Chapter 27: Trying to Forget
“Hi honey, how was your day?” Tom looked up from his laptop with a sarcastic smirk on his face. “How’s the job hunt going?”
“
I applied to three jobs today,” she said, stretching out her arms and creak-cracking her wrists and elbows. Her elbow popped. “Christ, I sound like an old lady.”
“You’re
such a whiner,” Tom said. He took her arm and massaged it, kneading the muscles with his thumbs.
Time seemed to fl
y
while she was applying for jobs. The leaves were turning outside. Tattered brown and orange-leaved branches bounced outside their window in the breeze and scraped noisily against the glass.
“Every time I look down, I still think of Steve Jackson,” she said softly. “When will that stop?”
“Who knows,” Tom said. “Eventually, you’ll just stop thinking about it though. It will become a piece of trivia in your mind, like the spot where the Obamas had their first kiss.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said.
“Speaking of trivia, will you ever tell me what sparked your criminal record?”
“Still harping on that, huh? Will you still love me if I tell you?” he said. “Promise.”
“Yes, I’ll still love you,” she said, nervously. Christ, she thought, what if he was a sex offender?
“You won’t kick me out and change the locks?” he said. “People make mistakes, you know. That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a second chance.”
He joked but she could see there was a genuine fear flickering in his eyes. They sat down on the couch and she patted his arm.
“Tom, I’d be out on the street right now if it weren’t for you. I kinda owe you.”
He sighed. “Then just try to forget it. That’s the best thing. I could just kill that cop.”
He got up, went into his room and quietly shut the door.
As sad as it was, at least she knew it was Kevin who killed the man outside, she thought. At least she knew it wasn’t Tom. She didn’t need a cop to tell her that. He was her best friend, not a murderer.
Chapter 28: The Witness
Kevin couldn’t help but play the scene out in his head over and over. The images just kept flickering back into his brain, as he sat at the table.
It was too simple, almost, like red paint spilled on a black and white photograph. The man’s head was broken open in the middle of a snowstorm.
“I want to tell you about it,” Kevin said out loud, interrupting the memory.
Across from him, Sgt. Johansen put down his pen and looked up from the form he was filling out.
“Excuse me?” the cop said. “What else do you want to tell me about?”
“The murder back home,” Kevin said, shakily. He wasn’t sure how much he should tell, if he should tell. What would happen to his mother?
“Look, I want to tell you everything. You just need to make sure my mom is safe, first. Can you do that?”
The cop crossed his arms and looked deep into Kevin’s eyes. He was tall, heavily built, with thick arms.
“Oh, you’re looking out for her, now? Sure, kid,” he said. “I’m a patient man. But it’s always a bad idea to wait to tell the police what you know. Usually, it’s dangerous.”
“I just want my mom here, then we can talk,” Kevin said. “I don’t even care about a lawyer, cause I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“We have lots of time to talk,” the sergeant said. “You and your grandpa will be here for a while. But are you sure you don’t want to just tell me now?”
The snow fell slow and steady, in thick, heavy clumps, but it wasn’t a white out and it wasn’t icy cold. It wasn’t the first time Kevin had left the window open after the boiler went berserk. The radiators kept him up at night with their hammering. It was like having a crew of roofers living in your bedroom, working 24-7.
At first, it didn’t seem that weird, a person in black with a metal shovel scraping the sidewalk. But now, he wondered if he’d ever forget the image of that shovel scraping blood and brains across the ice.
From his window, he had seen the shovel hit the man’s skull. He saw the whole thing over and over in his head.
The car’s wheels spun and spat snow under the yellow glow of a street lamp. Caught in the light, heavy flakes danced down to the white ground. The victim got out of the car and waded through the knee-high snow in slow motion, swimming around his car.
A few blocks away, the train’s bells ding-dinged. At the same moment, the figure dressed in black approached the stranded man, carrying a shovel over their shoulder.
