The People Next Door (30 page)

He glanced back at the SUV. His wife was looking over the seats, talking to the kids. He waved, signaling for her to make
sure they weren’t watching, but he had no idea if she understood. He looked up and down the
road as he kneeled, one hand already reaching out. One twist, he was thinking. Break the neck quickly and then carry it into
the jungle and put some leaves over it.

Something clamped down on the outside edge of his hand, nubby and firm, then let go just as quickly. He jerked away. Fucking
thing was up on its three remaining feet, stub tail twitching a phantom whip. The pink tongue on display as it hissed at him
silently, accusing. He stepped back, more in surprise than fear. Hadn’t even broken the skin on his hand, just left a sort
of half-oval depression. The teeth like a wood file, dry. The iguana watched him and he it. It wasn’t breathing so hard now.
The bleeding had stopped dripping, was congealing in thick beads along the flapped open hide. Jesus, this was some animal.
Tough as a fiberglass hammer. Maybe he could save it after all. He took one step and the iguana pivoted, darting away. It
ran in a straight line into the sand, the trees, vanishing. He’d never seen anything like it and he didn’t know whether to
laugh or cry.

When he got back to the rental, his wife and daughter were okay but his son was still crying. Hey, hey, it’s all right, kiddo.
It lived, it ran away. Didn’t you see it? I promise. He was tough. The car didn’t hit him, just the wind passing over him.
Someone was watching out for him. Couple of scrapes, like you when you crashed your bike last winter. That old green monster
trampled off into the jungle, back home to his family. What? No, I couldn’t catch him. He’d been through too much already,
better to let him go. We’ll find you another
one. Later, down by the beach maybe. We’ll take a swim, have some lunch, and then go looking for a couple of his buddies.
Can you bring one home? Ah, hell, I don’t know. Maybe a small one in your suitcase. Why not?

Crisis averted, the boy smiling again, everyone relieved and ready to press on. It was a gorgeous day. They had a cooler full
of sandwiches, bottles of Sol and that orange soda the kids loved. His wife said it was the cane sugar and while they were
down here they could have as much as they wanted.

That had been what, two or three hours ago? Six? Sometime this morning. He must have dozed off while they were swimming. They
couldn’t have gone far, his wife would have woken him up.

He tromped through the jungle, catching strands of black seaweed or some kind of dry moss on his sandals. Itching bites on
his ankles, probably sand fleas or bed bugs from the villa. He began to sweat. Their tracks were still clear, and the road
they came in on was right around the corner. They couldn’t have gone far. This park was too small to get lost in. Hell, the
island was too small to get lost on. The beach area was tiny, the forested jungle behind it protected. A nature preserve,
though the locals claimed entire acres were still contaminated from the years the United States Navy had used it as a bombing
range. Weapons testing, until a bunch of hippies went out to sea in their inner tubes and the protests achieved international
media coverage. Too small to get lost on, and the trees, these bushes, all this growth, it was
too thick. He couldn’t fathom his wife and daughter agreeing to brave this mess. Maybe the girls had to tinkle and didn’t
want to leave the boy on the beach while Dad was sleeping.

He looked up, but the sun wasn’t above him any more. It was lower, far on the horizon. Hell, he must have had too many beers.
Headache setting in, a little hungover. Skin dry and stinging a little, tight along the arms. Sunburned but not too bad.

He opened his mouth to call their names and halted.

A white void flashed in his brain.

wife – son – daughter

He laughed to himself, standing there in the jungle. Sweating. Are you kidding me? This was absurd. He tried again.

— — —

Mouth hanging open. He couldn’t remember their names.

‘Oh, come on,’ he said, just to hear himself, to hear a voice. ‘Are you serious?’

Something was wrong. He wasn’t drunk. He could not summon the names of his wife and children.

Or their faces.

He looked around in a mild panic, the jungle – shit, it wasn’t even a jungle, more like a low-growth woods of twisted trees,
tiny leaves, thick bushes of yellow and lime green, sand burrs, the same white sand everywhere with the black moss, dirty
from it, like the sand you used to see in ashtrays outside of office buildings before the whole world banned smoking – the
vegetation and
sweltering heat seemed to close in around him, and now he was dizzy, nauseated, thinking seriously about the term
sunstroke
.

Why can’t I remember? What happened here? Where did my family go?

