Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done." (42 page)

“What the fuck does that shit mean?” Junkie asks.

Joshua starts explaining the best he can, somewhat confused about it himself. “Well, when I dream, it’s very vivid, lifelike, and, unlike most men, in full color. And I dream in sequence, complete story lines, some lasting a year or more.” He pauses, searching their faces. Their expressions are as expected, suspicious and doubtful. Still he continues, “And the one I’ve been having lately is of a little boy named Frankie. The story is set in Alabama in the sixties. He lives alone with his mother; her name is Betty, and she is…well, sort of a tramp, a party girl.”

“Yeah, I know the kind,” Junkie adds.

Joshua smiles, and is encouraged to carry on. “Okay, so one Saturday night, in the middle of a house party, she’s called into work. She leaves in a rush, and little Frankie is left with her new boyfriend, Panama-Red. And he’s trouble. Big trouble! He ends up taking little Frankie with him to collect some drug money. And in the course of this, he gets killed by the hillbilly husband and wife that are in debt to him. Obviously they figured it was easier to kill him than pay the bill. And what’s worse is it all happens right in front of little Frankie.”

“Stupid fucking hillbillies,” Junkie slips in.

Everyone chuckles and positions themselves to listen more closely.

“So now the situation is, Abe and Sally—that’s the hillbilly couple—decide to leave Alabama the Beautiful and abscond to Idaho. And since they believe little Frankie to be Panama-Red’s son, and they sure don’t want to leave behind any witnesses, they’re taking him along.”

“What happens next?” Davidson asks.

Joshua answers gently, as these are the first words he’s said directly to him since their fight. “Well, that’s all I’ve seen so far…But one thing is that little Frankie is so distressed over seeing Panama being killed he can’t hear or even talk.”

“So you’re saying you’ll have another dream tonight?” Borost asks, fascinated.

“Maybe not tonight. Actually I haven’t seen him for some time now. But eventually, yes.”

“And you’re gonna tell us what happens, right?” Junkie asks.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you guys.” Joshua smiles again, feeling like he’s in the company of true friends.

His sharing sparks off an atmosphere of social comfort, and the rest of their evening together is spent joking, laughing, and bad-boy storytelling. Even some hypothetical talk of escape is discussed until they are worn out. Then warm good nights are said, and once again they are buried under thin covers, warding off the cold. For Joshua the talk of little Frankie has opened a doorway that’s been closed for a number of nights now. And somewhere in the core hours of darkness, his eyes begin to roll back and forth into REM sleep.

Flashes of radiance shift, imagery twists, and buried emotions emerge— taking form.

Abe, his young wife, Sally, and little Frankie are driving in the old Ford truck down a long gravel driveway. The sun is just rising over a hayfield that ends with a large house surrounded by old-growth forest. It’s painted white and across the full width is an open porch, with wicker chairs and potted plants. As they come to a stop, a cedar board can be seen hanging above the entryway. The burned letters in the wood name the home: The Clemsens.

Little Frankie stares out the window into another world. It’s a nice and proper homestead bordered by green lawns and fruit trees. There’s a playful Labrador retriever running in the yard. And standing on the porch, under wooden wind chimes, is a woman named Mrs. Sue Clemsen. She is a glowing lady with a joy about her that cannot be explained, and she never leaves his sight.

They all go inside, where everything is clean and orderly, and little Frankie is sat down on a davenport sofa. There he appreciates a home that is filled with quietness and the smells of a fireplace and home cooking. Pictures of loved ones adorn the walls. And Mrs. Clemsen shows loving eyes, even as she patiently listens to the tall tales of her wayward brother.

According to Abe they had to leave Alabama because he’d lost his job, and the young boy they have with them is Sally’s cousin’s kid, who they adopted, since she was using drugs. From there he goes on and on telling of one sad misfortune after another. The only part being the truth is little Frankie’s name, which Sally found stitched into the inside of his jacket.

Little Frankie thinks about what Abe is saying before he realizes he can hear again.

Then everything moves in fast forward.

