Smog - Baggage of Enternal Night (4 page)

Chapter 8

I didn’t sleep much that night. Instead,
I thought about what had happened with Steve. By dawn I’d decided I had to
start acting more like Pussy Galore; she’d dropped James Bond himself in a judo
throw. Maybe I could talk Mom into letting me take judo lessons, but in the
meantime I needed something else.

I came out for breakfast and
put on a good show of bored kid on a summer day. Then, I waited until everyone
else had left, and I went into Mom and Dad’s bedroom. I remembered that Dad had
an old pocketknife with one broken blade that he’d left on top of his dresser;
I didn’t know why he hadn’t thrown it away, but it was just the right size for
me and the main knife blade was still fine. I had no idea if I could actually
use it if I had to, but I felt better with it in my pocket.

Debbie’s mom was taking her
clothes shopping today, and I had no idea where CJ was. I was getting bored,
but I was too afraid to leave the house and go anywhere. I really wished Mom
had stayed home. We could have watched television together, or played games, or
even cleaned the house.

God, I was twelve years old and
I wanted my mommy.

That was pretty pathetic, but I
didn’t care. I
did
want my mom. She’d always been there for me; she’d
taken my side in fights with Debbie or CJ; she’d encouraged me when I became
interested in new subjects, and she’d even read my schoolbooks so she could
help me with homework. But she was at her club today, socializing with the
ladies.

I decided to go see her. The
clubhouse was only a few miles away, and on my bike it probably wouldn’t take
me more than half an hour to get there. Plus, I could pedal faster than anyone
could run, so I’d be safe.

I got my bike out of the garage
and headed off. The smog was terrible today, and after just a few blocks I was
gasping for breath. I stopped at a park to use the drinking fountain and stared
up at the sky; it was an ugly, hot-mustard color and obscured anything more
than a couple of miles away. I heard a shriek and jumped, then relaxed when I
saw it was just a couple of six-year-olds messing around on the park’s swing
set. They were laughing and having a good time, and I envied them.

Don’t grow up,
kids—the world gets weird
.

I rode the rest of the way to
the clubhouse on Duarte, parked my bike outside, and went in. The building was
a little, round stand-alone structure surrounded by a parking lot and across
the street from a bank and a liquor store. The main door opened into a small
alcove that was occasionally used as a box office, when they had special events.
Just beyond it was the central room, a wide space with a few tables scattered
around and a little stage up front.

I was about to go in when I
heard a woman crying.

I didn’t like to hear adults
crying, because I knew that meant something was
really
wrong. I almost
turned around and left, but then I heard my mother’s voice consoling the crying
woman, and curiosity got the best of me. I stayed out of sight in the alcove,
listening.

“…can’t believe it, it’s like
she’s not even the same person. She was always such a
good
little girl.”

A number of voices murmured
condolences. Another woman, not Mom, said, “I know. I’m having the same problem
with Darren. He’s been a straight-A student his whole life, and now all he
wants to do is smoke cigarettes out in the garage.”

A little thrill of recognition
went through me. Was she talking about Darren Johnson? He was legendary at my
elementary school, the smartest kid they’d ever seen, etc., etc. I’d heard he
was doing equally well in junior high, and was on track to be valedictorian one
day. He fit the part, too: a tall, gangly kid with a crewcut, glasses, and
shirts buttoned all the way up.

It was almost impossible to
picture Darren Johnson lounging around with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

The crying woman continued to
blubber. “I just don’t understand what happened…it’s like she’s not even the
same person.”

A calmer voice replied, “She’s
sixteen now, Doris; she’s not supposed to be the same person.”

“But not like this…my girl
could never have been
mean
…”

That drew a chorus of “I’ve got
the same thing” and “I know” and “These kids today” responses.

I fell back against the wall,
realizing: it wasn’t just CJ, or Steve Noonan, or Matt Visser, or Debbie
stealing candy bars; it was every teenager in town, apparently.

I left without letting Mom know
I was there. It seemed like her friends needed her more than I did right now.
After all, I’d finished my crying yesterday.

And I was determined that I
would never cry again.

Chapter 9

Dad came home that night at a decent
hour; he even beat Mom, who was surprisingly late.

“Where’s your mother?” he
asked, as he set down his briefcase and took off his jacket.

“I think she’s still at her
club.”

Dad just sort of nodded, then
went to the kitchen to mix himself a drink. He and Mom loved manhattans, which
I’d once tried a sip of and nearly gagged. I waited until he was settled in his
recliner with his drink and his paper before I said, “Dad, there’s something
weird going on…”

He eyed me over the top of his
glasses. “Such as…?”

“The older kids. The teenagers.
They’re all kind of…” I searched for the right word, then remembered what the
crying woman had said at the club today. “…of
mean
.”

Dad looked at me for a minute,
then said, “But
you’re
an older kid—a teenager.”

“No, Dad—I’m twelve.”

“Oh.”

