Crude Sunlight 1 (4 page)

Julia was looking at him over the brim of her hot chocolate. It was like being stared at by a cat. "I thought that was great at the time; Henry could get into all sorts of trouble with girls and whatever without having people yelling at him. I didn't realize how bad it could be till the landlord contacted me over the missing rent."

"Why did he call you?" Her voice was controlled, almost disinterested. He took another sip and sat forward, as if she had asked a very interesting question. It was like coaxing a recalcitrant investor into becoming engaged with the deal, encouraging their gestures and participation.

"I was the co-signer on the lease. When Henry failed to pay the first month, Materday simply billed him for both months on the second. When that didn't come, he called me. That's when we all realized that Henry had been gone for some time. I couldn't get hold of him or anybody who knew where he was, and when I called the school they told me he'd stopped coming to class in mid-December. Just before finals."

He stopped speaking, and slowly sat back, taking his espresso with him. This is where he'd wait, go quiet and let the silence build till Julia spoke, even if only to fill it. He sipped his espresso.

"I don't know what to tell you," she said at last. "I wasn't lying when I said I don't know where Henry is. I haven't seen him in ages. Since the end of last November. We had a fight, and that was the last I saw of him."

Thomas nodded, "All right. Can you tell me what you guys fought about?"

Julia finally sipped her hot chocolate, and then set the mug down before her. "Eric. It was--it was complicated. I don't even know how things got to where they did, but things moved quickly and then Henry was demanding I pick between them. He was always so dramatic." She shook her head, her gaze focused on something internal, some memory. "I told him I didn't want either of them, and he left."

"Were you dating--involved--with both of them?"

"No. Well, yes. I was seeing Eric at the time. We'd been dating off and on since the end of our junior year. I got involved with Henry in late October. We fought in late November, and I broke up with Eric a few days later."

Thomas nodded again, and realized that he had finished his espresso. College kids and their relationships. He remembered how intense and important his own romances had seemed back then, running across the campus in the middle of the night to confront or explain or declare something absolutely vital.

"What about your late-night hobby?"

Julia didn't start. "What about it?"

"What's up with that? What were you guys doing?"

She fixed him with a neutral gaze. "It was an art project. Just school work."

"Uh huh," said Thomas. "An art project. Is that what you told the cops? Sorry, but I'm not buying it. I've seen some of the videos Henry shot. Let's try again. What were you guys doing?"

Julia glared at him, annoyed, and then raised an eyebrow. "Breaking into buildings late at night to explore them."

Thomas smiled and shifted in his seat, "No, see, it's not that simple. You can make it sound simple, but it's not. Come on. How did Henry get involved?"

It was her turn to gauge him. "You going to tell the cops?" She was half joking.

"Of course. I'm wearing a wire. There's a team of FBI agents in an unmarked van outside listening in right now."

She snorted, "Fine. Henry got involved through me. It's hard to hide a late-night hobby from someone you're sleeping with. So I told him. He said he wanted to try it out, so I introduced him to Eric."

"Did he know you were dating Eric?"

"Yep."

"Did Eric know you were sleeping with Henry?" Thomas was having trouble fathoming all this.

"Not at first. Anyways, this was all Eric's idea. He picked the buildings, told us what to do and bring and so forth. He and Henry really got along. He let Henry come with us a couple of times, and then made him a full time member. Henry was going to put up a website where we'd document our trips."

"A website? Wouldn't that be a bad idea?"

"Not if you kept it anonymous. Look online. There are tons of them." She leaned forward and forked a chunk of cake, and sat back, chewing slowly on it. "So Henry explored with us from... the end of October onward. I stopped going when I broke up with them both, but I think they kept it up. I haven't really spoken to Eric since we broke up though, so I can't tell you any more than that."

"And you didn't think to come forward and tell anybody about all this?" She met his gaze and held it, and then shook her head.

"What was I going to say? That he might be somewhere in the city in any number of the hundreds of abandoned buildings? As of last November? Or December? What good would that do? I decided to talk to Eric instead."