Days go by living with the Clemsens, eating family meals, attending Sunday services, and spending the daylight hours running and playing in the fields with their two children and the dog named Trixter. Their son, Billy, who’s close to little Frankie’s age, is a lot of fun and always kind to his younger sister, Bobby-Sue. Little Frankie also takes a liking to Jake, Mrs. Clemsen’s husband. He’s a hardworking man, whose nature is steadfast and gentle. He takes little Frankie around the farm, showing him the animals, teaching him how to feed the chickens and horses, and explains to him the strict rules of the home.

In short manner he begins to adjust into a healthy young boy. And even though he still hasn’t uttered a word, no one presses him. The only conflict in him is the notion to hide his
mother from them. He misses her greatly but doesn’t want anyone to know of her, because he loves it here—he never wants to leave.

Then one day, as they are all sitting down to supper, the phone rings. Jake gets up and talks for a while in the family room. After the call ends, he takes a long time before coming back to the table. And when he does, Mrs. Clemsen asks apprehensively, “Who was that, darling?”

Jake holds a stern hand to her, to which she remains silent. Then he looks to Abe, asking, “Why are the police in Alabama looking for you?”

Abe makes a glance to Sally then replies, “I has no idea ’bout dat, Jake.”

“Well, they said something…something about a man being shot,” Jake replies harshly.

Abe, with pleading eyes, turns to his sister, who appears as if she might cry. Then he looks down, away from everyone, and says, “Maybe we bet’r leave din.” He gets up and walks out of the room with Sally trailing close behind.

Mrs. Clemsen excuses herself properly from the table. She takes her husband by the hand, leaving the room as well. Billy and Bobby-Sue eat in silence with little Frankie as they listen to the grown-ups arguing and moving about the house. Then they hear the fading noises of Abe’s truck crackling the gravel in the driveway.

Another twenty minutes or so passes before Jake and Mrs. Clemsen return to the dining room. Together they stand close, consoling arms wrapped around each other. They announce that Abe and Sally have left. And that little Frankie is now the newest member of the Clemsen family.

Joshua loses the association. He tosses and turns the rest of the night, desperately trying to find his way back.

.

Chapter Sixty-Six

A
fter making it through a two-hour screening process, William waits in the visiting room. It’s painted drab, chilly, and deficient of every luxury.

Across the other side of the prison, Joshua’s yard time is disrupted by the screeching sound of the loud speaker.

“Joshua Siconolfi, visit!”

Soon he’s escorted into the room, looking pale; his skin appears older and loose around the eyes. “Good morning, Josh. How’re they treating you here?” William asks, seeming more curious than concerned.

“I’m doing what I have to, and that’s all I’m going to say about it,” he replies curtly. He then takes his seat and scans the room, getting an eyeful of a young, slutty girl visiting her boyfriend.

“Listen, Josh, I’ve consulted with some very powerful friends of mine, and we have an excellent shot at securing you an appeal. We are going to get you out of here one way or the other.”

“Maybe I like it here.”

“Quit talking crazy, Josh. Now, is this why you asked me to come here?”

Joshua removes his gaze from the girl, leans in close so the guards cannot hear, and says, “I want to do another interview with Tabatha Sterns; I need you to set it up.”

“I don’t think she will, not after what you pulled last time.”

“Oh, she’ll do it; believe me, she will.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” he replies, shaking his head, not understanding his son. But then he’s never really understood him.

The remainder of the short visit is used up chitchatting of the inner workings of prison life while William quietly wonders if his son is remorseful for what he’s done.

.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

T
hree days later, Seattle’s purple dahlias are beginning to bloom, and blue jays are singing and flying about in the long-awaited sunlight that has returned to the Pacific Northwest. It brings new life to the many shades of green in the city that rests in the heart of glistening waters and snow-capped mountains. Anyone who has ever visited the Puget Sound would agree she is a true beauty this time of year, but Cools hasn’t seen any of it. He’s been numbing his bitterness in a drugged-out state. Currently he’s hiding at his regular table.

