They kill, p.4
They Kill, page 4
But it was a Monday morning, and business was usually slow on Mondays, and Sierra found a space on the street opposite ArtWorks, in front of Subs-to-Go, where she often grabbed lunch. She parked, feeling absurdly as if she’d just won the lottery, got out, locked the door behind her, and started down the sidewalk, canvas bag slung over her shoulder. The emotional aftereffects of her encounters with Grace and Stuart still lingered, making her feel yucky, but she was determined to try her best to make the day better going forward. Jeffrey wouldn’t want her to mope around. He’d want her to honor his memory by living her best life, and so that’s what she’d do.
There were few cars passing by right now, and even fewer pedestrians on the sidewalks. But as Sierra approached the corner where she would cross to the other side of the street, a man came around the corner and started walking toward her – a man she recognized. He was in his sixties, wore a dark blue sweatshirt, tan slacks, and gray sneakers. He was clean-shaven and, with the exception of some gray hair on the back of his head, bald. At first he showed no sign of recognizing Sierra, and she began to think that he’d pass by without stopping. But then his eyes locked onto her and a broad smile stretched across his face.
“Sierra! What a pleasant surprise!”
She stopped in front of the man and returned his smile, although hers was more subdued.
“Hi, Mr. Kovach.”
The man frowned, but not in an unfriendly way.
“Call me Randall. You’ve been an adult too long to keep calling me Mr. Kovach.”
“Old habits are hard to break, I guess.”
Randall and his wife lived across the street from her parents, and while the couples weren’t exactly friends, they knew one another well enough to exchange pleasantries and make small talk every once in a while. Sierra had known the Kovachs her entire life. Their children had been too old for her to play with, but their daughter had babysat her when her parents went out on date nights. Randall was retired, although Sierra couldn’t remember from what profession. He’d worked in an office somewhere, she thought, but that didn’t exactly narrow it down much. As far as she knew, Randall had generally been in good health, but his skin had a slight yellowish cast to it that made it seem as if he were suffering from jaundice. But since he always looked like this, she figured it was normal for him, although it still struck her as odd every time she saw him.
“I take it you’re not teaching at the college today?” Randall said.
“I teach a class there at noon on Mondays and Wednesdays. I teach at ArtWorks mornings and afternoons.” Even though Randall knew about the gallery, Sierra hooked a thumb in its direction.
“Keeping busy,” Randall said approvingly. “That’s why I’m here too. Trying to keep busy and make the world a better place in my own little way.”
Before she could stop him, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a penny. The front side of the coin had been covered with a raised sticker of a yellow smiley face. He held it up so the face was pointed at Sierra.
“Chuck says have a nice day.”
Sierra smiled weakly as she took the penny.
“Thanks.”
For as long as she could remember, Randall had been making and giving out ‘Chucks’ to everyone he met, especially children. She didn’t know where he’d gotten the idea or why he called them Chucks, but he claimed he did it to bring a little cheer to people’s days. Sierra had always found it more than a little creepy, and as she’d gotten older, she wondered if Randall might be a pedophile and the Chucks were his way of approaching children. But he’d never done or said anything inappropriate to her, or as far as she knew to any other kid in the neighborhood. In the end she’d decided Randall wasn’t dangerous, just weird.
She dropped the Chuck into her bag and was about to take her leave of Randall, when he said, “I was thinking of stopping by the gallery today and passing out some Chucks to the children. Do you think that would be okay?”
Since school was in session, the morning and early afternoon classes at ArtWorks consisted of preschool-age children and homeschooled children whose parents brought them to the gallery for their art requirement. Sierra doubted the parents would be thrilled to learn an older man was walking around the gallery passing out smiley faces stuck to pennies.
“I’m afraid that’s not a good idea,” she said. “We aren’t supposed to have visitors during classes unless they’re immediate family. Sorry.”
