J. Gonzalez - Back From The Dead

At the mention of food, Tim’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten a thing since last night. “Yeah, I am.”

“I’ll bring you some breakfast. Be right back.”

And with that, the door was closed. Tim sat down, then got up again and began pacing the room, unable to get Chelsea out of his mind and hoping against all odds that she was safe.

Scott Bradfield had a feeling Tim Gaines would rat on Gordon, so he’d done the only logical thing he could think of. He told his father that the fuckwad was cooking up another bullshit scheme, another lame attempt at discrediting and defaming him.

Tom Bradfield listened as Scott told him a simplified story of what he’d made up shortly after talking to Dave and Gord early this morning. He’d been woken out of a sound sleep by his cell phone after a rousing night of bong hits and sex at Rebecca’s house. He’d snatched the phone up and was instantly awake when Gordon told him what happened between him and Tim.

There was no doubt Count Gaines’s parents would hound the DA about pursuing criminal charges against Gordon. That was what Gordon was trying to warn him about and Scott agreed with him. “If they come after me, they might come poking around at your place,” Gordon had told him. “And I ain’t going to say anything — you know me better than that — but you have to know that even if I do everything I can to steer them away from going to your place, they’re going to do it anyway. And I don’t want them to find the zombies.”

That had been the pisser, the thought that the cops would find the zombies. Thinking about it infuriated Scott, but he’d quickly calmed down and told Gordon he would take care of it. Then he thanked him for the warning. “Don’t mention it,” Gordon had said. “I told Count that if the cops came around our places, that his girlfriend Chelsea would be hurt.”

“You what ?” It was that confession that pissed Scott off more than Gordon getting picked up last night for a truancy violation.

“I just wanted to scare him, okay?” Gordon had protested. “I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Despite the fact that such a threat was something Scott would have levied against Tim himself, he didn’t like the idea of Gordon pulling something like this. He wondered how it was handled; did Tim take the threat seriously? Would he tell the cops Gordon had threatened Chelsea? If Tim’s folks got involved, the cops were bound to find out. “You better get ready to start denying you ever told him that shit,” Scott advised Gordon. He hadn’t been in the mood, nor in the proper space, to unleash his anger fully at Gordon — he’d retreated to the end of the hall near the lone bathroom at that end of the house for privacy. “Listen, we’ll talk about this later. In the meantime, call David and tell him what’s going on. I’ll take care of things here.”

“What are you going to do?”

Scott didn’t have an answer for Gordon at the time, but he assured him the problem would be taken care of.

Tom Bradfield listened patiently as Scott told his father about Tim Gaines attempting to blackmail Gordon Smith, how it all went back to that horror novel Gaines claimed he’d loaned to Gordon being found at the cemetery after it was ransacked. He told his father that Tim had been acting strangely the past few weeks at school; not talking to anybody, reading more weird books than was usual for him, and hanging out with George Ulrich and Al Romero, with the latter known for being a social outcast and a real weirdo. He also told him about Chelsea Brewer, how Tim had been hanging out with her lately, and he revealed some of her backstory to him: her penchant for gothic clothing and music, how she’d withdrawn from school briefly in the tenth grade and admitted to a hospital for self-mutilation. His father had visibly reacted to that, raising his eyebrows in a gesture that told Scott his father did not approve of such actions. Scott wrapped it up by telling his father about running into Tim and his friends at Susan’s party the other night and how Tim had made a cryptic statement to him. “He told us to be ready, that something was coming,” Scott said, the lie flowing effortlessly. “Then he kinda chuckled and left with his friends.”

Tom Bradfield took a sip of his coffee. He was a lean, handsome man, in his mid-fifties with short brown hair that held only a hint of gray. He’d arrived home from a business trip late last night and was already up bright and early, the Wall Street Journal spread out before him, already dressed for his morning golf game in a white tank top and gray shorts. “That doesn’t sound like much of a threat to me, Scott.”

“It will be if his parents get another hair up their ass and make noise again.”

“On what grounds?” Tom raised his coffee cup to his lips, his eyes daring.

“He’s told me more than once that he’s going to get even with me for what happened when we were in sixth grade,” Scott said, making up the lie as it came to him. “He’s had it in for me ever since. You know it, too. I just don’t want the cops to come around here. I know that took a lot out of you and Mom last time. I don’t want it to happen again.”

Tom appeared to consider this. He kept his gaze on Scott as he thought about it, sipping his coffee. Scott held his old man’s gaze; he could tell his father was trying to see if he was telling him the truth. Scott had deliberately lied about a few things to set a precedent; he’d established a few tell-tale signs that indicated he was lying about something and every time it happened, Dad caught him. Not this time, though. Dad was buying this story entirely.

“So what do you think we should do about it?” Tom Bradfield asked.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Scott said. “I was at Rebecca’s all night. I was also with Rebecca the night the Reamstown Cemetery was broken into.”

Tom Bradfield nodded and sipped his coffee casually. “That’s true. I can’t see how Tim could frame you for something like that. And you’re sure someone can vouch for you? Were there witnesses who can say they saw you?”

“We were at the movies the night the cemetery was broken into. I still have the receipts. After the movie was over, we went to Ruby Tuesday’s, then we went to her place. Her mom was home and we hung out with her all night. As for last night.” Scott shrugged. “We hung out with her mom until midnight, then she went to bed. Rebecca and I sat up and hung out in her room and I fell asleep.”

“I see.” Tom Bradfield took another sip of his coffee, his gaze not leaving his son. If he disapproved of Scott sleeping over at Rebecca’s last night, he didn’t show it.

“Anyway, I just have a feeling Tim’s parents are going to get the police involved again and I wanted to let you know.”

“Well, now I know.” Tom nodded at Scott. “Don’t worry about it. If they come around, I’ll talk to them.”

Scott smiled good-naturedly. “Thanks, Dad.” He left the kitchen, letting his faux relief shine through as he exited the kitchen.

He did not see his dad’s features change as he left the room. It was subtle, and if you did not know the elder Bradfield it would not be noticeable.

Tom Bradfield’s easy-going disposition had turned into a frown of suspicion.

Scott had just finished getting dressed after taking a quick shower when the doorbell rang.

He made as if he was casually going downstairs. He didn’t want to make it known to his dad that he was hanging around the house to see if the police showed up, so he’d darted upstairs to shower, being careful to be as leisurely and casual about it as possible. The more he could stick to his normal schedule, the better. Mom was in the master bathroom getting showered and dressed for the day, and Dad would no doubt be getting ready for meeting up with his golf buddies. Mom would probably go to the Country Club for whatever it was she did on Saturday. That left Scott with some time to get rid of the zombies.