I loved my dad dearly, but it’s
a fact that he was often clueless where his own children were concerned. He got
our ages mixed up and forgot stuff like our birthdays or friends’ names. It’s
not that he didn’t care; it’s just that he always seemed to be somewhere else
in his head.

“But…CJ…” I said, prompting
him.

“What about CJ?”

“He’s…” I tried to figure out
how to say what I suspected without making Dad think I was nuts. “He’s been
bringing Vicki home in the afternoons. Almost every day. They go in his room
and shut the door, but I can still hear them.”

“Hear them doing what…?”

I felt my face go hot. “You
know
,
dad.”

He looked at me for a long
time, then finally said, “I’ll talk to CJ about that.”

“That’s good, but…have you
heard about the dead kids?”

Irritated, he ruffled his paper
and lowered it. “Joey, what is this really about?”

“Everything’s been kind of
weird since that…” I thought back, and suddenly I knew. “…since the moon blew
up!”

“The moon did not blow up.”

“Well, you know…since that
rocket exploded.”

Dad visibly tensed, and for a
second I wondered if whatever was making the teens crazy was in the adults now,
too. “Don’t be ridiculous, Joey.”

“But it’s true—”

Dad cut me off, leaning
forward, and now his tone was kind of desperate, pleading. “Promise me right
now you’ll never say that to anyone else.”

“Why?”

“Just
promise me
.”

The look on his face was
nothing I’d ever seen before, and I gulped before I said, “Okay, I promise.”

He seemed relieved by that, and
his face relaxed. “And I’ll make you a promise: everything’s going to be fine.
Okay?”

“Okay.”

My dad wasn’t a real physical
guy, so I didn’t get up and hug him, but I did sit on the couch and watch the
evening news with him. I was glad he was there when CJ came home. At least my
brother didn’t have Vicki or Larry with him.

Maybe whatever had happened was
starting to fade. Maybe my dad really had had something to do with it but had
fixed it since. Maybe the Russians had tried something, but my dad had saved us
all.

I went to bed believing that
one.

I should have realized it was
just the quiet before the storm.

Chapter 10

The next day was the summer’s first
real scorcher; I spent most of the day lying around inside the house with cold
drinks and comic books. By the time evening came, I was bored and wanted to go
outside to cool off.

As always, the older kids were
all out on their front lawns with their transistor radios, rock and roll
echoing through the suburban dusk. The sky was fading from smog-yellow to
smog-red.

I didn’t see CJ at first, but
it was impossible not to notice Debbie’s older sister Sandy. She was dancing to
the music on her lawn, wearing the smallest skirt I’d ever seen and a low-cut
blouse, and she had a ring of boys at her feet, all looking up at her with rapt
expressions.

One of them was CJ.

What was he doing? Didn’t he
care that Vicki might see him? Wouldn’t she get mad?

Well, if she wasn’t mad
already, she certainly would be at what came next: CJ disengaged himself from
the circle of boys, stood up, and started dancing with Sandy. He put his hands
on her hips and looked right down her shirt and pressed himself up against her.
She grinned at him and put her hands on his shoulders. The other boys started
hooting and urging them on.

They got closer and closer. By
the time the song ended they were practically
doing it
right through
their clothes.

Sandy leaned in and kissed CJ.
He kissed her back. She pulled away, took his hand, and led him into the house.
The other guys were screaming by now.

And then I saw Vicki. She was
on our side of the street, two houses up, watching, frozen, her expression one
of shock.

I promptly marched into my
house and called Debbie. She picked up on the third ring.

“Did you see who just went into
your house with your sister?”

I heard her snicker, and then
she said, “Oh, I know. You should hear them right now—they’re going at it like
two animals.” Debbie laughed again.

I didn’t get it. Why was Debbie
laughing? Didn’t she think it was completely awful that my brother was having
sex right now with her sister? “Isn’t your mom…doing anything?”

“She’s not here. She and Dad
went out to dinner with friends tonight. Wait a minute…” I heard her put the
phone down, then there were voices—Debbie and another female voice—then Debbie
came back on the line, sounding breathless. “Oh my God, you’re not going to
believe this: Vicki just came in, and she is
furious
.” Debbie giggled
again and said, “I gotta go.”

The last thing I heard was shouting.
Then the line went dead.

I hung up, walked into my room,
and closed the door. My brother was crazy. My best friend’s sister was crazy.
Heck, my best friend was crazy.

I didn’t come out until
morning.

Chapter 11

“Are you up?”

It was Debbie on the phone. I
yawned and glanced at the kitchen clock—almost nine. I guess I’d finally fallen
asleep near sunrise. “Sort of,” I answered.

“Get dressed. There’s something
you have got to see. I’ll be right over.”

I would’ve preferred a slower
morning, with a nice, long shower behind a locked door, but I knew there was no
denying Debbie when she sounded that determined.

I’d just barely thrown on a
shirt and some shorts when she rang the front doorbell, then burst in through
the front door. There was no sign of anyone else; I guess Dad had already left
for work, Mom was at the club, and CJ was…well, who knew where.

