Lost Things (A Short Story) Read online

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2012 by John Rector

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  eISBN: 9781611094473

  DEDICATION

  * * *

  For mom and dad

  PART 1

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  PART 2

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  PART 3

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  PART 4

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  PART 5

  CHAPTER 20

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  THE man in the khaki jacket stood in the middle of the sidewalk with his hand out.

  “Change?”

  Peter sidestepped him, kept walking.

  I shook my head. “Sorry.”

  The man said something under his breath, but the only word I caught was “Asshole.”

  “Did you hear that?” Peter asked.

  “Let it go.”

  Peter turned, raised a hand, one finger.

  “Don’t.” I knocked his hand down and looked back. The man in the khaki jacket was still standing in the same spot, watching us walk away. “Not worth it.”

  Peter frowned, and we kept walking.

  “You’ve got the right idea,” Peter said. “Get out while you can. This place is a shithole.”

  I lied and said, “It’s not that bad.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “There are worse places in the city.”

  “Not many.” Peter thumbed back over his shoulder. “Could you smell that guy? Fucking drunks everywhere.”

  “Like us?”

  “You know I’m not talking about us.” He tapped a finger against his chest. “We might be drunk, but we live down here. More than that, we pay to live down here.”

  “You live down here,” I said. “I’m just visiting.”

  “Right, still getting used to that.” Peter took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out. He lit it as we walked. “I liked it better when there was nothing down here but warehouses and empty streets.”

  “Everything changes.”

  “Yeah,” Peter said. “I guess it does.”

  We walked, and neither of us said a word. The silence was strange, but that was how the night had gone.

  The plan had been to head over to Murphy’s for a few drinks. One last drunken night in the place where we’d spent so many drunken nights. A good-bye to college life, and a celebration of whatever came next.

  As it turned out, we got the drunken part right, but that was it.

  “I shouldn’t talk shit about this place,” Peter said. “For all I know, next month I’ll be down here begging for change right alongside these guys.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “If this grant doesn’t come through, that’s exactly what’ll happen.”

  “Have you heard anything?”

  Peter shook his head. “They make you wait. They want to drive you insane before they crush your spirit.”

  “That’s positive.”

  “That’s reality. Do you know how many artists applied for this grant? I’m amazed I’m in the running at all.”

  “I’m not. You’ve done great.”

  Peter smiled. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “What about that gallery show?”

  “That was almost two years ago.”

  “No, was it?”

  “Do you know how many paintings I’ve sold since then?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Three, and that includes the pity sale from you.”

  “It wasn’t pity,” I said. “I love that painting.”

  Peter waved me off. “Doesn’t matter. If this grant doesn’t come through, I’m done with art. I’ll move on to something else. I can’t live down here and starve anymore. It was fine when we were both in school, and I had you to split the rent, but I’m not doing it by myself.”

  I wanted to tell him he’d be fine, that things would get better, but I kept quiet. Peter and I had been friends for too long. I knew his moods almost as well as I knew mine, and I’d seen him hit these low points enough over the years to know that sometimes the best thing to say was nothing at all.

  Empty encouragement would just make things worse.

  I glanced down at my watch. It was long past midnight, and the only sounds on the street were the wind and the low rumble of the highway echoing through the empty maze of buildings around us. The silence was nice, but it didn’t take long before it got to be too much.

  “You can always stay with us,” I said. “If things get really bad.”

  Peter laughed. “I’m sure Ronnie would be thrilled to have me crashing on her two-thousand-dollar couch. You know how much she loves me.”

  “I’m just offering.”

  “And I appreciate it, but that’s a terrible idea. She’d kill you for even mentioning it. No point in ruining your new life over me.”

  Peter had a point, and I didn’t argue.

  I didn’t think Veronica hated Peter, but they never saw eye to eye. She tolerated him because he was my friend, but I had no doubt how she’d react if I brought him home to stay for a while.

  “I can lend you money,” I said. “Something to tide you over until the grant comes through.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t want to take your money.” He got quiet again, and then he looked up and smiled. “Maybe I can find another roommate.”

  “I thought you already looked.”

  “Not seriously,” he said. “Can’t just jump into that kind of decision; you might end up sharing a refrigerator with a psycho. You have to know the person a little, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “What about Julia?”

  I slowed. “What?”

  “Didn’t you say she was coming home in a couple of months?” He smiled. “If she’s really taking a year off, she’ll need a place to crash after your folks kick her out.”

  “You think that’s funny?”

