Zombie (12 page)

So started the motor & drove through the picnic area, so many people! families! so many kids! the smell of charcoal-grilled meat, & slowly through the park & this weird thought came
Yes but you could release him even now, dump him into the woods & somebody would find him. For it is TODD CUTTLER he saw, & not Q__ P__
. But I was pissed with him. Always you get pissed with them, & want to punish. Taunting me & following me in my head all these weeks. Looking through me in the Humpty Dumpty like there was nobody where I sat. & provoking me, that sidelong dimple-smile & green eyes. & I was driving south into Mt. Vernon along the lake & began to feel a warning. & turned on the radio to listen for news, for it was 8:08
P.M.
now & by now SQUIRREL would be missed. & maybe the police had been notified? & beginning to search, & set up road-blocks? There was nothing on the news. But that might’ve been a trick. Yet I could not return home till nighttime, & dark. &
there is where you fuck up, Quentin, for all your plans
. I heard the mockery in Dad’s voice yet did not blame him. & so decided suddenly I would turn, & drive north of the city after all, on Route 31 familiar to me as my own face. & so past Holland, & past Muskegon & by 9:20
P.M.
& darkness I was beyond Ludington & in the Manistee Forest & feeling O.K. knowing I had made a right decision. For it had not been so, what I had told Dad’s lawyer. That the Mt. Vernon cops cruised North Church & harassed me.

Yet it seemed now so obvious it
was
so. & I did not know it. & SQUIRREL’s disappearance in Dale Springs would alert the police to
known sex offenders
in that area. & how any would there be—dozens, a hundred. & Q__ P__ on the computer with these. & so it was shrewd to escape Mt. Vernon, & I parked on the side of a forest trail & went into the rear of the van & the light came on & the smell of urine stung my nostrils & excited me & I saw the body, the boy, flat on his back on the floor, head hidden in the burlap sack, part naked & his skinny rib cage moving
still breathing! still alive
. I had crushed something in his throat I believe—windpipe? larynx? & so tied him with tape & rope it was like a child would tie somebody, wound round & round.
Hello
I said.
Hi
. Squatted over him & touched & caressed & stroked but the little penis was limp & cool like a dead thing, I squeezed it to rouse some life in him & his muscles jerked & he seemed to cry out inside the sponge. I yanked off the burlap sack—& there was his face.
His
face, but changed. & not so good-looking now. The lower part of his face was taped over but the eyes fluttered open.
Now you see my true face, now you know your Master
. Splashed Evian water on him & a focus came into his eyes & I saw the terror in them.
I won’t hurt you, I am your friend. If you don’t fight me
. My voice tender & cajoling. Yet he did not seem to hear. There was the terror in his eyes, & the tension in his body tight as a board. A homely kid with blood-caked nostrils, I was getting pissed at him. His cock shriveled so tiny, like a ten-year-old’s, & that look in his eyes. & thrashing his head, & trying again
to fight—to fight
me
!—weak as a broken worm.

MY ZOMBIE. FIGHTING
ME
. & losing control then I turned him over onto his belly & straddling him & gripping the little pigtail banging his face against the floor & fucking him in the ass my cock enormous so the skin tore & bled, ONE TWO THREE thrusts piercing to his guts like a sword
Who’s your Master? Who’s your Master? WHO’S YOUR MASTER?

Do bones float?

& if so, but no flesh is attached, & the bones themselves scattered & lost to one another, what
identity
is there. I never think of it.

Aug. 26 & I was no sooner home & out of the shower & beginning my CARETAKER tasks for the day than the loud knocking came at the front door. & I knew.

I had not listened to any news reports. For why should Q__ P__ have listened. It was 7:50
A.M.
I did not know anything, I was not aware of anything. But freshly shaven & my thinning hair combed sleek & damp against my skull & my eyes veined with red but hiding nothing behind my clear-framed plastic glasses. Wearing a clean plain white-cotton T-shirt, old chino work-pants, sandals. (It would be another hot-humid day.) & heard the knocking on the front door & that crackling sound of a police radio, a police squad car pulled into the driveway behind the Dodge Ram. I did not look but I knew. & heard the door being unlocked & opened, it was one of the tenants on his way out & there on the front steps two Mt. Vernon police officers. & their voices asking after Q__ P__ was he a resident of this house? & I stood cold & paralyzed in the hall thinking of the cistern! the dinette “operating” table! the surgical sup
plies! the store of food, & blankets, & the full-length mirror! & in the CARETAKER’s quarters the Polaroid-mementos of my failed ZOMBIES, & the memento in formaldehyde of BIG GUY, & other items no eyes but Q__ P__’s must ever see. The Dodge Ram I had taken care to cleanse as thoroughly as possible, before dawn working frantically barefoot & bare-chested washing away all evidence. For there was little blood
in
the van, mainly piss & the lingering stink of piss. My soiled clothes, wig etc. I had shredded & buried in such scattered sites along Route 31, Q__. P__ himself could never recall. & my .38 pistol, the knives & my solitary memento of SQUIRREL I had placed in safekeeping far from 118 North Church.

