What Hides Within (37 page)

Felix sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried to determine if he was winning any sympathy points with the detective. After all, she was, as he called it, "hittable."

"Anyway," he continued. "I ordered him the parts he asked for, and he gave me the cash. I didn't think anything more of it. Then, I saw his roommate on the news, and I thought, uh-oh. Maybe Clive's involved, too. Don't get me wrong, Detective. Clive and I are friends, but I'm not going to jail for anybody."

"What exactly did he order, Mr. Winters?"

"All sorts of shit. Most of it was just normal stereo parts, like side panels, fuses, copper wire . . . some consumable parts. Nothing too advanced."

"Show me."

"Sure. Let me just . . ."

Felix huddled over his keyboard. He typed with the skill of a proficient illegal downloader and pornographic website voyeur. Before Detective Reilly could say "creepy deviant," Felix had accessed his account on Discover Card's webpage and opened a listing of his most recent transactions.

Reilly read down the list of recent purchases. "
Debbie Does Dallas
on Beta-Max! And for only nine bucks!"

"Yeah, and that includes shipping and handling."

"But isn't that a classic on a rare, discontinued medium? It's got to be worth more than that."

"Marry me."

"Gross."

"Anyway, if you think that's good, you should come by my place and see my entire collection. I have Seymour Butts' directorial debut and Ron Jeremy's first interracial orgy on VHS, porn from back when it was still an art form. I'd show you the steal I got those for, but I put them on my Visa card. Not everyone takes Discover."

Reilly's eyes darted left to right as they worked their way down the monitor. She incessantly clicked the mouse like a toddler with a new toy, scrolling down with each press. With every click, Felix' stress heightened.

"Burster charges! RDX! Do you have any idea what that stuff is?"

"Um, stereo parts? I'm not sure. Clive told me what to order, so I ordered it."

"They're used in explosives, but not just any bomb. They're used by the Navy in torpedoes, mines, warheads and all that other crap used to kill tons of enemy combatants, all at the same time. You found these parts on the Internet?"

"Everything is on the Internet."

Felix began to fidget. He finally realized just how shamelessly ignorant he'd been.

"Clive told me what he wanted. I found it for him. Am I in trouble here?"

"I'd say so. But right now, you're the least of my concerns. Jesus Christ! Look at the names of the sites you bought this stuff from. How could you not have been tipped off by a site called Explosives 'R Us? BlowShitUp.com?"

"Clive always seemed normal. I didn't think he'd build bombs out of the things I bought for him."

"Can you get me a screen print of that?"

"Do I have to? It's got all my personal information and--"

"Print it."

Felix groaned, but did as told. Reilly tapped her foot as she waited for the decade-old printer to ink out the two pages of transactions.

When the ink ribbon recoiled for the last time, Felix snatched the sheets from the printer's shelf. He stapled them together and held them out for the detective. When she grabbed them, he wouldn't let go of the other end. For Felix, the game was never over.

"If you ever want to come by for a more private showing of my collection, you have my number."

"You truly are an idiot, aren't you?" Reilly rolled her eyes and tore the documents from Felix's hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Winters. I've got everything I need."

Felix watched as Reilly stormed out. "I've got you," she said, gripping the screen prints firmly.

***

Morgan wasn't expecting company. The knock at her door early on a Tuesday morning was neither wanted nor appreciated. The only one who ever showed up unannounced was Clive, and he was sleeping soundly in her bed. Her bed had become their bed, Clive having moved in permanently after his hospital visit.

As far as Morgan was concerned, Clive was home. He was where he belonged. She babied him, smothered him. She had taken care of Clive since they were little children playing in the schoolyard. Then, she protected him from bullies. Now, it was from detectives. No one would come between them.

Detective Reilly seemingly had other plans. She threatened their stability, the relationship Morgan had always imagined she and Clive would have and that Morgan had strived so long to obtain. Reilly had no business in their lives or in her home. None. Her case was solved. Kevin was dead. So why was Detective Reilly standing on her doorstep?

