The Birthing House Page 20

The robotic woman asked him if he wanted to replay his message, or rerecord it. He clicked off and dropped the phone.

  His hands were shaking. He went to the cupboard and removed a bottle of Jim Beam. He drank it straight and warm from a plastic tumbler, punishing himself and blotting her out for a little while longer.

  He slept late and woke to the sound of knocking. He got out of bed and felt every stair on the way down. His emotions were blunted. He had found himself drunk so quickly he had never got round to calling Nadia to see why she hadn’t come back. He vaguely recalled wishing she never would, then crying because she hadn’t. His father had made an appearance at some point, and after that it was just black. Now his synapses felt as if they had been coated with maple syrup and then set on fire. When he opened the front door in his boxers and morning half-wood, she was just standing there wet-faced.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ she said. She was holding a small red cell phone away from her body like it was a bloody knife.

  ‘Didn’t mean to?’

  ‘Promise you’ll help me.’

  He pulled her in and shut the door. She grabbed him and squeezed hard, her belly pushing into his waist like the head of a ten-year-old between them.

  She looked up, her chin digging into his chest. ‘Eddie’s dead,’ she said. ‘I think I killed him.’

  27

  ‘He probably deserved it,’ he blurted before clapping his mouth shut.

  ‘I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to . . .’ She kept saying it and she didn’t sound defensive so much as stunned. She was hiccupping and shaking all over.

  Conrad moved her into the living room. ‘I’m sorry. Here, it’s fine it’s fine sit down. I’ll be right back.’

  He went to the kitchen and poured her a coffee left over from the previous morning’s pot, added a wallop of Brennan’s Irish Cream and speed dialed one minute on the microwave. He went over it in his head. It didn’t take very long or help much. Conrad had been home for the past three days and nights, with her. She’d left for a night and now what? Now Eddie was dead? How? Was someone else involved? Nadia wouldn’t kill Eddie, really, would she? She was pregnant, for God’s sake, and she clearly had feelings for the boy.

  Poor kid.

  Nadia, not Eddie.

  Well, maybe him, too, but maybe not. Maybe Eddie had been asking for it. Maybe Eddie accidentally set his meth lab on fire and got stuck charring in the blaze.

  She was sitting on the couch, her shoulders bunched up to her ears like she had just been rear-ended by a full-size SUV, her face still pale from the impact.

  ‘Here. Go slowly and take deep breaths until you’re ready to tell me.’

  She accepted the mug and just stared at it. It looked like an oil slick with the Irish in it.

  ‘I don’t know whuh-whuh-what happened. I left my cell phone at home, otherwise I would of-huh-huh heard sooner.’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘The phone. He called like thirty times. But he didn’t say anything. Until last night. He left a mess—oh, God. No, I can’t . . .’ She was crying again.

  ‘Okay. Hold on. Breathe. That’s it. Breathe.’ She recovered a bit. ‘He left a message. On that?’ He was pointing at her cell phone.

  ‘He’s been going crazy this whole time. For weeks. He had this . . . this plan for us. He promised to take care of us.’

  ‘What did the message say?’

  ‘I can’t listen to it again.’ She dropped the cell phone.

  Conrad picked it up, flipped it open. ‘How do I listen?’

  ‘It’s in my address book, under voicemail.’

  Conrad opened her address book, scrolled down through a dozen names, selected voicemail and pressed call.

  A voice said, ‘Please enter your password.’

  ‘What’s your password?’

  ‘Two-one-two-one.’

  He entered the numbers. The voice said she had one saved message. He pressed one.

  At first there was only heavy breathing, but he recognized it as Eddie’s near hyperventilation. Same as from the last time they had spoken. Something slammed loudly and Conrad pulled his ear away for a moment. Then Eddie started screaming.

  ‘God damn you, how can you do this to me? To the fucking baby! Why are you hiding from me? You want me to leave you alone? I’m not good enough? Is that it, you fucking whore bitch! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you -’

  Conrad shook his head. The kid was having an absolute tantrum. Nadia turned away and gagged. Conrad reached out for her, but she jerked away.

  ‘- fuck you, fine, fucking fine, if this is what you want, you got it, bitch,’ Eddie’s voicemail continued. ‘You made this mess, you clean it up. I’m leaving this whole shitty deal, right now. You ready? You ready, Nadia? Suck on this!’