"Yeah? And?"

"When I tried to find him I found out that he hadn't come back this semester. I had trouble finding him. He'd moved out of the dorms." She saw Thomas' expression, and quickly shook her head, "No, he hadn't disappeared. He's still in Buffalo. I left a bunch of messages on his cell, but he never called back. I was going to go over to his new place and talk to him, but..." She trailed off.

"But what?" Thomas looked at her, and then understood, "But you're not sure you want to know, do you?" She nodded reluctantly. "What was it you guys found down there? In those tunnels?"

Her mouth tightened and she looked away. He sighed. "All right. I have to leave tonight to go back to New York, but I need to talk to Eric. If he's the last person that saw Henry, I've got to find out what he knows. Can you tell me where he lives?"

"Eric wouldn't have done anything to Henry," said Julia. "There's no way."

"That's what I need to know," said Thomas. "I should probably just have the cops go over and talk to him, but maybe he'll be more willing to talk to me. What do you think--can you help me out?"

She hesitated, her eyes moving from side to side as she frowned at nothing, and when she looked back at him he could tell she'd reached a decision. "All right. Come on. I'll take you myself."

Chapter 4

Eric lived in a bad part of town. As Thomas drove he saw the quality of the neighborhood deteriorate. Empty lots grew more frequent, filled with hard, knotty little bushes and trash, the occasional abandoned car. Buildings became increasingly dilapidated, windows broken or covered with wooden boards. The road grew potholed, cracked and worn, and people moved about like angry ghosts, forgotten and vengeful.

The earlier bout of communication within the cafeteria had dried up, and Julia sat still and silent in the passenger seat, elbow propped on the window sill, chin resting on the base of her palm as she gazed out at the streets and buildings. Occasionally Thomas would glance at her, trying to think of a way to break the silence, but inevitably he looked back at the road. It was as if she had come to regret a moment of weakness, and was now determined to present as indifferent and silent a front as she could.

Finally, they reached the right street, a wide and desolate space that crept miserably between two rows of clapboard houses, a withered island of dead grass and stunted trees dividing the lanes. Julia frowned and straightened, looking at the building fronts for numbers. Thomas shifted in his seat, tightened his grip on the steering wheel and slowed the pace of the car.

"There," said Julia, her raised hand nearly engulfed by the cuff of her black sweater to point at a building as they drove past it. She turned around to watch it recede behind them, and then sat back and looked at Thomas. "That white building. Number 72."

Thomas nodded and made a U-turn at the next light. The streets were silent, seemingly deserted but for the occasional brown Cadillac or the like crossing an intersection in the distance. Thomas pulled the Mercedes up against the curb across from the house and killed the engine.

It was a two story house, the front done in the New England style of overlapping slats, now bleached by the years to a brittle old bone gray. The window frames were split and cracked and the blinds behind them were drawn. It seemed abandoned, the ghost of a forgotten building on a desolate street.

Julia got out of the car and closed the door. Thomas frowned and did the same, closing his door carefully as he breathed in the cold air. The sky was slate gray above, and though there seemed no promise of rain he shivered and pulled closed the collar of his coat. Julia struck out across the road without waiting and after a glance up and down the street, unsure for the safety of his Mercedes, Thomas followed suit, jogging forward to catch up with her.

"What," he asked, "would Eric be living around here for?" Julia shot him a glance, shrugged, and walked up the steps to the miniature porch. Thomas remained at the base of the steps, hands in his pockets, feeling cold and bemused and slightly frustrated. He watched as Julia knocked once, twice, and then stepped back to wait. Nothing happened. Thomas began to feel watched, and scanned the windows for any sign of a face. Nothing.

After a minute, Julia knocked again, and turned to Thomas. Her resolution had depended on momentum, and now that they were met with an impasse she seemed hesitant. Thomas studied her face, her nose and ears tinged pink by the chill, and then nodded to the side of the house.

"Let's take a look around back."

Julia nodded and joined him as he walked along the pavement and then to the chain gate which hung askew from a waist high fence. It opened with a screech, and Thomas paused, expecting somebody to yell out in protest. No one did.