Again he’s half drunk and sniffling from the line of cocaine he’s just done in the bathroom. He takes a long drag off his cigarette while watching the news regarding the upcoming, primetime interview of his old adversary by Tabatha Sterns. In her commercials for the event, she blatantly smears Kimberly’s name, presumably trying to incite rage in Joshua beforehand, itemizing the choices she made in life—her vocation as a stripper, her false identities, her promiscuous affair, drug use, heretical religious beliefs, sexually transmitted disease, and her propensity for violence.

The dark side of the deceased.

It all makes him need another drink, another line. “Ahem,” he coughs, catching the attention of the new redheaded waitress, and waves her over. As she approaches he pulls out a wad of one-hundred-dollar bills—his recently illgotten gains from sales of cocaine to the local riffraff. “Bring me a new bottle of Jameson,” he slurs out, “and can you change the channel to anything but this shit?”

“Anything for you, handsome,” she replies, with a counterfeit smile. She then turns to fill his request. And when he can no longer see her, she quickly drops her friendly expression. There isn’t a great deal known about him. Only what she’s gathered from the other girls, who’ve told her that he’s some kind of cop that was given the all clear to be here. But that isn’t her concern; all she is thinking is that he’s been here almost every night since she started two weeks ago. And he usually leaves absolutely obliterated. It’s a story she is all too familiar with. A reoccurrence she’s seen time and time again in her many years working in shady cocktail lounges.

Sometimes good men, really good men, drink themselves to their death.

.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

F
inal preparations for the audience of her career are underway, and the word on the street is that Tabatha Sterns’s employer has already paid $750,000 for the exclusive, maximum security interview. They expect it to set ratings records. Because Joshua, often thought of as a diabolical killer, has gathered a loyal congregation who can’t seem to get enough of his arrogance, good looks, or provocative theories of life. And since his exploits have been absent from their screens for almost three weeks now, their imaginations are starving for what outlandish things he might say or do next. Some even hold onto hope that they’ll get a genuine confession or hear the fate of the other missing girls.

The elaborate set they plan to erect in the prison’s gymnasium is complete with eight-foot-tall, panoramic video panels, completely filling the backdrop from every camera angle. Two of them will be dedicated to digitally enhanced pictures of Joshua and Kimberly, while the others will exhibit alternating clips of the penitentiary itself, depicting where hard men do hard time.

In addition they’ve arranged to play a variety of juicy videos from Joshua’s previous antics and dub in portions of Tabatha’s first interview. Up first though will be Officer Geoff Ward, the undercover cop who shared the cell adjacent to Joshua during his trial. Second will be Amberly Carlson, the missing stripper who has recently returned to Seattle, whom William Siconolfi, at trial, alleged was the very same person as Kimberly—the old, “her other personality is the one who is missing” defense, which nobody bought into. Still the accusations from her are going to rock the world.

Third, they’ll cue in prerecorded statements from prosecutor Milkowski. And last but not least, a few jabs are going to be tossed in at good old Detective Cools. Although other news outlets have already done his story to death, his very name always seems to infuriate her main guest. Therefore, segments of his audio recordings will be played at intermittent times during the two-hour special.

Of course Tabatha’s more personal provisions comprise of her hair, nails, teeth whitening, and the loss of four extra pounds. She and her new stylist have picked out the perfect outfit and jewelry. But her beauty will be deceiving of her cleverness, given that she’s also been working diligently in the passing days, among a team of professional criminologists and psychiatrists, building an arsenal of inquiries designed to expose the real Joshua. She plans to conduct a thorough exploration of his mind, to bend and twist his contradictions and play upon his temper and vanities until she unearths his vulnerabilities. Then she’ll squeeze every last single drop of truth from his core, exalting herself to the ranks of Diane Sawyer and Katie Couric.

This afternoon her tutoring comes from Jeffery Talmot—her latest coach and advisor. Together they sit on the makeshift set, arranging how her nyloncovered legs will be crossed and going over camera angles, when Tabatha glances across the room to see that her iced toffee mocha has arrived. It’s held by a new girl she’s never seen before, who’s loitering impassively behind camera number two. And although she’s very pretty, she is wearing one of the latest and not-so-welcomed fads from the Seattle scene—her head is completely shaven.