The man reached down to pry a chunk of ice off of his car. Watching from the window, Kevin expected the person with the shovel to bend over and start digging beneath the tires. Instead, they raised the curved metal up high overhead and brought it down over the man’s head with series of loud thwacks. He slumped over.
“You weren’t supposed to talk.” He could barely make out the words through the gap in the open window.
The killer kept on hitting the man’s head, cracking it like a walnut, then turned and looked up at the window. Kevin got a good look at the face covered in a black mask, with gaping holes for eyes and its mouth.
The problem wasn’t that he couldn’t identify the killer. The problem was the killer could identify him.
He tried to tell himself that the thick snow kept him from being seen, but he couldn’t stop the panic from rising up his throat and drying out his mouth.
The killer looked up at him standing in the window and raised a black-gloved finger, waved it back and forth and pressed it to a wide, gaping mouth.
He understood the message perfectly.
He knew there was no saving the man with his brains spilt on the sidewalk
.
Kevin had froze at his window and stared blankly as the hours passed and the snow slowly erased the red stains. He wanted to believe it was just a bad dream buried beneath a white blanket.
But the next day, he saw the killer in the hallway. He wondered how he could hide from a murderer nearly next door.
He cast his eyes to the floor that first time they crossed paths and examined the criss-crossed diamond pattern on the blue carpet – anything to avoid the steely eyed gaze.
“You’re
safe as long as you don’t say anything.”
The whispered words stuck in his head. They didn’t need to be repeated. He kept staring at the floor.
“I ain’t gonna say nothing.” He looked up into the eyes of the killer. “Please believe me.”
He didn’t tell any of this to Sgt. Johansen, who sat there patiently waiting for him to open his mouth.
“Look, it was the blatantness of it that bugged me, that they did it so close to home, and they didn’t care who saw, because they could deal with it,” Kevin sputtered. “That was the attitude.
“They told me, you get in the way, we’ll get you out of the way, just like Steve.”
He remembered each word like a bad poem.
Chapter 29: Rejection
Tom came home and threw the canvas on the floor. The wood holding it together cracked.
“Rejected by another gallery,” he fumed. “It’s not the quality of the art anymore, it’s who you know. Or maybe I just suck.
“What do you think of this piece?” he said.
Claudia took a good look. It was the face of a young woman looking over her shoulder. She was painted in various shades of red and looked lost in worry.
“She’s beautiful,” Claudia said, glancing up at him. “And frightening.”
“Are you just saying that?” he said.
“Tom, don’t be neurotic,” she said. “You know your work better than some idiotic gallery owner.”
Tom crossed his arms and paced across the room.
“You know what he said? He said it lacked depth or any true emotion, that it lacked a certain spark. You know the sad thing? He’s right. There is always something missing from my work, some element, some kind of fire that’s just missing.”
“Tom, she’s fine,” Claudia said.
Tom stopped and stared down at her.
“Maybe I can fix it.” He rubbed his chin. “Hold on. Maybe she needs a little destruction.”
Tom stormed into his bedroom and came back with a hammer. He held the canvas up on the dining table and took a swing. The back of the hammer tore through her eye, leaving a gaping hole. Another slash tore out part of her arm.
“Tom,” Claudia said. “What are you doing?”
“What?” he said. “I’m working.”
“You shouldn’t listen to them, what do they know about your art?” She pulled the hammer away from his hand and placed it on the
coffee table.
“Now, she looks totally twisted,” Claudia said. “I liked her better before. I’m sorry.”
“Do you think people will think I’m weird?” Tom said.
“Yes,” Claudia said, holding his arm. “But that’s part of your charm.”
He sat down on the couch and she sat down next to him.
“You read the news online today?” she asked. “They decided not
to charge Kevin. The cops say the kid’s innocent, after all.”
Tom sighed. “Great. That makes my day even better.”
