Smog - Baggage of Enternal Night (3 page)

Chapter 5

A day later, Debbie told me that Matt
Visser had been asking her if it was true that I’d seen the dead girl.

Every neighborhood has an
obligatory weird kid, and Matthew Visser was ours. Nobody knew what had
happened to his mother; we only knew that Matt lived with his father, and spent
a lot of time alone because his dad was always working. 

Matt was a smart kid—he’d
tested insanely high on his IQ test—but he had a mean streak. I wondered
sometime if his dad beat on him, and Matt carried it on down the line and
abused other kids. He had this toy that heated up and could cook little rubber
monsters, and he loved to try to lure the unwary into touching the burning-hot
surface. He’d fry ants with a magnifying glass on summer days or put dead
cockroaches on a girl’s chair at school. He’d spent more time in the
principal’s office than anyone else in school. You’d think Debbie and I would
have avoided him like the plague.

But we didn’t. Maybe it was
because he lived two houses down from me, and we’d all grown up together, or
maybe Debbie and I secretly felt sorry for him, because he didn’t have a mother
or siblings, and we seemed to be his only friends.

Debbie thought it would be fun
to go tell Matt about my encounter with a corpse, so we went to see him.

We knocked on his front door,
and after a few seconds he answered. “Oh, hi, you guys,” he said, regardless of
our gender. “Hey, you gotta come see this – I’ve got something really great to
show you.”

Matt had dried blood on his
white T-shirt.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah…why?”

“Is that blood on your shirt?”

He stopped in the kitchen
doorway and glanced down. “Oh, yeah, I guess it is. S’okay, though—it’s not
mine. Now c’mere.”

We followed him into the
kitchen. I noticed the smell—foul and musky—before I saw what was on the
kitchen table.

Matt had laid out some kind of
animal there. It was dead (from the smell I was guessing it’d been dead for a
while), but it was so badly mangled it was at first hard to make out what it’d
been. Then I saw the big, fluffy tail, and I guessed we were looking at a
squirrel that’d been hit by a car.

“God, Matt, that’s
gross
,”
Debbie said, grimacing.

Debbie was putting it mildly: this
was weird even for Matt. “Where’d you get it?” I asked.

“Found it this morning in the
gutter over on Camino Real.” He stuck a finger in the thing’s split side, and
something bluish-grey poked through the matted fur. “You think that’s the
liver?”

“I don’t think you should touch
it,” I said.

He looked at me with surprise.
“I thought you liked dead bodies.”

“No, I don’t, and why would you
think that?”

“You found Mary Ann Wilson,
didn’t you?”

“No, my brother did.”

I didn’t like the way Matt’s
eyes were glistening—he reminded me of a rabid dog. “But you saw her, didn’t
you?”

“Well…yeah…but there’s a big
difference between seeing something and liking it.”

Matt shrugged. “If you say so.
Hey, want some ice cream?”

The idea of eating anything
near that rotting little carcass made me nauseous. Something was really wrong
with Matt, and I was starting to think leaving sounded like a great idea.

Debbie wasn’t going to let him
off the hook so easily, though. “What’s your dad going to say when he comes
home and finds this mess all over the kitchen table?”

Matt stuck a finger in the
squirrel again. “Maybe Dad’s not coming home.”

I started for the front door.
“C’mon, Debbie…”

She followed me but couldn’t
resist a final jab. “Yeah, let’s leave Doctor Frankenstein here to creating his
perfect bride.” But Matt wasn’t listening; he was too busy poking through the
squirrel’s innards with that grimy finger.

When we got outside, I stood on
the sidewalk, trying to figure out what bothered me. It took me a second, but I
finally got it: Matt’s dad’s car was parked in the driveway.

I knew then we’d never see Mr.
Visser again. At least not alive.

Chapter 6

They arrested Matt three days later.
That was when a man named Bruce Morrison, who worked with Matt’s dad, stopped
by the house to see if everything was okay and noticed the smell. At first he
thought it was just the dead animal in the kitchen, but then he realized it was
too strong, and he followed it into the back bedroom, where he found Mr.
Visser’s corpse, pulverized by a blast from a shotgun. We all knew that
gun—Matt had bragged about how his dad had once taken him duck hunting and let
him fire the gun a few times. When the police questioned Matt, he confessed
immediately. Later on they said he showed no remorse.