  “What?” Peter held out his hands, palms up. “She’s going to need a place, and I need a new roommate.”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Peter said. “She’s what, nineteen, almost twenty? Home from her first year at college, confused about the future and the great big world out there. I bet she could use a sympathetic shoulder to lean on now and then.”

  I stopped walking, stared at Peter.

  “You think she still wants me, don’t you?” Peter smiled. “Look, that was years ago. She was just a kid, and I’m sure whatever urges she had are long gone.”

  “Not funny.”

  “Maybe you’re right to be worried.” Peter laughed. “Those high school crushes can die hard.”

  “That’s enough.”

  “Now that she’s all grown up, if I play my cards right, maybe I’ll wind up in the family after all
.” He winked. “Even if it’s just casually.”

  I stepped in fast, grabbing him around the neck, pulling him into a headlock. I thought I’d dug in, but he pushed me away easily, laughing.

  “Come on, I’m not the one you have to worry about,” he said. “You know what she’s like. It’s only a matter of time until she works her way down the list to me. And let’s face it. She’s a beautiful girl. I’m only human.”

  I charged him, and he stepped to the side.

  “You really want to do this?” he asked.

  “Stand still, asshole.”

  I charged him again, but this time he didn’t laugh. He didn’t try to move or fight back. Instead, he just stood there, looking past me, frowning.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Peter shook his head. “Nothing, come on, let’s go.”

  He started walking.

  “It was a joke,” I said. “Don’t take it personal.”

  “Forget it,” he said. “Let’s just go home.”

  He walked faster, and I jogged to keep up.

  “Move in with Julia for all I care. You’re both grown-ups, I don’t give—”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?” I stopped walking. “Hey?”

  Peter slowed, then turned and came back to where I was standing. “You know that guy who asked you for money after we left Murphy’s? The one who called you an asshole?”

  “What about him?”

  “Well.” Peter glanced over my shoulder and nodded. “I think he’s following us.”

  I turned and looked down the street. At first, all I saw were shadows. Then the man in the khaki jacket stepped under one of the streetlights.

  He saw us and stopped.

  For a moment, nobody moved. Then I said, “What the hell is he doing?”

  Peter shook his head. “I don’t know. Should we wait here and ask him?”

  I almost said yes, a year earlier I would’ve said yes, but things were different now. Times had changed, and I had promises to keep. Besides, there was something about seeing him there I didn’t like.

  It wasn’t unusual to be followed by drunks looking for money, at least not in this neighborhood, but this time was different. Something felt wrong, and I couldn’t shake it.

  “You’re right,” I said. “Let’s get off the street.”

  Peter nodded.

  He knew.

  We started walking again, faster now, and neither of us spoke. Once we got closer to the apartment, I turned and looked back. The man in the khaki jacket was still behind us, but he was closer now, less than a block away, running to catch up.

  Seeing him sparked something inside me, something I thought I’d buried. I stopped walking, feeling the anger build, and said, “What the fuck is with this guy?”

  “Come on,” Peter said. “Let’s just go.”

  I paused, watching the man get closer, then turned just in time to see another man step out of the alley in front of us. This one was wearing a blue down coat, stained across the front, torn along one sleeve. He had an aluminum baseball bat cocked over his shoulder.

  He ran toward us, screaming.

  From then on, everything changed.

  I don’t remember him swinging the bat, or feeling it hit my chest, but that’s what happened. What I remember is being on the ground with him standing over me, the bat raised over his head, and me thinking, I can’t breathe. Holy shit, I’m about to die, and I can’t breathe!

  The man’s eyes seemed to roll loose in his skull, and his lips moved constantly. I tried to follow what he was saying, but none of it cut through the ringing in my head.

  I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, and I looked over at the man in the khaki jacket. He was on top of Peter, swinging wild, connecting with every third or fourth punch. I wanted to help, but the pain in my chest was spreading, turning my arms numb.

  When I was finally able to take in some air, I pushed myself up onto my knees. This only made the pain worse.

  The man with the bat was still screaming.

  “Give me your fucking wallet!”

  The sour, wet stink of alcohol on his breath was so strong that I couldn’t believe he was still standing. I held out one hand and used the other to ease myself up to my feet.

  The man stepped back and lifted the bat higher. “Your wallet, motherfucker, now!”

  I nodded, my hand still up, and reached for my wallet with the other. “It’s cool. You can have it.”

  I looked back at Peter and saw he wasn’t moving. The man in the khaki jacket was pulling at his feet, trying to get his shoes off.

