Over the Darkened Landscape

Two hours later, Mike was shaved and wearing a new, although cheap, suit, and they were back in the car after stopping at Simone’s apartment so that she could get changed. “Makes me sick,” said Mike, “thinking that Hayes and Sandy were getting it on like that. There’s no place for that sort of thing, anywhere in the world.”

Simone scratched her head. “It’s a weird situation, though, Mike. Here on this side of the Line, pedophilia is illegal. But how does it work over on the other side?” She looked uncomfortable, but pressed ahead. “I mean, do the kids over there make it with each other?”

Mike shook his head, feeling more than a little weirded out by the question. “Nuh-uh. No way. If anything like that happens to you, you know you’re a candidate for crossing the Line and not coming back. And since no one wants to do that, even the teens don’t go the distance.”

“What do you mean, ‘Go the distance?’” Simone gave him a half-smile. “Are you telling me that there’s heavy petting in Templeton?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that,” replied Mike. He felt himself squirming a little, hating where this was going. “Just that sometimes a couple of the older kids might get together for a date, because they like each other. Hell, there’s a few who even live together, although that tends to bring funny looks from everybody else. Never lasts too long.”

“So where . . .” She paused, appearing to gather her thoughts. “So where do new kids come from? I mean, I know that Templeton isn’t overpopulated or anything, but it’s always been there, it seems. If they lose kids every once in a while, like what happened to you or worse, what happened to that girl, Sandy, then eventually some kids have to replace them, or else Templeton becomes a ghost town.”

Mike shrugged. “They just show up.”

“They just show up?” Simone looked disgusted.

Mike was feeling defensive now. “Hey, don’t blame me for not knowing. I never thought about it when I was a kid. Never had any reason to, did I? When you live in Templeton, every day’s a new day, y’know? The big questions don’t need to be dealt with, not too often, anyways. Kids go about their lives, do what they want or sometimes even need to do, but usually life is just one long game, even when they’re doing what they call work.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t even remember where I came from. As far as I know, I was always there.”

“Always there? Jesus.” Simone pulled the car over to the curb and stepped heavily on the brake, slamming Mike forward in his seatbelt. “We’re here.”

Mike unbuckled himself and climbed out onto the sidewalk, choosing to ignore her mood for the moment. It wasn’t a topic that made him particularly comfortable, thinking about what little he knew of his past.

The house was smaller than he had expected, a simple gray bungalow set close to the street. Only the four-car garage and the professional landscaping gave it away. The front door of the house was already open and a man in suit and tie was standing, waiting for them. “Lawyer,” muttered Simone.

“Detectives,” said the man as they arrived at the door. “I’m Colin Singh, Ms. Hayes’s attorney. Please come in.”

He closed the door behind them and then asked them to follow him. It turned out the house seemed a lot larger from the inside, and soon Mike was feeling somewhat adrift. Soon enough, though, they were brought to a small office. Singh sat behind a large metal desk. “Please sit down, detectives.” He gestured, and they sat at the two chairs placed across from him. Before either could start, he raised his hand and said, “Ms. Hayes will be with us shortly, but will not be answering any questions at this time. If you wish to formally question her, please deliver a subpoena to my office so that we can arrange an interview.”

“Then why are we here?” asked Simone.

“First, because you need to know that Ms. Hayes is not terribly interested in knowing who killed her husband.”

Mike blinked in surprise. “Um, can I ask why not?”

“You were the boy,” came a soft voice from behind.

They turned their heads, then all three stood as one. A young woman in simple dark blue slacks and matching blouse had entered the office, walking around them to stand beside the lawyer. She was petite, very slender in her hips and her bust, almost childlike. Which, Mike assumed, was likely the point.

“You were the boy,” she repeated. “The one who came over from Templeton.”

Mike nodded, unsure where this was going. Simone put a reassuring hand on his forearm. “I was . . . I am.”

“This is Ms. Hayes,” said Singh. She sat without offering to shake hands, and the rest of them followed suit.

“I’m sorry this had to happen to you,” Ms. Hayes continued. “Enough innocence was lost without you being added to the mix.”

