Unknown (4 page)

Camera 4: South coast

down

power out

[crew notified at 0631:31]

Camera 5: PIT

UP

Mail system in full operation

AUDIO: conversation, machinery

SCENT: cannibis

Camera 6: X

down

status: clearance required

approval code 141

Camera 7: Dock

UP

Unloading in progress

AUDIO: laughter

no more information available

Camera 8: Caves

UP

N/A

Camera 9: N/A

UP

no more information

Camera 10: St. Louis

UP

Jimmy last sighted 04032024:0812

no more information available

Camera 11: Chicago

down

x last sightING unknown

audio: screams, metal

no more information available

Camera 12: NYC

UP

apartment

AUDIO: vomit

SCENT: smoke

Camera 13: Conway, AR

UP

Mobile/Alley2415

AUDIO: gun shot, trash can lid

no more information

Camera 14: no more infomioasije ipjoweiu

uieowoa

REboot

END

//

7. ROLAND

In and out of the small house that is our home. No sign of mom anywhere. Probably working. Could be anywhere really. The row of tiny buildings forms haphazard streets, but there are no mailboxes, no lampposts. Back to the basics. Standing in the middle of the quiet village, t-shirt in hand, the sweat pours down my back, stinging the cuts that run up and down me. I know she isn’t here. I can sense it. She is with him.

A beeping at my wrist causes me to look down at my watch. Diary entry. I have no time for this. Maybe it’s time to see if they really pay attention. I’m tired of being a second class citizen in a third world existence.

Back into the hut, the coolness of the dark feels like I’m walking into a refrigerator, although in reality it is only going from 90 to 80 degrees. In the corner of this barren home is a tiny desk, and on top of it, an ancient computer monitor. Apple II it says. Sitting down in the wobbly folding chair I decide to pour my guts out and see what happens. Fuck them all.

//

ID: Roland_Descartes

MEMBER: #298632

PASSWORD: Biteme

DIARY ENTRY: 412 - 05122024:1145

How am I feeling? Like nobody has any time

for me. Like I don’t matter. I’m sure you

can’t understand how that feels, whoever you

are, since you obviously must be in a

position of power to be reading this. Well

guess what I found? Guess, go on, I dare

you. I double dare you. Idiot. I found a

dead body. In the caves. I didn’t get a good

look at it, but it was pretty nasty. It was

missing its hands and feet, I noticed that

much. It wasn’t as gross as I thought it

would be. They just ended. It looked like

sliced deli meat. There were so many flies,

it sounded like a plane landing. The buzzing

made me sick. I poked it with a stick and

then ran out. Maybe you did this and already

know. Maybe we have a killer in our happy

little family, so go do something about it.

My favorite color is black.

My favorite food is pizza.

My favorite tv show is the simpsons.

My favorite way to masturbate is with the

shop vac from the mailroom, sticking my dick

in there until the vibration gets me off.

Why don’t you try that sometime, and then

stick the nozzle up your ass.

I’m getting out of here. Mom, since you’re

already spending all of your time with him

anyway, why don’t you just marry him? You

can all kiss my ass. I’m getting out of

here. I know where a bike is, and I’m

heading out. Come catch me if you can. I

know more about what is going on here thAn

you think I do. You think I’m just some

stupid nineteen year old kid. My IQ is

higher thAn most of yours. You’ll never find

me. Whatever you’re thinking right now?

It’s wrong. Am I going to the caves? NO. Am

I heading to the eastern paths? NO. The

highway? Are you kidding me? I’m going

someplace you’d never guess. But then again,

maybe this is all lies. Maybe I’m making it

all up, and you’ll just find me sitting in

the shade sipping iced tea. Maybe.

ENTER>>

END

//

CHAPTER THREE

2018 - Six years prior

1. JACOB

Arsenic over time is just as lethal as a gunshot to the back of the head. Especially in tiny amounts - two drops in the chicken noodle soup or a dash in the pot of Texas style chili (steak, no beans). It takes time and patience. I have a bounty of both.

