When I arrived home, he was sitting on my sofa, a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair was perfectly slicked back and he was wearing wire-rim glasses. Handsome fucker, too.
My wife was sitting on a chair right across from him, laughing at something that he said. I quickly tried to hide my astonishment. I hope the Academy recognizes me this year, because I put on quite a performance. I didn't even flinch as I walked into the living room, a shitty grin pasted on my face.
My wife looked up and smiled. "Oh, Lewis. This is John
Slesser
, our new neighbor. I ran into him as I was walking Tulip and I invited him over for a cup of coffee. He's says it's hard to make friends around here. I told him that it won't be hard with us."
He stood up, smiled charmingly, and offered his hand.
Oooh
, this bastard was good. "You must be Lewis. It's great to run into some nice people on this block. Your wife is the first person to have even acknowledged my existence."
I shook his hand and took a seat. "Most of the people on this block are pretty good people once you get to know them, John. They just need to get used to you is all. They're just nervous around strangers."
"Well, I'm glad I'm not a stranger any longer," John said. He didn't exude one iota of the menace that he had exhibited last night when he murdered that girl. He was putting on a four-star performance; I'll give him that.
Did he know that I had watched him, or was this just one big coincidence? I wasn't a firm believer in coincidences. When you look close enough at the world, things always have a reason for happening. The patterns come out.
"So, Jessica tells me that you take nightly walks," John said, that perpetual smile never leaving his face. It was if he had painted it on, practicing every night in the mirror. "Mind if I tag along some nights? Sitting around the house can drive a bachelor like myself to climb the walls. Every man needs a little blessed oxygen now and then."
I looked over at him, wondering if he was mocking me. He appeared absolutely genuine. "Sure, I'd like that a lot," I found myself saying. "Jessie was walking with me for a little while, but she stopped. I could use a little company."
"Good," John said. "It's been pretty lonely lately."
I decided to put him on the spot. "Didn't you have a wife, or a girlfriend? I could have sworn when I saw you move in there was a woman. An attractive woman."
John nodded, frowning as if he was in great pain. "Yeah. Sue left me. I came home from work and she was gone. I think she took off with someone she knew at work. Even her own parents don't know where she is."
"That's so sad," my wife said. "I'm sorry to hear that."
John turned to her and offered his devilish smile. "You don't need to be sorry. We weren't getting along that great anyway. I've been playing the field. I've dated lately, but none of them have clicked with me. Anyway, I'm elated I actually found some friendly people." He turned to me. "Does next week sound good to you, Lewis? I'm having a guest tonight."
I bet you do, you scummy bastard
, I thought to myself, but I smiled and said, "Next week sounds good to me, John. We'll get to know each other."
"Well, I better get going," John said. He looked over at my wife and put his hand on the pendant around her neck. "Jessica, this pendant is absolutely beautiful. Not only are you an expert interior decorator," he said, waving his arms around at the furnishings. "But, you're a pro in your taste in jewelry as well."
My wife blushed and thanked him. We said our goodbyes and he walked out the door, whistling a happy tune as he went. On second thought, I think the Academy is going to snub me this year. The winner of the Oscar for Best Actor is walking down my sidewalk. He even managed to get a good look at my wife's neck.
"Well, isn't he a nice man?" Jessica asked as she watched him through the window. "That nice and single too! I'm calling Debbie up right now. I couldn't find her a better person to date if I paid him. You're going to have to invite him over for dinner one night and I'll introduce them to each other."
"You do that, Jessie," I said, a big-ass grin on my face. "That sounds like a great idea."
And I meant it, too. I fucking hated Debbie, the miserable slut. Always trying to get my wife to go to the single bars with her. A date with this psycho would do her good.
As for myself, I would be paying Johnnie-boy a little visit tonight. My wife was already on the phone, chattering to her girlfriend about what a perfect man John
Slesser
was.
That night after my wife had gone to bed, I was out of the house and off into the night. In minutes I was in his back yard, carefully stepping around the muddy area. This time there was a brand new spot to step around. I smiled grimly. I was immediately up the tree and onto the balcony.
I looked into the window, shocked to realize that I had missed the show. He was just getting off of a blond woman. Her tongue was protruding from her mouth and her eyes were bugged out. He stood up and pulled the mask off of his head. He threw it onto her body, covering her face in black leather. Finally, he turned around and disappeared from view. I waited a few minutes, but heard nothing.
Once again, I couldn't help myself. I tested the glass door and it slid open effortlessly. I was walking over to the body when I heard the sound of something cutting through the air. I looked to my right just in time to see John swinging a baseball bat at my side.
My knee shattered, broken to pieces. I fell to the floor moaning in pain.
He was instantly in my face, his minty breath blasting into my eyes. "Say one word and I'll kill you, Lewis."
John walked over to the door and shut it before dragging me up against the wall. My knee felt like a bag of broken glass. He pushed the corpse roughly off the bed and it thudded into the floor.
He walked over to the television and turned it on, grabbing a remote control. His foot collided once again with my busted knee sadistically, blasting unbelievable jolts of agony through my body. I screamed and his hand was instantly over my mouth.
