Aaron Polson - The Bottom Feeders and Other Stories

Brad turned, “Oh, lookie, it’s Ansel freakin’ Adams. How’s your girlfriend, buddy?”

“You’re a dick,” Calvin said before blindsiding him with a right uppercut. Brad slipped off his stool, stunned by the sudden blow. Steel bands wrapped around Calvin’s arms before Brad could scramble to his feet.

Joel, the bouncer, dragged Calvin outside and dropped him on the damp sidewalk. “None of that shit, buddy. Go home, all right?” He towered over Calvin. Joel had played a few years of football in college before blowing a knee, and he still cast an imposing shadow.

Calvin nodded and started to pick himself off the ground.

Lenny popped out of the door. “What the hell were you thinking? C’mon, lets get you home before B-rad decides to come for round two.”

“Yeah…yeah.” Though sober, Calvin staggered to his feet, needing some help from his scraggly accomplice to keep from flopping back to the concrete. He felt dirty, dragged through a muddy field. Nerves pricked in his arms and legs like the tiny cuts from rolling in crisp grass.

“Look, champ. The cops were asking about you, too. You made the call the night Jane wrecked, right?”

Calvin nodded, his head swimming. “Yeah, first on the scene,” he muttered. As Lenny led him down the street, he imagined that girl — Jane Doe, the murderer — lying in the ditch with her eyes cut out.

“Shit, Cal. What were you thinking?” Gina stood in their bedroom doorway with her arms crossed, a dour look dragging her lips into a frown.

Calvin shook his head. “I just… something pushed me.” He eyed the room, resting his glance for a moment on the camera bag on the sofa. “How the hell did you know?”

She closed her eyes. “Megan called. She was at the bar, too.” Her eyes opened, looking black in the dim kitchen. “He’s a jerk, Cal, but starting a bar brawl — ”

“I didn’t start a god-damn bar brawl. I just decked that asshole, and they tossed me out.”

“Whatever. It’s just not like you.” She uncrossed her arms. “Is it the job, Cal? I was on the computer today. I stumbled on some pictures by accident…that young woman…” She shuddered. “Something like that has to…get to you. That wreck…”

Calvin’s neck burned. He shivered, feeling hot pinpricks again. Anger. “How the fuck do you know what I’m like?” His voice swelled, filling the kitchen. “Shit!” He balled his fists and thrust one through the sheetrock next to the phone. The knuckles stung, streaked with blood and loose skin. Calvin pushed the throbbing hand to his mouth and sucked on the wound. Gina disappeared through the doorway. He heard a slam and the distinct click of his bedroom door lock.

He stuck the injured hand under the tap and flipped on the cold, letting the water cool his hand and his temper. His brain swam inside his skull, lost at sea somewhere. Thoughts bounced and rocked, but he couldn’t grasp anything long enough to make sense. Calvin wiped his hand on a towel and tumbled to the sofa, kicking the camera bag to the floor. The camera bag.

He reached for the bag, but the vice tightened on his head again and his fingers wouldn’t obey. Something seemed to crawl through his veins, forcing him to lie down. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, for most of the night — not asleep, but not quite awake. Toward dawn, he drifted into a fitful sleep.

Calvin dreamed of Gina. She held the camera bag over one shoulder. Brad was in the dream too, bare-chested and smeared with oil like at a body building contest. He wrapped one well-muscled arm around Gina’s slender waist and pulled her closer. She giggled. Brad’s eyes swelled, fading to a sky blue. Watch this , she mouthed before poking her thumbs into Brad’s eye sockets, pressing until an oily black goo squirted out.

Calvin woke in a cold sweat. The clock above his mantle showed 6:30 AM. He rolled off the couch, snatched his keys from the counter, and left the house before Gina stirred. He wanted to be away; something smelled of rot and worked on his stomach, telling him to go.

The phone nearly knocked Calvin out of his chair when it rang. He had been dozing at his desk in the newsroom, but now he recovered, wiped some drool from his lips, and grabbed the receiver.

“ Sentinel. Calvin Morris speaking.”

“Calvin?” Lenny’s voice questioned. “Shit, Calivn. I figured they’d probably locked you up by now.”

“Who?” Calvin shook his head to break the cobwebs loose.

“The freakin’ cops, dude. They just called. They want to question you about the girl. You know, 14-A, murderous Jane Doe?”

Calvin glanced at his cell phone, noting a missed message from the Springdale Police Department and one from his house. “What…did you — ”

“No. Shit no. Security told them you had been here. Crazy shit, man. Her fucking eyes were cut out . Rough job too, somebody must’ve done it with a dull butter knife or something.”

A ball of ice grew in Calvin’s stomach. The memory grabbed him, and he steadied himself against the desk. “What?”

“They want to ask you about it. They’re looking for something else, some evidence. A jar I think.”

Calvin scanned the area for his camera bag. Not here. When he glanced up, he spotted two police officers skirting around desks in the newsroom. “Look, Lenny…I gotta go.” He dropped the phone on the cradle.

“Calvin, what’s the good word buddy?” It was Jimmy Mann, cocky and ignorant, the cheese of Springdale’s finest.

“Just catching up on some paperwork. I’m sure you guys know all about paperwork.”

The other officer chuckled. Jimmy glared at him and faced Calvin. “Look, we had a little talk with your friend at the hospital…Lenny? Anyway, I’m sure you had nothing to do with defacing the body.” A moment passed in awkward silence, a verbal game of chicken. “Although I am a little curious as to why you had to go see her in the cooler. We would also like to know if you saw anything funny at the scene of the accident, before we arrived. Anything you didn’t tell us in your statement that night.”

Lenny, you lying bastard. Calvin straightened in his chair, meeting Jimmy’s gaze. “No. Why would I go and withhold evidence from you fellows.”

Jimmy smiled, trying to pull off some Hollywood-tough demeanor. “I dunno, Calvin.” He leaned forward. “But Jane was wanted for murder, and anything in that car could’ve been related to the case, and if you did — ”

“I took something from the scene — that’s what you’re implying, right? If I did, I’d be dumb enough to be a member of the Springdale Police Department. Hell, I cut those fucking eyes out with a spoon. Is that what you want?” Calvin stood up, his heart rattling inside his chest, pushed past Jimmy, and turned. “Look, I’m busy, got it? Play Sherlock Holmes on somebody else’s time.” He held his head against the mounting pain as he hurried into the afternoon sunshine.

Gina sat at the kitchen table, pale and washed like a sheet of clean paper. A mason jar rested on the table in front of her. It was filled with something, a clear fluid like water. Six eyes floated in the water like bleached grapes, bits of flesh clinging to each and clouding the fluid. Calvin took a few steps into the room and noted that two of the eyes had electric blue irises.

Gina tilted her head toward him. “I found this in your bag Calvin.” Her hand shook as she pointed at the jar. “I was going to call you. I thought maybe you needed your stuff for work.”

The burning started in his toes this time, slashing through every nerve in his body. He stepped closer to the table, Gina stood, and the jar seemed to grow. “I–I’m fine.” One finger touched the glass, and six eyes spun to meet his gaze. He remembered the whispers. Those eyes had told him what to do the night of the wreck, they told him what to do that day in the morgue, but they were quiet now.