Sitting at the Formica kitchen table, the faded grey and yellow swirls dancing, the chrome edge dinged and dull, I smile as her dinner comes to a boil on the stovetop. I reach out and turn off the stove with a dull click as the boiling liquid quietly gurgles. I run my hand over my bald head and feel the sheen of excitement that I get every day at this time. Mealtime. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I find a way. Orange juice hides it really well. And she certainly loves her soups and stews in the wintertime. You have to watch the broths, the bisques, the refined dishes that would reveal the bitter snap of the poison. With the right tea, at bedtime, it actually makes it taste better. A little zing. She says she loves the new blend, the exotic Chai in the orange Asian packaging. I nod and dip the bag in and out, letting it steep to its fullest potential.

The tiny bell rings upstairs and my eyes shoot to the clock on the wall. The ridiculous Felix the Cat, with his bulbous eyes tracking back and forth, my every move recorded for the detectives. I hate him with a passion that I usually reserve for her collection of Hummel figurines in the dining room - the babies, kittens and angels that I will crush under my boot the minute she is gone. Well, not the minute. There are appearances to keep up. Maybe just one. That little fucker with the fishing pole has always rubbed me the wrong way.

“Coming dear,” I yell up to her. “Wouldn’t want you to scald your mouth.”

And in an instant I’m back there, at the parking lot outside the Nordstrom department store. I saw them walking out to the car together, my Elise and this man. Marc was his name, Vice President of Operations. They had a lot of meetings together since she handled the whole midwest. Regional Sales Manager, she was. I drove my car across the crowded minefield of shoppers that was the parking lot. My eyes stayed focused on them the whole time, unable to get to them as fast as I wanted to, as they stopped at her beige Camry and continued the conversation. I was stuck behind this beast of a silver Hummer. Irony, I’d later call it. Hummer. What I was expecting was a warm hug between friends on this cool autumn afternoon. A nice gesture, she was a friendly woman. What I wasn’t expecting was the kiss and their faces mashed together, tongues probing, as their hands wandered up and down their coats, handfuls of cashmere and wool, clenched and squeezed over straining breasts and perky nipples, a taut ass cheek, muscled and clenched. If I had let the brake go for a moment longer I would have rear ended that beautiful monster of a car in front of me. He probably wouldn’t have noticed. An elephant wondering if that nip at its flank was a fly that had just bit him. I caught myself as the car drifted forward and slammed my foot onto the brake. Lunging forward, the seatbelts restrained me, leaving marks where they bit into my flesh. She never did see me. And I never spoke of it. It’d been going on for awhile I discovered.

When she got the cancer, I decided I could forgive her. I’d take care of her and she would go back to being mine. I didn’t mind the work, the responsibility. When the enormous arrangement of roses and lilies arrived, with the simple note of “Get well. Love, Marc” it brought it all back in a flash. I changed my mind. She was done. Since the cancer hadn’t done it, and the bitch had survived, it was up to me. Don’t call it a relapse. Slowly, over time, the arsenic would get her. And everyone would think it was the cancer.

The bell rang again and I shot upright, the chair clattering to the tile floor. Picking up the white stone bowl I filled it with her favorite - chicken noodle. The eyedropper did the rest.

“Coming

sweetheart.”

2. MARCY

“...and the nice thing is, you can hide it in your purse so nobody will even know it’s there. I personally like to use mine on the long commutes home when I’m stuck in traffic. You just have to be careful when you orgasm not to cause an accident.”

The room full of soccer moms and newly wed wives laugh out loud, some mouths hanging open, and at least one face beet red.

“Hey ladies, you have to be responsible for your own orgasms. And with full-time jobs, kids, and husbands to take care of, sometimes those little moments alone are all we have. Well, that’s my presentation, and my name again is Marcy. Thanks Julie for allowing me to do this. Finish your crantinis, and then you can come in the back room one at a time to browse the merchandise. Don’t be shy. We all do it. So whether you want a simple vibrator or anal beads and nipple clamps, step on up, and I’ll discreetly bag your goodies. Nobody has to know. Thanks!”

The women applaud lightly, some of their eyes glowing with the possibilities of secret pleasures and long forgotten orgasms. Some are sickened by the subject matter but are already making a mental note to get my business card on the way out. At least one woman is trying to figure out which credit card she can hide it on so her husband won’t ask any questions.