I believed it.

Two dead bodies in a week would
have been weird enough in our quiet little suburb, but there was other stuff
going on, too.

CJ had been bringing Vicki home
every afternoon, but the same day that Matt Visser was arrested, CJ brought
Vicki
and
his best friend Larry home. Vicki didn’t look too happy when
they all went into CJ’s room together and closed the door; when she came out 15
minutes later, she was still half-undressed and crying.

“Are you okay?” I asked her. I
wasn’t in the habit of chatting with my brother’s girlfriend, but she looked
like she could use a friend today.

When she finally pushed her
hair aside and turned to look at me, I saw a bruise on her cheek. She was still
buttoning up her blouse, pausing to brush tears away.

“Your brother’s a real jerk,”
she said, before running out of our house.

I heard CJ and Larry laughing
in my brother’s room.

It was the first time in my
life I’d ever been afraid of my brother.

It wouldn’t be the last.

Chapter 7

The next day, Debbie was bored and
asked me if I wanted to walk down to the five-and-dime. Her older sister had
gotten a job there, and Debbie said we could get free candy. Besides, I was
hoping they might have some new comic books in.

Debbie’s sister, Sandy, was 19,
but she wasn’t smart enough for college, so she’d gotten this job as a clerk at
the dime store. We all knew that she was really just killing time, though,
until she could snag some hapless guy for a husband and start popping out
brats. She was no beauty queen, but she knew how to flirt, so we all kind of
figured it wouldn’t take long.

Unfortunately the trip was a
bust; she couldn’t get us free candy, and this month’s comics hadn’t arrived
yet. Plus, Sandy was making goo-goo eyes at some young guy in a suit, and she
hissed at us to “Beat it!”

I’d never especially liked
Sandy.

On the way out of the dime
store, Debbie paused by the racks of candy bars, took a quick glance around,
and then pocketed one. I was shocked and immediately nervous; I’d never seen
Debbie commit any sort of criminal act before. I was just certain we’d be
apprehended at any second, squads of hidden security men swooping down on us
with drawn guns and handcuffs.

“What are you DOING?” I
whispered to her.

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

She rushed us out of the store,
then began to giggle once we were out on the sidewalk.

 “I can’t believe you just
stole from your sister’s store,” I said.

“Oh, lighten up. It’s just a
candy bar. Besides, it’s not my ‘sister’s store’. She’s only a stupid clerk.”

“I think you should take it
back.”

She pulled the candy bar out of
the pocket she’d stuffed it into, tore the wrapping off one end, bit off a
third of it, and then, as she chewed, said, “You’re right—I’m taking it back.”

I had to laugh, both at her
trying to talk around a mouthful of chocolate and at how brazen she was, to
stand in front of the store she’d just stolen from and eat her pilfered goods
right there. She ate the rest of the candy bar and then said, “I think you
should take the next one.”

“I’m not a thief.”

“Oh, well pardon me, Miss
High-and-Mighty. Maybe you’ll feel differently if you ever come down out of
that ivory tower and join the rest of the world. C’mon,
everybody
steals.”

I didn’t want to believe that,
but after what I’d seen happening to my friends recently, it was starting to
sound more plausible.

“I’m not high-and-mighty. You
make me sound like Julie Andrews.”

We were passing an auto parts
store, and Debbie patted me on the shoulder and pointed inside. “Oh yeah? Well,
then, here’s your chance to prove it.”

Steve Noonan was inside,
talking on the phone behind the front counter. Even from out here I could see
he wore a striped button-down shirt with a sewn-on patch above the front pocket
that read “Steve”.

Steve was a year ahead of
Debbie and me in school, which meant he’d started junior high last fall while
Debbie and I were finishing elementary school…but he’d already been huge a year
ago. Now, at 13, he was nearly six feet tall, with broad shoulders, thick
blonde hair, and the beginnings of a downy growth above his upper lip. Debbie
had once caught me staring a little too long at Steve, and she knew I thought
he was cute.

