What Hides Within (30 page)

"You're right, Chester! If I don't do something about him, who will? The cops? What a great job they've done so far. That asshole is getting away with murder."

In the old days, we believed in "an eye for an eye." His punishment is past due.

"Agreed. I'd be doing the world a favor, and I'd be adhering to my right of self-preservation. I'm all yours, Chester. Let's do this."

Good, Clive. I won't let you down.

His teeth chattered uncontrollably. He thought they might grind themselves to dust. The cold bit through his skin, ate at his core. The shelter he had chosen afforded him some relief from the icy winds, but the frigid air crept through its cracks. There was no escaping it.

His body shivered, trying hard to warm itself. It reminded him that he was still alive, albeit a frail existence. His fingers and toes were purple and dying, the blood within them deserting despite their hiding away in his pockets and sneakers. He was dying, too. He knew he couldn't stay there much longer. He hoped he could make it through another night.

Kevin huddled inside the tool shed outside his apartment. It would be his prison for the night as it had been the previous night. The cold wore down his body. If he remained still enough, any onlooker would think him dead. The warmth of life had left him. Its absence shook his resolve. He thought he might give up, give in to the forces that had sent him spiraling downward. If that meant death, he welcomed it. But something inside forced him to fight until all fight had left him.

His landlord had retreated to Florida for the winter. Kevin considered following. A life on the run? So far, it had crippled him. It would soon kill him. With his landlord gone, however, at least it gave him a place to stay, humble as it were. The backyard shed was left unused.

Even Kevin's apartment appeared empty. He figured the cops must have searched the place. He doubted they would come back. They probably already had all the evidence they needed: hair samples, DNA off a used disposable razor, blood. They always found blood. Being an inexperienced killer, he must have left blood on something. He imagined his room torn to pieces and collected in little sandwich bags to be brought to high-tech laboratories and examined by the world's greatest analytical minds.
Law & Order
and
CSI
shit.

Due to the probable police presence, the shed offered a safer alternative to his apartment. Police would likely be watching the place, and he was surprised that he'd managed to creep into the shed the prior night without detection. He didn't see one cop, so he assumed they were experts in the covert.

The shed served a dual purpose, hiding him from detection while offering him a place to wait for Clive. Clive was coming back home. Kevin was sure of it. It was just a question of when. He hoped Clive would return before the hypothermia or boredom killed him.

Keep busy
, he told himself.
Keep moving. It's only going to get colder.

Stacked in a corner, large sacks of fertilizer lay covered in dust and cobwebs. Kevin swiped his palm along the top of the stack. A layer of sticky black grime swiped off with it, restoring the sack to its original green color. The bags were moldable, as if they were filled with sand. Surplus from the landlord's summer lawn care business, the fertilizer would not be in demand until winter's end.

Why not put it to immediate use?
Kevin thought.
If I lay out the bags on the floor, they could make a fairly decent bed. Or a fortress, perhaps, and possibly warmth.

He lifted the top bag. His fingers had lost all sensation, making gripping difficult. He slammed it down beside the existing stack. One-by-one, Kevin moved the fertilizer bags from the corner of the shed, creating two new stacks that formed a square with the walls. Inside the square was a hole just big enough for one. Kevin leaped over the fertilizer and into his proud creation. There, he curled up in his barricade, squeezed in tight. Hidden in that corner, Kevin did feel a little warmer.

"Ouch!" Kevin shouted, slapping his neck. Something had bit him, something that had already made a home in the damp darkness of that corner.

Startled, Kevin cringed when the inch-long, yellow sac spider crawled down his sleeve and onto the fertilizer. Disgusted, pained and motivated by revenge, Kevin released all his angst upon the spider. With a falling flat palm, he squished it into mashed goop with legs. Then, he examined the corner above him. A large egg sac, bursting with life, resided in the crease made by the walls and shelf. He found its presence unsettling.

"Fuck this!" he exclaimed.
I'm going inside
.

"Shouldn't we have the place checked out first?"

"Morgan, it'll be fine. Why would he come back here? It's the first place the cops would look for him."

