Killing Red (14 page)

I am so very proud of you Alex,
Grubb began, the smile still pasted across his face.
I’m glad that we have this opportunity to become better acquainted. I hope you did as instructed and carefully studied the information here at this shrine. I know that if you did that, and did so with an open and clear mind
—Grubb poked at the middle of his forehead—
then you have a better picture of my mission, and perhaps you will even allow yourself to become an advocate, a convert. Am I asking too much? I don’t think so. If I could make you see things through my eyes, Alex, you would understand everything.

Grubb appeared as he had just a few days earlier. In fact, the video could have been shot that same day. Chapa knew that prisoners found ways to get their hands on all sorts of things. But smuggling a video camera into a maximum security prison and getting the recording back to one of Grubb’s zealots was a bit beyond the pale.

I was portrayed by the folks in the media, like yourself, as someone who chose his targets at random, but that wasn’t the case. I did what had to be done to those who needed it done to them.

A noise from somewhere off-screen captured Grubb’s attention, and he turned toward it. A look of concern replaced the smugness, but only for an instant.

I performed a service that would earn me hero status if the simple people understood. I would get a fucking parade down State Street if they understood. I rendered monsters that, though small, would have eventually brought more horror and misery to the world than I ever could. I’m not a murderer. I am a crusader who prevented evil creatures from committing future crimes.

My work was far from done when Red turned on me. I was fooled by her, and tried to make her cleansing as painless as possible.
Grubb leaned in toward the camera in a way that distorted his features.
I made a mistake. And you made her into a hero, but that’s only because the people don’t understand. When that cop shot me I was trying to show them how Red had been bound. No normal child could’ve escaped. I was disposing of a creature so vile that the dirt itself spit her back out. I know now that was only temporary. My work continues.

I am like a parent, and a good parent nurtures his offspring because he knows they are the ones who will continue his work. I have always been a good parent. My work continues because of that.

Grubb reached inside the front of his jumpsuit and produced a photo. He looked at it for a moment before turning it so that it faced the camera. It was another candid of Annie Sykes, different than the one on the wall of the trailer, but probably from the same day.

I hope you understand now, and you are ready to take what must seem like a large leap of faith. I don’t believe it is. There is such little time left for you to come around. You must tell the truth about Red.

Grubb looked around as though he was making sure no one was nearby or walking in his direction. His eyes locked in on the camera. Then, without as much as the slightest hint of difficulty, the killer pushed himself up and out of the chair until his elbows locked. Grubb’s lips parted, creating a jagged chasm that no sane person would’ve labeled as a smile.

Chapa was mesmerized by the sight of a crippled animal rising from its trap, wondering if he’d just seen the killer’s right foot move on its own.

Me and you, we’ll talk again,
Grubb said, no strain in his voice, then reached up and stopped the recording.

The television switched off, and the uneven shapes returned to the dark screen. It took a moment for Chapa’s eyes to adjust back to the muted light of the trailer. Wanting to watch the video again, certain that he had missed something, Chapa pressed the buttons without bothering to cover his fingers this time. Nothing happened. He tried again, holding the buttons down longer. But the television did not respond. Maybe he could pry open the wall behind the curtains and get at it that way. That, however, might take a while. The light outside was in full retreat now, and he had no desire to be anywhere near this place once night came.

Chapa decided he would take some of the displays with him, for fear that they, along with the trailer, might vanish after he left. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the video behind, and wondered how long it would take him to tear up the plywood wall and get at it. Chapa considered his limited options as he sat there for a moment, staring at the reflected shapes on the television.

And then one of those shapes moved.

Chapa gripped the crowbar and bolted to his feet. In one desperate motion he brought the weapon up to an attack position and turned to see who was behind him. But before he could do that, a sharp pain stabbed into the soft area between his neck and collarbone. He lost all feeling in that arm and dropped the crowbar without knowing he had released his grip until it clattered against the floor.

Slumping forward, Chapa was certain he was going to fall. But he knew that would be a mistake, so he willed his upper torso to work with his suddenly rubbery legs, and Chapa again began to turn in the direction of his assailant.

But his attacker, more shadow than human in Chapa’s hazy view, was moving much faster. Something metallic and heavy slammed into Chapa’s forehead, blinding him for a moment as shards of pain ripped through his skull. He was already too far gone to realize he had lost his balance, and was now completely out of options.

As he fell backward, his eyes at half mast, Chapa saw that the bathroom door was now open. His left shoulder hit against something hard and unforgiving. The last thing Chapa heard was the sound of the TV crashing to the floor, but it registered several seconds after it fell, and at that moment the noise sounded like it came from somewhere far away.

