Paul Cleave - The Laughterhouse

It’s obvious. The police are lying. They’re trying to get him to give up another of the girls-yet that doesn’t make sense either, because they must know the fact he didn’t harm Melanie means he won’t harm the others either.

So if that doesn’t make sense-then what does? Is it possible with all that’s gone on that the girls, the father, that they’ve simply forgotten to tell him that Octavia has a medical condition?

“Katy,” he says, looking over at the little girl, “I need you to help me help your sister.”

But Katy won’t wake up either.

Easiest solution is to call the police. He starts to tap the number into his phone. He was going to call them anyway, so it’s not that big a deal. Stick with the new plan. Only he can’t. He can’t go to his grave not knowing whether the girl lived or died.

He has to go back to the house.

And if the girl is dead? Then he has to see it. He has to put himself through the knowledge of that. Tabitha was right-he has been hurting the children.

“Fuck,” he says again.

He can still hear Stevens’s words. You’re a father, I’m a father, and as a father I’m begging you, don’t let this be your legacy.

He doesn’t care about his legacy, people can say what they want about him, but he doesn’t want to let a baby girl die.

“I have to go out for a bit,” he tells Katy, but of course Katy doesn’t answer him. He uses the tape and the plastic ties to make sure she’s not going to go anywhere if she wakes up while he’s gone.

You’re a mean man, she would probably tell him right now if she could. A mean, mean man.

And he is a mean man. He knows that now. He’s a mean man who may have just killed a one-year-old girl, and God how that hurts, how it makes him feel sick, and if that is what has happened-then what?

He puts duct tape over Katy’s mouth. He supposes he is hurting her too.

He heads out the back door to the car, taking his knife with him.

“I think I sold it,” Stevens says, his voice coming through clearly on the speakerphone.

Detective Kent is nodding. Detective Hutton is eating part of a chocolate bar he found in his pocket, and Schroder is sitting on the couch still staring at the TV. The two officers are peeking through the curtains. I’m the only one not carrying a gun. There are no cars outside, nobody hiding in the bushes either. We’re hoping Cole is going to come charging back through the door. If he does, there’s nobody to spook him on the way. Tabitha and Octavia have been taken back to the police station along with the letters Mr. Chancellor gave me, minus the last one. The paramedic has been dropped off along the way.

“It was perfect,” I say. Tabitha’s TV is still on and there’s a reporter from the scene recapping into the camera what they were all just told. It’ll be similar across all the channels, reporters excited as the case continues to build. If Cole saw it, then hopefully he’ll be on his way. We could have him in custody within the next ten minutes. This could all be over soon.

“Question now is, will it work?” Stevens asks.

“Let’s hope so,” I say, “because it’s all we have.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re right,” he says. “Listen, Tate, you and Detective Kent have both done good jobs today, but don’t drop the ball now, huh? And I’m sure if I ask if Schroder is there,“ he says, and Schroder looks over at the mention of his name, “you’ll all tell me that he’s gone home for the day?”

“Exactly, sir,” I tell him.

“Good. I’d hate to think you were lying, Tate, because that would put things on the wrong foot. So for the sake of argument, right now I’m going to believe you and not ask one of the others. And if Schroder were to call me from his house in say. . fifteen minutes, that would help.”

He hangs up. The media is no doubt downstairs at the police station waiting for the next sound bite. Stevens is hoping to be able to provide that to them within the hour. He’s hoping to tell them we have Caleb Cole in custody and that Dr. Stanton and his remaining daughter are safe.

There are six unmarked patrol cars spread in a diameter around us, all parked between four and six blocks away, the drivers all hunched low in the seats, all of them no doubt uncomfortable and keeping an eye out for Stanton’s car. Of course we don’t know if Cole is still using Stanton’s car. The same house lights that were on when I found Tabitha and Octavia earlier are still on. It’s an hour away from midnight and everybody is tired and I never did get around to eating. The packet of cookies Tabitha left out are all gone, Hutton and the two officers having made it their first assignment. I open the fridge hoping to spot some cold pizza or chicken or maybe a chocolate bar and end up finding only fruit and vegetables.

“It’s a lesbian thing,” one of the officers points out, nodding toward the fridge and smiling.

“What?”

“They don’t eat meat.”

I get the joke but don’t feel like laughing, even though his partner does. Detective Kent rolls her eyes and smiles at me. I grab an apple.

“You reckon he saw the news?” Schroder asks, and he looks like he’s just waking up. The question is identical the one we’ve all been asking each other for the last thirty minutes, the only difference is the tense. You reckon he’s going to watch the news? We kept reassuring ourselves that he would to the point where we were convinced of it. On this side of the bulletin it’s all so very different.

“If he didn’t see it, it’ll be online soon enough,” I say, talking with a mouthful of apple. The apple is making me think I should make an effort to eat more apples. Scientists say apples are good for you, but they also say that coffee is bad, so I don’t really want to listen to scientists. I must look like I’m enjoying it because Detective Kent also goes to the fridge and grabs one. “If he is staying up-to-date, then yeah, he’ll see it. Question is when will he see it? And will he take the bait?”

“Stevens was pretty convincing,” Kent says. “He really did make it sound like Cole still had the girl. If Cole is convinced, he might just make an anonymous call to the police with the address.”

But the only convincing thing is how desperate we are to believe what we’re saying. It was always the weakest part of the plan, even though Barlow thinks otherwise. After reading the letters, he’s convinced Cole sees himself as a father figure to Ariel Chancellor. He was the one who told Stevens to use the father-to-father line. He told us there was still enough of a caring father figure inside of Cole to check on the girl himself, to check that he hadn’t hurt her. It will be important for him to come back, he told us, and he will, as long as he saw the bulletin.

“Don’t suppose anybody’s up for splitting some pizzas?” I ask.

Hutton looks like he is, even though he knows I’m only kidding. Only I’m not so sure that I am. The others all ignore me.

My cell phone rings. I look at the caller display. I don’t recognize it. I walk into the hallway and answer it.

“Theo, it’s Carol Hamilton,” she says, her words are urgent and she sounds out of breath and I suddenly feel like I’m going to be sick. I can hear the sounds of traffic in the background. She’s not calling from the nursing home.

“Has something happened to Bridget?”

“I’m on my way there now,” she says, “and I suggest you do the same thing. She’s woken up.”

My body temperature plummets, it touches on freezing point just long enough for my back and neck to break out in a violent shiver. My legs actually wobble and I have to grab hold of the wall. “What?”