He compulsively clicked through the channels with the remote control and the green, glowing numbers climbed higher and higher in the corner of the screen. Faces flickered and snippets of words stuttered out of the TV like cut-off protests, “Be-to-sat-no-der-fine-she…”
“So now, we go back to you thinking maybe I did it, right?” He turned the TV off and stared at the black screen.
“No.” Claudia said stepping in front of him. “I’ve never thought that and I’m sorry, Tom. I don’t want to fight anymore. It seems like we’re always fighting lately.”
“You’re never going to trust me until you know what happened,” he said. “I’m getting tired.”
“I know you didn’t do it,” she said. “But why don’t you just tell me about your past? Is it that hard?”
Tom stood up and walked toward her, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.
“What about my damn past?” he said. “Some people didn’t have nice childhoods with overprotective mothers. Some people didn’t just have things handed to them. They had to take them. Some people don’t like talking about bad times. Some people just want to forget.”
“Sometimes, talking is the best way to forget,” Claudia said. “You gotta let it go.”
“Easy to say,” Tom said. “You didn’t live it.”
“Why are you so suspicious of me?” Tom asked. “I never did anything that bad. Why not check other people out?
What about Alice, maybe you should make sure her church isn’t a cult? Maybe we should check up on that, go for a visit?”
“
I know you’ve got a felony record,” Claudia shouted. “Stan told me. You lied to me. And if it wasn’t that bad, why are you so damn defensive, Tom?”
“You want to know about
that, fine,” he said. “I got busted for burglary. I’ll tell you all about it, tonight. And then we can go our separate ways. It’s your lucky day. Tomorrow, I’ll even move out.”
“Oh, burglary’s not that bad, huh?” Claudia sputtered. Her hands and words were shaking.
“Why didn’t you ever just tell me?”
“You know in prison, they let me teach a painting class
to the other inmates. When we were done, the guards carefully counted the brushes and took them away.”
“Why are you telling me this, Tom?”
“It doesn’t matter what I say. You’re never going to trust me again.
“
I was just fighting the inevitable, I guess,” he said. “I knew it would be a deal breaker. I’m late for work.”
Tom slammed the remote onto the coffee table, went into his room, and came out in the black work pants and polo work shirt he hated.
“You’ll never understand.”
“Why don’t you
try me?” she said.
“Meet me at midnight downstairs,” he said,
as he walked out. “And leave your damn cell phone at home. I don’t want you calling Stan every five minutes.”
On the other side of the door, the keys jangled and locks clicked as he left.
She knew it was just a habit, just a normal everyday precaution but it felt like he was locking her up inside. My Tom, the jailer, she thought.
Chapter 30: Trespassing on God
Claudia could still see the tornado when she closed her eyes. It was like a black, blossoming plume of smoke being twisted between some god’s angry fingers. She could still feel the thick raindrops wet her skin and the roar of the wind against her ears. She could still feel her mother tugging her arm back toward the basement.
It was midnight and she tapped her foot against the sunken parking lot pavement waiting for him. She had a choice, she thought. She didn’t have to go. But it was like a game of chicken with Tom at thi
s point. If she didn’t go, he’d never tell her why he’d done the things he had. He’d just leave. Was she afraid? Why should she be? She lived with the guy. He could’ve butchered her in her sleep at any time.
She told herself the moment she got a job, she was moving. She was going to miss the bastard.
The gate swung open with a hum and a creak and Tom rolled into the parking lot slowly.
“Get in the car,” Tom said.
“We’re going on a field trip,” he said. “Just try to understand.”
As he rounded the corner, the red toolbox in the backseat shifted and thudded against the car door with a chorus of metallic clinks.
“This is a bad idea,” Claudia mumbled.
“Don’t look so serious,” Tom said, with a wink. “Will you be my accomplice tonight? Ok, ok, just promise me you aren’t going to call your friend at the police station?”
He kept his dark eyes ahead. Shadows and yellow streetlight danced on his face as they snaked through the windy, old neighborhood streets.