Pressing forward, they walked around the house, shoes crunching on frozen dirt covered with a patina of ice. He scanned the warped boards and blind windows. The path was nearly overgrown by weeds and thorny bushes, and the back opened up into a bald and depressing little yard. There was a larger porch before a screen door whose meshing was torn and puckered outwards, as if something had burst out from within.

Julia stepped up onto the porch and pulled it open so as to pound on the back door. The thuds echoed within the house.

"Eric!" Julia looked up at the windows on the second floor, stepping back so as to see them better. "Eric, it's Julia! Open up!" Nothing happened. She turned and looked at Thomas, frowning. "Maybe he's just not home."

Thomas stepped past her and tried the back door. To his surprise, it opened. Pushing it wide, he stepped into a kitchen. It was hard to discern details in the dusty half-light, but Thomas could make out piles of filthy dishes in the sink, empty pizza boxes stacked drunkenly on the counter tops, cabinet doors yawning wide and dark and empty. There was no drone of circling flies, but Thomas felt as if there should be.

Moving forward, his heart beginning to thud in his chest, he wondered if they had the right house. If an irate man might not suddenly burst out from behind a door, gun in hand, yelling incoherently about trespassing. If they might not stumble onto dead bodies seated on old couches, preserved by the cold, eyes mute and sunken in their sockets.

Julia stepped in behind him, and he walked through a doorway into an entrance hall. The air was thick, still, and Thomas could see that the rooms that led off from the hallway were empty and dark.

"I don't think this is the right place," he said, turning to face Julia. She frowned and looked about, face intent, and Thomas was about to suggest they return to the car when a voice spoke out from the darkness above him, nearly giving Thomas a heart attack.

"Technically," it said, "I could have you arrested for breaking and entering." It was a sardonic voice, that of a young man, wary and tired.

"Eric!" Julia turned to face the stairs that led up to the second floor, where Thomas could now see a figure standing in a bathrobe and looking down at them. "Why the hell didn't you answer the door? What are you doing living here?"

Eric didn't answer at first, and Thomas could tell he was being stared at, measured for the second time that day. The silence became a question, so he stepped forward to stand next to Julia and look up at the dim shape above them.

"I'm Thomas Verkraft. Henry's older brother." His voice sounded strained in his ears, falsely calm and mature. "I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind."

Eric shifted his weight on the landing above them, reaching out with his left hand to take hold of the banister. He seemed to be deliberating, and then finally took a step back, half-turning away. "Well, come on up then." Again that mocking undertone. With that, he stepped out of sight. Julia frowned and shot Thomas a warning glance before taking the steps two at a time, each one creaking wearily beneath her feet. Thomas waited a moment, and then followed.

The second floor had a different feel to it, a more lived-in air, and Thomas followed Julia into a large room at the end of the landing that was lit with a soft, amber light. It seemed to be a bedroom and study both, dominated equally by a large bed shoved roughly against the wall to the left and a heavy desk set under a shuttered window directly across from the door. A musty smell hung in the air, and piles of books rose dangerously in the corners, tottered in senile columns on the desk. A large pile of clothing stood at the foot of the bed, and the light came from a desk lamp, the bulb hidden within a mint green glass cover in the fashion of those found in old libraries.

Eric had sat himself down at his desk, sinking into a rotating wooden chair and turning to gaze at them as they entered. He had an intense gaze, eyes fever bright, and he sat with an easy languor that verged on indolence. Twisted locks of beaten bronze gleamed in the lamp light, and his skin was pale and as fine as china.

"You know," said Eric, looking up at Thomas, "I had expected you sooner."

Thomas slipped his hands into his pockets and nodded slowly. A cold anger flared within him, but just as quickly it ashed. He once again felt older, worn, and suddenly the dark house seemed not impressive and desolate but sad, pathetic.

Julia stepped out around him, picking her way carefully over the detritus of socks and plates that littered the floor, and sat on the edge of the bed, only to frown and stand again.