“you know, i’ve never once invited you here.”
“your dad let me in.”
gabe retrieved his beer from behind the computer screen. “did you ever consider that i really don’t care about you and i’d like to be alone?”
“did you ever consider that i KNOW you want to be alone and i really don’t care?”
“pretty bitchy.”
if gabe didn’t recognize “sarah” before, he wouldn’t now. more blush, more gloss, more BUBBLEGUM with an emergency supply of makeup in her backpack. instead of a skirt, she donned a pair of hand-me-down capris to hide the scar on her knee. she even highlighted her hair with lemon juice from the bread shop’s pantry to ensure that “sarah” was truly dead at sea. “i’ve been thinking about the threat you made,” she said.
“no threat. just fate.”
“i don’t want you to do it.”
“you poor sheltered girl... you’ll understand someday.”
jules dropped her bag on the floor beside the couch and edgar lurched at the sudden thump.
“be cool, honeybunny,” said gabe to the bird.
“tell me you won’t do it,” she implored. “please, gabe.”
“i’ve been preparing for eleven months, three weeks and two days. why would i change my plan? i don’t even know who the hell you are.”
jules lunged two giant steps and snagged gabe’s phone from the edge of his desk. always keep your cellphone on your person.
“ha! who you gonna call? my dad?”
jules dialed the number scrawled on her palm. “if i can’t convince you, maybe they will.”
gabe grinned and twisted in his chair. “they?”
“the suicide hotline.”
gabe stood from his desk and circled jules with the off-kilter slouch and toothy grin of a rabid hyena.
“i just wanna hear what they have to say,” she said.
the line rang once, but gabe snatched the phone with his claw and skipped away.
she followed him across the room, arms slapping for the phone but the boy was quicker and hopped to the bed.
“hang up, gabe,” she demanded from below.
“hello?” he said to the operator. “i’ve got a gun and i want to die.”
“not funny, asshole,” jules said.
gabe raised a finger, mouthed “hold on,” and grinned. “no, i’m not alone. my wife and kid are strapped to the heater. i think i’m going to take ‘em down with me. i’ve been drinking. vodka. maybe a little whiskey.”
“gabe, HANG UP THE PHONE.”
he sniffled and pretended to cry. “no! i won’t put it down! it’s my right to carry a firearm! read the constitution!” gabe’s knees buckled and stretched as he bounced on the mattress. “if you don’t do your job, i’m going to kill us all. now convince me! convince me to put down this gun!”
jules hoisted herself to gabe’s level, but he shoved her easily to the bed with his free hand. she tried to sit up, but he bounced more furiously and she couldn’t hold her balance.
“one more day? what do you mean ‘one more day’? if i live one more day, the cops will haul me away! they’ll put me in the fucking chair! i can’t do that! not the cops! there’s no turning back! i’ve got the gun pointed at my little six-year-old son!”
jules screamed, “this isn’t real!”
“did you hear that? he’s screaming!” gabe pinned jules to the bed with his foot, then set the phone on the nightstand where another boy (a million years ago) had placed her breakfast. from the top shelf of his bookcase he removed a dictionary, an encyclopedia, and a study bible.
“stop it!” her words came out as a raspy whine. the weight of his foot on her chest made shouting impossible. “this isn’t real!”
“i can’t do it!” gabe said, lifting the dictionary to the ceiling above the table and phone. “i just can’t live anymore!” he dropped the book to the wood. BAM!
edgar reeled and honked from the bottom of his cage.
“oh, dear god! what have i done?” gabe grabbed the bible, lifted it, and dropped it. BAM!
jules pushed against his leg but didn’t have enough leverage to stop the rant.
gabe dropped to the bed, wrapped his arm around the back of her neck, and held her mouth shut. “goodbye, cruel world!” he shouted and raised the encyclopedia above his head, then hammered it onto the tabletop. BAM! he pinched her lips, grabbed his phone from the nightstand, and turned on the speaker.
the female operator was sobbing.
gabe punched the phone off, released jules, and cackled. “she bought the whole damn thing! she kept telling me to live one more day! brilliant!” he held his stomach and rolled on the mattress. “brilliant!”
jules wiped her mouth with her arm. “this isn’t who you are...”
gabe sat up. his smile vanished. “how would you know?”
jules touched his face. she wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck. she drew him in and she kissed him.
when she pulled back, gabe said, “you’re a nice girl. but you should go.”
jules shook her head. “no.”
* * *
00sexboy00: dante fiiiiiiire. i was hopin youd show. youve got quite the following in our old stompin ground
dante_fire18:sexboyyy. been a while. i’m king of this room. the peons adore me.
00sexboy00: all hail the king!!!!!!!!!
dante_fire18: ha.
00sexboy00: talked to them for quite a while before u showed. they tell me u fucked up ur first attempt, now ur gunna try it again
dante_fire18: something like that.
