminski?”

“Yeah, old guy... he lives next door to me, a good friend of mine.  He was right there.  He probably saw the whole thing.”

The detective sighed, “Trevor, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Tom Tyminski was pronounced dead at the scene.”

As the words were spok
en, Trevor felt his face grow numb, then his fingers, and then his whole body.  The words faded into the background—he wasn’t hearing them right.  He didn’t say…

Trevor
desperately searched the detective’s face, “This can’t be right.  No, no, Mr.T was outside—he was never in the Box with us.  He wasn’t there!  This has to be a mistake!”

Detective Walker’s expression didn’t
change.  “I’m sorry son.  Tom Tyminski died on scene from a heart attack—probably brought on by smoke inhalation.”

Smoke inhalation
?  “I…I don’t get this!  Smoke inhalation?  There wasn’t a damn fire!”  Trevor’s head was spinning.  This couldn’t be happening.  “Where was the fucking fire?” he felt his voice cracking.

Just then Nurse Kym entered
the room, “Okay Trevor, the monitors are telling me your blood pressure is going up.”  He walked over to the IV machine and hung a new bag adjusting one of the plastic tubes.  “I think we need to cut the chat short guys, okay?”

Detective Mike nodded and started to get up.  Trevor grabbed his arm, “No!  Please don’t go yet.  First you need to tell me how this happened!”  Maybe the detective was wrong, maybe he had the wrong guy, maybe
Mr.T was okay…
Mr.T had to be okay.

The detective looked over at nurse Kym who simply said, “Five minutes,” and
then walked out of the room.

“We have a few witnesses—neighbors who were having a cookout a couple of houses down.  They saw the whole thing, and from what we can gather, after your argument, your uncle apparently set the garage on fire.  You were unconscious inside—struck by a blunt object, probably the axe.”

“The Box…” Trevor whispered to himself.

The detective paused, “When the neighbors saw the smoke, they ran
over and that’s when they saw Tom Tyminski pulling you out of the fire.  Another minute or two probably would’ve been too late.   He saved your life.”

Trevor let the words sink in. 
Mr.T had saved his life.  The old man had pulled him out of the burning garage and it had killed him.

T
he feelings inside him were too overwhelming and he felt himself floating toward the numbness once again.  Everything got blurry, and then once again, went black.