  There was a deafening bang. Conrad was pretty sure it was a gunshot. Then a clatter, as if the phone had been dropped. After ten seconds of silence, coming from some distance away from the phone, there was only a low moaning sound. It was sickening, something that could not be faked, and it went on and on. Finally the time allotted for messages expired.

  Conrad closed the phone. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘I killed him,’ Nadia said.

  ‘No, you didn’t. We don’t even know for sure if—’

  ‘He shot himself! I know he’s dead!’

  ‘Nadia—’

  ‘I knew he was going to do this! Don’t you see? I could have gone over sooner. I could have talked to him. He was going crazy for three days!’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘You don’t understand, you can’t . . . Eddie’s fragile. I almost asked you to come with me, but I thought that would only make him worse.’

  Conrad held her by the arms, gently but firmly.

  ‘Nadia. Calm down. What did the police say?’

  She reared back. ‘The police?’

  ‘Nine-one-one?’

  ‘I didn’t call the police! Are you crazy?’

  ‘Who did you call?’

  ‘Nobody. He’s still there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At his house!’

  She hung her head in her hands and cried, chugging hard. Anger rose up inside him. They were supposed to be sorting things out and making a plan, not dealing with Eddie’s problems. Now she was a wreck. Eddie was dead. I’m in over my head here, he thought. Way over.

  ‘Nadia, we have to call the police.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘No?’

  ‘You have to go there with me!’

  ‘No. What good could that possibly—’

  ‘Maybe he’s not dead.’

  ‘Explain that.’

  ‘What if he’s just hurt? Maybe he’s alive and needs help!’

  ‘If you’re worried about that, if you thought he was alive, why didn’t you call for help?’

  She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them, grabbed the coffee and threw it at the wall. The mug shattered above the TV and dripped down to the floor.

  ‘I’m asking for help now!’ She got up and ran for the door.

  He caught her on the porch, held her by the arm. ‘Nadia, wait. Stop. Just stop.’ Conrad looked across the street and thought he saw a shape in the Bartholomews’ window. ‘Don’t make a scene of this or you are on your own, do you hear me? I will go with you and we are calling the police when we get there, so you better get your story straight. Can you do that? Can you be calm now?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Stay here. I’ll get dressed.’

  He ran upstairs and pulled on a pair of shorts. His flip-flops. Brush the teeth - fuck it, later. When he came back she was standing beside the Volvo. Steve Bartholomew stepped out his front door and crossed his lawn, heading directly toward them.

  ‘Get in the car,’ Conrad said under his breath. ‘Morning, Steve!’

  They slipped in and Steve raised one hand to wave them back. The car was still splashed with dusty dog blood. Conrad turned the mot
or over, stomped on the juice and made the Volvo work. In the rearview mirror, Steve was standing on the sidewalk, hands on his hips.

  ‘Where’s Eddie live?’

  ‘You said you knew.’

  ‘On the phone? Nadia, I was bluffing. Wait. He actually lives in a trailer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Lucky guess, huh, ’Rad?

  Eddie lived in Dewey, a forlorn hamlet of starter homes some seven miles south of Black Earth. They took 151 toward Dubuque and followed county road XX east until they came to the only stop sign. Next to that, Welcome to Dewey, Pop. 784.

  ‘There some sort of state law says if a town can support just one business it’s got to be a Kwik-Trip?’

  Nadia ignored his attempt at levity. A small stone Lutheran church stood catty-corner. A post office. ‘Where now?’

  ‘Go straight.’

  They passed an abandoned tin car wash and they were heading out of town again.

  ‘Turn left up there.’ She pointed to a fork in the road that led them past a babyshit-brown entrance gate proclaiming Valley Village Court, Where Wisconsin Families Settle Down!

  They entered the trailer park proper and Conrad let the Volvo troll. There was a slight dip in the road, but he did not see anything resembling a valley or a village, just a shotgun smattering of turtle boxes no person should ever call home. Nadia pointed to a reddish-brown unit with a blackface jockey statue in the yard and a mailbox marked 64 The Kellogs.

  ‘Eddie Kellog?’

  ‘Park here,’ she said.

  ‘I’m guessing no relation to the cereal dynasty?’

  Nadia shot him a nasty look and he turned off the car. She reached for the door and he held her back.

