J. Gonzalez - They

Mike seemed a little more prepared for the destruction that followed than Frank was. The older man led him into the living room and Frank gasped at the sight. The room was in shambles. The couch was ripped open, the stuffing from the cushions strewn about. The television was bashed-in, books were toppled to the floor from the built-in oak bookcase. Carol’s fragile china was shattered, the cabinet they’d been housed in broken, destroyed. “This way,” Mike said, heading for the stairs. “The minute I saw… what you’re seeing now, I headed up the stairs and started calling Carol’s name.”

Frank followed Mike up the staircase, feeling himself tense up. There was something about this, some sixth sense that was telling Frank that something wasn’t right. How could they have found him ? he thought. Mike was more careful than any of them, more careful than his Aunt Diane and Uncle Charlie, more careful than John Llama. His false identity was foolproof. So what happened?

“This was what I saw,” Mike said as he stepped aside and allowed Frank entry into the master bedroom.

Frank stood in the doorway to the bedroom. The room was destroyed; the furnishings were in the same slashed and broken state as the furniture downstairs. Framed pictures that had hung on the walls were on the floor, now shattered. Frank took a step into the room and Mike turned on the light. Frank saw the dark maroon splotches on the white carpeting right away.

Carol had bled quite profusely.

Mike hung back in the hallway as Frank stepped further into the room. He wasn’t a homicide detective, but it was obvious from the spilled blood and the destruction in the room that a struggle had taken place. A splash of red caught his eye; it was a streak of blood on the wall leading into the bathroom. Frank ventured inside, dreading what he would see.

Blood had splashed into the sink. The mirror was shattered, smears of blood dotting its surface. Bottles of soap and shampoo had been spilled onto the floor along with combs, brushes, a hair dryer, and a box of curlers. One lone blue towel had been pulled off the metal towel rack and lay on the floor amid the toiletries. More blood dotted the tiled floor and a bath mat that ran the length of the bathroom. Frank cautiously avoided stepping in the blood and leaned over to peer into the bathtub. It was empty.

He made his way carefully back into the bedroom. “Did they take anything?”

“I don’t know.” Mike looked shocked and haunted.

“Did you guys keep cash or jewelry here?”

Mike shook his head. “Not on your life.”

Frank glanced back in the bedroom. There was a television mounted on a small entertainment unit; its screen was gutted. “Whoever did this is not your usual junkie who wants to hock your shit to score a fix.” Frank turned back to Mike, his mind racing. “They were after something. Are you positive you didn’t keep anything about the investigation at the house?”

“I’m positive ,” Mike hissed, seeming to perk up a little under the interrogation.

“Are you sure?” Frank pressed him on the issue. “ Think ! Why the hell would they chance such a bold breakin if they didn’t know something was—”

Mike’s eyes lit up. “ The key !”

Frank felt his heart stop. “What key?”

“The key to the safe deposit box.” Mike looked anguished. “I… I called Carol before you guys met me at LAX and told her what I was working on. I told her where the safe deposit box was. She knew what happened to John. She didn’t want me to poke into this again. I told her I wasn’t doing anything, that all I was doing was helping you out in some family stuff.” He looked at Frank. “I swear I didn’t tell her anything else. I don’t know if she believed me or not, but—”

“You better not have mentioned my name,” Frank said. At the mention of Mike telling Carol that Frank was involved, he felt angry.

Mike ignored him. “I put all the files I’d accumulated and a zip disk of my investigation into a safe deposit box I kept under my pseudonym. I… I told Carol that if I wasn’t back by Friday to open it and do something about it.” His eyes were wide at the implication. “They—”

Frank tore into the bedroom. “Let’s start looking.”

They began searching for the key to the safe deposit box. Mike pulled out drawers and rifled through them, but it was obvious that whoever destroyed the house had already gone through them. Whatever clothes weren’t spilled onto the floor had been thrown or pushed aside. Jewelry and knickknacks had been spilled onto the floor. Frank began going through clothes in the closet. “Where would she have kept it?”

“In the bedroom on the dresser somewhere,” Mike said, searching frantically. “It’s not here!”

“Maybe they missed it,” Frank said. Yet the more they searched, the more he realized that whoever had broken into the house and taken Carol by surprise had probably also gotten the key.

Fifteen minutes later they abandoned the search. Mike looked frustrated and scared. “Oh my God what are we going to do?”

Frank felt just as frantic and stressed but he was trying not to show it. “Okay,” he said, running a hand over his dark hair. “Let’s think about this for a minute.”

“She’s gone, the key’s gone, they got her and they know about us!” Mike said, poking through the rubble again.

“They don’t know about us.”

“Yes, they do !” Mike whirled around, his face red with tears. “Look at this place! They knew what they were looking for, and they got Carol in the process. Now we’re fucked! This whole thing is just fucked!” Mike breathed heavy, his features showing his anger and frustration.

“First things first,” Frank said, trying to be calm. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

“Suppose they have it?” Mike asked, looking at Frank frantically. “What are we going to do? Suppose they came here… the evening we left and—”

“ Stop it !” Frank grabbed Mike’s shoulders and shook him. Mike flinched, as if afraid the bigger man was going to throw him against the wall. Frank leaned his face close to Mike’s. He could have kissed him if he wanted. “Calm the fuck down. If we panic, that’s going to expose our weakness. So just calm… the fuck… down !” Frank interjected menace in the command, punctuating it by shaking Mike as he enunciated each word. Mike got the message.

“Okay, okay,” Mike said, the anger and frustration deflating a moment. “Okay, we gotta do something, though.”

“First we gotta get the hell out of here.”

Mike looked up at Frank, his eyes wide. “You think we should call the cops?”

“Fuck no!”

“But what about…”

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Frank’s resolve was strengthening him, empowering him to take charge. He grabbed Mike by the shoulders again and spun him around, marching him out the door to the bedroom and down the stairs. “But right now we’re getting the hell out of here. And I’m leaning very strongly in favor of going to Billy Grecko with this shit as soon as possible. Like tonight.”

“But Carol—” Mike protested, starting the merry-go-round of grief again.

“We’ll find Carol,” Frank said, herding Mike outside. He closed the door behind him, made sure it was locked, and then led Mike to his car. “We’ve gotta get back to my room and think about this, talk a new strategy. Where’s the shit we brought back from PA? The box Maggie Walters had all those newspaper clippings in that Reverend Powell gave us?”

“Still in my car.”

“Get it.” Frank steered Mike to his car and waited while the older man fumbled to disarm it with his key fob. He rummaged in the backseat and grabbed it as Frank stood guard, watching the neighborhood silently. Nobody was observing them.