Red Rain_Hurricane Read online

  John put on a single spray of cologne, then turned away from the mirror. He looked down at his watch.

  Any minute now, he thought, hoping she would show up a few minutes late because he’d use it to rib her. He loved her smile and knew that teasing would provoke a grin.

  The knock on the door came a few seconds later.

  Damn it, he thought as the chance of getting a rise from her evaporated.

  He opened the door expecting to see Cindy and two of her friends—Allie and Jonie (they were going as a group—Cindy was gradually bringing him deeper into her social circle).

  “Hey,” Harry said, smiling, his fat hand waving.

  John’s eyes widened and he was stunned into complete silence. He didn’t move from the doorway—just stood there staring at the thing he thought had left his life forever. The thing that shouldn’t have ever returned to begin with, that should have stayed buried at sea.

  “I didn’t expect a welcoming party, but a hello might be nice,” Harry said, still smiling.

  “No,” John whispered. “No.”

  “What-da-ya-mean?” Harry said, walking forward and pushing past John. He went to the bed and laid down, putting his hands behind his head. “Have ya missed me, John? I’ve missed the hell outta you, if I’m being honest. Very glad to be back!”

  John felt hot tears come to his eyes; he tried to blink them away, but only forced them onto his face. “Why are you here? Why, Harry? Why the fuck are you back?”

  “I don’t understand—did you think I was gone forever?”

  “You shouldn’t be here.” John felt a desert wide emptiness opening inside him. Something so lonely and expansive that he saw no way to ever cross it. To ever escape.

  “John, I need to be here more than anywhere else. This is where I belong, my man. So what’s the plan? What ya got on the docket for today?”

  John shook his head, unable to come to terms—to fully fucking believe—what he saw and heard. John had beat him. He did that one deed and Harry disappeared like a balloon floating into the sky. He wasn’t supposed to come back. John was supposed to move on—to let all that other shit go.

  “No way, Jose. That’s not how this works,” Harry said. “You and I, we’re down for life. You’ll start getting it soon. So, for real, what do you have planned? I’ve been away far too long and am looking to get out and dance a little, ya know?”

  A tear dropped from John’s face and hit the linoleum floor.

  Cindy knocked on the door behind him.

  “Oh? You and Cindy are back together?” Harry said.

  * * *

  “He just … I haven’t seen him act like that,” Cindy said, ending the sentence there, but continuing it in her mind—in months.

  “What did he do, though?” Raquel, her roommate, asked.

  “Silent. The entire day and night. I mean, it would have been easier to pull a tooth out of his head than get a single word from him. He didn’t talk to anyone, not to me, or Allie and Jonie.”

  “Did you ask him why?”

  “Yes, like fifty times. I asked him to the point that I thought he was going to get pissed at me annoying him.”

  Cindy took the glass of water from the kitchen sink and walked across the living room to sit on the couch. Raquel sat on the opposite side, the television on, but muted.

  “What did he say when you asked?”

  “He said nothing was wrong, he just didn’t feel good. I don’t believe it, though.” Cindy was trying hard to act normal, but she didn’t feel normal. Not one bit. She was frightened because John had been normal—completely so—for two months. He had been great. But this, though different from their last bout of problems, reminded her of them. The distance, the way he always looked like his mind was elsewhere and not with her.

  “Can I ask something personal?” Raquel said.

  Cindy raised an eyebrow, looking to her friend. “Sure?”

  “Have you guys, you know, done it?”

  Cindy looked away, down at her shoes. She and John had spoken about it, but not a lot. They both wanted to sure, but …

  “No, not yet,” Cindy said.

  “Well, do you think that has anything to do with it? I mean, John’s a good guy but I think all guys lose interest after a while, if … you know, they’re not getting any.”

  “It doesn’t feel like that’s it, though. He hasn’t forced the issue at all—we talk about it, but it’s not like that’s all either of us think about. We’ve done some stuff, just not everything.”

  “I’m just saying I think it could help. Plus, you’re seventeen, don’t you think it’s time?”

  Cindy looked to Raquel. “I don’t know. I want to, but I’m scared.”

  “Is he?”

  Cindy nodded.

  “It’s not that big of a deal, Cindy. I mean, my first time was a little scary, but once you do it, it’s like riding a bike. Except instead of falling off and hurting yourself you have a lot of fun,” Raquel said, smiling.

  Cindy looked at her for a few seconds and then stood up from the couch. “Yeah,” she said. “You might be right. I’m gonna crash. You doing anything tomorrow?”

  Raquel shook her head, grabbing the remote from the table in front of her. “Just laundry probably.”

  “Let me know if you want to go the gym,” Cindy said and then walked into her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and lay down on her bed, the light shining down from the ceiling fan above.

  She wanted to have sex with John—of course she did. In her heart, though, she didn’t feel that would solve whatever happened today.

  Maybe there’s nothing to solve, Cindy. Maybe he just had a bad day and he’ll be fine tomorrow.

  Yet those thoughts didn’t feel true. John said ′nothing’ when she asked, but she knew he was lying.