I failed you once
, she thought as she peeked at the detective through Venetian blinds. When Kevin attacked, she ran. Clive could have been killed because of it. He deserved better from her. She pledged to be stronger, unfaltering. With silent indignation, she opened the door.

I won't fail you again, Clive.

"Good morning, Ms. Donnelly. May I come in?"

"Actually, I was just on my way to work."

"I'll only take a minute of your time."

Morgan thought long and hard before she answered. Her distaste for Reilly infused the air around her. Still, Morgan kept her wits about her. She saw no reason to raise the detective's suspicions.

"Certainly, Detective. Come in."

Morgan showed Reilly to the sofa and offered her a seat. Both women remained standing.

"How may I help you?"

"Is Clive here?"

"No. I think he's at work."

"Funny. I just left Harcourt. I must have just missed him."

"Really? That's too bad. Should I tell him you stopped by?"

"Actually, it's good he's not around. I came here to see you."

"Me? What for?"

"To see how much you know about your boyfriend's proclivity for murder."

Morgan didn't respond immediately. At least, she didn't respond verbally. But she feared her body language would give her away. The comment was obviously intended to invoke a response. It succeeded. She felt Reilly watching her every movement, no matter how slight. Did the detective see her clench her fists and jaw, then release? Did Reilly see her face redden with anger and humiliation? Did Reilly see her body tense with awkward discomfort?

Morgan didn't know the answers to these questions. She was more concerned with what Reilly could not have seen, any sign of surprise.

"Look, Detective. If you've come here to spew wild accusations, then I suggest you--"

"Ms. Donnelly, you can't bullshit me. You're either part of it or you're not. If you're protecting him, I'll find out. If you helped him, I'll find out. If you so much as told the littlest white lie on his behalf, I'll make sure you go away with him. And believe me, your boyfriend will be going away for a long time."

"This is absolutely crazy! Clive and I had nothing to do with the explosions. I already told you, he was here with me at the times you told me the explosions took place. He can't help it if his roommate was a psychopath!"

"Maybe it was Mr. Ventura who had the psychotic roommate."

"Get out! Unless you're going to arrest me, get out of this house!"

"If you cooperate, there still might be a slim chance that you could walk."

"I said, get out!"

"Have it your way. I'll be seeing you, Ms. Donnelly."

The door slammed shut behind Reilly as she showed herself out. Morgan returned to her sofa and plunged into its soft embrace. Her mind raced, but she was strong.

"We'll get through this," she muttered. The words weren't said in denial. She meant them, and her confidence restored.

"Everything is as it should be."

***

Clive sat listening atop the second floor stairway. He heard everything from Reilly's sordid accusations to Morgan's insecurity. He processed it all as best he could. His brain wasn't functioning at peak capacity. He hadn't been able to sleep, lying awake beside his guilt-free, comatose girlfriend night after night. His eyes were underlined by deep purple sacks. Red lines stretched across the length of their whites. His teeth were stained yellow, and his breath was rancid. He wore the same clothes he wore yesterday and the day before that, and his hair hadn't been combed in just as long.

Clive had heard it all, no thanks to Chester. She kept on humming, only stopping for brief intervals when Clive assumed she was resting. When Clive tried to take advantage of the silence, Chester would start up again. She wouldn't stop. She wouldn't leave. Clive didn't know how much more he could take.

He crawled into the bedroom. There, he sprawled out on the bed, staring vacantly up at the ceiling. His body may have seemed at rest, but, in reality, it was worn down, the muscles too exhausted to exert themselves. His mind was far from tranquil. Chester wouldn't let up. He laid there contemplating the ways he could make her.

***

Outside, Reilly was all worked up as she stampeded back to her car.
That bitch knows something. She's covering for him, I can feel it.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It didn't work.

Fine. She wants to do it the hard way. So be it.

Reilly tore her cellphone from her belt clip. She punched in number five on her speed dial.

"Hello?"

"Horatio, get the paperwork ready. We're putting this in front of the Grand Jury immediately. I've got some new evidence that's going to blow your mind. It's all the proof I need. I'm going to arrest the son-of-a-bitch."