Mike swallowed, wondering if he would have the nerve to ask the obvious question. But he didn’t have to; Simone beat him to the punch. “Ms. Hayes, I know we’re not supposed to ask you questions, but we need to know . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she sounded very uncomfortable.

“I’m twenty-two,” was the reply. “We married when I was sixteen.” Her voice turned bitter and cold. “Apparently I was too old for him. It worked better if his partners didn’t age.”

Singh held up a hand. “That will be enough questions and answers.” He looked pointedly at his client. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out two small wooden boxes, slid them across the desk. “This is why Ms. Hayes doesn’t want to know.”

Mike reached over and grabbed the boxes, knowing full well what it held. Sure enough, more Slow. One held two small vials of the stuff; another dozen were in the other. In little fabric pouches tucked alongside the vials were fresh syringes as well.

“Where did you find these?” asked Simone.

“In Mr. Hayes’s office,” said the lawyer, putting his hand on his client’s arm. “Don’t worry, as soon as Ms. Hayes found them she called me. Aside from doorknobs and drawer handles, these were the only things she touched. His office, across the hall,” he pointed, “is otherwise unmarred, and ready for your experts to search. Any other rooms you wish to check, you’ll need to come back with a warrant.”

“And what do we need to do in return?” Mike closed the box that only held two vials and slid it into his pocket, knowing damn well this was against procedure. The other wouldn’t fit, so he just tucked it under his arm.

“Nothing. Your bosses will be made aware of things shortly. I don’t know if you’ll find names in there, but chances are good there’s a path to them. I imagine there are some people who won’t want their affiliation with Mr. Hayes known after this comes out.”

“If it comes out,” said Simone.

“That’s a big word,” agreed Singh. “But between the three of us and your bosses, Ms. Hayes and her husband were not living a very happy marriage these past few years. As soon as the will is cleared up, she has plans to liquidate assets and leave the country for good.”

“We should probably rule you out as a suspect, first,” said Mike, trying to look apologetic as he glanced at Ms. Hayes.

“Already taken care of,” countered the lawyer. “Ms. Hayes was out of town, with friends. Here are her travel tickets, receipts, and a list of phone numbers.” He handed Mike a manila envelope. “I’ll also tell you now that she had no hand in her husband’s business, took no notice of any people he chose to entertain, and, as you’ll see in the envelope, was away for almost two weeks. She has no knowledge of any people who may have visited during that time.”

Mike riffled through the contents of the envelope, then put them back to be checked later. “Are we done here then?”

“Mr. Hayes’s office, detectives. One of my associates will wait in the hall for you to finish and then show you out.” He nodded his head at the two of them; Ms. Hayes gave a slight smile and then turned to look out the window. “Good day.”

The other office door was open. This one was much larger, more sumptuous than the first. The desk was oak, and immense, and expensive prints or even actual paintings inhabited the walls. Several thousand hardcover and leatherbound books sat in floor to ceiling shelves, and curios and knick-knacks and antiquities covered desk and shelf space everywhere else. The office was larger than his wife’s, but it felt smaller, much more crowded.

“I’ll call forensics to come and do the dirty work,” said Simone. She pulled out her cellphone and rolled her eyes. “Shit. Battery’s dead. If I’d known I was actually going to be working today . . .” She handed Mike a pair of gloves as she walked by. “I’ll call from the other office, in case there are prints on his phone. Be right back.”

Not really knowing what he was looking for, Mike put down the box he had under his arm and carefully lifted papers and books and opened drawers, hoping something might catch his eye.

Not the eye; the nose.

In the small tin garbage can sitting on the floor beside the desk, a familiar smell. Mike squatted down, slowly pulled out pieces of trash, sniffing each one before piling it on the floor beside him. Simone had come back in and was also searching. Now she stopped what she was doing—grabbed the chair and pulled it over, sat and watched.

Halfway through, Mike stood, grimacing as his knees popped and cracked. “What’s with the knees?” he asked, groaning in pain.