Randall had kept a smile on his face the entire time they’d been talking, but now his smile fell away and his brow furrowed into a frown. She thought he was going to challenge her, maybe accuse her of making up that policy on the spot, which she had. But his brow smoothed and his smile returned, although not as broad as before.
“It’s a shame that a silly rule can prevent children from experiencing a little bit of joy in the course of their day, but I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it.” His smile hardened a touch more. “It was good seeing you, Sierra. Give my best to your parents when you see them.”
He continued down the sidewalk then, no doubt in search of more Chuck recipients.
Sierra was about to cross the street when Randall stopped and turned around to face her once more.
“I almost forgot! I know today’s the anniversary of Jeffrey’s accident. I went by the cemetery earlier and put a Chuck on his headstone. I used a sticky pad on the back to hold it in place. My version of leaving flowers, I guess.”
She knew that Randall had meant this as a gesture of kindness and respect, but after the morning she’d had so far, the thought of one of Randall’s dumbass Chucks on her brother’s headstone infuriated her.
“Jeffrey didn’t like your Chucks,” she said. “I don’t like them either, and I don’t know anyone who does. You’re not making people feel better. You’re not brightening their day. All you do is creep them out and make them feel sorry for you!”
Randall’s face widened in shock, as if she’d struck him a physical blow. When she saw his reaction, she instantly regretted her words. She wanted to go to him, to apologize and tell him that she’d had a terrible morning so far and she shouldn’t have taken out her frustrations on him. But she was also angry at him for defiling her brother’s grave, even in such a small fashion. So instead of apologizing, she turned and started across the street, and she didn’t look back.
* * *
Randall watched Sierra hurry across the street and go inside ArtWorks. He remembered when the building had housed the unimaginatively named Office Supplies and More!, complete with exclamation point, as if that would somehow lure more customers. Now, the outside of the building was covered with artwork created by the gallery’s students – images of people and animals, along with abstract designs and psychedelic splashes of color. It looked to Randall like a bunch of amateurish graffiti, and he thought it an ugly addition to the Historic District’s ambience, such as it was.
He had been hurt by Sierra’s words, mostly because he feared they were true. But he’d also been angered by them. What was so wrong about trying to make the world a brighter place, about literally giving people smiles? Sure, some people probably thought he was a bit eccentric for passing out his Chucks, but he believed there were just as many – if not more – who appreciated his small gesture of kindness. If you greeted someone with a smile and a kind word or two, the effect was temporary, the incident soon fading from their memory. But a Chuck lasted. You could keep it in your pocket and take it out and look at it whenever you needed to see a smile, even if it was an artificial one. You could leave it on your kitchen counter or maybe a dresser, somewhere you could see it a few times during the course of your day. So yeah, maybe he wasn’t curing cancer or creating world peace, but that didn’t make what he did any less meaningful.
He’d never really liked the Sowells or their children. They didn’t attend a church, didn’t decorate their house for the holidays, considered themselves independent voters, and always let their grass grow too high before finally getting around to mowing it. They didn’t make any commitments, didn’t uphold any standards. And as far as he was concerned, that made them bad neighbors, which to his mind was just about the worst thing you could be. As Sierra and Jeffrey had grown up, he’d hoped they wouldn’t turn out like their parents, that maybe they would learn to take more pride in themselves and their community. But of course, they hadn’t. The acorn didn’t fall far from the tree, as the saying went. He shouldn’t have visited Jeffrey’s grave earlier. It had been a waste of a good Chuck.
Enough brooding. He’d come here this morning to spread some happiness, and that’s exactly what he would do.
He reached into his pocket, clutched the Chucks in there as if for reassurance, and then continued down the sidewalk. The next person he encountered would receive the biggest smile that he was capable of, and he might even give them two Chucks.
* * *
Sierra walked into ArtWorks at 8:43, and Karolyn Cho – who stood by the door to greet parents and children as they arrived – gave her a smile. But the smile quickly faded when she registered Sierra’s expression.
