Sparkle (27 page)

He finally stopped. His blood ran down the door. It cleared his head.

He couldn’t go in, but there was one thing he could do, something Jolie had taught him.

“Nine-one-one.” He stared hard at the numbers beside Jolie’s door.

He turned and ran. The grass was wet. Eddie didn’t run often. Before reaching the sidewalk, he pancaked and grated both of his palms on the pavement.

It was nearly five miles to Mrs. Kim’s corner store. Eddie remembered the pay phone there. He ran stiffly all the way, without stopping. The May evening was a chilly fifty degrees, and the rain made it cooler. Even with the running, Eddie never warmed up. He ran straight to the phone, picked it up, and dialed.

“Nine-one-one operator,” the phone said.

“Nine. One. One.”

“Please state the nature of the emergency,” the phone said.

“Four-two-two-eight Redview Place.”

“Forty-two twenty-eight Redview Place. What’s the nature of the emergency?”

Eddie hesitated.

“Please state the nature of the emergency,” the phone said.

“Man-sized mess,” Eddie said, and then he hung up.

Chapter 39

Thursday

A burly black policeman walked cautiously up to Jolie’s house, sweeping his long heavy flashlight left and right across the lawn. His badge and the plastic cover on his hat flashed darkly in the rain.

He pointed the powerful beam at the white front door and saw the long ribbon of still-red blood running down it. He noticed the broken windowpane in the panel beside the door.

“Oh-two-two-seven requesting backup,” he said into his radio.

Eight hours later, a half-dozen marked and unmarked police cars crowded the street in front of Jolie’s house.

Detective Louis walked into the backyard, casually looked around. No other officers were in sight. He found a likely looking bush, unzipped his slate-gray Italian slacks and peed. Couldn’t go in the house. Crime scene rules.

Detective Louis walked around to the front of Jolie’s house.

“What do you think, Pinky?”

“Something stupid happened here. Something real damn dumb.”

“Yeah. No doubt.”

“That blood on the door’s interesting, though.”

“Yeah. I think so, too.”

“Oh well,” Louis squeezed the back of his neck. “You wanna call Joe for me? I don’t feel like dealing with him right now.”

“You’re always looking out for those guys, Louis. You sure you’re not getting a cut?”

“Oh yeah, Pink. I’m a rich, rich man off those two. I’ll see you back at the station.”

Pinky waited until Louis got in his car and pulled away, then she pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial for Joe.

“Louis asked me to call. We’ve got another job for you. Got anything going tomorrow?”

Joe had been asleep. He replied with his eyes closed. “I’ll tell you when I get there,” he mumbled.

“Banker’s hours, huh?”

Joe forced his eyes open and squinted at the clock. It was nine-thirty.

“Shit!” Adrenaline exploded through Joe’s addled brain as he kicked away the covers tangled around his legs. Why hadn’t Eddie woken him up? They should’ve been at the men’s shelter job site an hour and a half ago! Joe hated to be late; it totally screwed up Eddie’s rhythm. Shit! Is Eddie messing up again?

“No…naw,” Joe said, forcing his voice to stay calm as he clumsily pulled on his pants and half fell down the stairs. “Tomorrow’s open. What’s up?”

“You carrying something? Sounds like you’re breathing kind of hard.”

“Asthma,” Joe said, trying to hold his breath as he looked around the empty kitchen. The coffee wasn’t made.

“Really. I didn’t know you had—”

“Look, Detective, I’m kind of in the middle of something. Could I have the address, please?”

A garbage truck rolled around the corner at the end of Jolie’s block.

“Hey, Ramirez!” Pinky called to a uniformed officer, pointing at it. “Go stop that guy. We need to check all the cans on this street—both sides.” She turned her attention to the blood on the front door. “4228 Redview Place,” she said into the phone. “I talked to the landlord, poor guy. He can meet you there at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow, if that’s not going to interfere with your beauty sleep. It’s a simple job. Single headshot. Guess you could call it a no-brainer.”

“Funny.” Joe clenched his teeth to keep from saying more.

“Not really. Poor little gal, young thing—”

“Would you please, for once, just give me a frickin’ break?”

“Whoa. Sure. Don’t need to yell. You know I’m only kidding,” Bjorgeson said. “You all right, Joe? You’ve been acting kind of strange lately.”