  ‘Hold on. What are we walking into?’ She stared at him. ‘Nadia, his parents? Where are they?’

  ‘His mom lives at his aunt’s house in Iowa City.’

  ‘He lives alone?’

  ‘For now, yes.’

  ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘He lives in Milwaukee.’

  ‘Neighbors, friends? Anyone else who might pop by while we’re in there staring at the body?’

  When he said ‘body’ she bit the heel of her hand.

  ‘You sure? Eddie has no friends? Because I see a lot of cars.’

  ‘No one here likes him.’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  They stepped out into the hot sunlight. Going to be another scorcher - not a good day to decompose. He hoped it wasn’t going to be bad. Conrad had never seen a dead body before - his father didn’t count, because Conrad had fled the hospital room after that last breath, signed the papers and never looked back. He needed to remain calm, keep an eye on Nadia. She might break down again - and, if so, fine. He could deal with her. But they could not afford for both of them to lose their shit. They reached the porch.

  ‘Should we knock?’ Conrad whispered.

  ‘Won’t do any good.’ She opened the door for him and he entered.

  The lights were on. Eddie’s home was . . . decent. Brushed cotton sofa and matching armchair, a large television and handsome black audio appliances stacked beneath. The breakfast nook looked like granite, a bowl of tangerines on top. Short pearl carpet, very clean. It all looked like someone had poured their home equity into the interior instead of just moving to a better town, a better life.

  ‘Is it always this clean?’

  She nodded. ‘Eddie’s a bit of a neatnik.’

  Conrad moved down the hall. He smelled fresh laundry and looked inside a closet with shuttered doors. A stack of white tees and black cargo pants were folded on top of the over-and-under laundry unit.

  ‘Did Eddie have a job at The Gap?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind. This the bedroom?’

  She nodded and he guessed she wasn’t going to leave her post in the kitchen.

  Conrad grabbed the knob, realized he was leaving prints and wiped it with the hem of his tee shirt. He took another breath, gripped the knob through his shirt and opened the door.

  More white carpeting, cheap IKEA-type furniture, a desk with a black Dell PC on top. The monitor was a flatscreen and large. Next to the desk: simple pine bookcases lined with junior college textbooks and Ultimate Fighting DVDs, first-person shooter games, a new Xbox console tucked inside a storage unit below the desk. The bedding was all black and military crisp. Conrad saw no blood or sign of a struggle. If Eddie was here, the kid was folded into the closet.

  This whole deal was starting to feel like a set-up.

  Conrad backed out of the room and looked at Nadia. She was hugging herself, pacing a square into the kitchen floor.

  ‘Are you sure he was calling from home? Nadia?’

  She looked up. ‘He’s not . . . ?’

  Conrad shook his head.

  She stomped down the hall. She pointed to the bed and a small animal noise rose up within her as she lunged forward and ripped the bedding off revealing clean white sheets.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘The blood . . . he shot himself. You heard the message! This is impossible. Someone took him away.’

  ‘How do you know he wasn’t trying to trap you?’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that. Someone knows. Someone cleaned it all up!’

  She went to the bathroom, looking behind the door.

  ‘What makes you think he was in bed?’ Conrad said.

  For all he knew, they were both playing with him. But why? What could he possibly have that they wanted?

  ‘He always called me from bed. There’s nowhere else to go in here.’

  She came back. ‘Did you check the closet?’

  Conrad went to the closet. Somewhere outside a screen door creaked and latched. He listened for footsteps coming up the walk. He heard none. He stared at the cheap aluminum closet doors with their fake shutters and waited for a sound, a clue. Maybe Eddie was going to jump out and brain him with a sawed-off baseball bat. He felt strangely calm. You could sense when you were trespassing in front of a watchful eye. This clean little home felt empty. Conrad’s hand worked with its own curious will, the metal door folded out. Aside from clothes hanging in color-coordinated groups, the closet was empty.

  No, it wasn’t.

  There was a suitcase on the floor, a big one, open and full of folded clothes, like the laundry in the hall. A Time Out - Seattle city guide. Planning to follow her to Seattle?

  He heard a click.

  Time to get her talking, she’s been lying to you, boss.