“I take it you haven’t had the best of mornings,” Karolyn said. “Is it because of Jeffrey?”
“Partly. It’s also because there are a lot of assholes in the world.”
Karolyn laughed, then quickly glanced over her shoulder. Sierra followed the direction of her gaze and saw that one of her students – a four-year-old boy named Joshua Phelps – was sitting at a table, drawing with crayons. Joshua’s mom always dropped him off early. Most parents seemed to understand that ArtWorks was a school and not day care, but there were some who never seemed to get the message, and Joshua’s mother was one of them.
Karolyn was the owner and director of ArtWorks. She was an Asian woman in her forties who’d taught art in elementary school before quitting to start her own business. She’d gotten tired of the administrative bullshit and wanted to open her own school focused entirely on student learning. Karolyn had been as surprised as anyone when ArtWorks not only remained in business but flourished. The students ranged from preschool to APA high school students looking to build a strong portfolio before applying to college art programs. Karolyn employed several artists to teach part-time at ArtWorks, Sierra included, and it was a wonderful place to work. The main level was a single large open space, with long tables set up for students to work at. There were cabinets for supplies and a couple sinks to wash paint off hands and brushes, and student artwork decorated the place. Wherever you looked, you could see drawings, paintings, charcoal sketches, papier-mâché sculptures, hanging mobiles, and pottery. Most were crude beginners’ work, but some of the pieces were quite sophisticated and polished. There was a space on one wall for faculty work, so parents and students could see that the teachers at ArtWorks were artists in their own right. A few of Sierra’s watercolor paintings hung there. Perhaps not her best work, but they were decent efforts and she wasn’t ashamed of them.
Karolyn always dressed like a working artist – large button shirt over a tank top, faded jeans, and old sneakers decorated with pen drawings. She wore no jewelry and no makeup, but Sierra thought she didn’t need them. She was beautiful as she was, and makeup would only detract from her natural beauty, not enhance it.
“Want to tell me about it?” Karolyn asked.
Some people offered to listen only out of politeness. They didn’t really want to hear what was bothering you. But not Karloyn. If you had a problem, she was always ready to listen and help any way she could. She’d been a huge support for Sierra after Jeffrey’s death, in many ways her strongest support, more so even than her parents, who’d had their own grieving to do. Sierra had loved the woman before that, but now she absolutely adored her.
“Maybe later. I think right now I just want to get to work and let the kids take my mind off things.”
Karolyn smiled. “That’s one of the secret perks of teaching: free therapy.”
Sierra laughed then headed over to Joshua to greet the boy, take a look at what he was drawing, and tell him he was doing a good job, even if he wasn’t. Especially if he wasn’t. At his age, art was more about building self-confidence and strengthening hand-eye coordination than it was about wowing critics – which was what she liked so much about working with this age group.
Joshua looked up as she approached, grinned, then held up his drawing for inspection. It was a riot of color with no discernible form.
“It’s a rocket ship!” Joshua said proudly.
Sierra could feel the tension that had built up inside her this morning begin to drain away.
“And a fine one it is,” she said.
* * *
By 9:20, all the children in her class were sitting at their tables and working. There were ten of them, six girls and four boys, and they were all on task. Today’s lesson was drawing basic shapes – circles, squares, rectangles, and triangles. She’d given the kids worksheets with the shapes printed on them, and the students were supposed to draw the appropriate shape on the space beneath the example. It was an exercise older children could do easily, but it could be quite a challenge when you had the fine motor skills of a four-year-old. Most of the students gamely soldiered on, even if their efforts bore only a marginal resemblance to the models. But Eleanor Ramos was becoming increasingly frustrated. She’d already crumpled up two exercise sheets, and from the angry look on her face, the girl was getting ready to wad up sheet number three.
