It's No Picnic (8 page)

Tired, dejected, and with only a partial clue, Alex abandoned the search and made way for home.

6

THE LONGPORT GAZETTE

M
ISS
K. I
S
M
ISSING
!

A
LEX
A
WOKE
D
EPRESSED
, it might even be said, low—down elated, brooding over where Miss K. had gone. Talk outside of the kitchen window was that Miss K. went missing in the storm, some saying she’s dead, others, the plaything of the devil. Apart from expressions on the edge of reason, most admitted they didn’t have a clue. The chatters, clatters, or for that matter, talk, freely continued outside the window, never mind the endless peering and peeking, eyes popping in and out of view like fire flies at dusk.

Alex took the matter; No, never mind, deciding to pace the hallway in hopes of ending gloom, one thought ceaselessly cycling, “Where is Miss K.?” making joy of pain.

Then—the awful truth, or news; sometimes alike, most times, well; let’s say
not
. Miss K.; purse and some belongings found in the forest.
BUT
No—Miss T. K. And of course, of all people, or persons, the twins delivered the news.

“We are here Alex,” said First. First and Second, that’s what Alex decided to call them from now on, names being somehow beneath them, underfoot so to speak. He’d thought a single name might do but couldn’t find one that spoke reliable contradiction.

“And there…” said Second.

So, why are they here and there, ‘?S
EE
¿’, here and there anyway? He, Alex that is, learned early on, what the twins were all about; plots, games—what happens next, always acting as if two wanting one. If they were here, and
need it be said
, there, then something was astir, cooking, afoot—cliché.

“She is lost,” First said.

“And found…” Second said.

They, at least one of them; depending on point of view, handed Alex the Longport Gazette, where the headline read;
See INP Chapter 6
. Alex picked up the copy of
INP
Smith gave him, opening to chapter 6, reading;
M
ISS
K. I
S
M
ISSING
!
Now, he knew; beyond the shadow of a doubt, she was in fact, gone. The news; so exact, so truthful, so obvious, so thoroughly proved beyond the last standard of proof, was common stock of the acceptance she was indeed missing.

No longer needing, nor enjoying the alien nature of the twins, Alex kicked them, literally that is, into the street; or more exactly, path outside the front door, leaving only him, alone, thoughts and all.

And of course, alone, isolated; a mind reels at the presence of baffling situations, people, or thoughts, taxing the structure and integrity of what it means to be human, fallible, making as it were, mockery of truth. He could not wilt in the face of what was obviously mysterious. Besides, he must find Miss K.

N
OSY
, A
LEX
P
ICKED
U
P
T
HE
C
OPY
O
F
INP
. After all, he’d learned of Miss K. missing; what else might he learn? Hastily, he moved through the chapters, one by one; skimming facts already present. Naturally, this gave him a minor leg up, maybe not like that of a dog, but a leg up, possibly marking him with the kind of honor fit only for heroes and kings.

Then, he opened to the gripping final scene—blurred as it were by dim awareness—where he read exactly what he needed to read, no more, no less, retelling;
*****
—is the killer.

Angry—he hurled the book;
IT
, landing in the fireplace, catching fire

—
b
u
r
n
i
n
g
—

until nothing but embers, and the lasting impression of the killer stood in mind.

The image persisting, Alex repeated, “It can’t be, can’t be…” Yet, there it stood; staring, peering at him through the lens of reality, caring nothing about what he felt, or what he might be going through, saying “Words
do not
lie.”

Then—he looked out the window at the faint, false light of the Longport sky, and thinking of Miss K., realized, “
IT
isn’t.”

Now, cool—and—detached; he dismissed the entire thing as fiction, hogwash, a myth concocted by a mad ghost to lead him down a fictitious path. After all, the killer couldn’t be h
**
. “Besides,” Alex said, “I
know
who killed Nadie K.”

Then—with no firm aim, he opened the door, finding an envelope on the mat, addressed:
Alexander Lax, Open ASAP
. Motionlessly, and with envelope in hand, Alex went back inside, picking up a letter opener, cutting along the right side of the envelope, letting the contents fall to the floor, afterward picking up what appeared to be a letter that—with treble fold extended—read;

Dear Alexander Lax,

I have been remiss in duty, not keeping you at all informed of the goings on in Longport, letting you run about with head chopped off so to speak. For that, I apologize. However, it may interest you to know that I have a certain somebody that I believe you are keen on keeping alive. If so, meet me one hour from now at the old church.

Thank You.

Faithfully

CAP

P.S. Come alone, please.

12:00

A
S
A
LEX
L
EFT
out the front door, he saw a faint glow out of reach. Was it the aide? After all, it was a pet peeve of the aide. That is, lurking near dark edges and coiling in low spots while all the time drawing a pipe and fouling the air.

When not far from him Alex once more saw the pipe with that base note of high class ‘
T
HIS
I
S
N
OT
A P
IPE
.’ The aide seeing Alex near at once cast off the pipe, the aim maybe to rape the air or could be hosting some kind of clue. Why? Alex may not yet know but it makes no mind.

Then—the aide said, “Who—are—you?” in dashed time.

“
Alex
.”

After all, what is there to a name if not a soul?

Alex, beat from all the talk took a break so to speak, letting the aide yap and gab as long as he please.

“Do I know you?” the aide said.

“Yes, I’m Alex.”

“Faintly rings a bell.”

Time runs out, not in. And one hour was all the time Alex had in hand if he was to see Miss K. once more. So this mad bosh and bull must cease soon.

“I mourn the loss but I must leave,” Alex said.

