Alex (20 page)

"I actually have some running around to do, I can't really -"

"Just a minute," Justin insisted, and gestured to the nearest quiet room.

Shit.
 
Here it was.
 
Ian clenched his teeth, trying to keep his hands from trembling.
 
Just let him talk.
 
Don't open your mouth.
 
Don't say anything stupid.

"Sure."

It was the same room as Wednesday, where Ian had had to sign his name.
 
Justin closed the door behind him and sat down, staring at the table.
 

Ian wanted to say,
What is this about?
or
Look, I'm sorry about what I said, I was just so exhausted I wasn't thinking clearly.
 
But he forced himself to stay quiet, to wait the man out.
 

"I didn't go to HR," Justin finally said.
 
He was still staring at the table.
 
"And I won't.
 
Okay?
 
But seriously... even if I don't, eventually Barb's going to ask me some questions.
 
Eventually she's going to do it, even if I don't."
 

Barb was Justin's boss, the director of phone operations in the
Minnesota
office.
 
When Ian opened his mouth, he meant to say,
I understand.

What he said instead was, "Well, you'd better make sure she doesn't."

Justin flinched as if he'd been whipped.
 
Ian's heart pounded.
 

"How...?" Justin started, then shook his head.
 
He grabbed his temples with both hands and leaned against his elbows.
 
Ian remembered doing something very similar the night before.
 
"It's only been a few times.
 
I had already told her it couldn't keep happening, before you even said anything.
 
It's... history, over and done with."

Ian kept silent.
 
The back of his mind was crowing in disbelief.

"Don't tell my wife.
 
I can't control what Barb does.
 
But please, I'm asking you man-to-man.
 
Don't tell my wife."

"I'm working on FMLA," Ian said.
 
"When that's done, Barb won't be able to do anything.
 
You keep her off me until then.
 
Or Daney will be finding some very interesting pictures in her e-mail."

Justin nodded, pale as death, his head bobbing like a jack-in-the-box.
 
Ian left him like that, and walked away feeling like he had just won the World Series of Poker.

He cackled most of the way home.

80

Best Buy had a huge display for the new XBox 360 thing that let you play without using a controller.
 
Ian walked past it and browsed the movies instead.
 
Finally, as usual, he bought nothing.
 

As he was walking back to the car, Derek called.
 

"Hey," he said.
 
"How are you holding up?"

"I'm all right."
 
He hesitated.
 
"Sleeping better.
 
Sorry for freaking you out on..."
 
What night had he called Derek?
 
Tuesday?
 
Monday?
 
Most of the week had been a blur.
 
"Earlier."

"That's okay, I'm just sorry I couldn't tell you to come over."

"Don't worry about it.
 
I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, well, I felt like an asshole.
 
You sure you're doing better?"

"Yeah.
 
It comes and goes, you know?
 
This last week was really ugly.
 
Hopefully the weekend will be better."

"Have you... signed up for, like... sessions, or anything?"

"Like a psychiatrist?"

"A counselor, or something."

Ian debated.
 
"Yeah, I guess so.
 
I made a call."

He could feel Derek's relief emanating from the phone.
 
"Good," he said.
 
"Good, I really think that'll help."

Ian got to the car, swung inside.
 
"Maybe.
 
I think it's just shit I need to work through."

"What?"
 

"Just shit I need to work through."

"Well, that's what they do.
 
Help people work through shit."

Ian chuckled.
 
"I suppose they do."

He started the car.
 
The conversation tapered off.
 
It was weird.
 

"You need a tank tonight?"

"I don't know," Derek said appraisingly.
 
"You want to come along again?"

"Yeah," Ian mused.
 
"Yeah, I think so.
 
If you got room."

"All right.
 
Shoot me a tell around 7."

81

When he came in the front door, Leroy Eston was kneeling over Alex in the darkness of the living room.
 

Alex had his clothes on.
 
That was the first thing Ian noticed.
 
He wasn't being raped.
 
But Eston was leaning into his face, his stringy hair brushing the boy's cheek, catching on his gag.
 
The killer's voice grated in the silence.

A flare burst from Ian's heart, igniting his limbs with rage.
  
He bounded forward, a roar at his lips, and forced himself to stop.
 

No.
 
Listen.
 
Listen.
 

Eston had given him one clue already.

" - understand?"

Alex nodded, his cheek scraping against the floor.

"Even if you get through the door somehow, there's nothing around here for miles and miles and miles.
 
No phone.
 
No police.
 
No help.
 
You can scream and scream and no one will hear you, no one will come.
 
Do you understand
that
?"

Another nod.
 
Alex's face was streaked with grime and tears above his red turtleneck.
 

"And let's pretend that you get away somehow.
 