Sierra started toward Eleanor, hoping to calm the child, when she heard tapping on glass. The building had two large picture windows flanking the entrance, and when Sierra turned in the direction of the sound, she saw someone standing at the left window, looking in. People often stopped to watch classes work for a while. Karolyn thought that was a good thing. Not only did it contribute to the town’s culture – if only in a small way – she thought it was free advertising. Sierra was more leery of observers, worrying that some of them might be pedophiles who viewed ArtWorks almost like a pet store with cute little ones encased behind glass, just waiting for the right person to come along and claim them.
So when she saw the man standing at the window, her first reaction was to think the school had drawn the attention of another freak. The man’s hair was mussed, as if he’d been hit by a wild wind and failed to comb it afterward. His clothes were filthy, splotched with dark stains that looked like mud. Or maybe blood, she thought. His skin had a sickly grayish tinge, and the flesh around his eyes was bruised and puffy. She didn’t recognize him at first, but then he smiled, the right corner rising slightly higher than the left, and she knew who he was.
Jeffrey.
Her breath caught in her throat, and a cold numbness spread over her body. She didn’t tell herself that she was hallucinating, nor did she try to convince herself that she’d never actually gotten up this morning, that she was still in bed, asleep and dreaming. She knew what she was seeing was real, knew it was Jeffrey. This knowledge wasn’t rational. It came from a place within her that was deeper than thought, deeper than feeling. She couldn’t name this place, was only dimly aware of it within her, but she knew it spoke the truth when it told her the disheveled-looking man at the window was her brother, somehow come back to her.
Jeffrey gave her a quick wave, and then he turned and continued on down the sidewalk. For a moment, she thought he might enter ArtWorks, but when he didn’t, she ran from the table – startling the children – and toward the door. Karolyn was giving a mother and prospective student a tour of the place. She was on the other side of the building, but she saw Sierra run outside. She called out something, but the door swung shut before Sierra could make out what it was. Not that it mattered. Right then, her entire focus was on something that couldn’t be possible yet somehow was. Her brother was back.
She glanced right then left and caught sight of Jeffrey turning the corner. Just before he disappeared from view, he reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers against ArtWork’s brick wall. Sierra ran after him, dodging the few pedestrians who were out this morning with excuse me’s and I’m sorry’s. As she neared the corner, her shoulder clipped an elderly woman with a walker, and the woman tripped and fell to the sidewalk, her walker following her down. Sierra didn’t register what had happened right away, so focused was she on reaching her brother. She ran several more steps before she realized what she’d done. Part of her – a very large part – wanted to leave the old woman to fend for herself. If she couldn’t manage to get up on her own, someone would be along soon to help her. And if she was injured, they’d make sure she got medical attention too. There was no reason for Sierra to stop, and certainly no reason for her to go back and check on the woman. She’d seen her brother, for godsakes! Her brother!
But her confidence in her perceptions – so strong at first – began to wane. She’d seen Jeffrey’s body at his viewing and funeral. She knew he was dead. She didn’t believe in ghosts, nor did she believe in any sort of afterlife, at least not the kind where people retained their consciousness and memories of their earthly lives. She was more of an everyone’s-energy-returns-to-the-source kind of gal. It was only natural that she should mistake someone with a general physical resemblance to her brother for him, especially on this day. And she couldn’t in good conscience ignore the old woman when she’d been the one to cause her to fall. So she stopped, less than three feet from the corner, turned around, and hurried back to the woman who was struggling to stand.
* * *
The woman was as sweet as she could be to Sierra, and she apologized to the younger woman for getting in her way. This of course made Sierra feel like shit, and once she determined the woman hadn’t been injured during her fall and her walker was still in good condition, Sierra offered to accompany her to make sure she arrived at her destination safely. The woman thanked Sierra for her kindness – making her feel even worse for knocking her on her ass – but she said she’d be fine. Her doctor wanted her to get out and take some exercise every day. She only lived a couple blocks from the Historic District, and she carried a cell phone to call her daughter if she needed any help. And then the woman continued down the sidewalk, moving at a slow, deliberate pace.