“What’s he doing in there?” I
asked Debbie. “He’s not old enough to work…”

“His dad owns this store. I
hear the old man’s trying to train Steve to take over the business.”

As we watched, Steve hung up
the phone and scribbled notes on a pad of paper. Debbie slapped my arm.
“C’mon,” she said, as she opened the door and went in, leaving me standing on
the sidewalk in the grip of anxiety.

“Debbie!”

But she’d already reached the
front counter. “Hi, Steve,” I heard her say.

My heart hammering, I walked up
to join her.

Steve was peering over the
counter at her. “Hi…uh…Debbie, right?” Then he saw me, and the recognition was
genuine—and more than flattering. “Hey, Joey, long time no see.”

“Yeah. Hi, Steve.” I felt heat
in my cheeks, and knew I was blushing.

“So how’s good ol’ Jackson?”
Andrew Jackson was the name of our elementary school.

“It’s fine. How’s Morrison?”
That was the junior high, where Steve was now ensconced.

“Dumb. Boring. You know.” He
shook his head, and I liked the way it made his hair kind of bounce around. I
felt myself blushing again.

I knew Debbie saw it, because
she snorted laughter and then said to Steve, “So, Steve—how are the junior high
girls?”

He grinned. “Well, you’ll find
out in September, won’t you?” Then he stared at me, with blue eyes the color of
the sky before the smog set in, and I almost turned and ran.

Debbie motioned at the door. “I
guess we will. We’ll see you later then—”

Steve cut her off, still
looking right at me. “Hey, are you busy the rest of the day?”

“Ummm…no…” I said, hating the
way my voice came out, kind of wispy and barely audible.

“Wanna do something? We could
just watch television, or play a game…”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“To hell with this.” He tore
off the striped work shirt, revealing a plain white T-shirt underneath, then
vaulted over the front counter while shouting, “I’m done!”

He’d taken three steps forward
when a huge, bear-like man staggered out of the back. Even from across the
room, I could tell that this was Steve’s dad (he looked like a bigger, bald,
wrinkled version of Steve) and that he was drunk…not like the way my mom got
drunk when she “lunched with the ladies,” but drunk as in he was weaving, and
his words were slurred, and his eyes were red. “Where the hell you think you’re
goin’?”

Steve didn’t turn to face him,
but just kept heading for the exit. “Anywhere away from here.”

“Get your ass back here NOW!” the
old man bellowed from behind the counter, but Steve was already through the
door and out on the sidewalk. He didn’t slow down as he hit the street, and
Debbie and I had to almost run to keep up with him.

“Old drunken asshole,” Steve
muttered, and I blanched; I’d only heard “asshole” used once before, when my
dad had gotten mad once at a guy who’d stolen a parking space from him. My mom
had chewed my dad out for “using that word in front of the children,” and I’d
never heard it since.

Until today.

Steve continued to rail against
his father for another block, and then he stopped and looked around. “Hey, can
we go to your house?” he asked me.

“Uhhh…sure.”

Debbie shot me a look that was
half-impressed and half-jealous, but my insides were already churning…we were
just going to watch TV, right? What if Mom came early and saw me with a boy she
didn’t know? Would she be mad? And what about CJ? He’d been so weird lately
there was no telling what he might do.

But I led the way to my house.
When we reached it, Debbie told me to call her later, and she crossed the
street to her own place, making a kissy-face at me once before turning.

“Hey, this is okay, right?”
Steve asked. I thought it was cool that he was being so polite.

“Sure, of course. My mom won’t
mind.”

“Is she here?”

“No. She’s off at her Women’s
Club meeting.”

I opened the front door and led
the way to the living room. Steve followed behind me, looking around, making a
low whistling sound. “Wow, this is really nice. My house is a dump.” His eyes
really lit up, though, when he saw the Magnavox. “Is that color?”

“Yep. Hey, you want something
to drink? A Coke?”

“That sounds really good.”

I got two cans of Coke, handed
him one, turned on the television, and sat on the couch. An afternoon variety
show came on, Herman’s Hermits were the musical guests. “These guys aren’t
bad,” Steve said, in-between gulps of soda, “but my band’s better.”