"Who, Samantha?"

"Clive Menard."

Chester burrowed deep into Clive's brain, far beneath the dura mater. In the lost, empty regions between cells, she spun her silk like the mythical Arachnae, from which her form got its name. Her spinnerets spurted her invaluable thread until she had quilted herself an intricate tapestry. She relaxed and settled into it, her nest.

Nerve impulses bridged synaptic gaps, sending their messages to a cerebrum control center. Their signals flashed like lightning outside her dwelling. Inside was quiet, calm, soothing. She had discovered a safe haven in an unused region of the human anatomy, its potential either lost to evolution or not yet realized by it. In there, Clive's antibodies dared not travel. In there, her womb, she would be protected. In there, she would stay until the time when her host became unsuitable and another called out to her. In there, she hid alongside all of Clive's dark ambitions, his dirty, black secrets and his intricate web of lies.

Her hunger had grown over the past few days to gluttonous extremes. She fed on a portion of Clive's brain, being careful not to inject him with her venom. Clive wouldn't miss the bulbous tissue. It served no function. But her taste for blood became an addiction, insatiable. As she fed, she grew plump. Her strong legs became weary. Her body yearned for rest. The time for metamorphosis drew near. She cradled herself in a spider web hammock. At last, she hibernated.

All the while she slumbered, her body resonated like a tuning fork gone haywire. Her vibrations sent a faint hum through the humble cavity. It grew in magnitude as it echoed outward. To Clive, it must have been deafening. But to Chester, it put her at peace, a soft ode paying homage to her kind, a lullaby for spiderlings.

***

"Clive, what's going on?" Connie asked through the phone. "We haven't seen you at work in weeks. Weren't you supposed to be back already?"

"Yeah, I know. I just . . . I haven't been feeling right lately."

"There's only so long I can keep covering for you. And today, a detective came in here asking Felix all these strange questions about you."

"Felix? What would she want with Felix?"

"Talk to me, Clive. Is everything alright?"

"No, Connie. Nothing's alright. I think I may be in some serious trouble. I think I may have done some terrible things."

"Like what, Clive?"

"Like killed people. A whole lot of people. I think I'm the guy they've been looking for all this time."

"What's happening to you? You do remember that they caught the guy, don't you? You caught him, Clive. Your roommate killed all those people, not you. You've got to pull yourself together. You're scaring me. I'm worried about you."

"You're scared? I'm practically shitting myself over here. That fucking spider won't stop chanting. It's the same song, over and over again, like elevator music that can't be shut off. I don't know what's real and what's not anymore. Could I have been responsible for all those explosions? Could I have slaughtered all those people? And if so, why can't I remember any of it?"

"Now you're really scaring me, Clive." Connie sighed. She lowered her voice. "I have this friend. He's a psychiatrist. Maybe you should give him a call. I'll give you his number. You need help. He can help you."

Clive calmed his nerves. "You're right. I do need help."

"Promise me you'll call."

"Who are you talking to?" Morgan shouted, bursting into the bedroom. Clive wondered how long she'd been outside the door, listening. "Hang up that goddamn phone now!" she demanded. "We need to talk."

"Connie, I have to go."

"Connie? Connie!"

Clive placed his hand over the phone's mouthpiece. He held the phone away from his ear. A faint "is everything okay" transmitted through the receiver.

"Not that whore again."

Clive put the phone back to his mouth. "I'll call you back," he said, flipping his cellphone closed immediately thereafter.

"Morgan," he said, defeated. "She's just a concerned friend. She called to check up on me. I can't sleep, I can't eat. I can't even think straight. She was trying to help."

"Let me help you, Clive. That's why I'm here. I even called in sick so I could stay home and look after you."

Morgan sat beside Clive on the bed. Wrapping an arm around him, she pulled him close. He rested his head on her bosom, letting her run her fingers through his hair.

"Morgan, I think my dreams aren't just dreams. I think I blew up all those buildings, killed all those people."

"Shh! Don't you say that. Don't you ever say that."

"But--"