You make it back home.
 
Do you know what will happen then?"

A whimper.

"That's the worst thing.
 
The worst thing you can do.
 
You're really fucked, then.
 
I will come to your house, and I will kill your mom and dad.
 
Because I know where you live.
 
You know that, right?"

Alex shook his head, clenched his eyes shut.
 

"I will come in while they're sleeping, and I'll kill both of them." His voice was weirdly soft, a knife draped in velvet.
  
"They won't even know I'm there.
 
And then I'll come in your room, and play my games with you in your own room.
 
You don't know about my games yet, but you will.
 
And you won't want to play them in your room, Alex."

The boy was sobbing around his gag.
 

"Leave him the fuck alone."
 
The command hissed between Ian's teeth, steam from a teapot.
 
Eston glanced suddenly towards the wall, as if he'd heard a noise from that direction.
 

Alex disappeared.
 

Every muscle in Ian's body coiled like a spring.
 
He clamped his lips shut, waiting as Eston glanced at the other wall, then the near wall again, trying to figure out where Ian's voice had come from.
 
Then he looked down, where Alex had been a moment before, and was gone.

82

Ian gasped, grabbed the knob of the still-open front door to keep his balance.
  
He reached for the light switch and flicked it on.
 
The living room was empty.
 

"Fuck," he wheezed.
 
"You fucking..."

He closed the door and stumbled forward, his hands shaking.
 
He sank to his knees where Alex had been, his eyes scouring the carpet.
 

Inside his coat pocket, his cell phone buzzed.
 
He fumbled it out, gazed at it like it was an alien artifact.

Shauna Douglas was calling.
 
He stared at her number until the phone stopped making noise, then he looked back at the floor.
 
Alex was still gone.
 

"Alex!" he shouted, and climbed back to his feet.
 
He went into the dining room, then into Alex's room.
 
"Alex!
 
I need to talk to you!
 
Are you here?"
 
They were both empty.

He looked in his own bedroom, looked in the bathroom.
 
Then he stalked through the kitchen and opened the door to the basement.

"Alex!
 
Come on, can you hear me?
 
I need -"

"Hi, Daddy," Alex said.
 
He was at the bottom of the stairs.
 
He looked nervous, like he'd done something wrong.
 
"I was playing on your computer, but I didn't mean to."
 

Ian started down the stairs, but backtracked to flip on the light.
 
"That's okay," he said, breathless.
 
"Hey, that's all right.
 
Don't worry."
 
He hurried down the stairs.
 
"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, but I was only playing Super Why."
 
Relief at his dad's reaction radiated from Alex's face.
 
He smiled.
 
"You want to see?"

He was here: whole, unharmed, still innocent.
 
The horrors that had transpired a minute ago with Leroy Eston didn't exist for this boy.
 

Ian wanted to weep.

"No," he said.
 
"No, not right now.
 
Maybe later, okay?
 
Can you show me later?"

Alex was disappointed, but he nodded.
 
"Sure, Dod."
 

The word stabbed Ian in the heart, and he grimaced.
 

But he smiled, too.

"I'm 'Dad,'" he said.

"Okay, Dod," Alex answered, his impish grin shining.

"That's 'Dad' to you," Ian insisted.

"Okay, Dod!"

"All right.
 
Alex?"

"Yeah, Dod!"

"I love you," he whispered fiercely.

"I love you too," Alex said back, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

83

The frozen pizza needed to bake at 450, so he set the oven to pre-heat and started hunting for the pizza cutter.
 
It was always dirty, because he was having frozen pizza for dinner far more often than was probably healthy.
 
He had considered buying a second one, but had rejected the idea at once.
 
If he was too lazy to clean one goddamn pizza cutter, he'd be too lazy to clean two.
 
Where did it stop?
 
He'd end up with a sink full of filthy pizza cutters.
 
The image made him recoil.
 
It reeked of craziness.

While he dug through the dirty plates and bowls in the sink, he thought about Leroy Eston.
 

Seeing Alex again was hard, but he was beginning to think he could come to terms with it, maybe even resolve it, somehow.
 
Seeing Alex's killer was something else entirely.

Part of his mind was simply babbling uncontrollably, gibbering with rage and grief.
 
It wanted to destroy Eston, to finish gouging out the man's eyes, at the same time that it wanted to curl up in the corner and wail.
 
But after weeks of direct confrontation with the horrors of his son's final days, he was getting used to those feelings.
 
He could set them aside and let the other part of his mind work.

That part was wondering,
Why am I seeing Eston now?

The typical responses took their places.
 
Speaking for the prosecution was the hotshot upstart, Alex Is Haunting You
.
 
And tasked with the defense was the aging, but ever stalwart, You're Fucking Crazy
.