Yet there was no choice but to come forward, & declare
Yes I am Q__ P__
. & calm & quizzical approaching the police officers at the door, one uniformed & the other in suit & tie. Greeted me & asked would I step outside. But I did not. Nor did I invite them inside. For this was not like the arrest after the black boy ran bellowing into the street when they dragged me from the van & threw me on my belly & face in the dirt & cuffed my wrists behind my back so I screamed in pain. This was not an actual arrest—was it? But only a questioning. For there were many names on the computer,
known sex offenders
. For they had no evidence, & they had no warrant or they would already be at their search.
Don’t let them inside the house
, Dad’s lawyer had said.
Don’t go anywhere with them voluntarily. If they continue to harass you, call me. Any hour of the night or day—
call me
. They were asking could they come inside & I shook my head no, I did not think so. They were polite asking again would I step outside & I was polite & reasonable saying, trying not to stammer, I did not think so. & this surprised them, who are accustomed to bullying citizens. I asked them what did they want? & they looked at me, the older of them in the suit & tie sucking his lip,
You know what we want, son, don’t you
, & I shook my head no, no I did not, & steeled myself looking at his eyes, & I saw no certainty in them, nor in the face of the other. & this went on for several minutes. & what I knew was that I knew, & they did not. & that I knew of my rights as a citizen. & would not acquiesce to police harassment of a man on probation, who has not violated probation. & a man who is “gay” & does not advertise the fact but is not ashamed of it either, & guilty of nothing because of it either. & at last they spoke of a “young boy” who had been “abducted” the evening before in Dale Springs & he was missing & his bicycle found in an alley & they only wanted to ask a few questions of me, what I might know of this or might have heard, etc., here or at the precinct station, & if I had no objection they would like to look around the premises a little. & I shook my head & repeated no I did not think so, my lawyer has advised me to call him if there is trouble of any kind from the police, if I am harassed in any way & I would like to call him now.

& there was a silence. & the cops stood & stared at me, & I remained inside the doorway not surrendering an inch.

The detective said,
All right, son. Call your lawyer. Call him right now. & we’ll be right out here
.

So I called Dad’s lawyer at his home. & my voice young & aggrieved as a kid’s telling him of this latest harassment. For an “abduction” I did not know of, having not watched the news, & could they arrest me? with no evidence, arrest me? & Dad’s lawyer spoke to soothe me saying what my rights were, though I should not try to leave the premises. No doubt they were waiting for a search warrant. From where I stood in my room now I could see the two of them plus another, uniformed cop in the driveway contemplating the Dodge Ram that shone so in the sun, circling it & peering into the back (I had removed the plywood partition of course & the strips of plastic from the windows) & seeing—what? Nothing. There was nothing to see. Yet they did not dare break into the van for fear, if they did discover evidence, they would have seized it illegally, & it would be of no worth.

Dad’s lawyer said he would be over immediately, & not to speak any further to the police above all not to volunteer any information however innocent nor allow them any entry, & I told him O.K., & hung up. How much time did I have! When would they break in! First thing I did was flush NO-NAME’s gold tooth down the toilet, out of my pocket & gone forever. & the next, grabbing the formaldehyde bottle out of the locker & going next-door into the kitchen saying to two of the tenants waiting for a tea kettle to boil I was going to fumigate the kitchen, sorry they would
have to step out for a few minutes for safety’s sake but the kettle could remain on the stove etc. So they went out, it was Akhil & a young Egyptian chemistry student, & I dumped BIG GUY into the kitchen sink & with a knife stabbed & cut & forced it into the garbage disposal & set the disposal going with a high grinding roar. & the formaldehyde poured down the drain, making my eyes sting & I was close to puking, & shook Dutch Cleanser into the sink & scrubbed with a steel wool pad, & after that Dra
no down the disposal, & into the quart bottle too, to counteract the powerful stink of the chemical, & I believe it did. & another time running the disposal, grinding up just chunks of hand soap & it was all smooth & clean & smelled of something clean. & the tea kettle was boiling & singing, so I took it off the heat, & called Akhil & his friend back, & said the fumigation was over, & I did not think they were in any danger now. Back in my room then (I could see the cops still in the driveway—FUCKERS! Wanted to yell out the window at them FUCKERS! HARASSING me & SCREWING UP my life!) tearing up the map of SQUIRREL’s bike route & the Polaroids & burnt them in my bathroom sink & washed the ashes down the drain & again scrubbed with steel wool. & downstairs in the old cellar dragged the dinette out of the cistern, & into the new cellar. Set a plastic laundry basket on it. & giant box of Tide. The ice pick & knives I brought up into the kitchen & tossed in a drawer with such utensils. & the sharp little silver pick Q__ P__ had pocketed from Dr. Fish’s office went into my medicine cabinet with toothbrush,
flossing string etc., for this was the logical place & I did not wish to lose such a valuable instrument. For there were other specimens awaiting I did not doubt, & I would not be harassed & intimidated by those fuckers into surrendering my rights. The bandages, gauze, etc. went into a supply closet in the pantry, & the food & Evian water. The mirror I dragged into the new cellar & propped in a corner with some old furniture. In the mirror Q__ P__ oily-faced & sullen & his hairline God-damn receding for sure, light winking off his glasses.
A responsible man makes his own luck
. But I was pissed.

