J. Gonzalez - They

Vince tickled Tracy’s side and under her chin as she laughed and playfully slapped his hands away. The tenseness that had been present between them when Tracy suggested that she was a cult member was gone now. Vince caught her flailing wrists and pinned them down to the mattress above her head. Tracy’s eyes flared. “Oh, you domineering man, you!”

Vince laughed and kissed her.

The kiss led to other things. When those other things ended thirty minutes later they reclined again against the headboard. They lay atop the sheets, the sweat cooling from their bodies amidst the air conditioning. Vince swallowed some water from the bottle of Evian on the nightstand. “Can I ask you something?” Tracy asked. He looked at her. “Seriously?”

Vince nodded. He capped the bottle and replaced it on the nightstand. “Sure.”

“Suppose Frank did come back and say I was a cult member? Suppose he did it to keep you away from me due to his… his paranoia?”

Vince thought about it. She had a point. “I don’t know if I would believe him.”

“I would hope not.”

Vince laughed. “Really, Tracy, I’d have to make him see the error of his ways. I mean, if you were a cult member why would you seduce me and lead me on like this?”

“As part of some grand scheme to get you back into the group?”

Vince shook his head. It was bullshit, but in a way it made sense, too. It would be the kind of answer Frank would give him. “There’d be no arguing with him I guess,” he said, regarding her calmly. “Then I’d know he’s a nut. Especially if he claimed Brian was a cult member, too.”

Tracy rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, Brian Denison, mister atheist. Guy who has no time for religious lunacy in any way, shape, or form. That would be a big giveaway.”

Vince chuckled. “Of course you and Brian are pretty similar. If Frank thought you were a cult member I’d know he was full of shit. I know you; he doesn’t.”

“And you don’t think your theory is full of shit?”

“What theory?”

“The one you just told me,” Tracy said, looking serious. “That you think you’re their Anti-Christ.”

So this was where Tracy’s tactics were leading. Suddenly Vince saw his theory for what it was worth. A fragile notion perpetuated by his own rising sense of fear and confusion over the chain of events that had taken place over the past few weeks. A notion helped along by good old-fashioned paranoia. “Well, now that you put it that way,” he said.

Tracy’s mouth was set in a smirking grin. “See? You can see the error of your ways!”

Vince laughed. “I guess I can.”

Tracy smiled. She took his hand in hers. Vince smiled back at her and the look in her eyes told him that she supported him and believed in him. And in knowing that, he began to believe in himself.

FRANK WAS TYPING the week’s diary entries into his journal when his cell phone rang.

He’d spent thirty minutes on the phone with his literary agent, Peter, who reported that everything was fine with Brandy and the kids. Naturally they were worried and missed him, and Frank had assured Peter that what he was working on was almost finished. He’d been assured his family was safe (“not even the IRS knows where they are, Frank,” Peter had said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”). Frank had given Peter a message to relay to Brandy and the kids, then hung up. He’d been detailing the weeks’ events in his notes on his Compaq laptop when the phone jarred him out of his thoughts.

He groped toward it automatically. “Yeah.”

“ Frank !” At first Frank didn’t recognize the voice. Whoever it was sounded panicked, frantic. “Ah, thank God you’re there Frank.”

“Mike?”

“Carol’s missing!” It was Mike and he sounded scared to death. His voice wavered on panic. “The place is a mess and… and there’s blood everywhere !”

Frank felt himself grow light headed with shock and he had to force himself to stay calm. “Okay, what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Mike panted, as if he were out of breath. “I got home and saw that Carol’s car was in the driveway so I figured she was home. And when I got in…” His voice strained, on the verge of trembling into sobs. “…the place was… was trashed ! And it… it…” He began to stammer.

“Calm down,” Frank urged.

“She just wasn’t there !” Mike cried, and now he was crying. He didn’t heave great wracking sobs, but Frank could hear the tears in the man’s voice. “The place was ransacked and she’s gone !”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m here, at home.” Mike whined. Frank could tell that Mike was trying to keep his emotions under control and was having a hard time doing it.

“You need to get out of the house, Mike.”

“There’s nobody here. I went through the house already.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you called the police?”

“No.”

“Stay where you are. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“They got her, Frank.” Mike began to cry again. “They got her, I know they got her.”

“I’m leaving now,” Frank said. He hung up, grabbed wallet, keys, jacket, made sure his nine and extra clips were in the jacket, and then he left.

THANK GOD EVERYBODY in Southern California drove like maniacs. Frank drove like one on his way to Mike Peterson’s home in Huntington Beach, and as he rounded the corner to the development off Beach Boulevard he saw the older man leaning against his car in the driveway. His face was buried in his hands and Frank pulled in front of the house and killed the engine. He was out of the car in a flash. “You okay?”

Mike nodded, his eyes closed. The man trembled and he wouldn’t look up. Frank reached out and gripped his shoulder. “Mike,” he said softly but forcefully. “Come on man, I know… this is hard.” Frank imagined himself in Mike’s shoes. He’d be going through the same kind of hell now if something happened to Brandy or the kids. Hell, he’d be a fucking basket case. Mike seemed to be handling it well in spite of the situation. “Mike, I’m here.”

Mike finally looked up at Frank. His eyes were red, his cheeks damp with tears. He took a deep breath. His features looked haunted, as if he’d just seen a ghost. “I shouldn’t have taken them for granted,” he said. “I was so careful in setting up my other identity. And I was so careful with all of us. If they know about me, they know about you and—”

“You haven’t called the police yet?”

Mike shook his head. “No… I… I almost did…”

Frank looked up and down the quiet neighborhood. It was an upper-middle class neighborhood, similar to the one his aunt Diane and Uncle Charlie resided in El Paso where he’d lived for five years. All two-story tract homes with BMW’s and Mini-Vans parked in the driveways. Nobody was watching them. “I take it we haven’t attracted the attention of the neighbors yet, otherwise the cops would already be here.”

Mike took a deep breath. “I… I tried to control myself as much as possible.”

“I’ve got to go in,” Frank said, looking at Mike. “Do you want to stay out here?”

Mike shook his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t. I have to find out what happened to her.”

“Then let’s go in,” Frank said, his hand still resting on Mike’s shoulder gently.

They went into the house together.

The first thing Frank noticed when they crossed the threshold was the heat. It felt stale and musty, as if the house had been closed up for an extended period of time. Then he noticed the smell. It was the faint, coppery scent of dried blood.