Joe didn’t want to go downstairs and find Eddie gone. “Everything’s fine.” He kept his voice calm as he scrounged through a kitchen drawer for a pen. “Could you give me that address again, please?” Pinky repeated it. “Thanks. We’ll be there.” He hung up before the detective could say another word.

“Eddie! Where are you?” Joe shouted down the basement stairs. No answer. He forced himself down the stairs.

Eddie was on his couch with the covers over his face. Joe was instantly relieved. Maybe he had just overslept.

“Thank God you’re here, Eddie. We’re late again. Get up, bro. Bro?”

Eddie didn’t move. Joe reached down and gently—without touching his brother—pulled Eddie’s blanket back.

Eddie was fully dressed. His hands were together, pressed flat against his face, hiding it completely.

“Jesus, Eddie, what’d you do to your face?”

Eddie didn’t move.

“Eddie. Eddie! Move your hands. Move them or I’m going to have to move them for you. Eddie, I…I have to.” Joe touched his brother’s arm tentatively. Eddie didn’t react. Joe pulled Eddie’s arm away from his face.

Eddie’s left eye was swollen and black, and there was a badly bruised cut over the brow. His face was crusted with dried blood. He was blankly staring ahead.

“Jesus!” Joe said. “What in the hell did you do now? Come on…”

Eddie offered no resistance as Joe raised him up, led him into the bathroom, and sat him down on the toilet. Joe found a clean washcloth and soaked it with warm water. He gently washed the blood from Eddie’s head. His hands were shaking so much, he was worried that Eddie might flinch, but his brother never moved.

Fortunately, the cut was only about an inch long and not terribly deep. But it looked as though Eddie had bled quite a bit, and the shiner and bruises didn’t look too good, either. Joe took a deep breath and clenched his fists hard to stop them from shaking.

“I need to see your hands,” he said. Eddie allowed Joe to uncurl his fingers. His palms were grimy and caked with dried blood. But once they were washed, they didn’t actually look too bad; all that remained were the ugly but shallow scrapes on the bottom of the palms.

Something clicked in Joe, and he felt himself going to a familiar place. All the gains of the past few days wouldn’t help him. He needed to get back to where he knew how to cope. He needed to feel numb. He’d been thinking about himself too much.

He took a deep breath and spoke very distinctly. “I don’t even want to know how this happened, Eddie.” It was the truth. All he wanted was for things to go back to the way they had been last week. “I just want you to stop it. Whatever it is…just knock it off.”

Eddie heard Joe’s voice but couldn’t make out the words. His eyes wouldn’t focus properly. Joe’s blurry face, contorted with worry, looked small enough to take between his thumb and forefinger, both very far away and yet so close that Eddie could smell the pungent anxiety on his brother’s breath.

Eddie was grateful to Joe for coming and helping him, but now he needed to sleep and dream. Sleep and dream. Sleep and dream. Sleep and dream. He’d been lying on the couch with the covers over his head for what seemed like an eternity, unable to move, hiding under the blanket, barely blinking, black wasps buzzing and drowning out everything, everything.

Tending to Eddie’s wounds had a strangely calming effect on Joe. Eddie needed him. His own needs didn’t seem so urgent. His brother was hurting. His own pain seemed to fade. After Eddie was reasonably cleaned up, Joe scrounged around in the washstand drawers and found a big box of Band-Aids that contained a small butterfly, which he used to close the gash over Eddie’s eye. He became uncharacteristically efficient and confident, almost paternal, as he focused more and more on his brother’s immediate needs.

“Did somebody do this to you, Eddie?”

No answer.

“Did you do it to yourself?”

Eddie’s expression didn’t change. Joe blew out a frustrated exhalation. He’d seen Eddie hit his head against things plenty of times, but it had been a long time since he’d done it hard enough to hurt himself.

“You’re not going to work like this.” Joe stared at the top of his brother’s head.

Eddie didn’t respond.

All of a sudden, a wave of anger hit Joe. He felt as though he were being dragged into playing a thankless role against his will. And one small but furious part of him wanted to fight back.

“Jesus, Eddie! You’re screwing me up, man!”

Apparently it didn’t register.

Get a grip. Joe spent a blank moment rubbing his scar as though trying to erase it. Then he very gently helped Eddie stand—although he was still steaming inside—and led him back to his couch.

Joe tried to get him to sit down, but Eddie seemed to resist. He reached his hand into the pocket of his rumpled, dirty work pants and held out his hand to Joe.

