Long After Dark Page 11

  “Shouldn’t be too much to ask, huh? You think this was Kelly’s dream too?”

  “I thought so.”

  She looked at the flask as if trying to remember something. “I wanted to be a hairdresser from the time I was a little kid. Something about it seemed so glamorous, you know? Silly, but when I was a little girl it seemed that way. I wanted to work in the movies, to be a hairstylist for movie stars. So I went to hairdressing school right out of high school, it was a year-and-a-half thing but I came out licensed and ready to work. A week after graduation I packed a suitcase and moved to New York City. All alone, can you imagine? Twenty-years-old and ready to take on the Big Apple. I thought anything was possible back then, and I think maybe it was. Maybe it’s just all in how the cards fall.” She took a sip from the flask. “I didn’t even last a year in New York. Tough town, I was way out of my league. I got a job cutting hair but it wasn’t anywhere near the movies or TV or even theater. I came home about seven months after I left. Aaron came into the place I was working and I styled his hair. He asked me out and we started dating. He was older, sure, but so dashing and worldly and…well anyway, long-story-short, we ended up falling in love and getting married. All those feelings of failure and loss went away. I felt alive again. He made me feel special, like anything was possible just like before, like I could do anything as long as we had each other. Maybe my dreams weren’t going to come true exactly as I dreamed them, but they were coming true and that’s what mattered. That’s the power of love, Harry, it makes you feel alive again, makes you feel invincible and successful, unstoppable. It makes you believe things even when they’re not true, and you don’t care, because it’s such a powerful feeling you can’t let go. You don’t ever want to be without it again. So I held on tight to Aaron and I loved him with everything I had. The rest, as they say, is history. Isn’t that a magical story?” She let out a contemptible bark of laughter, then took another drink. “We built a life together for what, this? What a waste. What a horrible waste.” She raised the flask as if preparing for a toast. “Here’s to our lives, Harry, yours, mine and ours. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.”

  “You better take it easy with that stuff. You won’t be able to drive.”

  “I could stay the night.” She gave a naughty wink. “That’d fix their asses.”

  The nausea was back, and all he knew at that point was that he had to get Gloria out of there. Ignoring the sudden urge to run for the bathroom, Harry cleared his throat and said, “Look, I’m sick as hell, I haven’t slept in days and the weirdest things have been happening around here. I’m so out of it I can’t make much sense of anything. Now I don’t know for sure what’s going on with Kelly and Aaron, but you getting drunk while the two of us sit here being suspicious and upset about it isn’t going to help the situation any. I think it’d be best if you went on home, got a hold of your husband and talked to him directly. I’ll do the same with Kelly. We need to know what is or isn’t happening here, I agree, but the only way to do that is for you to handle your business and for me to handle mine. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

  She slapped the top back on the flask and slowly turned it tight. “You still don’t believe it, do you?”

  “I don’t know what to believe at this point.”

  She tossed the flask back into her purse. “You think I’m lying, is that it?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  She slowly ran her index finger along her cleavage, purposely pushing the tip between her breasts as she went. “Why don’t we hurt them back, Harry?”

  “Gloria—”

  “Nobody needs to know. We’ll know. That’ll be enough.”

  “Even if I wanted to,” he said through a cough, “and I don’t, I’m in no shape to—”

  She rose from the couch and teetered before him. “I’ll take care of you.”

  He put his hands up with the hope of warding her off. “OK, we need to stop this right now. You need to get your coat and—”

  “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

  “Yes,” he sighed. “You’re very attractive, but—”

  “Then let me suck your cock.”

  “Jesus.” He got to his feet and started for the door. “Come on, you—”

  “You know you want it.” She reached out, took his wrist and held on tight.

  “No,” he said, removing her hand. “I don’t.”

  She offered a drunkenly seductive smile. “You can cum in my mouth if you want.”

  “Well aren’t you a trooper.” Laughing nervously he motioned to the door. “Let’s go. Don’t say anything else. You’re upset and you’ve had too much to drink. Let’s just forget any of this ever happened and—”

  “They’re doing it, why shouldn’t we?”

  He draped her raincoat over her shoulders. “We don’t know that.”

  “Yes we do.” She moved closer. So close he could smell the chemical stench of her hairspray. “My husband’s a dog, and you’re wife’s a whore.”

  “Come on, you need to get home.” He took her by the shoulder and gently pushed her toward the door. “And don’t drink anymore between here and there.”

  “Do you know none of the other employees like her? They complain about her all the time, call her an ice-cold bitch and say all she cares about is getting ahead and one day being CEO. They badmouth her all the time, say she does whatever Aaron wants. It’s pissed a lot of people in the company off.”

  Harry reached for the doorknob. “Go home and have some coffee, Gloria, I don’t want to hear anymore, all right?”

  “You need to hear this,” she said, purposely blocking him from opening the door. “Aaron was fucking Kelly within a few weeks of her starting work there. He’s been bending her over his desk for a long time, and word is she goes down on him whenever he wants her to. She’s been my husband’s sex toy for years, a good little office slut always right there to tend to his needs. Bet you didn’t know that, did you? Well it’s common knowledge, Harry. It used to drive me crazy. He’d come home and go on and on about how wonderful Kelly is, how smart she is and how dedicated she is and how fond of her he is. It makes me sick. Didn’t you ever wonder how a receptionist shot up through the ranks so fast? How do you think she got all those promotions? You think she was the most qualified?”