He looked at me coldly. "I have something to show you, Lewis. That is you under there, isn't it?" he gently lifted up my ski mask. "Why, yes it is. I thought we weren't going to see each other until next week? Why don't you watch this."
John gently eased the ski mask back onto my face. He pointed the remote at the television and sat down on the bed. I was watching myself enter the bedroom yesterday. He had taped the whole thing.
"You know, Lewis," John said, smiling. "It is said that God is ubiquitous. Do you know what that word means? It means that God is omnipresent. That he is fucking everywhere."
He walked over to the plaster head of Jesus and turned it around, showing me the camera that he had wired into it. I moaned as my leg brought electrifying pain throughout my body.
He put the head back on the dresser. "There is a lesson to be learned from all this, Lewis, and that's to be a very good boy in case Jesus is
watchin
'. And he was watching, Lewis, wasn't he? I tape everything. Everybody's got their own home movies. At least you can't say mine are boring like the usual ones. Mine don't have
Gramma's
final visit to the beach and little Jimmie's first step like the ones that most people have."
He grinned at me and then brought his fist up, slamming it into his mouth. He was still smiling when he spit out his tooth. It landed on the floor by my foot. One of his teeth was bent back to the roof of his mouth. This fucker was attacking himself.
"Lewis, you hit me," John said, showing me his new broken teeth with a wide smile. He tapped my knee with the bat and brought me into a whole new level of pain. "I think I just got myself attacked by a prowler. I think I better defend myself from that mean old prowler with the scary ski mask. There is an old saying. One you probably heard dozens of time in your life. Who's watching the watcher? That's the saying. Ever heard that? I bet you have, Lewis. I bet you have."
It was surreal watching as the baseball bat came whizzing at my face.
Brother Sebastian kneeled upon the red crushed-velvet carpet, arthritic knees resting in the depressions of a thousand other communions. The other monks had left for the orchard. He envied them their peaceful, simple work. He would much rather be pruning back the cherry trees, keeping the chaos at bay, than readying for the task to come.
He steadied his hands on the dark wooden rail in front of him as he felt the silent movement of the priest to his right. He didn't need to see, to know that Father Roy was administering the Eucharist to Brother Peter. Sebastian allowed himself a small smile as he reveled in the image of the fidgety young monk and Christ occupying the same space in the same time—the miracle of transubstantiation. Yet a miracle it was for God showed no favorites.
No matter how many times he communed with the lord, it was as refreshing as the first. Communion, to taste the maker and become one, was the greatest honor—the greatest gift. To allow oneself to unburden to become as perfect as could possibly be. Moments later, he felt the familiar sensation of his heart lighten and his soul soaring free as he too partook of the flesh and blood of the Lord.
After an hour of introspection and prayer, Brother Sebastian cracked open his old eyes. On a silver plate, held steady by Father Roy, lay the reason for his trembling soul—an innocuous white envelope, overlarge and thick. Brother Sebastian glanced over at Brother Peter and watched as the young man's lips had trouble settling upon the youthful face.
It was a small walk down the stone path to the old well house. The doorway had been recently cleared of kudzu revealing the stout oak door with the new steel lock. The bright green smell of the all-consuming vine made him heady, reluctant to leave the world of brightness. Old brick and new mortar graced the sides of the small old building. Brother Sebastian pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it with a shaky hand. One glance back at the dark, green hues of the Tennessee mountains and the two monks stooped under the low opening and descended, picking their way single-file down the narrow stone stairway into the depths of the abbey. The younger monk descended first, cutting through cobwebs with the edge of his slender soft hand. A grimace of disgust squatted beneath excited eyes.
"And you say that someone lives down here, Brother Sebastian?"
The older monk ignored the impertinence of the remark and by keeping his right hand steadfastly in the middle of the younger monk's back, allowed himself to be led down and down and down. He was always fearful of getting lost in the earthy darkness of the abbey's catacombs, something that had haunted his dreams of late. His other hand clutched the letter against his chest, the envelope's whiteness trembling against the coarse brown cloth of the Dominican robe.
"But Brother, we were given dispensation to speak. I, for one, plan on enjoying it."
Brother Sebastian stared fatherly disapproval at the back of his guide's head. "Brother Peter. We are allowed to talk for a specific reason. Your nonsensical wanderings, however understandable, are at cross purposes with the moment."
The younger monk descended silently for a while, Brother Sebastian's words a tender slap. They finally arrived at the hard-packed dirt floor. He wasn't sure how far down they had traveled, but the air was a permanent cool. As they moved, swirls of dust rose and mingled with the old air. A stale taste descended, lingering upon his tongue. Spiders and beetles scuttled out of the flashlight's beam, seeking the safety of old mortar and webbed corners.
The two monks stepped over several fallen wooden beams that appeared to be a vestige of the abbey's Civil War history. The wood scattered about the floor was still stout, hardened by the century belowground. Not a hint of rot could be detected.
The walls appeared to be a combination of naturally occurring and man-made. The majority of the visible area had the smoothness connected with a millennium of water wear. But where the ceiling seemed to dip, or a doorway was needed, the sharp geometry of tool-work was as clearly evident against the stone as if it were graffiti from another age.
"Why have I never heard of this place before, Brother Sebastian?" he asked carefully, his youthful excitement now tightly leashed.