“Middle age,” replied Simone. “Usually your body gives you enough time to get used to the fact that you aren’t as supple. This aging overnight business brings all sorts of nasty surprises, I imagine.”

“Ow ow ow.” Mike walked around the office, stretching his legs and rubbing a new sore spot in the small of his back. “I wanna be young again.” He knew he sounded whiny, but right now he didn’t give a shit.

“Don’t we all.” Simone picked up the can and put it on top of the desk. “What were you onto with this?”

“I dunno.” Mike came back to the desk and picked up the can, waving it under his nose. The smell was still there, faint but familiar. “Something . . .” He rummaged around a bit more, came out with two cigarette butts and a rock-hard piece of well-chewed gum, held them up to his nose. “Jesus.”

“What?”

Mike looked at Simone, still holding the butts and the gum. “I have to cross the Line again.”

She made a face and grabbed his arm. “Hell no, you don’t! Once was enough, dammit, and you know it! If you cross again, you’ll be just about ready for retirement when you come back. If you come back; if your heart can handle the stress.”

He fumbled in his pocket, looking for baggies for the evidence, instead found himself pulling out the second little wooden box. He stared at it for a moment, then looked into Simone’s face. “I can do it.” He tossed the full box into a desk drawer and then turned and stepped quickly to the door, gloves still on, box in one hand and cigarette butts and gum in the other.

The lawyer waiting in the hall led the two of them out, assuring them that no-one would enter the office until the forensics officers arrived. When they reached the car Simone turned on him. “You can’t be thinking that; you can’t. Beside being f*cking illegal, it’s dangerous. We still don’t know enough about this shit.”

“Just get me to the Line,” said Mike, finally getting the evidence into some baggies and pocketing them. He fumbled through the box, pulled out a vial and syringe, stuck the needle through the lid and drew the green liquid up. “Same location as last time.”

“Then tell me what you know.” She swung hard on the wheel, taking a corner fast enough to throw Mike’s shoulder up against the door. He eyed her for a second, then waved the syringe in the air before recapping it.

“I know who did it. But I don’t know why, and I can only place him and Hayes in the same room. No real proof.”

“Yet.”

“Yet. Someone has to cross the Line to get a handle on the rest of this, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be you, or the captain, or anyone else who’s never been there before.”

Tires screeching, Simone brought the car to a stop by the Line. A couple of well-dressed men were standing across the street; one look at the car and both turned and walked away. The street was otherwise empty.

Mike undid his tie and wrapped it around his arm, pulled it tight until his veins were bulging. “Hope to hell this works.” Twice he stopped short, little baby pinpricks that made him wince more in fear than in pain. But finally he worked up the nerve, plunged the needle into a vein.

The rush was almost instantaneous. Back arched, Mike squeezed his eyes shut, falling into the flood of images pouring across the blackness. He felt his body shudder once, twice, three times, and then he reopened his eyes.

“Mike?”

He turned to look at Simone, reached out and touched her face. “Jesus. You’re beautiful.” He leaned over and kissed her on the lips, hard, then grinned and opened the door. “Gotta go,” he said brightly. “Got me a murderer to catch.”

This time the Line had nothing on him. There was no added weight of years, no sense of desperation and sadness fell over him. He had a bounce in his step, felt stronger and more alive than he had even as yesterday’s fresh-faced rookie.

He was also seeing weird shit float by his eyes every once in a while, but with a little bit of focus he was able to mostly ignore that. It wasn’t too hard. The feeling of youth and vitality was enough that he didn’t even care about the hallucinations; he was able to concentrate on just feeling great.

There was nobody around on the Templeton side of the Line. Nobody liked to come too near it if they could manage, so this was no surprise. It was raining lightly on this side as well, a drizzle that melded into the Line and quickly soaked him to the skin.

It didn’t matter. Mike started off towards his destination, feeling young again.

After a few blocks the rain began to let up, and soon Mike noticed that he was being followed. A bunch of kids, twenty or more, the youngest only about six, the oldest in his teens. Mike waved to them, but there was no response. They just followed along, faces blank, apparently intent on keeping up.