  Another, more sinister, voice spoke up. And last time did he tell you what was bothering him? When you two got back together, did he ever say why he did all of that bullshit? Or did he avoid the issue?

  “Goddamnit,” she said into the empty room. Why did she have to pick the guy with so many problems? And why couldn’t she tell her heart to just stop caring? Useless questions. She was here and she wasn’t leaving him, so she had to deal with it. And was Raquel’s suggestion such a bad idea? Would having sex with her boyfriend damage anything? No, of course not.

  So why not do it?

  * * *

  “Hey,” John said.

  A pause came back over the phone and John knew his mother heard in his voice what he didn’t want to say with words.

  “Hey, John. Can you hold on for a second?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, hearing the line click to mute. He imagined she was taking the call away from the kitchen, perhaps stepping out on the back porch where she could be alone.

  “You there?” she said after a minute.

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t sound well, John.”

  He paused for a second, unsure exactly what to say. He called because he didn’t know who else to turn to. He was at a loss for how to deal with this. “I don’t feel well.”

  “Does this have anything to do with my letter?”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Has anything happened? Anything that can’t be fixed?”

  “Nothing very important has happened yet, but I think it’s going to. I’m scared, Mom.” He heard his own voice crack, the emotion from the last twenty-four hours welling to the top of his consciousness.

  “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. What phone are you using? Your dorm room?”

  Nodding, John said, “Yes.”

  “Okay, I want you to take some money and go to the payphone. Call me when you get there, okay? How long will it take you?”

  John thought about the area around his dorm. “Five minutes, maybe.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you then, honey.”

  John hung the phone up and put his jacket on. He left the dorm room, walking alone. Harry had kep
t him up all night, jabbering on and on about how much fun they’d have killing Cindy. John was terrified; even now his hands shook as he walked down the hallway to the elevator.

  He couldn’t banish Harry; he knew that now. Harry came and went as he pleased, and when he showed up—

  You’re already thinking about it, aren’t you? No matter how much of a fight you put up or how many times you tell him no, you still go back to it. Just like now. Because you remember what those two in the abandoned building looked like, their broken skulls and open mouths, staring into some endless space. You remember the thwap the metal poker made as it crashed on their heads. Oh, you remember and you want to hear it again.

  From Cindy’s skull.

  No! a part of him shouted out over the rambling voice. No! I won’t do it. I won’t.

  Yet as he pressed the elevator button, his finger dancing like a humming bird’s wings, he didn’t believe it. If it were true, he wouldn’t be calling his mother. He’d simply tell Harry to fuck off, and that would be the end.

  You want it, John. You want it as bad as Harry, and it doesn’t matter what Mommy says. You’re going to do it.

  * * *

  Lori sat down on the patio chair.

  She felt oddly calm at what was about to happen. No freakout. No anxiety stricken body, unable to move. No, she just sat down and put the phone in her lap, ready for John’s next call.

  He had read her letter. This call meant acceptance of the letter. Admitting, in whatever way John could, that Lori was right.

  Is there satisfaction in that? she asked herself.

  Maybe, though she didn’t think that was why she felt such calm. John lived in another country, far away from her eye or help, but coming to her now—well, she might be able to do something.

  But what are you going to tell him? What are you going to ask him?

  She had no earthly idea. No heavenly idea either, for that matter. She had thought about this conversation, but never truly believed it would happen, and so she never really prepared for it.

  Just shut up. He’s going to call and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?

  The phone rang in her lap; Lori reached for it immediately.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey,” John said.

  Lori swallowed and took a breath before speaking, silence coming across both sides. “How are you, honey?”

  “I’m scared, Mom. I’m really scared.”

  Lori heard the crack in his voice for the second time, and a crack in her heart opened with it. Had she ever heard him like this before? Even when Harry died, he remained stoic. Yet here he was, about to cry into the phone.

  “What’s happening?”

  “I … I’m seeing things. I’m seeing things that shouldn’t be here and they’re talking to me.”

  “What do you mean, John?” she paused. She had never heard anything like that, not with Clara at least. “Like something is there with you?”

  John broke, the sound of tears rolling across the line. Lori’s heart physically ached, a tightness in her chest at the sound of her child’s sobs.

  “Yes. He’s here. He came back.”

  “Who, John?” she asked. Her chest constricted more and she wondered almost absently if she was about to have a heart attack.

  “Harry, Mom. Harry. He’s wanting me to do things. He’s wanting me to do horrible things.”

  * * *

  Lori still saw Dr. Vondi, though she felt somewhat guilty for it. She knew that Vondi wanted to know everything he possibly could about John; indeed, she sent her son away for that very reason—yet here she was, still scheduling appointments with him and following through. She enjoyed talking to him for the most part. He helped, and that kept her coming back.

  Most days they didn’t speak about John.

  Lori said they sent him away for the improved educational opportunity.

  She didn’t know if Vondi bought it, but he said it sounded like a good idea.