“Accomplice?” she said slowly. “Accomplice for what?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but crime can be fun,” he said. “As long as you aren’t hurting anyone. It makes for a cheap date.”
“I didn’t sign up for crime. Wait, is that what this is
now, a date?” she said, looking down at her tennis shoes and blue jeans.
“Not quite.” He smirked. “Don’t worry. You aren’t underdressed. No ball gown required, but gloves would be nice. Put these on.”
He parked about a block away from the old church and they walked slowly toward the naked brick back of the building. It looked exposed and crumbling compared to the grand columns it was hiding behind out front. Pieces of old wood with peeling paint were stacked against the dumpster.
“Crime number 1: Criminal trespassing,” Tom whispered.
“Oh, so there’s more than one?” Claudia said.
“That bastard promised not to tell you what I did,” he said.
“Well, technically he didn’t,” she said.
“Lot of good that did me,” he said, prying open the door with a crowbar. “Now I have to find a new roommate. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find an apartment with a criminal record? Most decent landlords run background checks.
I’m lucky I even have a job. A felony’s like a fucking curse. It’s like they want you to stay a criminal for the rest of your life.”
The rotten wood splintered easily under the metal and he swung the door open.
Tom turned on the flashlight and the light danced up cracked, gray walls and peeling plaster in a wide hallway. He handed her a face mask. She put it on for a moment, then pulled it down so it hung loose around her neck.
“Tom, why are we doing this?” she whispered.
“Kevin kind of confessed to Alice, right? What’s that phrase? If your grandmother says she loves you, check it out.”
“Your mother, Tom. If your mother says she loves you, check it out.”
“Right, whatever. I just want to check Alice’s story out tonight.
“But to be honest, this isn’t the first time I’ve broken into an abandoned church,” he whispered. The light from his flashlight danced around, searching the room. “I used to do it all the time. For the art of it.”
“Oh, so you’re into graffiti?” she sighed.
“I’ve never desecrated
anything,” he said, his face deadly serious. “I’m not a vandal.”
Their footsteps crunched on the paint chips and plaster.
“Did you steal?” she asked.
“No, but I took stuff
no one wanted, sometimes.” Tom swung open a tall wooden door with a creak, but closed it when he saw a room stacked with old chairs in one corner and a cracked toilet in the other. “Nothing in here worth taking.”
“Well, that would be stealing,” she said. “So crime no. 2 is burglary, then?”
“Technically, yes, but in my own defense, in order to steal you have to take something that belongs to someone else, right? Well, most of the time, there was no one to steal from and they weren’t taking care of it. If something is abandoned and nobody wants it, who’s gonna get mad?”
“But there’s just one problem, Tom.”
“What?”
“This place isn’t abandoned,” Claudia said, gently grabbing his flashlight and looking down at the shoe prints dusting the cracked tile floor.
“True,” he said. “Make sure I don’t steal anything then.
“I’ll give them a donation to cover the cost of the damage to the back door,” he whispered. “Don’t worry. It’s not like I didn’t ask for permission to come in here.”
“You asked but you didn’t get it.” Claudia rolled her eyes.
“How do I get you to see it like I do? Think of it this way, there are no borders. There is no citizenship. It’s just land. It’s just space. And we all move through it.”
“Hmmm, convenient,” she said. “I don’t quite buy it.”
“These stairs should take us to the top of the tower,” he said.
Their shoes crunched on pieces of fallen plaster and the stairs creaked and groaned with each heavy step. Tom’s foot broke through one of them.
“Watch out,” he said. “The wood’s rotten here.”
“Isn’t your friend trying to fix this place up?” He crinkled his nose and sniffed the moldy air. “She isn’t doing a very good job.”
“You’re not helping much.”
Claudia pulled up her mask, held onto the wooden railing and climbed. Tom walked behind her lighting the way, occasionally putting his hand against the small of her back to steady her on the stairs winding up and up.