  Conrad stood. ‘Nadia—’

  Eddie was taller than he remembered. His hair was better, recently cut, neat over the ears. He had her in a chokehold. A blue-black gun with a wooden grip was pressed to her abdomen and shaking, stabbing at the outermost bulge of her belly. The boy was shaking, too, eyes roadmap red. A large square Band Aid was stuck to one side of his forehead, a maroon bullseye.

  Jesus, he’s a lousy shot.

  ‘Where’s your big money now, fuckface?’

  The kid was as quiet as . . . something pretty quiet, Conrad thought, trying to come up with a casual response to the situation.

  ‘Hi, Eddie.’

  ‘You’re in my house, fuckface,’ Eddie said.

  Was this the kid’s only name for unwanted guests? Couldn’t he do any better . . .

  ‘I’m sorry, Eddie, don’t worry about him—’ Nadia started to say.

  ‘Shut up!’

  Conrad tried to breathe deeply without showing it. Jesus, it was hot in here. ‘What money, Eddie?’

  ‘I thought you could help us,’ Nadia said. She was trying to signal him with her eyes. ‘He can help us, Eddie.’

  ‘Absolutely, Eddie, just hold on a sec,’ Conrad said.

  ‘You hold on, asshole, you just hold on.’ A little too cool for Conrad’s liking. The stutter was taking a time out, apparently. ‘You think you can buy it?’

  ‘What?’ Conrad heard the words, but he did not understand.

  ‘
You can’t buy it. I won’t let you take my baby.’

  Nadia yelped. Eddie was jabbing her with the gun. Jabbing her right in the - wait a minute. Was she in on this? Had she tried to trick him?

  ‘Eddie, don’t!’ Nadia was being too loud. She was—

  The gun.

  The gun was everything. Look away. Show no fear.

  Conrad forced himself to look into the kid’s eyes, but his eyes kept going back to her. Nadia was as white as the carpet. Her cheek twitched violently. Eddie’s mouth hung open like he was being held hostage, too. Saliva dripped from his lower lip and fell past the gun, hitting the floor with a soft pat.

  The gun . . .

  Conrad reached out. ‘Eddie, we were worried—’

  The gun exploded.

  28

  When the gun went off in the hot confines of the trailer’s hall, Nadia fell to the floor in a limp heap. Eddie’s snarl froze and then he just looked surprised. Conrad flinched from the pop, covered his head and yelled, ‘Don’t!’

  When he opened his eyes she was bleeding from just below her equatorial center, maybe Tanzania on the globe of her belly. Eddie was staring at her like some fourth party had pulled the trigger, like he was the other victim.

  ‘I-I-I’m sorry,’ Eddie said.

  ‘You little fuck,’ Conrad said.

  The kid’s remorse evaporated as soon as Conrad stepped forward and reached for the gun. Eddie went ape shit, screaming into the bathroom. Conrad shoved very hard and the trigger-happy suitor fired another shot into the wall before tripping over the toilet and slamming against the half-open sliding shower door, which rattled at an astonishing volume but did not shatter. Eddie’s gun hand slapped the wall, Eddie slipped and Conrad leaped on top, his senses on full alert. He punched down, missed. Aimed for the neck, punched down, missed. Sweat-greased and hyped through the roof, Eddie slid beneath Conrad, spun out and yanked the towel rack out of the wall as he rebounded up and dashed past Conrad, careening off the wall and directly into the door, closing them both into the bathroom. He fumbled at the knob, but already Conrad had a ball of Eddie’s shirt in one fist. Conrad yanked Eddie back and turned to the side. Eddie pivoted wildly, lost his balance, whirled past like they were swing dancing. Eddie’s feet tripped on the edge of the tub and he began to go face first between the sliding shower door and the backsplash, directly into the tub. Conrad was still holding his shirt like a bronc rider and for one long second Eddie hovered over the tub, bent forward, the horse halting before going over the edge of a cliff. Conrad realized he was losing his balance, too, and he did not want to land on top of Eddie in the tub with a gun between them. He jerked his arm back once, bringing Eddie nearly vertical again, then kicked him in the ass as hard as he could, releasing the shirt at the last minute. Eddie’s spine arched with whiplash and his hands flew out on instinct, trying to brace his fall. His right hand - the one holding the gun - hit the soap cradle, bent inward at the wrist, and the gun bucked. The shot went high on the right side of Eddie’s forehead and exited his ear, spraying maroon and gray sludge over the grout and the bottle of Pert Plus to his left.