  “Have you heard from John?” Vondi said, the first time he’d brought up her son since he left. Like he had known she didn’t want to speak about John, so avoided bringing him up. Until now. Until John called, saying he’s seeing and talking to his dead friend. Then the man brought up her son.

  “He called me this week,” Lori said.

  “We haven’t spoken about him much. How is he?”

  “He’s okay,” she said.

  “You sound … I don’t know, like you’re worried?”

  And that was why she kept coming back, because in here she could say whatever she wanted—she could bare her soul without fear of reprise.

  For the most part.

  Perhaps not when she talked about John, though. Perhaps reprise lay there like a quicksand.

  “He’s in another country. Of course I’m going to be worried. He’s feeling a little homesick, too, which doesn’t help my worrying.”

  Vondi looked at her for a few seconds, his eyes narrow as he measured what she just said to see if it held any weight.

  “Are you worried that he might hurt someone over there? That’s always kind of bothered me, since your decision to send him. Here, you were extremely frightened he would turn into your mother, but yet you sent him to another country. It doesn’t really add up.”

  “Aren’t you always telling me I’m wrong, though? By acting like that I’m setting him up for emotional damage later on in life? I was trying to take your advice, to let go of my fears,” Lori said. Her chest was constricting the same as it had when she spoke to John.

  “I wonder if you really believe that, or if you’re just pacifying me. I know I scared you, Lori, when I spoke about John last year. I don’t think you want me seeing or talking to him, and I don’t think you want me thinking about him, either … Are you really trying to let go of Clara, or are you only telling me that?”

  Lori couldn’t take this anymore. She couldn’t take her son seeing a dead boy that told him to do all the things she feared. She couldn’t take this goddamn doctor asking her questions that he apparently knew the answers to. She felt like she might scream, just open her mouth and let her vocal cords rip through this office.

  “Lori?” Vondi said in her silence.

  “I’m just thinking,” she answered, trying to hold it together. “Why are you asking me this? Why would I lie to you? I pay to come here for God’s sake.”

  “I don’t think you’re lying, Lori. I’m just wondering out loud is all. It’s not a big deal. So what did John say?”

  The tightness didn’t alleviate. She saw Vondi’s pivot, his turn toward John and away from questioning her—but she didn’t believe he was finished. Didn’t believe he was only wondering out loud.

  “He said school was fine, but that he missed us.” Her mouth felt dry despite the bottle of water she drank before entering the office.

  Dr. Vondi nodded, and when she changed the subject to something else, he went with her, but she didn’t think he believed anything she said. His nod held something in it, a message saying, Lori, you’ve told too much truth to start lying now.

  * * *

  Gerald Vondi looked out of the window in his office for a long time. Lori had gone. She was the last patient of the day, which Vondi always planned. He could never finish a session with Lori and go right back to his normal train of thought. He often did this, sat and stared, letting his mind twist around the possibilities.

  He knew she was full of shit. She had started lying when he told her how concerned he felt about John. Right before she made arrangements to send him over to England. She could say all she wanted that it was for the education, and blah, blah, blah—all lies. She was frightened for her son, but not just because of what she thought he might do, but that Vondi might discover it.

  Of what she thought he might do. Vondi was slowly coming to think that sentence might be wrong, that it should read: of what John would do.

  Sure, Lori thought it, but perhaps that wasn’t the defining characteristic. Maybe John was
actually likely to do it, and Vondi had been the one mistaken all this time.

  And what then? If he’s some kind of murderer, what the hell are you going to do?

  A murderer. Did Vondi already believe that? And if so, why? What made him switch from active interest to thinking the kid will kill someone?

  He didn’t have an answer. He imagined, if pressed, a combination of things led to this shift in thought. The conversation he had with John before he left. Lori up and moving him across the ocean without so much as a word before it happened. Those two things piled on top of all the times he spoke with John, combined with his inability to understand what drove the kid—what was truly wrong with him.

  What if Lori was right? What if the kid was a murderer and just because he couldn’t be strictly classified a psychopath didn’t mean he wouldn’t portray the same tendencies in certain areas. And if Vondi knew this, or at least suspected it, then what duty did he have?

  Slow your roll, he thought. You’re going to call the police here in the States and say someone in England might go on a killing spree? Are you going to break confidentiality with such little evidence supporting your reason to do so?

  So what the hell else could he do? Lori wouldn’t tell him anything more and the kid was in England.

  So find someone to watch him while he’s over there.

  The thought felt like seeing a life raft in the middle of an ocean, an ocean that Vondi had been floating in for the past few months. He saw it just within reach, and if he grabbed hold of it, he could climb aboard and save his life.

  Someone else, someone who specialized in investigating people, then Vondi wouldn’t have to sit here stressing anymore. He would know the truth.

  “How the hell am I going to find a private investigator in England?” he wondered out loud, the words a hushed whisper.

  He started looking, first by calling the state bar administration to see if they knew the equivalent overseas. From there he worked through various people until he finally found a long distance number. It took him two hours to get to that point, and the person who finally gave him what he wanted was clearly pissed, as the time was seven at night.