The police tape was still across the door at the apothecary. He pulled it away and opened the door, flicked on the lights and stepped in. The kids stayed outside, still watching through the windows.

He had no idea what the hell he was looking for. He started with the garbage can beside the counter, saw that Jim and his forensic crew hadn’t touched it. Out went the contents onto the counter top, papers and empty packages and, yes, two cigarette butts.

“It’ll be the package with the green lettering,” came a voice behind him.

“Sonofabitch!” yelled Mike, jumping in the air and spinning around. “Don’t do that! My heart’s racing fast enough as it is, without you sneaking up on me like that.”

Danny lit up a smoke, pointed the cigarette at the box he was referring to. “It’s kind of a sedative, kind of a hypnotic. I can’t remember everything Sandy told me about it, but it worked pretty good. Best the stupid f*cker could do was lift his hands in the air and cry like a baby.”

The rush from the drug left Mike’s system then, just drained right out and through his feet to the floor, it felt like. Now he felt fear and an almost unbearable grief, ice in his veins and a cold knot in his stomach, and his hands were shaking. He tucked them in his pockets. Hell of a comedown this drug gave.

Mike tried to talk, his voice caught. He tried again. “You did kill him.”

Danny nodded. “Hell, yeah. Him and his kid-f*cking buddies, coming across the Line with their safe new drug, screwing little girls and little boys.”

“So tell us. Let the law deal with this.”

“I am the law.” Danny blew a puff of smoke into the air. “Don’t you remember?”

“The law doesn’t execute people without a trial, Danny. Not on either side of the Line.”

His former partner walked over and with a hop pulled himself up to sit on the counter. Mike flinched back, then steadied himself; they were now eye level with each other. “This wasn’t an execution, Mike, this was a warning shot. Already, all the pedos who are in on this are thinking twice about coming across the Line.”

Mike thought back to sitting in the car, just before he’d injected the Slow into his system. “I think I saw two thinking about coming across just before I came in, standing at the corner and then buggering off when we showed up. Doesn’t sound like it’s working.”

“Oh, it’s working all right. Just needs a little more time to get through all the thick skulls and remind these bastards that the big head should do the thinking.” Danny stubbed out his smoke and stood the garbage can back up, dropping it in. “And you’ll note you weren’t going anywhere without being noticed today,” he continued, pointing to the crowd of kids outside. There were even more now, close to fifty, it looked.

“What about Sandy?”

Danny closed his eyes for a second, then shook his head. “She killed herself. Once she was done giving Hayes his drugs upstairs she was supposed to come down and tell me. She did, but not before she injected something into her neck.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “Stone dead in seconds, it seemed. When I yelled and tried to stop her, that attracted Hayes, who came downstairs like a great big drunk moose, all dizzy and giddy at the same time.”

Now Mike was all confused. “Then how do you explain her skull being all caved in?”

“Because I was pissed off!” Danny slammed his hand on the counter. “Because she was a stupid bitch for getting herself into this, for killing herself, for getting herself pregnant!”

His eyes widened and his hand went to his mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to say,” he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh no,” whispered Mike.

Danny leaned over to lie down on the counter top, face pressed into the glass. The tears grew, quickly became huge, desperate sobs.

“She would have had to leave Templeton.” Mike leaned over and slowly rubbed Danny’s back, looked down on his tear-stained face. “Having sex with Hayes, maybe that started up her period. Between having to leave and being pregnant, she couldn’t handle it. She killed herself.”

Danny nodded, still sobbing. He was holding his beret now, crumpling it in his hands as if trying to squeeze away all of the pain.

“That explains the extra working over you gave Hayes. With your baton?” Danny nodded. “But why did you go and visit him in the first place? And how?”

After a few shuddering breaths Danny sat back up and leaned into Mike’s chest. It felt strange to Mike as he wrapped an arm around his old friend, reminded him that he’d never had an adult to hold him like this when he’d lived here. “He had a stash of Slow on this side of the Line. I tried to warn him to stay away,” gasped Danny. “But he just laughed, and told . . . and told me that he had a friend who might like to visit me soon.”

“Jesus.”

