amorphous and not fully formed. There was other activity in the room, too. Spirits appeared through walls, swept across the room, and then exited again through the TV. Some of the faces turned to us as they slipped by. The apartment was a variable superhighway of the dead. Noticeably absent was the spirit of a young boy, who may or may not have returned to be with his mom. That absence gave me hope. Maybe, just maybe, he was alive.
“What did the police say?” I asked.
“That Johnny was found dead by the lake, an accident of some sort, and that they will be doing all they can to help me find my son. Same old shit.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Same old shit.”
“Fucking cops. Full of promise. But they never deliver. Except to harass hardworking people just trying to make a living on this shitty rock.”
“Rock?”
“Planet Earth.”
“Silly me. Did they tell you any more about Johnny?”
“Only that they would know more later.”
Probably for the best, although Carol Jensen probably could have handled the news that her son’s best friend had been eaten alive by a lake monster.
“What else did the police talk to you about?”
“Why do you fucking care?”
She had finished what was left of the cigarette, which seemed to irritate her further. These days, I smoked because I could. I smoked because any cancers would get obliterated the moment a mutation reared its ugly head. I smoked because, back in the day, it was one of the few things that helped me stay grounded, connected. It was also one of the few things I could put in my mouth that didn’t cause me to get violently sick.
Now, I did it because it helped focus my thoughts. Like alcohol, nicotine had no effect on me. Just as well. I didn’t want to be hooked on cigarettes for all eternity. For now, they were a pleasant distraction, and my “thinking cap,” so to speak.
I wasn’t sure what had prompted me to grab two cigarettes from my not-so-secret stash in the minivan’s center console, but I fished one out now from my back hip and handed it over to her.
She lit up in more ways than one. First, her eyes, and then, her lighter, which appeared in her hand like a magic trick. Before I could take a step back, she had already taken, precisely, two hits.
I sent her a small prompting that I was a friend and that I had nothing but her son’s best interests at heart. Unfortunately, while I was in her thoughts, I caught wind that she was hoping I would leave fast because her next john was due any minute.
Yeah, eeew.
She nodded after the small prompting and said, “They wanted to know if I could remember anything else, anything at all that might help them locate my son.”
“Detective Oster?”
“Yeah. Her, and another cop. I’ve talked to her. A dozen or so times. Her and the fucking feds. Feds! They all keep fucking coming here and shaking up this place. My neighbors are beginning to resent me.”
“Are your neighbors aware that your underage boy has been missing for two weeks?”
She shrugged, sucked, exhaled, looked at the front door, adjusted her tank top. No bra. Nearly see-through. Eeww, again. She shrugged at my question. Sucked long and hard on the filter, closed her eyes. Seemed to enjoy the moment. The calm before the storm, perhaps. The storm being whoever was going to show up next at her door.
“Did you provide any new information to the police?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing I haven’t already told them.”
“And what did you tell them?”
She looked at me. “You got another cig?”
I did. And handed it to her. She placed it on the edge of the dining room table, ready for a quick draw, so to speak. “I remembered that he started a new lawn-mowing business a few months ago.”
“A business?”
“Yes. The little fuck wanted to make his own money. Legal money. Clean money, he called it. Judgmental shithead.”
I took in some air, and it was all I could do to not slap the woman. If I had, I might have slapped
“What did the police say?” I asked.
“That Johnny was found dead by the lake, an accident of some sort, and that they will be doing all they can to help me find my son. Same old shit.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Same old shit.”
“Fucking cops. Full of promise. But they never deliver. Except to harass hardworking people just trying to make a living on this shitty rock.”
“Rock?”
“Planet Earth.”
“Silly me. Did they tell you any more about Johnny?”
“Only that they would know more later.”
Probably for the best, although Carol Jensen probably could have handled the news that her son’s best friend had been eaten alive by a lake monster.
“What else did the police talk to you about?”
“Why do you fucking care?”
She had finished what was left of the cigarette, which seemed to irritate her further. These days, I smoked because I could. I smoked because any cancers would get obliterated the moment a mutation reared its ugly head. I smoked because, back in the day, it was one of the few things that helped me stay grounded, connected. It was also one of the few things I could put in my mouth that didn’t cause me to get violently sick.
Now, I did it because it helped focus my thoughts. Like alcohol, nicotine had no effect on me. Just as well. I didn’t want to be hooked on cigarettes for all eternity. For now, they were a pleasant distraction, and my “thinking cap,” so to speak.
I wasn’t sure what had prompted me to grab two cigarettes from my not-so-secret stash in the minivan’s center console, but I fished one out now from my back hip and handed it over to her.
She lit up in more ways than one. First, her eyes, and then, her lighter, which appeared in her hand like a magic trick. Before I could take a step back, she had already taken, precisely, two hits.
I sent her a small prompting that I was a friend and that I had nothing but her son’s best interests at heart. Unfortunately, while I was in her thoughts, I caught wind that she was hoping I would leave fast because her next john was due any minute.
Yeah, eeew.
She nodded after the small prompting and said, “They wanted to know if I could remember anything else, anything at all that might help them locate my son.”
“Detective Oster?”
“Yeah. Her, and another cop. I’ve talked to her. A dozen or so times. Her and the fucking feds. Feds! They all keep fucking coming here and shaking up this place. My neighbors are beginning to resent me.”
“Are your neighbors aware that your underage boy has been missing for two weeks?”
She shrugged, sucked, exhaled, looked at the front door, adjusted her tank top. No bra. Nearly see-through. Eeww, again. She shrugged at my question. Sucked long and hard on the filter, closed her eyes. Seemed to enjoy the moment. The calm before the storm, perhaps. The storm being whoever was going to show up next at her door.
“Did you provide any new information to the police?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing I haven’t already told them.”
“And what did you tell them?”
She looked at me. “You got another cig?”
I did. And handed it to her. She placed it on the edge of the dining room table, ready for a quick draw, so to speak. “I remembered that he started a new lawn-mowing business a few months ago.”
“A business?”
“Yes. The little fuck wanted to make his own money. Legal money. Clean money, he called it. Judgmental shithead.”
I took in some air, and it was all I could do to not slap the woman. If I had, I might have slapped
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