Clive only needed to make his words sound logical. But Chester said Kevin would be there, and Clive believed her. After all, Chester hadn't been wrong yet. Morgan, however, didn't need to know that.

"If it's all the same to you, though, you should probably wait outside, just to be safe."

"Bullshit. I'm sticking to you like glue. I'm just saying, maybe we should wait for Detective Reilly."

"She'll be here any minute. Will you relax?"

Morgan huffed, but she kept her mouth shut. The decision made, Clive climbed each step to his apartment with silent feet. Morgan followed less stealthily. After each step, Clive paused and listened. He heard no signs of life from the apartment above. He moved closer.

A loud creak announced their presence. It sounded like wood bending, the sound of a house refusing to settle, threatening to splinter underfoot. The sound echoed through the hollow spaces below the stairs and in the empty stairway above.

It would be an understatement to say that the stair's creak was no mere quiet occurrence. Clive shook his head in dissatisfaction, disappointed by his own negligence. How could he have forgotten that annoying seventh step? The sound of its depression under the weight of feet had always alerted him to visitors. Now, it had placed anyone who may have been lying in wait on full alert.

If Kevin were waiting for him inside the apartment, Clive's lack of caution would probably have caught his attention. A repeat of Clive's foolhardiness damn near guaranteed it. Morgan was happy to oblige. She shrugged and mouthed the word, "Sorry."

Idiot
, he thought. Once was dumb. Twice was imbecilic. He shot her a look of frustration and moved closer to the door.

Morgan huddled in close behind. She and Clive stood silently outside the apartment. Only an inch-and-a-half-thick sheet of paint-chipped wood separated Clive from his home. He reached into his front jean pocket with slow methodology. Carefully, he pulled out his keys by their key ring with the pads of his thumb and forefinger. He held even the slightest jingle in check. As the keys released from his pocket, they swung freely. Clive's loose hold on the key ring broke, and the keys fell to the ground with a thud, jingling all the way.

"Fuck!" Clive responded, instinctively and loudly.

"Shh!" Morgan scolded, equally as loud.

"This is stupid. Look at us! We're being ridiculous. And we're certainly not being quiet. I'm sure he's not even in there. If he were, our commotion would have sent him halfway down the fire escape by now."

"Better to be safe than sorry," Morgan lectured.

"Whoever came up with that expression must have lived a boring life. Probably never had sex without a condom."

"Very funny."

Clive picked up his keys. He sifted through them and the other crap on his key ring until he found his apartment key. Then, he turned the key in the doorknob, only to discover that the door had been unlocked all along. He didn't share the discovery with Morgan, feeling no need to heighten her anxiety.

I probably just forgot to lock it again
, he thought.
Things have been hectic lately
.

It wasn't uncommon for Clive to forget to lock the door. His absentmindedness was always a sore spot for his cohabitants. He figured this time, however, no one but he would care.

"Well, you can stay out here if you'd like. I'm going in."

Morgan grabbed the back of Clive's sleeve and held tightly. She was noticeably frightened. Clive didn't share her fear. Kevin had pulled a knife on him. Then Kevin tried to blow him up. Surely, that didn't happen to Clive on a daily basis. He wondered how he could be so nonchalant about the whole thing. Surviving both attempts on his life made him feel indestructible, immortal. Still, he thought,
Chester better be right
.

Clive creaked the door open and peeked inside. The living room was pitch black, except for a sliver of light entering from the entrance and its now-ajar door. The room was cool, but not cold. The heat had been on within the last few hours.
Probably kicked on by itself
, Clive silently hoped.

All the shades inside were drawn closed. He could see the faint, discolored outlines of the windows in his room and in the kitchen. The shades resembled shut eyelids, their brownish tint the same as what one sees when he closes his eyes in a lighted room. But the few errant light rays forcing their way through the shades barely pierced the darkness beyond a small halo, weakened by the man-made barrier and the dying sun of a shortened, near-winter day. All space between Clive and the windows was black. All the places therein were unseen. In them, anything or anyone could hide.