  I took my wallet from my pocket, but I couldn’t look away from Peter. I knew I should just turn it over and walk away, but seeing Peter on the ground like that changed something inside me. The pain was still there, the anger was still there, but it was different now.

  It was focused.

  The man with the bat stepped closer, reaching for my wallet.

  “Here.” I tossed it to him. “Take it.”

  The man let go of the bat with one hand and tried to catch my wallet, juggling it as it bounced.

  I moved fast, grabbing the bat with both hands and twisting low with my hips, pulling it away. The man lost his balance and fell.

  I stepped back with the bat.

  The look on the man’s face was almost funny. It said that it wasn’t supposed to go this way. I could see the struggle going on inside his head as he stood up and tried to figure out his next attack.

  I didn’t give him the chance.

  I swung, putting all my strength into it, and felt the bat connect with the side of the man’s head. The sound was loud, hollow, and the man dropped. He hit the ground hard. His body twitched, and a dark swell of blood spread under him and ran along the pavement toward the gutter.

  I turned to the man in the khaki jacket. He’d been watching all of this, his mouth open. He was staring at his friend on the ground and didn’t see me coming until I was almost on top of him.

  I lifted the bat and swung down as hard as I could.

  This time, I felt something pop in my chest and the pain tore through me as I swung.

  The man raised one arm against the blow. The bat caught him just below the elbow, and the bone in his forearm snapped.

  The man screamed.

  I tried to lift the bat again, but this time the pain was too much. It didn’t matter. The man was already up and running down the street and into the alley, cradling his broken arm against his chest as he went.

  The air was alive around me.

  I dropped the bat and knelt down by Peter. He was lying on his side, trying to sit up.

  There was blood everywhere.

  One of his shoes was off, lying nearby. I grabbed it, handed it to him, and asked, “Are you OK?”

  Peter looked at me, but I don’t think he saw me. The skin around his left eye was red and swollen. There was blood on his forehead and covering his mouth.

  “What happened?”

  “He’s gone,” I said. “He took off.”

  I slipped down to the curb with my feet in the gutter and ran my fingertips over each of my ribs, feeling for breaks. There was pain, a lot of it, but I didn’t think anything was broken.

  Peter touched his mouth and winced. I noticed one of his front teeth was hanging loose, dangling by a dark red slip of skin.

  “You should go to the hospital.”

  Peter ignored me. He reached up and squeezed the tooth between his fingers and pulled it free.

  A thin trail of blood dripped down his chin.

  Peter didn’t seem to notice. He held the tooth in his palm and pushed it around with his finger, mumbling something I couldn’t quite hear. When he finally looked up at me, I didn’t recognize his eyes.

  “We need to call the police.” I pointed toward the man lying on the sidewalk. “I think I might’ve—”

  I couldn’t say it.

  Peter looked past me and stared
at the man. Then he pushed himself up and started toward him.

  “How does he look,” I asked. “Is he—”

  Again, the words wouldn’t come.

  Peter didn’t say anything. He stood in the shadows between the streetlights for a long time, studying the man lying at his feet

  Then he bent down and picked up the bat.

  “Pete?”

  He moved closer, carefully avoiding the long trail of blood running into the gutter, and stood over him, his head tilted to the side, birdlike. I hadn’t seen that look on Peter’s face in years, and it turned everything inside me to ice.

  I got to my feet, slowly, then said, “Come on, Pete. Let’s go home.”

  Peter leaned forward and spit on the man’s face, then he gripped the bat with both hands and swung it up and back over his shoulder.

  I yelled at him to stop, but it was too late.

  The blow came in low, like a golf swing, connecting with the side of the man’s face and slamming his head hard to the right. There was a delicate rattle along the side of the building, like a handful of pebbles tossed against a wall. It took me a minute before I realized it was the man’s teeth.

  “Pete, stop, that’s enough!”

  But Peter didn’t listen, and he didn’t stop.

  It wasn’t enough, not for him.

  Not even close.

  “GIVE me your keys.”

  Peter reached into his pocket, took out a green rabbit’s foot keychain, and held it out to me. His fingers were dirty, shaking, and stained red.

  I grabbed the keys and flipped through them until I found the right one. I unlocked the door and went inside.

  Peter followed.

  “Leave the lights off,” I said. “And get rid of that Goddamn thing.”

  Peter looked down at the bat in his hand. “What should I do with it?”

  “Put it in the tub.” I dropped the keys on the table by the kitchen and braced myself against the wall. “And don’t touch anything until you get cleaned up.”