Decatur (36 page)

“I am smart,” Marilyn said.

“So you did figure it out,” Max supplied.

“Uh-huh.”

“So what did you do?” Max asked even as he felt the dread of knowing building in his chest.

“I made myself sick on a Wednesday in February before math class, stuck my finger down my throat in the bathroom and threw up lunch, so Sister Petra would let me go home and I could get there in time. I buttoned up my blue plaid coat and said Mom would come pick me up. Sister Petra believed me but I just snuck off the playground as the wet sleet came down like slippery tears on the black asphalt and I ran and ran all the way to Charlesworth Place. I felt guilty about lying but I had to; the collection room was calling me
.” She was creeping up the steep wooden back stairs with the plain rough mudded walls, her heart beating
hard with the excitement at each step.
“I pretended I was a mouse, knowing that the big cat with the long claws was sleeping for now. On the third floor the backstairs opened into a walk-in closet where spare bedding and fold up cots were kept. There were piles and piles of the dirty sheets all stained with brown red smears and I began to shake and want to get out, but the door into the tower was locked.”

“But you were going to figure out a way to get in, weren’t you, because you’re smart,” Max and Gretch looked at each other picturing a little girl in a plaid Catholic school girl uniform locked in a closet with blood stained sheets.

“I did because I saw this little glint of copper in the bare bulb hanging down, and there was key hanging off a little hook and I knew just what it was for. It opened the closet door and I was in the collection room with black and white striped wallpaper and dark heavy red drapes on the windows. J. J. was right: there were spider webs in all the corners and covering the crystal chandelier.” Marilyn shuddered.

“That sounds a little scary,” Max kept leading Marilyn further into a past she had tried mightily to suppress.

“No, it was really scary. There was a long iron cage in the middle of the room hanging over two jagged lines painted on the wooden parquet floor in white. It made me feel sick to my stomach. Stacks of big dusty books were sitting on the floor in a corner with a stuffed goat head on top. This was a bad place and it smelled like rotten eggs. Along one wall was a long glass case. I only wanted to get out of there but I had to see what was in the case. I walked over, my reflection in a big wide mirror hung at a slanting angle on the opposite wall. I felt very small but it was like my feet were gliding across the floor.”

“What was in the case, Marilyn?” Max asked as a cold sweat began to trickle down his back.

“Lots of things: a hand made out of snake skin, a black mirror, a whole display of dead spiders, a bloody tooth, a woven whip, and some pouches and wands of herbs. But there was one thing I couldn’t stop looking at.”
The glass case had a hinged top and was on carved black legs. “
It was a little bottle, a very old bottle, with liquid inside, amber and smoke and dark red liquid.”

“What happened then, Marilyn?”

“It was like it was speaking to me, it told me I had found it at long last, and in the mirror I saw the glass case open, it opened by itself and the bottle came out of it then, floating in the air and into my hand. There, I had it, it was in my hand. The cork was vibrating, the seal of blood red wax broke, and that’s when I saw in the reflection of that big mirror hundreds of bottles lining a rock wall that was inside the room and not inside it at all, but there were hundreds of hundreds of little bottles and they were all empty. I knew what to do. I took the little vial in my hand and brought it to my lips. Just a sip, it said, just a sip. I never tasted anything so strong and bitter, yet so powerful, it was like it ripped out everything inside me.”

“The room exploded then and I was back on the grounds running, running faster than I had ever run with the ancient little bottle still clutched in my hand. I never took anything - it found me, you understand, it found
me
. I put it in my collection, fixing back the broken seal so no-one would ever know. Long afternoons after school, I spent all of them now with my own collection and its new addition. I would tell stories to myself, over and over, the stories it had told me in that instant about a source for this potion, and a craving, a little girl and a hermit, and later a castle and a man who came to fight for it. I would move my bottles around like pieces on a chess board trying to get them to tell me what I needed to know. Of course, J. J. accused me of stealing and Mom called the Monsignor because I was changed then and not so afraid. They began to be afraid of me then. But I never wanted to drink anymore of what was in the ancient bottle and I promised myself I wouldn’t show what I could do, even though I knew. And after the Monsignor came and said a prayer casting out demons over me, I knew I had to put a cork in my own throat so I would never tell what happened or let my whole self out and let it go.”

“You knew your abilities got stronger then?” Max asked as casually as he could, stuffing down the raw fear against what it meant.

“Yes, that’s how it was the year I was nine.” Marilyn said.

“And do you think you’ve ever met J.J. before?” Max said.

“Oh, yes, he was the hermit a long time ago only now he’s come for Gar and me.” Marilyn said, her eyes fluttering, and then a silence filled the room like a thick bubble.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Things that Got in the Way

It was nearing three in the afternoon when, feeling refreshed, Gar got up, drank a carton of milk standing with the avocado colored fridge door open letting the cool wash out over him. Then he went out to Adele’s garage through the connecting door in the kitchen. People shouldn’t let garages become cesspools of mess, he thought, eying the stacks of newspapers, oily rags, left over cans of linseed oil, paint removers and the like. Real fire hazard. Resources could be spread thin, like when a big civic funeral procession happened with all the police on motorcycles escorting a motorcade to the graveyard and then you just never knew, a fire could get out of hand quick, he thought, squirting the lighter fluid like it was the sprayer on a fire truck onto everything in the garage. He lit a pack of matches and, throwing it onto a soaked stack of loose newspapers, he backed out through the kitchen and onto the brick patio. A satisfying whoosh sucked the oxygen out of the air and Adele’s ranch started to go up in flames as he began to run, cutting through backyards, back to where he needed to go.

