Sarah Sparrow - A Guide for Murdered Children

“You are, Dad.”

Laverne appeared, carrying a plated sandwich on a tray, which she offered to Roy. He lifted the top piece of bread. “Too much mayo.”

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he said amiably. “Just scoop some of that shit off. Unless the genius wants it.” He nodded to his son.

“I’ll take it,” said Grundy.

“Waste not, want not. Just make me another, Angel.”

“Yes, Father.”

She took the plate over to her husband, curtsied and left.

Out of nowhere Roy took a hammer to Daniel’s kneecaps. He patiently waited for the screams to subside, like someone waiting for the sirens of fire trucks to subside before resuming quiet conversation. Then, his eyes lit up.

“Holy shit, I just thought of something! Grundy doesn’t know I’m dead! Whoops! Forgot to tell him! Hey, Grundy! Your old man’s been dead for ten months!”

Grundy smiled in confusion. He thought that his father was making another joke, albeit one he couldn’t comprehend. Roy had the brief impulse to lay it all out—the story of his death and transfiguration—but didn’t have the energy, even though the prospect amused. It would have been pointless.

“I guess that falls under the category of things that aren’t appropriate for a parent to share with their chillun… Want to know another interesting thing? When you and your sis showed up at the Meeting that first time, I didn’t put it together! The Porter introduced you as Troy and Maya, but I drew a total blank—couldn’t make the connection. How ’bout that? I finally figured out that Dabba Doo was making me senile! Señor Gummy Bear was gumming up the works… That piece of shit… but when ‘Winston’ showed up, now that got my attention. See, I’d been out of the game—hiding at the bottom of the river—but that didn’t mean that Grundy wasn’t keeping me abreast of his repulsive nocturnal activities. The turn of the screw was the day Ugly Girl showed up and the Porter introduced her as Winston . Because I was aware of a child who went by that very name who’d been ‘involved’ in some of Grundy’s recent hijinks. He and Mrs. Angel snatched him at the Cherry Street Mall. Grundy told me so during one of his late-night telephonic confessions… A puzzle remains: How is it that you didn’t recognize me ? I’m much obliged, because it might have made things unnecessarily complicated if you had. Still, I wonder—what gummed up your works?

“A most intriguing scenario lies before us, amigo. I’m dead; you’re dead. Is that not so? Therein the stage is set for that Holy Grail, that elusive theorem which heretofore was thought to be unsolvable. Gödel would turn over in his grave. And I sincerely believe…” He paused to arduously suppress a deep cough. “I sincerely believe that we shall soon be assured a place in the annals of history. You see, what we have here is bigger than the invention of the iPhone, bigger than the Internet—bigger than the discovery of fire!” Roy had a sort of seizure and then blew out a dark scab of blood. It took a few minutes for him to recover. “Tonight , my friend, we are pioneers. Because , by reason of our both being dead, your murder will have no killer or victim .” He broke into a jack-o’-lantern grin. “Isn’t that beautiful? The world at last will be provided with the equation it has yearned after for centuries.

“We’ll be living and dying proof that there is such a thing as the perfect crime.”

He doubled over, unable to catch his breath. Grundy went to his aid but Roy peevishly waved him off. Different-colored ejecta from his lungs spattered the captive’s chest.

“We were in unknown territory before , no shit , but now are we ever… We might even become immortal! I might anyway. Sorry about that”—his soliloquy was interrupted by a death rattle of congestion; it jolted Grundy, who was amazed that his father was able to continue—“God truly does reward the worst of the worst. Talk about anomalous serial killers—Our Father Who Art in Heaven is the ultimate . The ultimate outlier! What would Quantico make of Him ? And the Man Upstairs knows I have nothing against you! I didn’t have anything against you when you were nine years old and I’ve got nothing against you now . It’s just how He made me… made me a survivor too—I mean, look at me. What is there to gain from what I’m about to do? What is there to gain from killing you? You’re already dead! You and your bratty little soul mate, that whiny scumbag Troy… but here’s the rub. I can’t get this cockeyed idea out of my head that killing you again will help me live. Or some alchemical variation thereof. God must have put that thought there, no? Even though I’m starting to think it’s so much bull because in case you haven’t noticed, I ain’t feelin’ so well . I am not the picture of health. But what I was saying… is that God ordained that you should die twice . Daniel and Troy die twice! Isn’t that terribly mean of Him? And I thought I was diabolical! What do you think will happen after I kill you for the second time? I’m talking to Troy now, because, well, I don’t see a real future for him, unless there’s a Hell. Which I guess there is because you’re in it now, huh, Daniel… So this is for Troy : What do you think’ll happen after ‘sloppy seconds’? Maybe you’ll just wake up on the train and the whole cycle will begin again. You know, you’ll be sipping your lemonade and then those pesky Subalterns will debark you to your new life… where you’re reborn in a dog’s body! A dog landlord! A dog who just had the shit kicked out of him and died in the snow—or maybe you’ll wake up inside some stinky homeless woman with pussy cancer. Wouldn’t that be fun? No, wait— I know. Wouldn’t it just be insane if your mommy died—if Elaine finally managed to take herself out—and you came back as her ? If Mommy were your new landlord? Wow!” Roy mulled over his fantasy. “That’s some dark, twisted shit right there.”

A noise came from the living room and he disdainfully turned toward his son. “She’s vacuuming,” explained Grundy.

“Tell that fat, crazy bitch to knock it off or I’ll vacuum that kid out of her!”

“Laverne! Turn off the vacuum!”

“I’m too old for this,” said Roy introspectively. “Too old and too dead. I think I’m gonna book it, compadre . And let my boy take over.” He nodded to Grundy, who approached. “Tell Laverne to take me home—I’ll sit this one out, much as I hate to. Always best to go out on top. Didn’t Seinfeld say that? They offered him crazy-money to do another season but he’d have none of it. Gotta respect him for that.”

He left the room without ceremony and Grundy hovered over their quarry.

“I would like to see my…” strained Daniel, with great, dignified labor before Troy interrupted—

“I want my mommy!”

The last thing the landlord and his tenant saw was the butterfly-winged angel on Grundy’s vintage rock tee.

He hadn’t washed it yet; nor did he plan to for the next few weeks.

4.

The suicide of Honeychile unraveled her.

She allowed herself the heretical thought that the wayward girl had shown a courage that was completely justified, a courage Lydia herself might not be capable of. She knew that Daniel was in similar despair—she could feel him—and when he told her that he needed to retrieve something from the house in Smiths Creek, she began to worry. After all, he was the one who had the idea to go and see Honeychile. He and the girl seemed connected and she wondered how deep that connection went.