Danny nodded. “He knew that Sandy was pregnant. Said he’d take care of that his own way. And then he warned me not to use any more of his Slow. Too expensive to waste on a kid, he said.”

Mike nodded. “Who are the rest of the pedos? Do you have any names?”

Danny reached into his jeans pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of paper, straightened it out as best he could and gave it to Mike. “Four that Sandy knew of. Sometimes Hayes would mention these guys. Only first names, though.” He slid out of Mike’s arm and back down to the floor, sniffling and wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Sorry.”

Mike tried to smile. “It’s okay, Danny. We might find something in his office. Thanks for the list.”

“So what happens now?” asked Danny, trying to brush away more tears.

“I dunno,” shrugged Mike. “It’s not like I can bring you in or anything.” He thought for a second, then said, “I think I’ll just have to tell my captain the truth, see where it goes. It sounds like this is ugly enough they’re gonna want to keep it a little more quiet.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Danny was staring at Mike now, his eyes growing wide.

“What?”

“You took Slow to come across the Line, right?”

“Yeah. Got it from Hayes’s stash. Which is gonna mean bad trouble for me when I go back across.”

“Did you bring enough to go back across?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Mike leaned back against the counter, fear and exhaustion both swamping him at once. “You don’t have any more?”

Danny shook his head. “You took the last vial from Sandy’s room. All the rest I know of are on your side of the Line.”

“Think, now.” Mike pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head up, eyes closed. “I am such an idiot. Simone has a cellphone, but her battery is toast. She didn’t have time to go get her charger.”

“Did you bring a radio?”

He patted his pockets, already knowing that he’d forgotten the thing. “Slow doesn’t exactly promote forward thinking, it appears.”

“We have a phone back at the station. Connects us with your headquarters.”

Mike held up a hand. “I know, I know.”

“We can call.”

“What, and tell them I took an illicit drug to come across the Line and decide to cover up a murder my best friend committed? I’d call if it was just me, but I can’t get my partner in trouble.”

They were both quiet for a minute. Outside the sun was now shining, and it seemed that most of the kids had left; only a few were still standing around.

“Did you bring your car?”

Danny nodded.

“Take me back.” Mike grinned, but he was feeling scared, and he knew it probably showed, no matter the front he presented. “I guess I’ll put in for early retirement. Maybe I can even qualify for full pension after only three days on the job.”

“Mike, no.”

“Danny, I can’t stay. I can’t.” He squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “You know it, and I know it. If I stay too long I start to age anyway. May as well be old in a place where old people are welcome.”

A long pause. “Right, then.” Danny’s voice was catching. “Let’s go.”

The drive back to the Line seemed too short. Neither of them talked, or even looked at each other, Danny concentrating on the drive and Mike just looking out the window at the buildings and kids as they went by.

At the Line he climbed out, groaning even more from the pain of the ride. He went down on one knee then, and they hugged, tight, knowing this was really going to be the last time.

He stood at the Line for a moment, looking up high into the haze, then back at Danny. “I’ll miss you.”

“Try and enjoy your retirement.” They both tried to smile.

Mike shrugged. “Maybe I’ll use my old age to go knock a few heads, make sure nobody’s thinking about crossing over ever again.”

“It ain’t perfect, but this is still some pretty goofy shit,” came another voice, quiet but definitely amused.

Mike turned back and watched as Simone staggered across the Line, carrying a syringe and the second vial of Slow, half empty. She handed them to him, turned and winked at Danny, then said, “You kiss real nice, Mike. Hurry up and take that stuff; it’s probably not enough to hold back all the years, but it’s better than nothing.” She brushed some hallucinatory thing away from the front of her face, and then sighed. “You kiss like a kid. Felt nice.”

Mike, not sure how long her hit would last, put a hand on Danny’s shoulder and forced a grin, then loaded up the syringe, found a vein, and with only one false start stuck himself.

Taking Simone’s hand, he left Templeton. The extra years bearing down on him were not as heavy as before, and the Slow kept some spring in his step. He closed his eyes, and tried to remember what it had meant to be a kid.