The child who would become Kenny Lee Grubb was barely a dozen years old when he committed his first murder. It happened the summer after fifth grade. His family had moved to Illinois from Mississippi the week before, so Kenny knew no one and no one knew of him.

He met Cliff, who was two years younger and liked to smile a lot, while playing behind a nearby junior high school that had been abandoned for the long summer break. Cliff had found a large pile of bricks along the back of the school and was carefully stacking them to build a fort.

“Can I help?”

“Okay, just keep putting them on top of each other the way I started to.”

They spent the next half hour building the makeshift and unsteady wall. Kenny had altered the pattern just a bit, and they wound up with one extra brick.

“Here, I’ll put it right on top by itself,” Cliff said. “That way if any bad people show up, we can use it to scare them off.”

Cliff’s family lived in Ohio, and he was spending the summer with his grandparents while his folks were going through a divorce. Grubb envied his new friend. He had often wished that his truck driver father would never return from the road. Maybe then one of his mother’s boyfriends would stick around for keeps, or even better, they’d stop coming by altogether.

Sometimes when Kenny’s father was around he would try to engage the child in a conversation about sports, or tell him stories from the road. These always started out well enough, with his father calling him over and tossing a beefy arm around the boy’s shoulders. But Kenny had been through this process enough to understand that in the same way a smattering of clouds and a gentle breeze out in the Atlantic start out with good intentions before they merge into a raging storm, so it was with his father’s occasional interest in him.

Eventually, the man would manufacture a disagreement, or create a reason to complain or pick on Kenny. Things would deteriorate in a hurry after that. Before long the child’s pleas were as useless as yelling into a roaring hurricane as it blows the house off its foundation.

The boys avoided trouble, but not mischief, and for the first time in his life Kenny had a sense of how friendship could feel. Though they had very little in common other than their loneliness.

“Have you told your grandparents about me?” Kenny would ask every few days.

“Nope,” always Cliff’s response.

“Good, don’t. Like I’ve told you, I’m like a ghost.”

The deserted school became a favorite hangout, and they would ride their bikes to it several times a week. The three-story brick structure had been built in the 1930s, and originally used as a high school until a more modern version replaced it. Kenny had found a way inside through an old storm shelter, and left a basement window unlocked so they could get back in any time they wanted. The building, full of odd hallways and secret spaces, served as a giant playroom. Cliff was always the first one to run into a strange or dark place, and he came out laughing every time.

Kenny liked climbing up to the old brick building’s third floor, its scuffed, uneven boards creaking beneath his feet, and looking down at the world below. Everything he hated seemed so small and far away from up there. He wanted to open one of the large windows and scream out as loud as he could.

They would end each day by going down one of the fire escape chutes on the top floor to the blacktop below. The tubular slide was dark and rough and it scared Kenny just a little each time, but he liked that rush.

They were about to end another day that way when Kenny called Cliff into one of the third floor classrooms.

“You don’t have to go yet,” Kenny said. “You’re just trying to get home to watch some stupid TV show.”

Cliff laughed and followed Kenny into a classroom that was full of pictures of animals, molecules, and other illustrations detailing various parts of the human body. An impressive mobile of the solar system sat on a lab table in the middle of the room. Cliff pressed his index finger against one of the planets, gave it a push, and the whole solar system spun.

“I like science,” he said.

Kenny had opened a large window, and the breeze that invaded the room blew papers around and threatened to knock the mobile over.

Cliff couldn’t imagine how he had not noticed the open window before.

“That wasn’t like that, was it?”

“Nope. I like to open it and stick my head out.”

“Well, you’d better close it, and let’s get going.”

“Wait, check this out.”

Kenny climbed up on a desk that sat next to the window. Paint chips fell to the pavement below as he carefully placed his feet on the ledge and squatted, folding his knees out toward the opening. He then slapped his hands open palm against the glass above, and eased his head and as much of his upper torso as he could out into the void.

This had to be the bravest thing he had ever done, though Kenny had never been able to coax himself into looking down from this vantage point.

“Careful, somebody might see you,” Kenny barely heard Cliff say from inside the room.

After the wind had blown his hair around a bit, Kenny slipped back inside.

“Your turn.”

Cliff hesitated for just a moment, then smiled and walked to the window. Kenny was surprised that his friend had hesitated at all, but Cliff made up for it by not being as cautious once he got to the opening.

Kenny came up behind him, figuring that he might have to catch Cliff if he fell off the table, but he saw that his friend was laughing. Of course he was. Cliff got bolder, and began separating his hands from the glass pane above his head, rocking back then allowing himself to fall forward a little before slapping them back into place.