“So what’s this big thing I’ve
got to see?”

Debbie waved me to the back
door. “C’mon!”

She slid it open and stepped
into our backyard.
Why is she going into my yard?

Then I realized she was really
heading for the gate and the dirt road beyond. “Why are we going back there?”

“Trust me, this is amazing!”

I trudged through the yard,
past the hibiscus bushes, and over the dichondra lawn, until I joined her. “Let
me guess: somebody threw up in the wash. Wow.”

“Oh, it’s a lot better than
that.”

I followed her out onto the
dirt path and saw immediately that, maybe fifty yards away, there was something
big draped over the chain-link fence that lined the sides of the wash. I
paused, feeling my gut clench. Debbie danced ahead of me, vibrating with
excitement. “Hurry
up
!”

It was a body. I could tell
even from a distance. It was somehow draped over the top of the fence, whether
deliberately or as the result of an attempt to dump it into the wash, who knew.
I slogged along after Debbie, who’d already reached it and stood beneath it,
pointing up and giggling. “C’mon, you haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

I wanted to turn around then,
go home, and lock the doors, call Mom, call the police, call anyone…but I kept
walking forward, like a prisoner marching to the gas chamber, every step
heavier than the rest.

Blood had formed a huge,
spread-out pool beneath the body, but Debbie didn’t seem to care; she stood in
the middle of it, and I saw that lots of other bloody footprints already led
away from the pool. The head hung upside down, facing away from me. I skirted
as much of the blood as possible—I was just wearing cheap rubber sandals and
the idea of it getting on my toes made me nauseous—until I’d moved around to
where I could see the face.

It was hard to make out the
features, since the head was upside down and covered in blood from the slit
throat and multiple stab wounds, but the long, blonde hair gave it away.

Vicki.

The strength ebbed from my legs,
and I plopped down in the dirt, staring up at her. Her open eyes were filmed
with blood; what was left of her clothes were tattered and stained red; her
arms and legs hung down on opposite sides of the fence.

“Isn’t this the
coolest
?”
Debbie grinned at me as if it was Christmas morning and Santa had just brought
her a puppy.

“Did you find her?” I said. My
voice sounded strange, too high-pitched and soft.

Debbie laughed. “No, silly.”

“Then how…?”

“Are you kidding?
Everybody
knows she’s here!”

Debbie turned and stuck a
finger into a stab wound on Vicki’s stomach, and my mind flashed back to Debbie
telling Matt it was gross when he did the same thing to a squirrel.

I forced myself to my feet and
turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” I heard
Debbie ask.

I didn’t answer. Before I knew
it, I was running. I didn’t look back. Behind me, Debbie shouted, “Don’t be
such a chicken!”

I ran through my yard, slammed
the glass door shut, and turned the lock. Debbie would have to take the long
way around to get home again, but I didn’t care. I didn’t ever want to see her
again.

I was about to run to the front
door to lock that when CJ stepped into the hallway in front of me. “Where you
been, little sis?”

He was covered in blood. It was
on his hands, his shirt front, his face, even in his hair. I knew whose blood
it was.

“None of your business.” I ran
past him.

“Hey!” he shouted, but I
ignored him, fled into my room, shut the door, and moved my desk chair under
the knob. I was still getting it just right when the door shuddered. “Joey,
open this door!” The door rattled again; the chair tilted back—but it held.

“Leave me alone!”

He pounded on the door one more
time before he gave up. “Okay, but you’re gonna have to come out of there
sometime.”

I stood near the door, every
muscle taut, ears strained, but I didn’t hear a thing.

I waited for an hour, my head
pressed up against the door, listening. When it remained quiet, I risked moving
the chair and taking a peek out.

He wasn’t there. I snuck
carefully around the house, but it was empty.

I got a phone book, looked up
the number for the Women’s Club, crossed my fingers that it was the right one,
and dialed it. After three rings, a voice I didn’t know answered. “Yes,” I
said, trying to sound mature, “it’s urgent that I speak to Mrs. Donohue. Is she
there?”

The woman said she was. After a
few seconds, Mom came on the line.

“Mom, it’s me.”

“Are you okay, honey?”

I started to cry. I hated it,
but I couldn’t stop it. “Please come home. Something’s wrong with CJ, and
Vicki’s dead, and I’m really scared, Mom…”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I’ll
be right there. Lock the doors and stay in your room until I get home.”

“I will.”

She hung up. I did what she’d
told me to do.

Ten minutes later she was home.
She held me while I cried, and then she told me to wait in my room for a few
minutes. I didn’t want her to leave again, but I knew she was going out to make
sure Vicki’s body was where I’d said it was.

When she came back five minutes
later she was white as a ghost and called the police. She told me she was sure
CJ couldn’t have had anything to do with such a terrible crime.

I didn’t tell her about the
blood I’d seen all over him.