“What’s this?”

“Man sized mess.”

Joe opened his hand and Eddie dropped the wadded up rubber glove into it.

Eddie took a huge breath and his eyes suddenly became intensely focused. He held up his hand as if for silence as he forced the words out.

“From Lucy’s house. For Louis.”

Joe gingerly unwadded the glove and looked inside. A piece of paper. Joe carefully extracted it with his thumb and forefinger.

It was half receipt. From the Goodwill. Men’s clothing. $24.95. Just like what Eddie had found at the Red Lotus. Only this half wasn’t bloody. It had a time and date. And part of a credit card number.

“What’s Lucy’s house? What is that, Eddie?”

“Lucy Silver. Man sized mess.”

“You found this when you were cleaning the Silver house? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Uh huh. Okay.”

A chill ran up Joe’s back. “You think this is evidence Eddie? Like the one you found at the Red Lotus?”

“Uh huh. Okay.” As he mumbled the words Eddie’s eyes seemed to lose their light and he half sat and half fell onto the couch. Joe hurriedly stuffed the receipt and glove in his pocket and helped Eddie straighten out. He covered him up. Eddie closed his eyes and was gone. Passed out in an instant. Joe knew there was no way he would open his eyes again until he was ready. It might be days.

Joe stomped up the stairs. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and called LaVonne.

Something happened to Mom, something bad: The thought raced through Eddie’s mind over and over. No! Not to Mom, to Lucy. No! It was Jolie. Something happened to Jolie. Something bad. Something bad happened to Jolie.

It was almost impossible to hold on to the thought. Shadowy snips of memory, and flashing torn images and sensations zipped and hissed like machine-gun bullets through his consciousness, tearing sense to shreds. It was so tempting, it would be so natural, to try to catch and tame the billion flashing bits: connect, parse, categorize, and analyze. It could be the work of a lifetime. Eddie would never have to move again. It was a powerful lure.

No! His mom had told him to just let go. He knew how to do that. He did it when he worked. He was good at it when blood was around. Could he do it now? He willed himself to be still in the midst of the chaos. He forced the words to form in his mind: Just let go. He’d let go of what Lucy had given him. Was that the right thing? There was no way to know— but he did feel a little of the terrible crushing weight lift. Just let go. The words were helping. He willed them to grow, pushing the black noise aside. It felt like falling. It wasn’t comfortable, but he surrendered.

Having Joe near made it easier, much easier than it had been when he was alone in the night.

He fell and fell, and finally fell asleep.

Joe and Eddie sat together on the bed. Joe was wearing his Six Million Dollar Man pajamas. Actually, they were just pajamas with money printed on them, but he and Joe called them Six Million Dollar Man pajamas because that was Joe’s favorite show. Eddie was in his underwear.

Joe was scared. He was crying. Even though he was a lot bigger than Eddie, Eddie was doing his best to comfort him.

The sound of muffled yells throbbed up through the floorboards. It was mostly their dad yelling at their mom, and a little bit of her yelling back. It was impossible to tell what they were yelling.

Joe and Eddie had been asleep in bed when it started, probably close to midnight on a Friday. They knew their dad was drunk and had just come home. It wasn’t the first time, but this sounded bad. Maybe worse than ever before.

Then they heard furniture crash. Joe wailed again. Eddie wished he would be quiet. He didn’t want Dad to come up.

Another crash sounded, and now Eddie could make out what Dad was saying. He was closer, probably near the bottom of the stairs.

“Lying bitch!” Dad screamed. “You think I’m stupid? You think I’m blind? Where you going? Get back here!”

Chapter 40

Joe didn’t have time to think about anything. They had a commitment and they were fucking late again. His blood pressure was going through the roof. Eddie was staying home, so Joe was going to have to do the shelter job alone.

He was just finishing loading the van when LaVonne arrived.

“I’m g-g-glad you’re here,” he said, doing his best to focus on her for a moment.

She hugged him. “Try to relax,” she said.

“I’m sorry, LaVonne. Thanks for coming. I swear, things usually aren’t like this.” Joe tried to loosen his body a little, but ended up pulling away. He dug deep into his pocket, pulled out two fifties, and held them out to her. “Take this. Your time’s valuable.”

“Don’t make me slap you, Joe. Put that money back in your pocket. Just tell me, how is he?”