  “Yes, actually, I do,” he said through gritted teeth. He’d expected his nausea to worsen but it had actually subsided. “Kelly’s worked her ass off and earned everything she has, and as a successful woman yourself I’d expect you of all people to be offended when a woman’s accused of only being able to make it by using sex instead of her brains, determination and talent.”

  Gloria leaned in close, sneering at him now. “The only thing that offends me is women like your wife. She gives us all a bad name and makes it tougher for everyone. Sad thing is Aaron always says how bright she is, so she didn’t have to do it that way, she could’ve made it on smarts. I guess she just likes it.”

  “Please,” Harry said. “I’m asking you to leave.”

  “Last chance, sick-boy.” She stuck her tongue out and wiggled it at him. “Wanna make some revenge?”

  “I want you out of my house, that’s what I want.” He reached around her roughly and pulled the door open, brushing it against her shoulder as it swung fully open. “Just go home, all right? I’m sorry about all this, but please, go.”

  As she straightened her hair her fingers brushed the silk scarf around her head. She flinched as if it had pained her and then looked away, confused. “I just wanted you to know,” she said softly. “I know it’s my fault for telling you, but I wanted you to know why.”

  “Your fault?”

  A small dark bead appeared at the bottom edge of the scarf near her temple, slowly fattening until it broke free and became a trickle along the side of her face. A trickle of blood.

  “Jesus, Gloria, you’re bleeding.” He reached for her but she leaned away. “Did you hear me? You’re bleeding.”


  “It’s all right.”

  “It’s not all right, you—Christ—you’re bleeding from the head. What happened?”

  She pushed her way by, purposely shielding the side of her face as she hurried past. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  Harry stood in the open doorway, watching as Gloria stopped halfway to her car, pulled off her heels, then padded the rest of the way to her car. With a violent slam of the driver’s side door she made a quick U-turn, then screeched away. The Volkswagen disappeared around the corner at the end of the street.

  Feeling as if someone had just hit him in the head with a shovel, he inhaled the fresh air while trying to absorb everything that had just happened. But none of it wanted to compute. His mind was on overload and slowly crashing like a doomed hard-drive. The situation with Kelly had sent his emotions on a rollercoaster ride, leaving him shell-shocked and beyond confused. One moment he’d suspected her of infidelity, and then convinced himself that was ridiculous and the things he’d suspected were simple coincidences Kelly had been able to easily and innocently explain. And now, just when he thought he was beyond such concerns and had determined the truth, the uncertainty and suspicions were back and stronger than ever, leaving everything he thought was true in jeopardy. How could it not be after everything Gloria had just said and done?

  As if her obvious but unexplained head wound wasn’t enough, the accusations about Kelly and Aaron Searcy were even more disturbing, not just due to the content but because in years past, on more than one occasion, he’d questioned her relationship with him. Never to Kelly, just to himself now and then, but they were fleeting and he’d always dismissed it and scolded himself for feeling even slightly suspicious when there was no cause to be. The relationship Kelly had with Searcy always seemed a bit too close to him though. Why then hadn’t he questioned it more? Why did he dismiss it unless it seemed the right thing to do, unless somewhere deep down he knew his concern was unfounded?

  But if these accusations were true then they’d been happening for a very long time. In all the years she’d worked for the company Harry had never heard a single rumor or innuendo about Kelly and Searcy. He’d never harbored anything other than those vague or passing suspicions, and had never once even considered them seriously. There’d been no reason to. He knew her work and home life were two entirely different worlds—so were his—but the idea that over all these years she’d been servicing her boss and then coming home to him and going about her life as if none of that was happening or mattered seemed beyond belief. He couldn’t imagine Kelly being able to maintain such a situation for so long without cracking, without giving some indication, without slipping up even once. And even if she hadn’t, if it were common knowledge as Gloria had told him, wouldn’t someone else somewhere along the line try to expose her? Wouldn’t there have been rumors or talk? How could she have kept something like that completely quiet year after year after year? And even if she’d been able to pull it off, why would she do such a thing? The woman he knew wouldn’t, it just didn’t add up.

  Kelly and Searcy were close, though, he knew that much was true. She’d always described him as a mentor who had helped her come into her own as an executive. But far as he knew Searcy had been happily married to Gloria for decades, and while Harry knew they shared a basic fondness, a friendship, the-old-master-and-his-young-apprentice kind of thing, never in a million years had he honestly suspected anything sexual might have happened between them. Even now it seemed almost laughable. And yet, he could no longer simply dismiss it. He had to rethink some things. He needed to go back, to discard his usual blasé and sentimental approach and try to remember the past more clearly and objectively.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling closer and closer and bringing the rain with it. Hissing from the heavens, it fell with even more ferocity than before.

  Night was getting closer. Perhaps the truth was as well.