It’s better than stripping, and way less money than porn, but it’s a lot more laid back, and you have a much better chance of getting home without being raped. As I head to the back bedroom to lay out the goods, I can sense the presence of one of the women behind me. I’m sure it’s Crysta without turning around. She’s been undressing me with her eyes all night. The possibility has crossed my mind but there are too many people here, and I’m not nearly drunk enough. But still...I’ve always been a little weak for skinny blondes with long hair and big tits. Maybe it was narcissistic, actually desiring myself.

“Can you give me a second, Crysta before you attack me, let me put out the toys,” I mouth over my shoulder.

Close behind me, her hot vodka breath mixes with her perfume, hints of patchouli under sandalwood. She smells good. I can feel her excitement as she presses up against my back.

“Crysta, easy...” I breathe.

“Okay sugar. Sorry, just all this talk about orgasms and vibrators has really got me going. I thought maybe we could close the door for a second before the rest of the girls came in, ” she purrs as she pushes it shut with an audible click. She is on me before I can turn around, pressing up against me, her lips on mine, her hungry tongue violating my mouth as her hands grab my waist and pull me to her. I can hardly resist and after all of this talk I don’t want to, so I let it go for a second. She kisses me with an intensity that borders on force and I can feel things moving too fast. Her hand shoves its way down the front of my jeans as our gaggle of girlfriends titter outside the door.

“Hey, Crysta, easy...” I begin, pulling her hand out, and giving her a gentle shove away from me. Her ankles get tangled up in the fuck-me pumps her eyes still overflowing with lust, the hunger turning to uncertainty as she falls backwards towards the vanity. I’ve always loved that marble counter, the muted colors swirling around each other, earth and amber with specks of obsidian. Her head smacks the corner with a wet crunch, like a pumpkin on a sidewalk, and her lifeless form falls beside the bed, out of sight.

“Crysta...” I squeak. “Damnit, not again.”

3. JIMMY

The shovel bites into the dirt as the cold nips at my exposed neck. My hands are raw and red already, the wind chapping them as I dig deeper still. The forest around me howls empty regret while the leaves swirl and the branches creak with age. My eyes water and I tell myself it’s the weather. The wind and cold slap at my face, and the tears that well up have nothing to do with the two bodies over there.

“Please step out of the car, Mr. Dugan.”

“Michael, what are you doing? Is this some kind of joke?”

I am up to my chest now in the double-wide grave. The shiny blade slices the roots like a hot knife through butter. The price tag is still on the handle, Ace Hardware, $12.42. I curse the air for not bringing a second pair of gloves. So much I didn’t anticipate. The blood soaking through the black leather mitts she’d given me for Christmas three years ago was one thing. The suitcase of heroin in the trunk had been another.

“Please step out of the car, Mr. Dugan,” he repeats, unclicking his holster, putting his right hand on the butt of his service revolver.

“What? Michael, what is this about?”

“One more time, sir, please turn off the ignition, and step out of the vehicle.”

“But...”

His left hand clicks on the mic at his shoulder, while the right pulls out his gun.

“Car 24 requesting backup. I have a 148 in progress, suspect is armed and dangerous, possible 95 and 966.”

“Michael?”

His left hand reaches behind his back, pulling something dark and metallic out from under his jacket. He flings it on the seat.

“Pop the trunk Jimmy,” he whispers, “and maybe you don’t wind up face down in the street today.”

It didn’t have to be this way. I got bail much faster than they expected, that’s what I’d come to believe. They probably thought I would be held until my court date. The sheer volume of heroin in the trunk of my car should have cemented that. But I made my bail, wasn’t a flight risk and came straight home, scared and concerned, because there was no answer at home and her cell went straight to voice mail. I didn’t see his car outside, it was parked down the street. So many black Mustangs these days. Of course I still had my keys, why wouldn’t I?

Something had been going on, and I guess I knew it. The protection I picked up at Walmart was simply that - protection. I loaded it because I was worried for my own safety. You do get a lot of stares climbing into a cab with a hunting rifle, even if it’s still in the box. Doesn’t anybody hunt any more? Sure, I sat on the front porch loading it. I was freaked out. I thought I was being followed. I worried for my life, and hers.