“Please stay a bit. The lord told me you would come. He said you would come and talk.”

“
Christ
.”

Alex was at a loss. Not knowing what the lord meant. Two men, one lord. Were they pure of faith? Or were they on East Main of Thought? All the same, here he was one more time with the flake that takes the cake.

“Amen.” said the aide.

Alex hates faith—hints or names. He likes to keep that sort of talk out; sure, that it mucks up the works and holds back true meaning. Yet, in this case the lord keeps a head up and seems as if by hook, key.

“Do I know this lord?” Alex said.

“Of course Alex, all know the lord, namely you,” the aide said with true faith.

“Who,” Alex said, “who is this lord?”

“He is near and far, close to all that is said, curbing speech to meet needs as we mock him…”

“Okay,
I get it
.” Alex said breaking in.

Well this guy had surely met with a daft mark. Yet, with some faith, Alex held there might be aim in this mad talk.

“Let me tell you,” the aide said, “the lord sent you here to talk to me, on this
night
. Now why are you here? Do you know? I think not. Yet, here you are trying to get to know who the lord is. And I’m telling you, you know. You have met him in the flesh. You have seen him and yet you fail to say so. He is here, here in Longport.”

“Is he a killer?” Alex asked.

“Let me put this in a way you can grasp. A killer must be one who kills those that do not kill themselves. Now how could the lord do that?”

Ignoring the aide, Alex spied the clock, noting the time:
12:03
. Three ticks on the clock past the hour. Yet turns seeming a span passing on to an age.

“Is it Cap,” Alex said.

“Don’t be a fool Alex. Cap is low, bad, foul, base, and mean. Does that sound like the lord?”

“Then who is
it
?”

“Like I said, you know.”

Now Alex did not know if the aide was trying to be nice, dark or rude. But the one thing he did know was all he was going to get from this guy was nil, nix, and nul.

But the aide went on, on with the vast gab of faith, not in the least seeming to get what he was saying or where it came from.

“And did you know…” the aide kept on.

“
Look
I have to go. If you have some meat with that meal let me know.”

Then—
12:23
, Alex left chasing the path off to the old church, moving, seeing the low light go down and dark.

12:34

O
NCE
M
ORE
, Alex spied the clock, noting the time
in the top right hand corner. Twenty—six steps left to the old church. Of course, it would help if he could see and not feel. But the path was dark, deep, and dire. Each step hard and dry. And time marked. So each move must count.

The last thing he needed was farce. Yet there they were twin pairs in wit both near and far. Dark barred him from a point of view. Trusting as it were in faith that the sounds he heard were in fact them, the twins that is.

Alex slowed as the sounds grew louder loathing any hint of touch or tint. Yet bump they did. Blocking the way up and down the path, First saying, “My dear Alex,” with Second aft, “And vile…”

“Why are you two out at this hour?” Alex said.

“For a stroll,” First said.

“And race…” said Second.

“A stroll. Please. I was not born just now.”

“We are out here for you,” First said.

“And me…” said Second.

“How did you know I would be here? Let me guess. The lord.”

“He knows,” First said.

“And scorns,” said Second.

“Knows
what
?”

“Not what,
who
nit wit,” First said.

“And sage…” said Second.

Alex mused at the set of the lord. How can this boss be in all places and each time? And how is it he sees, turning the helm of each soul?

“So, the lord is it?” Alex rode.

“Yes,
she
sent us here to talk,” First said.

“And hear…” said Second.

“Now a she is it?” Alex said.

“Yes, she.” First said.

“And he…” Second said.

“Is it Cap?”

“No. Cap is a dolt, cast—off by the lord.” First said.

“And serf…” Second said.

“Then who is it?” Alex pushed.

“In due time.” First said.

“And space…” Second said.

Then—the twins turned, facing the hill, First saying, “Do you hear,” with Second on back, “And cloak…”

Alex opened each ear—
one by one
—to the sound, hearing a

—
s
c
r
e
a
m
m
m
m—

sinking out of the void, at once pushing the twins out of the way and running up the steep hill. No grasp of where he was or when he would get there Alex—
ran
—‘til he could run no more, stopping, putting on the breaks till…

A dim, jet light shown; lighting the last few feet to the old church door.

By this time—old and out, Alex inched the last brief gap, at once seeing the drawn lines and edges of a form with a fire lit point raw in rage and high cast arm saying, “Good night
Alex
.”

7

12:59

A
LEX
W
OKE
W
ITH
A S
HARP
cruel ache on the head. It was firm, forcing him to stay put. The puce broth seeping from that gash served to make those once calm cheeks blush, ebbing as it were down the front of the head and into the face. With beet soup eyes, he could just see the brief form of a man. The man stood up high and tall, a pose clearly forced as if hiding the vile scant of it. Yet pose he did and for some time.

As the face of the man stilled, Alex found a die taking shape. Each point aiming at one nearby, stressing to find a close friend to join.

At once—the face fixed; each point still, true, all tied to form a whole. Then—Alex said in a low and faint voice, “
Cap?
”

The clock struck
13:00
—being a
24
—hour clock—as Alex heard the voice say,

—

“I told you hanging around this dump would get you in trouble.”

Alex, exhausted, bloody, not in the mood for any of this nonsense sarcastically replied, “Yes
you
did.”

“
Detective
Alexander Lax. From what I hear quite the big shot in the day. But it seems that day is up doesn’t it? I mean look at you, lying there. What a pathetic wretch. In plain English,
did you think you could catch me with these, these false teeth
?”