It all worked the way it was supposed to: the newspaper had accurately reported the day’s schedule of funeral’s events. The motorcade was interrupted on its way back from the Fairview cemetery by the blare of fire trucks rushing to a house fire in South Shores neighborhood, and in the resulting confusion Gar was able to get back unnoticed to Harry’s old root cellar doors and slip into the basement and up into first floor of Marilyn’s duplex to wait. She would come back, she’d have to, because people like Marilyn needed the stuff they had, they just couldn’t float free and find new safer lives, they didn’t have that luxury, and he’d be there waiting for her.

Father Weston was alone in the back of the big black limousine from Clarkson’s funeral home as the long line of cars began their slow parade out of the cemetery. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the memory of the Monsignor’s casket being lowered on straps in to its final resting place. The Bishop and Father Mahoney had said their goodbyes shaking hands and murmuring meaningless nothings and were headed back to Springfield in the Bishop’s own black Cadillac. The police motorcycles would escort the funeral motorcade to the intersection of Main and Pine Street and then everyone would turn their cars to go their separate ways and he would be left to pick up the pieces of Father Troy. He bit his bottom lip and opened his traveling sacrament case, looking at the silver cross, shaker of holy water and prayer book; he couldn’t just go back to the parish house to wait for news. The blare of fire trucks startled him as the motorcade stopped with screeching tires and police sirens blasting. They all had to pull over and let three hook-and ladder-trucks barrel on by and then a cop got out and started directing traffic as the non-funeral cars began to try to pull around the halted motorcade. An impatient woman in a VW beetle laid on her horn and was so busy honking she ran into the back of one of the elderly parish mourners driving an ancient Pontiac. This caused several of St. Patrick’s faithful to stop their cars completely - pointing and shaking fingers, aghast at the disrespect. A driver in a Chevy truck had gotten out and was arguing with a uniformed cop on a motorcycle. It was a royal mess, thought Father W, looking out the window.

It was then he caught sight of the tents spread out on the lawn of Charlesworth Place and for some reason a chill went through him. Acting on an impulse he snapped the black traveling sacrament case closed and spoke to the driver by sliding open the partition that separated the front from the back of the limo. The driver shrugged his shoulders; if the priest wanted to walk home that his business, he was paid so it didn’t matter to him, and it looked like this was going to turn into a bonafide traffic jam. Father Weston didn’t even wait for his reply and, opening the back door of the long black car, he stepped out onto the curb, the case in his grip. He was only a few blocks from both Marilyn’s and Max’s apartments, he would cut through Charlesworth Place and see just what was going on and then circle back to Max’s and hope he’d meet up with professor following his afternoon class.

Patrolman Duffy took his time examining Marilyn’s driver’s license. She was the resident in the upper duplex and she vouched that the tall man in his mid-forties with her was a friend. “I just want to get a few things out of there,” Marilyn said, looking reassuringly back at Rowley who was now standing in the front seat of Max’s Impala with his nose pressed against the glass. They had hastily agreed that Gretch would lead the advance to Charlesworth Place by cab so that Marilyn could pick up Rowley at Max’s and get to her apartment.

Max wanted to yell at the cop to just get out of the way but he controlled himself. They had to get inside her place now. In all likelihood J. J.’s relic was the soul’s tears craved by soul hunting vampires and now hidden in plain sight in a motley assortment of old bottles collected by a child. Whether or not it was a powerful protection or a possible bargaining chip he didn’t know, only that they had to get the ancient amphora, especially now that both Gar and the creature that had taken over J. J. were on the loose looking for soul hunter renewal. Were the kids now setting up the psychic fair on some kind of bad wave-length with this, he wondered, as the face of Lawrence floated up in his brain. “We won’t be long,” is what he said to the cop.

“It’s her place,” Duffy shrugged. He and his partner were bored; they had told all their dirty jokes, chewed up the desk sergeant who assigned them, and groused about their union. It was way past time to clock out.
Why an assault and robbery of a priest meant they had to have rotating watches on the crummy neighborhood of this woman who was, he had to admit, a lot better looking than most, he had no clue.

“How mad is my neighbor with you guys being out front?” Marilyn asked, dreading Harry’s tirade on the taxpayer’s waste of having city police practically in their front yard.

“Haven’t seen ‘im,” Duffy replied, stifling a yawn and looking over at his partner, Cutts, who was giving Marilyn’s boobs a good once-over from his vantage point in the car.
They were good ta-ta’s
.

Marilyn looked at Max then, glad Rowley was in the car. They had decided it would be faster if he waited
. Harry not pissed off: that was a relief.

“You guys been in the place?” Max asked.