“You’ve got a band?” I know I
sounded like some starry-eyed fan, but I really
did
think that was neat.

“Yeah. I play guitar. We’re
pretty good. We’re writing our own stuff, and I think we’ll get our first gig
soon. I’m gonna become famous, and then we’ll see what Dad says about how I
have to work in that stupid store. I’m sure not gonna throw my life away behind
the counter of some two-bit car parts shop. Hell, no.”

Steve talked for a while longer
about his band and the other guys he played with and how long he’d practiced
guitar, and I was actually starting to get bored. I wondered where CJ was. I
hoped Herman’s Hermits came back to do another song. I hoped Steve would either
change the subject or leave soon.

Finally, he said, “So, what
about you? What do you want to do when you graduate?”

“I’m not sure yet. Everybody
says I’ve still got plenty of time to decide.”

Steve nodded, finished his
Coke, and then said, “You got a boyfriend?”

The heat was back in my face.
“No…”

“Why not? You’re pretty. I used
to notice you when we were both at good ol’ Jackson.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Of course.” He set his
empty can aside and said, “Hey, want to play a game?”

“Sure.” I thought maybe he
meant Monopoly, or Parcheesi. Instead, he said, “Okay. First you gotta close
your eyes, though.”

I giggled. “Are we going to
play tag?”

He laughed, too, then said,
“No, smarty-pants, we’re not going to play tag. Now close your eyes.”

I did, still giggling.

“Okay, now raise your right
hand.”

When I did, he took it in his
hand. Part of me melted right down into the couch. I couldn’t wait to tell
Debbie that he’d held my hand. “Now, don’t open your eyes,” he reminded me.

“I won’t.”

He pulled my hand down. “You
have to guess what this is.” He pushed my hand down onto what felt like the
rough denim cloth of his pants but with a strange lump just underneath—it was
big and hard but kind of quivered as I touched it. My first thought was that it
was something alive, something he had in his pocket.

“A frog?”

He laughed, but the sound was
deep and husky. “Guess again,” he said. He put his hand on top of mine and
pressed it hard against the bulge.

Suddenly I knew what it was. I
jerked my hand away and leapt up from the couch, remembering the torn and
violated body of Mary Ann Wilson. Was Steve her killer? Her…
rapist
?

I stood there shaking and
terrified. Below me, Steve was rolling his eyes and motioning for me to calm
down, but I couldn’t take my eyes off his crotch, the way it was swollen out. I
was ashamed by my own stupidity, my gullibility. I was an idiot. And now he
might rape me because of it.

“Are you…” I couldn’t get out
the words. “Are you going to…”

“Look, calm down.” He got to
his feet and towered over me, and I stood there like a dumb animal, waiting for
the predator to pounce, knowing I could neither outrace him nor fight him off.

Instead, he started for the
front door. “Sorry, I thought you were…well, older, I guess.”

He left.

I didn’t watch him go. I stood
rooted to where I was until I heard the front door slam. Then the tears came. I
ran to my room, closed the door, and threw myself onto my bed. I cried harder
than I’d ever cried in my life. I’d never felt so stupid, so betrayed.

An hour later the phone rang.
By then the sobbing had subsided to the occasional sniffle, so I got up to
answer the call. It was Debbie, of course, asking what happened.

“Nothing happened.” There was
no way I could be honest, even to my best friend.

“
Nothing
?”

“We watched TV for a while.
Then he left.”

“Are you okay? You sound kind
of stuffy or something.”

“Yeah, I think I’m allergic to
something around here. That’s mainly why he left.”

“Oh.” I knew she was
disappointed, but it was better than admitting the truth: that he’d tricked me
into touching his thing.

“I’ve gotta go, Debbie,” I said
and then hung up on her.

I cried some more, until I
heard Mom come home. I forced myself to stop; I knew if Mom asked me what was
wrong, I might just start blubbering in front of her. Instead I didn’t come out
until my eyes had dried and the red had faded. Fortunately she looked like
she’d had more than one martini and didn’t notice anything.

“Did you do anything fun today?”
she asked, as she fixed dinner.

At least I wasn’t lying when I
said, “No.”