Tim Curran - The Devil Next Door

She sighed again and lowered herself to the steps. She buried her face in her hands and wept.

“ Macy…what happened? Did somebody do something to you?”

Macy looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. Her shirt was torn, her arms and face bruised, crusted blood smeared on her forehead. She nodded, sniffed. “The Hack twins…I babysit them. They were throwing rocks at a car. I told them to stop and they pelted me…”

She told him it all, including what Mr. Chalmers had said. How they were not to kill her on his territory. Louis could just about imagine what was going through her mind. The unreality and disbelief of her own experience. He’d felt that way telling his story to the cops and then to Michelle on the phone.

When she was done, he just shook his head. He knew Mr. Chalmers and you couldn’t hope to meet a nicer guy. The image of him whipping out his business and showing the kids how to piss to mark your territory was not only ridiculous and disturbing, it was actually kind of funny in a mad sort of way. Had anyone told him this yesterday or even this morning, he supposed he would have laughed.

But he wasn’t laughing now.

And certainly not when Macy told him about Mr. Kenning and Libby.

Shit.

“ There’s been weird things happening all over town, honey. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“ At the school, too. A bunch of kids went nuts and killed a teacher. At least, that’s what I heard.”

It’s building, Louis thought. Whatever’s happening, is building now. It’s not even slowing down.

He wanted to get out of town with Michelle…but he’d had the TV on before and this crazy shit was happening everywhere. Did he dare tell Macy that the whole country was unraveling? No, he couldn’t freak out, not in front of the girl. She did not need that. He was an adult and he had to act like one. Give her some reassurance that the whole world had not just been shoved into the pit. That’s what he had to do.

“ What’s going on?” she asked him. “It wasn’t like this this morning.”

“ No, it doesn’t make sense. But a lot of people in this town have just went off the deep end.”

“ I’ve been hearing sirens all the way home from school.”

“ Yeah, I think we’ll be hearing them for awhile. Until this stops.”

Macy just nodded, staring down at her feet.

Louis wanted to say something to her that would make it better, make her not worry or be afraid. He figured that’s what adults were supposed to do with kids, but the problem was he couldn’t think of anything. He had been looking for something that would make himself feel better, too, but he hadn’t been able to find it. Maybe if he had been a parent, he could have. Maybe he’d be well-practiced in the art of clever, consoling bullshit. But he had no kids. Michelle couldn’t have any and he’d just accepted that, as she had. And as a result, he was simply no good at this.

Macy looked up at him. “What if this doesn’t stop?”

“ Well, it has to.”

“ Why?”

Well, there was a good one. The simple logic of it floored him. “Because…because it has to, that’s why. I mean, the entire town hasn’t gone crazy, just some people. I’m not nuts, though I probably look it, and you aren’t either. I don’t imagine everyone at school was or you wouldn’t be here. Am I right?”

She nodded. “I guess. But what about everywhere else?”

“ Let’s just worry about Greenlawn for now.”

Louis went and sat beside her.

He liked Macy. Everyone in the neighborhood liked Macy. Maybe part of it was Jillian, her mother, white trash if he’d ever seen white trash, but mostly it was just because Macy was, well, likeable. She wasn’t a stuck-up, eye-rolling, empty-headed, self-absorbed princess like a lot of girls her age. She was a good kid. She was smart and sincere, mature and very funny when you caught her off guard or she relaxed around you.

Louis just looked at her, smiling.

If he had a girl of his own, he’d want her to be Macy. She was small and thin, blatantly sexual around the mouth and eyes, almost hungry-looking. Although her curves were definitely making themselves known, she had not really blossomed completely yet, but judging from Jillian who pretty much had everything in the right place, when that happened Macy would be fighting off the boys with a sharp stick. Her eyes were huge and liquid brown, shimmering. They lit up her face. Why the boys weren’t after her now, Louis did not know. Maybe you had to be older to appreciate a calm, understated beauty like Macy had or to revel in her almost sensual schoolgirl charm…things she probably didn’t even know she possessed.

He found that he was staring at her and she was watching him do so, a slight blush blooming in her cheeks.

Oh Christ, he thought, did she know what I was thinking?

She turned away and he wondered what had gotten him on that train of thought.

Louis and Michelle had only lived on upper Rush Street for the past four years, but they knew all the local gossip. Macy’s father had died when she was very young and Jillian had just crashed and burned, becoming a drunk that played it pretty free and easy with men of any age, if you could believe all that was said. One thing that was true, though, was that Jillian had never recovered from her husband’s death and had retreated to her eighteenth year where she still was, an adult woman with a child who acted like a wild college girl out sowing her oats for the first time. It was too bad. Macy probably needed her mom to be a mom, but that just wasn’t going to happen. Around the neighborhood they said that Macy had raised herself. That she took care of the house and just about everything else, including her mother.

Louis did not doubt that part of it.

Every summer, Michelle and he threw a neighborhood bash. There was beer and pop, hamburgers and hot dogs. Just a social event where all the neighbors and their kids could spend some time together, get to know each other better. And Jillian always came, of course. Sometimes she just got drunk and sometimes she got really loaded and fell flat on her face. Sometimes she picked fights with the other women, but mostly she just pursued their husbands in ways that were practically indescribable. That first summer when Louis and Michelle had spread the word, Dick Starling, a heavy equipment operator that worked for Indian Central Railroad and lived across the street, had taken Louis aside and over a few beers, laid it all out for him.

“ This is a pretty good neighborhood, but we got a few odd ducks here,” Starling said. “I think everyone will show for your party. Old man Onsala won’t. He’s a crazy old Finnlander. You can always tell the Finnlanders by the pile of firewood in their front yards. They like to hang gutted deer in the front yard come season. Onsala don’t like anyone, barely speaks anything but Finnish. Les Maub and his wife’ll come, but not if you invite the Soderbergs. Bonnie Maub and Leslie Soderberg have been fighting about something since 1963 and they still won’t talk to each other. They won’t show. On the other hand, Jillian Merchant will show and that’s not necessarily a good thing. But if there’s booze, she’ll be there. Oh yes, Lou, count on that. She’s not bad looking, you know? Long legs and nice set of jugs on her. You’ll get a look at her and you’ll be thinking what every man in this neighborhood has already thought: that you wouldn’t mind getting into that shit, having a little fun. But you won’t, buddy, you won’t dare because she’s nuts.”

That was Louis’ first introduction to Jillian Merchant.

The party that year came and Jillian came with it. She was actually quite attractive, like Dick Starling said, but her eyes were wild and hungry-looking. The more liquor she poured into herself, the hungrier those eyes became until she was scoping out the men at the party like a dog sizing up red meat, wondering which cut to take a bite out of first. She was wearing a black leather miniskirt which put her long, slender legs on fine display right up to the thigh. She completed the look with a tight tube top that barely contained her cleavage. She kept drinking and making the rounds and anytime she found a lone man, she hopped right on his lap and gave him a free bump and grind, whether his wife was present or not. Louis had managed to keep his distance as she moved around, flirting and running up to the men like a horny feline. But, finally, she cornered him. Right there by the keg of beer she was all over him, asking him to give her a private tour of his bedroom.