The fear burst through him in a fountain and he began to run, sandals digging in the soft floor, but it was like a nightmare
that way. No matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t run and the sand seemed to be swallowing him even as he began to
cry out
Help, somebody, please help me
.

He ran until he came into the clearing, where the limestone well opened like a door to hell, and the water two hundred feet
below was mercury silver, and he knew he was about to find them again. This was the day that had changed them and altered
their lives forever.

Mick woke with a start, body trembling. He was staring at the floor, head hanging over the cot. He twisted over and sat up,
rubbing his face, blinking to bring the room back into focus. Tears in his eyes, a fading scream sinking back into his throat.
The sun was rising outside the attic-room window. The guest house, he was in the guest house. Home. His family was close,
in the house.

Amy. Kyle. Briela.

He remembered their names now, but he could not remember ever having –
suffering
– a nightmare of such intensity and lucidity. It wasn’t all clips and fragments and nonsensical pieces like most dreams were.
It had been continuous, with the heat and the ant bites, an experience in full immersion. Running through the
jungle, he had never felt such impending doom, or so helpless to stop it.

The realization that Cassandra had been here and now was gone was of secondary interest. He could not shake the reality of
the other place, the certainty that he had just walked in another man’s shoes, during the final hours leading up to the pivotal
moment of his entire life.

Amy was in the kitchen fussing over the proper wine when he let himself in through the sliding glass door, cracking the shell
of aloof cheer she had constructed this morning. He looked better than he had yesterday, but this in itself was unsettling.
His hair had been combed and his eyes were low-lidded, serene. He had shaved and dressed in a clean red polo over a pair of
age-washed khakis that were cuffed over a pair of black Converse she hadn’t seen since 1992, and he wore a boyish grin to
go with the healthy luster in his cheeks.

Until he went to the second fridge in the mud room and opened a beer and stood leaning against the washing machine, staring
at her almost lasciviously, she didn’t realize how much she was hoping to abscond with the children to the Render barbecue
without him.

‘Do you need something?’ she said, restocking the pinot in favor of a chablis.

‘Are the kids coming?’

She bobbed out of the fridge, lips pursed.

‘Fan it,’ he said. ‘I was invited.’

Amy cleared her throat. ‘By whom?’

‘Vince. We’re friends like that.’

Well, if Vince had invited him, there was probably a good reason.

‘I mean, how could I miss it, Amy? The Renders are going to take care of everything. Isn’t that right?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said.

‘Sure you do.’

She went to the sink and began washing her hands for the fourth time in an hour.

‘It’s what you want,’ he said. ‘And for once, I agree. It’s time we dealt with the true depth of our predicament. We will
go and give them what they want, and in return they will shine a golden light on us. Our financial woes will be solved and
you will let me back in.’ He crossed the kitchen and rested his hands on her shoulders. Their roughness made her flinch. ‘You
will believe in me again, and love me like you once did.’

He kissed her neck and she wanted to scream.

‘Stop it,’ she whispered.

‘It’s too late for that,’ he whispered back. ‘We are beyond playing nice. They’ve cornered us.’

She turned to argue, but he had already left the kitchen. Her hands were shaking. She went to the fridge and gulped from an
open bottle of wine without noticing the color. She coughed, almost regurgitated it, and put the wine back. Somewhere Cass
was laughing, she was sure of it.

Kyle schlepped into the kitchen. ‘They gonna have food? Freakin’ starvin up in this piece.’

‘It’s a barbecue.’ She composed herself and handed
him a fruit and cheese plate she had cut up. Burnt crostini, green apples, black cherries, roquefort. ‘I’m sure they’ll feed
you. Is your sister coming?’

‘Ready!’ Briela’s feet pattered down the hall. She had put on the white denim jumper Amy got for her at Crew Cuts, her adorable
white-with-orange-polka-dot flats, and an orange headband.

‘What about Dad?’ Kyle said.

‘I think so.’ Amy tried to mask her dismay.

‘What about Ingrid?’ Briela said.

‘She’s helping Cassandra set up.’

‘Does she work for them too now?’ Kyle said.

‘We’re sharing her. Be polite, both of you. And no horsing around.’

Kyle tsssed.

Briela put her hands on her hips and thrust her chin at her brother. ‘That means say please and thank you, dumbhead.’

Kyle pulled her headband off and threw it across the room.

Briela shrieked, ‘He’s ruining my hair!’