A relief, Mom & Dad are up north. When they learn of this humiliation, it will be all over.

Dad’s lawyer arrived, & not long after another squad car & the fuckers had a search warrant & could not be stopped. Two began with the Dodge Ram—I had no choice but to hand over the keys—& the rest with the house. & the lawyer stipulated that the search must be confined to certain areas only for this was a rental property & the rooms of the individual tenants are private & must not be ravaged by a search. & so they searched the CARETAKER’s quarters of course, making a mess, & all of the cellar & the attic, & the downstairs rooms, closets, etc. & FOUND NOTHING. FOR THERE WAS NOTHING TO FIND.

That day too I was questioned about the missing boy whose name was new & unknown to me
—James
, or “
Jamie,” Waldron
. Dad’s lawyer was present of course, so my rights were protected. Because Q__ P__ knew nothing about the boy, & could only
repeat & repeat a few facts. That I had done yard work at Grandma’s, from 5
P.M.
until 7
P.M.
& had afterward driven to Summit Park hoping to cool off & had had something to eat at McDonald’s close by & then—for it had come to me in a brainstorm, of course they would check the odometer in the new Dodge Ram & note the mileage—I had driven along the lake, & in the University Heights area, for a long time,
hoping to get cool
. By this time Dad’s lawyer had contacted Grandma, & Mrs. Thatch, to corroborate that I had been at Grandma’s for the hours stated, & both were adamant that this was so. Grandma said her grandson was the kindest & most thoughtful young man on earth, he visited her often & did favors not only for her but for her friends. & since the time of the boy’s abduction had been fixed between 6
P.M.
when he left his place of employment & 6:40
P.M.
when his bicycle was discovered abandoned in an alley a mile from his home,
it could not be
that Q__ P__ was in any way involved.

There was the mystery, too, of the baby chicks in the alley. No one living nearby could identify or claim them. No one had ever seen baby chicks in such a place before. Nor were there any grown hens anywhere in the neighborhood. The detective spoke quizzically of this fact, THIRTY-SIX BABY CHICKS loose & picking in the dirt of the alley, & the missing boy’s expensive bicycle parked nearby with its kickstand down. Which suggested that he was not snatched from the bicycle, but accompanied his abductor, or whoever it was, willingly. What connection could there be between the missing boy & the
baby chicks!
Or maybe there was no connection, at all?
Q__ P__ sat silent & frowning & had nothing to say, for he had no idea. The lawyer said skeptically,
Maybe the boy was playing a joke, & isn’t missing. Some kind of fraternity prank
.

The detective in suit & tie sucked at his lip & said,
If it is, it isn’t very funny. Is it?

The cops were finished with their search upstairs & down, & went out. It was 12:40
P.M.
I had not eaten anything since before 6
A.M.
, Froot Loops washed down with shitty-warm Evian water driving home on Route 31 from the Manistee Forest. From the unnamed narrow & deep & fast-flowing river where my fucked-up ZOMBIE SQUIRREL lay at the bottom naked & his throat slashed entering the water so the water bore the blood away into such an infinity it could never be traced, & his skinny body weighed down with burlap & rocks & would never rise except when the bones fall away from one another, released of flesh & identity. There would be the skull & the teeth of the skull they say you can identify—BUT COULD A SKULL FLOAT? I don’t think a skull could float, being too heavy.

The sponge-gag, the strips of tape around his jaws I had left in place. In the end, I worked fast.

The detective said thanks & goodbye for now & did not seem sarcastic but only tired. & out in the driveway I saw him talking with one of the younger men, in uniform. & I interrupted the lawyer who was speaking of
suing for harassment
if more of this ensued, & said, “Maybe—maybe I could t-talk to them, after all.”

“Excuse me?”

“The police. Maybe I could talk to them, after all.” I was swallowing hard, my throat so dry. I did not make EYE CONTACT with Dad’s lawyer. “Just for a m-minute, by myself?”

The lawyer was looking at Q__ P__ like he had not seen me before. & did not like what he saw. His head was the shape of a light bulb & pale & almost hairless, the hairs in thin crimped strips. He was Dad’s age & I believe a friend of Dad’s from some other time when they were all young. He said, “Are you out of your mind? Absolutely not.”

“O.K.,” I said.