  Something on the couch where Gloria had been sitting caught his attention. He moved closer, retrieved a small scrap of lined paper that looked as if it had been scribbled on, then hastily torn from a small notepad.

  14 Beach Street.

  Had she left it behind purposely, or had it fallen from her purse?

  14 Beach Street.

  He crumpled it up and threw it across the room.

  I need to know what’s real, Harry thought.

  The Kelly mystery wasn’t going to unravel easily, but maybe there was one thing he could figure out right then and there, once and for all.

  Earlier he’d seen the man lugging the pipe just outside the window with his face pressed to the glass. If that wasn’t a hallucination and had truly happened, then there would more than likely be some sort of physical evidence left behind.

  I need to grab hold of something—anything—that’s real, that I can prove and know for sure.

  Harry stepped far enough out the doorway to see around the bushes in front of and below the bay window. The dark mulch there was still wet from the previous rains.

  Just below the window were two indentations, side by side.

  Like footprints.

  7

  Although the topic had only been of moderate interest, over the years Harry had seen documentaries and read a book or two about haunted houses and people who claimed to have had paranormal experiences. Hoaxers and the mentally deficient aside, he neither believed everyone who alleged such things were lying, nor was he pompous enough to think he had all the answers, but he’d never been comfortable with supernatural explanations either. After all, people made mistakes. They honestly misidentified and misinterpreted things all the time, but the concept wasn’t something Harry spent much time thinking about. He’d always felt safe, comfortable. Maybe too comfortable…so comfortable I didn’t realize what was happening right under my nose.

  Could that be it? If there truly were beings beyond the pale of everyday existence, wouldn’t it stand to reason they’d prefer to move among those who didn’t believe in them? Wouldn’t it be easier to operate undetected amidst those who don’t believe you exist rather than trying to hide among people looking for you at the edge of every shadow, behind every gravestone or in every photograph marred with distortion?

  Is that what he was dealing with, ghosts?

  Ghosts don’t leave footprints.

  Then again, wasn’t this all an enormous and completely unfounded leap? He’d seen some strange men, but they were men. Wasn’t it far more likely that they were human beings than otherworldly creatures beyond his comprehension? After all, there was no proof of any such thing.

  But the man’s face, he—it was distorted and—no, I have to be wrong about what I saw—of course it wasn’t as bad as I’m remembering. I’m wrong. The man was there, the footprints prove it, but I was wrong about his features.

  Harry snatched the baseball bat from the corner and held on tight. Silly as he felt, the weapon afforded him at least a limited sense of security (however flimsy), in an otherwise frightening maelstrom of confusion and uncertainty. He knew he needed to focus and deal with everything that had been placed before him, he just couldn’t figure out where to begin. Was his wife really someone he didn’t even know? Had their lives together been little more than an ongoing series of lies? There was still a possibility, however remote, that Kelly was innocent. As for the strange phone calls, they had happened, there was no question about it, and while they were unsettling and difficult to understand, again, there was at least a small chance he might yet uncover a reasonable explanation for them. But the men fell into another category altogether. The man in the window left behind evidence, irrefutable proof he’d been standing there.

  His purpose remained a mystery, his existence did not.

  I was wrong about his face.

  He repeated that like a mantra until it sounded irrefutable.

  Glancing out the windows as he went, Harry made his way to the kitchen and checked on the coyote. He was curled up on the blanket but awake and still wa
tching the back door.

  Harry leaned against the island and tried to think. He could call the police and report the man with the pipe, but by the time the cops got there the footprints would be distorted beyond recognition or obliterated altogether by this latest rainfall. Without proof they’d write him off as the same sick and exhausted guy on meds seeing strange things in his neighborhood who’d called last time, a nuisance dialing 911 over nothing.

  But if the men were real, and Harry no longer had any doubt they were, didn’t he have to report it? Wasn’t doing so his civic duty and ultimately a means of protecting himself in the long run as well? While he was certain he’d seen two different men, they were obviously connected somehow and definitely up to something. He had no idea what, but it sure as hell wasn’t anything good. The chills returned, followed by a coughing spell that left his throat raw and his chest aching.

  The men must be working together…but on what? And how do the phone calls figure into this? Then the Kelly thing, it—it can’t be connected too, can it? No, how could—no—can’t be.

  He tried desperately to sort through it all but his mind simply couldn’t keep up. The exhaustion was too much, the fever and the confusion too great.

  All of a sudden my wife’s a stranger, there’s a coyote hiding in my mudroom, I’m getting phantom phone calls and I’m seeing bizarre symbols and strange men all over the neighborhood.

  Even the most nebulous sense that everything would eventually be all right eluded him. All he felt was fear, and it was getting stronger.

  Such a delicate thread between control and hysteria…

  Maybe the rest was just wishful thinking; fairytales recited to children so they could sleep at night believing mayhem and madness and all the demons festering within could never touch their souls because that was all so very far away, a horror that crippled other people in other places they didn’t need to be concerned with. After all, they were protected by love, by walls and doors, nightlights and trusting assurances that there really wasn’t anything under the bed, hiding in closet shadows or lurking just beyond the windows.