Now it was Kenny who thought it was time to go.

“You stay up there too long and somebody is going to see you.”

“Okay, one more time,” Cliff said and pushed his body away from the opening until his head was the only part of him that was still outside, before letting himself fall forward.

And then he was gone.

Kenny saw how Cliff’s hands reached for the glass but instead landed on the wooden frame, then slid off, but for a moment it didn’t seem real. He ran to the window, expecting to see his friend smiling up at him as he dangled from a ledge. But all Kenny saw below was Cliff’s small contorted body.

He ran down the stairs, forgetting about the chute which would have been much faster, and bolted through a door he’d never used before. Kenny was disoriented and it took him a moment to figure out where he was in relation to where Cliff had landed.

Kenny heard Cliff before he saw him. It was a labored groan unlike any sound he had ever heard a person make. He came up around the side of the building and found the boy. From several feet away it was not easy to tell where Cliff’s body ended and the pavement began.

Hoping this was just another gag, Kenny turned his friend over. Cliff let out a scream from somewhere deep in his throat. Blood was escaping from Cliff’s head as well as the rest of his body.

“Help.”

“Yes Cliff, what can I do?”

The boy swallowed hard as though he had to get something massive out of his throat before he could speak again.

“Get help.”

“Okay, okay, I will.”

Kenny touched him on the shoulder and it felt wet and warm. He looked down at his hand as he stood up and saw that it was painted with blood.

“I’ll be back.”

He hopped on his bike and started for the edge of the playground, hoping that he could get help at one of the houses in the adjacent neighborhood. What would he tell them? He could always say he was playing at the school or maybe riding his bike past it and saw Cliff fall out of a window.

Would they believe that? Adults thought he was lying all the time, sometimes even when he was telling the truth. They might even think that he pushed Cliff out of the window. And what would Cliff say? Would he still keep their secrets?

Kenny brought his bicycle to a stop a few feet shy of the opening that led out from the playground. He turned around and started riding back toward the school. He planned on asking Cliff to go along with his story. Everything would be okay if they agreed on what they would say happened.

Another idea crept in as he passed the fort. Kenny rode over to the uneven structure that was held together by gravity and little else. Then he reached down and picked up the brick that his friend had placed on top of the wall.

The shattered child was trying to say something as Kenny got off his bike and walked toward him. A dreadful look of panic swept across the boy’s face when he saw that Kenny had not brought anyone with him.

“Cliff, I need to be sure that you’re not going to tell anyone that I was playing here,” Kenny said, struggling to make eye contact. “Do you understand?”

Cliff’s eyes revealed a mix of confusion and fear. The broken child struggled to respond.

“Help,” he finally forced out.

“No, I need
you
to help
me
,” Kenny said, once again looking away from Cliff’s bloodstained face.

This time the response came quicker and with less effort.

“Get help now, Kenny.”

Something about hearing his name spoken through the bloodied gurgling in Cliff’s throaty voice made Kenny feel very vulnerable. He hated that feeling, wanted to rip it right out of his body. And then Kenny knew what he had to do next.

Cliff did not react when Grubb raised the brick over his head. The first blow sent blood spraying from the sides of Cliff’s head. Grubb did not look away as Cliff spit out more than a mouthful of fluid.

He wasn’t moving after Grubb slammed the brick down a second time. The third blow only served to further disfigure the tiny carcass. Beneath the blood and distorted flesh, Grubb could still make out Cliff’s thin, discolored lips.

He appeared to be smiling.

Grubb rolled Cliff over before getting back on his bike and riding away, holding the bloody brick like it was of no significance. He took the long way home, through a small but dense patch of trees near his house. It was there that he buried the brick beneath some dead leaves, twigs, and as much of the dry dirt as his small fingers could scrape up.

For the next couple of days he waited for the police to come to his house and take him away. But that did not happen. In fact, he heard nothing about it until his mother told him that a boy had fallen out of a school window, and added that he should never go to that playground alone.

Cliff’s grandparents had told the police that he was a troubled child who always got into things, and they were devastated but not too surprised something like this had happened.

When his mother recounted that to him, Grubb wondered why anyone would describe Cliff in that way. Perhaps his grandparents knew him better than anyone. It could be that they were relieved he was gone. Maybe Cliff was evil, in which case it was a good thing he was gone. Grubb concluded that he had done them a favor.

During the two years that he attended Franklin Junior High School, Grubb had just one class in the science room on the third floor. When it got warm, the teacher would open the windows. Every once in a while, Grubb would walk over to the one Cliff had fallen out of and look down on the pavement below. And sometimes he would smile.