Duffy shook his head in the negative. “Been quiet around here all day,” he said, clicking the top of his ballpoint pen and gesturing them away from the car up the walk towards the dilapidated cut-up house.
The guy was probably boffing her
. Duffy got out the patrol car then on an impulse and, whether he was showing off for the woman or just trying to tweak the intellectual-looking Jew he would never know, but he said to his partner in a loud voice, “Hey, I’m going to escort the resident inside, Cutts. You stay here, Professor. This is police work,” he said in a deep “I’m a man in blue” voice, “I’ll call you if I need you, Cutty.”

Cutts scrunched his face up and shrugged.
What the hell
, he thought. Duffy loved the ladies. He heard sirens blasting a few blocks over and turned up the constant chatter of the police scanner that he had muted so he could nap. It was then he heard code 11-71 South Shores, Eagle Ridge Drive: 10-54 South Shores, same,
home fire and a possible homicide;
11-25 Pine and Main
, traffic disturbance, emergency vehicles blocked
coming through the scanner rapid like staccato bursts, and Cutts feeling his own heart racing started the cruiser, yelling out to Duffy, “We gotta go!” They should at least get over there and see what they could do; it would be way more entertaining than staying here.

“You go on; I’ll stick it out.” Duffy said to his partner and then flashed his teeth at Marilyn, “Don’t worry, I’m with you.”

Cutts put on the siren then, and pulled away from the curb in an angry swerve,
Duffy just couldn’t keep his pants zipped
.

“I’ll make it fast,” Marilyn said to Max, not knowing what else to do.

Gar was glued to his spot by Harry’s front window and with one gimlet eye looked out to see Marilyn and a tall guy with a sport jacket on the front walk talking to one patrolman as the cruiser put on its cherry and sped away.
Who was with Marilyn? The professor of ancient religions that Father Weston had tried to set her up with?
He felt an intense flash of jealousy and imagined breaking the man’s nose with his fist, a nice left hook. But when the cop that remained gestured for professor to stay back and began taking Marilyn up the walk Gar thought, good, they’re coming inside
. He’d take them all down to get to Marilyn.
He crawled on his belly over to Harry’s apartment’s front door and waited.

“I’d prefer to go up too,” Max said but the cop was waving him away in a fake Hollywood way like it was all copasetic as he took Marilyn up to her own front porch.

Rowley saw a man in the black-and-white car with the red thing on top pull away and then another man in a uniform take Marilyn up their walk and felt his nervousness increase.
Marilyn and the man shouldn’t go back in the house. Gar had come out of Harry’s yesterday morning and Harry was dead in there but they didn’t know that.
He barked but the window was just open only halfway and the bark came back at him in the empty front seat of Max’s car.

“Jesus, I can’t believe the Pill’s not out here yelling at us already,” Marilyn muttered, pulling her key out of her shoulder bag. When she inserted it in the lock the door swung open. It hadn’t been locked after all. “He’s been here,” she said, feeling a knot of dread in her stomach, “Probably looking for us prior to robbing Father Troy at the funeral home. I think I should get Max,” she said, wondering if Gar had somehow figured out what she had kept hidden all these years in her apartment.

“Can’t do that, Marilyn, police procedure. What’s the perp have to do with you?” asked Duffy, trying to prolong the moment where he was just inches from her as they stood in the door. Her perfume was a turn on and he suddenly imagined her naked wearing his uniform hat.

“I knew him from a long time ago,” Marilyn said.

Gar listened carefully through the door, judging when it might be the best time to make his move. He had to be careful now, he was getting tired more easily and he couldn’t waste his energy.
He had to be renewed and it was killing him.

“Nothing to worry about here, Marilyn, the guy’s long gone but I’ll go up first just to be safe.” Duffy was getting a hard on.
Nothing better than a beautiful woman depending on a man in blue.
He shut the duplex door behind them to keep out prying eyes and with a move almost as practiced as undoing the hooks on woman’s bra he did up the chain with one hand behind his back for more privacy.

Duffy was at the top of the staircase that led to the upper floor before he noticed that Marilyn’s door was wrested from the frame and hanging on only one hinge. He took a deep breath then but decided he didn’t to needed to call for back up; after all, they had been outside and in the neighborhood all day. “Looks like we got a break in,” he said, opening the damaged door with a creak.

Gar leaned against Harry’s door, listening intently as their sound floated down from above through the tissue paper walls

Marilyn switched on the overhead hallway light and saw the bloody writing,
“I’m coming for you
,” where her mirror used to be. Feeling violated and repulsed, she half shrieked. Duffy grabbed her then in one arm while he fished out his walkie-talkie with the other even while his heart thumped, the adrenaline and testosterone coursing through his veins. After the long boring hours in the squad car he was on sensory overload.

Rowley paced around the front seat of Max’s car. He barked again and again and finally Max came over looking very worried and opened the car door, put his leash on and let him out of the car. Rowley growled softly.
They should be inside.

When he heard the broken door to Marilyn’s apartment creak signaling it was being pushed open and heard them move inside, Gar sprinted out Harry’s front door and ran up the steps to her apartment.