Amy said, ‘Enough.’

They went out. Mick was standing in the garage, finishing his beer. He lobbed the bottle into a steel trash can where it shattered
explosively.

‘Here comes trouble,’ he said. Briela hugged him. Mick clapped Kyle on the back, hard. ‘We’re s’posed to be grounded for staying
out too late, sport model. But the warden says we get a day pass, so what say we go show these monkeys how it’s done?’

Kyle grinned. Briela took her father’s hand. The Nash family walked four-astride up the drive and the gates opened, welcoming
them onto Render property. Amy shifted the wine in its foil snuggie and thought, Please don’t fuck this up.

‘Hello, welcome to our home,’ Cassandra Render said with a strength and confidence that did not match the timid woman Amy
had described, or the clinically efficient water sprite he had met last night. ‘Please come in.’

‘Cass! You look amazing,’ Amy squealed and they air-kissed.

‘I love your hair.’ Cass fingered Amy’s new deep brown tresses and amber highlights. ‘Is that off the shelf?’

‘Is it that obvious?’ Amy said, and they laughed.

The hostess turned to him. ‘You must be Mick. So glad we could pry you away from your work. I’ve been looking forward to meeting
you.’

So it was going to be like that. No winks. We’ve never met. Fine.

He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t miss it. Nice to meet you … Cassandra, is it?’

‘Call me Cass.’

‘Sure, but I need your number first.’ Cass laughed and pulled him in by the forearm. Mick did not know a woman could make
a striped Williams Sonoma apron
look so good. He thought about the scar on her back and repressed a shudder. Cass took the platter from Amy as they entered
and stood dumbstruck, like tourists.

Well, it was what Mick had expected. Foyer with the sweeping staircase, plaster dome ceiling, oil paintings in burled gold
frames. A mini-Bellagio of polished marble and exquisite rugs, very Mediterranean and bright, decadent air conditioning.

Behind them Cass cupped B’s chin in her right palm, caressing her cheek. ‘You are the angel, aren’t you? A real angel among
us.’

Briela looked dazed.

Amy said, ‘This is our son Kyle.’

‘Hey,’ Kyle said.

‘So handsome,’ Cass said, winking. ‘June’s out back. In fact, why don’t you all step out on the patio and grab a drink. I’m
just finishing up with the … the uhm … pre-meal foods. Mick, you can help Vince light the grill? I don’t think he knows how
to operate that thing.’

‘Can do.’ Mick nudged Amy. ‘Pre-meal foods?’

‘Don’t be a shit,’ Amy hissed. ‘I think she was raised in a foreign country.’

They walked a long dining hall, passing a den with a large oak desk, a red billiard table in a game room with a sideboard,
skirted the kitchen, and then moved into a great room (or was it a gallery?) with motorized windows that retracted behind
the taller panes above them, creating an open-air bridge onto the backyard patio. Long drapes of gauze had been strung, the
light breeze billowing them between the plaster pillars like dusters.
Mick stepped out onto the wide and very white stone patio, shooting his son a devious grin.

‘Pretty little house, huh? Relax. She’s just a girl.’

Kyle snickered nervously, stopped. Mick followed his son’s gaze over the lawn, down to the pool area. June was mowing the
grass with an ancient push cutter. She wore track pants and a dirty T-shirt, her hair in a ponytail under a greasy mesh trucker’s
cap. Mick spoke into his son’s ear. ‘What I just said? I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. You’re in deep.’

She waved, munching up the last strip, then parked the mower against the shed and bounded up the hill.

‘Sorry, I’m running late. I’ll just clean up. Help yourself to the cooler!’

Kyle said, ‘Right on.’

‘Soak for ten minutes. What’s this nonsense? I want fire now!’ came a voice from the corner of the patio where a large black
Weber kettle stood. The Render patriarch wore black jeans and a black polo, the blades of his tortoise sunglasses sinking
into waves of greased blond hair. Cologne steamed from his pores and stung Mick’s nose from eight feet away. An unopened bag
of charcoal was standing upright in the basin and he was reading a plastic bottle of lighter fluid. ‘How many briquettes does
it take to cook eight buffalo burgers?’

‘Just douse the whole bag,’ Mick said, thinking, My grill’s bigger than yours, slick. ‘Set it on fire and wait half an hour.’