“
Let’s check out the roof.” He tapped the last door at the top of the stairs. “Ah, my skeleton keys should work on a prehistoric lock like this. Crime no. 3: possession of burglary tools.”
“Why do you want to go to the roof?” she asked.
“For fun, obviously,” he said. “I’m sure it has a beautiful view.”
Claudia thought back to something Stan said about criminals being stupid otherwise they wouldn’t be criminals. But Tom just seemed bored and crazy. Still, she had a sunken feeling in the pit of her usually law-abiding stomach, like the time she accidentally forgot to pay for a carton of milk in the school cafeteria.
She knew she should go back.
She lingered in the doorway. She didn’t even have a flashlight. Tom had the only one. She looked down into the blackness where the stairs had disappeared. She told herself the stairs were still there, but it was hard to believe. She took one uneasy step down and her foot flopped in search of the surface. What am I doing here? She wondered. This is stupid.
“Claudia,” Tom said. “You coming up?”
She walked into the top of the tower, held onto the edge and looked up at the wooden beams overhead, the empty metal rods missing their bell
s, then out across the treetops.
“You can see the Sears Tower and the lake from here,” he said. “Just like I thought.”
Claudia exhaled slowly. The lake looked like a great black blanket to the east, and the stars were lost in the yellow glow of the city. “It’s beautiful,” she said, simply.
The moon reflected on tops of trees like a silver haze across black shadows.
“I used to break into places like these and sketch them, paint them,” Tom said. “I have this thing for the skeletons of great architecture, the decay of wealthier times, the broken things, the broken people, these old buildings hide. I’d close my eyes and try to imagine what they used to look like, try to imagine them new again in their old ways. I’d paint them like that.
“It was stupid really,” Tom said. “
I was young and stupid and it was a fun way to spend an evening with a crowbar and a blowtorch and a screwdriver prying the plywood off old buildings. After the police came to my house, my dad started asking questions and digging through my collection. When I told him what I had done, he laughed.”
“What did he do when he found out?” Claudia shifted her weight from one foot to the other. It was starting to get cold.
“He told me they weren’t any good and he burned them, dozens of paintings and sketches, burned them all in the backyard in a big pit. You should have seen the pile of canvasses with their bleeding paints, curling and warping turning to black ash, spitting and popping chemicals.
“He said he was doing me a favor. If the police found them, they’d know just how many places I’d broken into. But he was a fucking liar. It was all for nothing. He did it cause he hated me.
Some of those buildings have been demolished.”
Tom had tears in his eyes as he leaned against the railing. “I
lost it and broke his jaw with my fist. Add assault to the list. I was 18, so I got a criminal record out of it, but nothing else. Nobody ever expected me to go to college. They weren’t surprised when I went to prison.”
“I’m surprised you went to prison,” she said.
“You aren’t afraid of me,” he asked. “You don’t think I killed Steve Jackson?”
“No. Never thought so,” she said.
“Why do you trust me so much?” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this earlier. I’ll understand if you don’t want to be roommates anymore.”
“Tom,” she said. “You don’t have to move out. Just promise me this is the last time you’ll do this.”
“You look like a princess high up in her tower,” Tom said softly walking toward her. The wooden planks beneath him creaked. “Maybe I should paint you like this.”
“Why would you want to paint me?” she said, stepping back uneasily.
“I’m always painting you,” he said, putting a hand on her waist. “You just never see it.”
“I’ve always wanted to ask you to pose for me,” he said. “But I didn’t think you’d let me.”
“I’d let you,” she said.
“What else would you let me do?” he said, and before she knew it, he was kissing her.
For a split second, she raised her hand to push him away, but he grabbed it and held it against his chest. Why not? Claudia thought.
The smell of his aftershave mingled with sweet sweat and the warmth radiating off his skin. She was dizzy up at the top of the tower.
“Tom,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”
Before he could answer, they heard voices at the bottom of the stairs.
“Shit,” he said. “It’s the police.”