00sexboy00: is that bitch with u?
dante_fire18: jules? how’d you know about her? you been creepin’ my blog?
00sexboy00: maybe
dante_fire18: tight piece of ass. asleep on my bed right now ;) keeps nagging me though. can’t get this chick to LEAVE ME BE.
00sexboy00: when u gunna do it?
dante_fire18: three days. if i wasn’t so sentimental i would have done it already.
00sexboy00: how? somethin dramatic i hope
dante_fire18: i was thinking about the whole webcam thing a la asian-john. i’ve got 20 kids who’d show up online to watch. but that’s not what this is about. i’m not doing it for show.
00sexboy00: what METHOD dumbass?
dante_fire18: pills prolly. whatever i can get my hands on.
00sexboy00: pussssssyyyyyyyy too much chance to fuck it up
dante_fire18: i guess we’ll see.
00sexboy00: have u considered a gun?
dante_fire18: ha! i’d love a gun. but i don’t even know where to start with that shit.
00sexboy00: i can get u a gun. easy.
* * *
trevor didn’t know if it was the clouds, crescent moon, or some invisible chemical reaction that was responsible for tinting his world green. he was a contingency planner and criminal mastermind, not a meteorologist.
perhaps the dull emerald glow of the catwalk lights was the source of the sickening hue... but the stars were green too. he inspected the revolver. viewed at the right angle, it became a jade ornament.
the gun was the solution to julesie’s betrayal. the gun was the solution to a boy who was STILL BREATHING.
until the chat with dante fire, trevor barely knew what city he was in. but the little chitchatwith “king dante” gave him PURPOSE again. it snapped him out of his month-long sympathy binge and motivated him to do what masterminds do best: PLAN.
the gun was the key. he nearly planted it in blake’s hand to make the botched crime look like a suicide. the dearly departed had the motive and note, but guns weren’t clean like pills. guns were sloppy. guns made mistakes.
trevor understood the basics of forensics, but the shit that went down in blake’s condo was messy, and messy indications of MURDER would have been inevitable whether he left the gun or not. detectives would have traced the weapon’s registration to shotgun-doug, which would've turned THAT case from a solved suicide into an open homicide; flinging more turds than trevor would be able to catch.
gabe, however, would shoot HIMSELF. there would still be a gun, but no mess. the revolver would still be linked to shotgun-doug, but with gabe’s clean “suicide,” the enigmatic connection would end with his death.
without her precious boy, jules would be lost in a town that wanted her dead. she would realize her mistake. she would experience the same pain she forced upon her soulmate. and when she hit rock bottom, trevor would be there to save her. again. she would pray for forgiveness; she would grovel at his feet for absolution for stabbing him so coldly in the back. she would dig her nails down the nape of his neck and together they would sleep beneath the desert’s yellow stars.
the truck’s shitty green clock read two-thirty and gabe’s minivan curved, right on time, into the boardwalk’s parking lot. the boy parked fifty feet away and swaggered the gap between them with hands in his pockets. “you sexboy?” he asked.
“you dante?”
the boy pulled out his wallet and shuffled through a clump of hundreds. “how much?”
“three,” trevor said.
“how about seven.” gabe handed over the entire wad. “who needs money when you’re dead?”
trevor pocketed the cash and gave gabe the gun. “you’re not going to fuck it up like last time?”
“not a chance.”
“you know how to use that?”
“i’ll figure it out.”
“no you won’t. here...” trevor took back the revolver and snapped open the chamber with his gloved hand. “six shots. don’t cock it ‘til you’re ready or you’ll shoot your eye out.” he pressed the barrel in the soft spot between his jawbone and adam’s apple. “this is right.” he put the gun to his temple. “this is wrong.”
“got it.”
“you can put it in your mouth, but make sure you’re aiming up and not out the back of your throat.”
“i did my research.”
trevor gave back the gun. “jules... you didn’t tell her i’m here?”
“why the hell would i tell that skank anything?”
“don’t let her get in your head. tomorrow night is YOUR night.”
gabe lifted the gun, closed one eye, and aimed at the flashing bulb atop the nearest lighthouse. “this has nothing to do with her.”
“good. where will you do it?”
“bedroom. parents’ll be out.”
“you’re sure?”
“i bought them tickets for the grand rapids opera for christmas. they’ll be gone all night.”
“proud of you. don’t screw it up.”
the men shared a moment of silence in the olive-tainted night.
gabe stepped away, breaking the quiet with grinding footsteps. halfway to his van, he turned around and continued walking backward. “hey sexboy.”
“yeah?”
“you’ve been in that chat room for a long time. when is it your turn?”
trevor didn’t answer the question, but flashed his trademark smile. “remember dante,” he said, “it’s your show tomorrow night. go out with a bang.”