‘Hey, hey, there he is – King of the neighborhood!’ Vince turned and offered his hand. I’ll play your game
for another ten minutes, Mick thought, then I’m calling your bluff, you psychotic fiend. Mick shook Vince Render’s hand. ‘How’s
work, boss?’

‘Early retirement’s sounding better every day,’ Mick said.

Render leaned in close. ‘We’ll be polite for a few minutes and then get down to business. Don’t you try to run on me, champ,
because we’re all out of time.’

He released Mick with a hearty laugh. Mick glanced around to see if Amy was watching them, but she was helping arrange the
food on a glass picnic table with a Cinzano umbrella while Cass poured her an aquarium of red wine.

Vince popped the top from a Stella Artois. ‘Is this all right, Mick?’

Euro piss, but it would do. ‘Good beer, thanks.’

Vince struck three matches together and set the bag of charcoal on fire. Burnt paper and orange sparks began to rise from
the kettle in a hot cyclone that made the mountains shimmer.

Render gestured at the grill. ‘Haven’t used one of these things in ages, but I can’t get on board with those propane jobs.
I know they’re quicker, but somehow the meat never quite tastes the same.’

‘Soon as the pile turns white, you’re in business.’ Mick wished he could read his host’s eyes behind the Ray-Bans. He didn’t
think they would match the jocular tone. He thought they would be jaundice yellow, lined with blood.

Amy moved beside him, whispered, ‘Can you believe
this? She’s got a day spa in the south wing and something called a restoration chamber.’

‘Awesome.’ Mick sniffed. ‘Hey, where’s Ingrid? I thought she was filling in today.’

Amy looked around, surprised by her assistant’s absence. ‘We can’t afford her. I never trusted her anyway.’

‘Maybe they haven’t let her out of the trunk yet,’ Mick said.

Amy didn’t laugh.

On the other side of the pool, a mature Russian olive tree rustled and something resembling a large raccoon leapt out onto
the lawn in a shower of gray-green leaves.

‘Addie, be careful,’ Cass called out. ‘Good heavens.’

The raccoon tumbled in the grass and stood, shedding twigs. The bushy-topped boy in the brown T-shirt and camouflage army
pants was Briela’s size and he walked toward them with the pugnacious stance of the family runt.

‘Adolph,’ Vince said. ‘Be a gentleman and say hello to our new neighbors, the Nash family.’

Adolph waved, his beady brown eyes studying them. Everyone said hello to Adolph Render. The boy went to the cooler, eyeing
Briela with haughty interest as he snatched an Orange Crush and jammed it into his cargo pocket. Briela looked away, scowling.

‘You be nice,’ Amy said to B.

For a moment Mick thought his daughter was on the verge of tears, but trying so hard to be a good girl. Mick felt a pang of
remorse. He hadn’t been here for her much
the past three years, and now she wasn’t really here herself. She was retreating into fantasy to avoid the disintegration
of her family.

Maybe they all were.

For a moment, standing here in the blinding Colorado sun, he did not know who he was or where he had been or what had led
him to this moment.

‘Mr Render?’ the kid was saying. ‘Is everything all right? You’re not supposed to be in here, sir. I asked you to wait outside.’

They were in the long dark hall, in the west wing of Sapphire’s house. Troy the security guard was standing at the end, one
hand reaching for the closed door. His Maglite was like a star, giving him a royal beast of a headache
.

‘Mr Render?’

‘I don’t think you should open that door, Troy,’ Mr Render said
.

But he wasn’t Mr Render. This was all a lie. His entire life was a lie
.

‘Why not?’ Troy said, voice cracking
.

‘I don’t think you’re going to like what you find on the other side.’

He began to walk into the light
.

‘Feeling all right there, Mick?’ the blond man said. Behind him the bag of charcoal was shriveling, turning black.

‘Nothing another one of these won’t fix.’

Mick sipped his beer, thinking it such a shame that his family had agreed to participate in this charade. Amy, who wanted
so badly to please them. Kyle, who wanted
so badly to be normal, fit in with them. Briela, who was too young to understand the magnitude of her family’s problems. And
here we are, even now, everyone pretending this is a normal Saturday afternoon between neighbors. It’s like we wandered into
a swingers party, he thought. Except that instead of getting naked, any minute now one of them is going to rip open my son’s
throat and drink his blood. Take us all hostage and announce their plans for the second coming, a new master race. Resistance
is futile, now drink your punch.

Behind them, Amy laughed.