His back to Morgan, Clive swallowed hard. He flicked the switch by the doorway, but nothing happened. The light bulb was either dead or removed. He listened for movement, anything, but he could only hear Morgan's breathing behind him. Then, he entered the darkness.

Morgan stayed behind. In the light of the doorway, she glowed like an angel, Clive's savior. He shook off his romantic sappiness lest Morgan think him weak. He doubted she could see him anyway. She wouldn't be running into the room to save him should he need saving.

Clive moved deeper into the room. Nothing stirred. He kept moving. Then, the silence was broken by a dull thud.

"Clive?" Morgan called. "Clive? What was that? Are you okay? Where are you?"

Morgan took a step backward. "Clive?"

"Ah!" Clive shouted as he flipped on the kitchen light.

Morgan screamed. Unlike Clive's, hers was genuine. She had the vocals of a horror film hussy. But her surprise quickly turned to anger.

"That's not even the tiniest bit funny, Clive!"

Clive disagreed. He curled himself over the kitchen counter, laughing uncontrollably. Morgan's piercing wail had been a far better reaction than he could have hoped for.

Morgan pouted. "What was that noise I heard?"

"Nothing," Clive said. "Just banged my knee against--"

"Jesus, Clive! Look at this place!"

Morgan stepped delicately into the living room. The sofa had been torn apart. Pieces of splintered wood and glass spattered the carpet underneath where framed photographs once had been. The television had been knocked over, its backing detached and wires and circuitry exposed. Clothes and items were tossed randomly around the apartment. Everything was out of place, everything in disarray. Clive's room was no exception.

"He ransacked it!"

"No," Clive said. "That was the FBI guys who came by last week."

"FBI?"

"Yeah. They had a search warrant, so I came by to let them in. Otherwise, they would have just busted the door open. They made this mess, but I don't think they found anything. They didn't seem happy when they left. After seeing what they did to the place, I wasn't happy either. So I just left it the way it was and headed over to your place."

"That's not good, Clive."

Morgan seemed sincerely disheartened. Something had moved her toward grief. Clive found her mood change confusing and unwarranted.

"It's no big deal, Morgan. At this point, I think they got more than enough to hang him. They just have to catch him first. That shouldn't be too hard. It's not like Kevin is a seasoned criminal."

"Yeah, but Clive, the FBI? Why didn't you tell me? They'll examine everything. They shouldn't be in here."

Finally, Clive understood, or at least he thought he did. "Oh. You're worried about me? I doubt the FBI will make a big fuss about my bong. I washed it out before they came. Besides, if they do have a problem with it, I'll just say it's Kevin's. Who are they going to believe? Me or a psycho-bomber?"

Morgan hung her head. Despite Clive's words, she still seemed stressed about something.

"What a mess," she murmured low, but not low enough.

"Anything to appease the hardworking men and women of the world's largest employer and biggest waster of time and money, the United States government," Clive joked. "They risk their lives every day so that we can safely live ours . . . well, except on federal holidays, weekends, and weeknights after 5:00 p.m. Oh, and don't forget sick days, paid vacation and early retirement. Their lives are so rough."

Clive's sarcasm was his coping mechanism. His stuff had been tossed around with seemingly no real purpose other than vandalism. His television and his computer were dismantled. His furniture and dishes were broken. And Kevin's room remained locked shut, its fate unknown, for reasons Clive couldn't comprehend. Although he guessed it had met the same end as his room, Clive would have found some comfort in confirming it.

Still, his things were just that, things, replaceable and not overly valuable. He didn't care about most of it. He simply wanted to know why they had to trash his belongings, too.

"Awe, man."

Clive's irritation plummeted into something much worse. He caught a glimpse of what appeared to be broken stained glass. There was no question in his mind to what the glass belonged.

"They broke my fucking bong! That's just inhumane."

"We'll get you another one, babe."

Clive plopped down on the arm of his sofa. "You don't understand, Morgan. That thing had sentimental value."
My first and only threesome came after smoking that thing. That's probably not the best thing to tell Morgan, though.
"That thing used to get me so fucking blitzed, I never knew where I was going to wake up."