Listen by Rene Gutteridge
Swinging open the door, he feigned surprise while managing to say, “Angela!” and hold his breath. “What are you doing here?” He stepped out onto the porch for some fresh air and privacy. He didn’t want Kay involved in this conversation, whatever conversation it might be. When Angela dumped Frank, Kay remained friends with her but not for long. They got into a fight and hadn’t spoken since. To this day, Kay wouldn’t talk about it or her again. Damien never even knew what the fight was about.
His nose twitched, fighting off a sneeze. He turned a little toward the breeze.
“I want to talk to you.” Her voice was low, breathy.
“I’m here. What can I do for you?”
“It’s about Frank.”
“I figured it was.”
“You know he filed a missing person report on me, don’t you?”
“I haven’t talked to Frank today.”
“Surprising. I thought you two were attached at the hip. And also, you went with him.”
“I don’t know what the report was about. Honestly I don’t really care. The thing is—the thing you’ve never understood—is that Frank loves you and will never stop loving you. He does crazy things because of his love for you. And his love has been tested in a variety of different ways. It’s still holding.”
“Don’t you dare bring up the affair.”
“I didn’t say a word about it.”
“A lot of people blame me for that. But nobody knows what it was like. Frank was not an easy person to live with.”
“I can only imagine.”
Angela kept her eyes locked on Damien’s, stepping forward. “I’ve put up with a lot from that man, but he’s crossed the line now. And I’m not talking about the ridiculous missing person report he filed on me.”
“Okay . . .” The muscles in his shoulders began seizing up. He didn’t like talking about Frank, not in this way, where all his vulnerabilities and shortcomings were exposed. That tended to happen a lot when Angela was involved, but Damien never questioned it to Frank. Daresay a bad word about Angela, and that was the permanent end to the friendship.
Again, she stepped forward, backing him toward his front door. Not only was he drowning in the scent of jasmine, but he was also now suffocating from lack of personal space. He had nowhere to go. He blinked rapidly as if a fly buzzed near his face.
“And I know something,” Angela said, her voice lowering again. “I know that you don’t like to hear that Frank isn’t the perfect guy. Nobody likes to hear that. But you have to hear this.”
“First of all, I know Frank’s not perfect. None of us are. Nobody ever said Frank was perfect.”
“That’s the thing that always got under my skin,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Despite the immense personal failings of this guy, nobody was more liked than Frank Merret. The guy has the social skills and the self-awareness of a baboon, yet most people think the world of him.”
“That’s because he’s a good guy. Something you could never see about him. Despite all his flaws, at the end of the day, he’d do anything for anybody. And he’d do more than anything, above and beyond, for you.”
It seemed whatever words Angela was about to speak halted at the tip of her tongue. She stared at her feet for a moment, her fingers twisting around her lips and her chin, scratching her skin as if she were attempting to fend off whatever it was she thought she needed to say.
She finally looked up, a half-baked resolve set in her eyes. She didn’t look directly at Damien. Her gaze shifted to the left to the point that Damien wanted to lean over into her line of sight. “I’m seeing someone,” she said.
“All right. What does that have to do with me?”
“We’re getting serious. Very serious.”
“Good for you. You’re afraid this is going to upset Frank? He’s been down this road a time or ten.”
Angela scowled. “You’re painting me like I’m a . . . Maybe this was a mistake. I came over because I figured Kay wouldn’t answer the phone if she saw it was me calling.” She took a few steps back.
Damien drew in a big breath that probably sounded like a heavy sigh, at least judging from the sour expression on her face. “I’m just saying that Frank cares for you and whatever he may or may not be doing all stems from his feelings for you.”
“Does that include listening to my private conversations?” Angela folded her arms.
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s listening to me. Listening to my private conversations.”
Damien shook his head, still not understanding.
“There’s a Web site called—”
“Listen to Yourself.”
“He told you!”
“He told me about it, but Frank’s not the one doing this.”
“Oh, really? Already defending him.”
“What makes you think it’s Frank?”
“Because a conversation I had with the man I’m seeing was posted on there.” Suddenly the harshness in her voice was gone.
“I know about this Web site. Lots and lots of conversations from the town have been recorded and posted.”
“Yes, well, the only one that matters to me is mine.”
“So what does this have to do with Frank?”
“I caught him. He was behind the house near the sidewalk, peeking over the fence, on the same day that I had that conversation.”
“You don’t have a fence.”
Angela bit her lip. “It wasn’t at my apartment. I was with the man I’m seeing. At his house. Frank must’ve followed me there. And I don’t know how he listened to what was being said, but what’s on that Web site—” she covered her mouth for a moment as if the words were too hard to say—“is exactly what I said.” A tear dripped down her cheek, desperation blowing through a cloud of what looked like shame. “And now I’m afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Of Frank. I’m afraid of what he might do. The conversation is about Frank.”
“Let me assure you: Frank is not behind this Web site. But even if he was, why are you afraid? Frank would never hurt you in any way, besides possibly being a very big annoyance in your life. He’s harmless.”
“Sometimes harmless people who have been harmed become harmful.” Something in her voice made Damien realize this wasn’t an act. She was fearful.
“I’ll talk to him,” Damien said.
“He listens to you.”
“Yeah. He listens. Rarely does he obey, though.” Damien offered a conciliatory smile. “Don’t worry, okay?”
“I’m not worried. I’m contacting my attorney. And if he does it again, any of it, I’m going to sue him. You can mention that if you want.” Angela marched down the steps of the porch, all the way down the sidewalk and to her car, where she flung open the door, got in, and peeled out.
12
“All I’m saying is that you need to watch yourself around that woman. I know Frank can’t see a thing wrong with her, but I’m telling you, she’s no good.” Kay furiously scrubbed a pan she held over the sink.
Damien had barely walked in the door. “With your history with Angela . . . I’m not sure you’re the best person to judge the situation.”
Kay shot him a harsh but agreeing look.
“Trust me. You have nothing to worry about. The day I smelled her was the day I became a hater of all things jasmine. Thanks for using personal scent self-control.”
“What’d she want?”
Damien chose his words carefully. If Frank was involved with this, he didn’t want things getting around. “Frank filed a missing person report. Turns out she was just over at her new boyfriend’s.”
“Shocking.”
“I think I better go visit Frank tonight, though. You okay with that?”
“Oh, sure. Leave me alone with two kids that hate my guts.”
Damien moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “They don’t hate you. They just hate life right now.”
“Why? They h
“Teenagers never think they have a perfectly good life. That is, until they get out on their own and nobody’s making them pork chops and doing their laundry.” He pecked her on the cheek. “Don’t let it get you down. We knew this day was coming.”
“If we can get through this year without Jenna beating somebody to a bloody pulp, I’ll count that as a success. I thought boys were supposed to be the ones duking it out on the playground.”
Damien walked upstairs to Hunter’s room and gave a hearty knock without flinging the door open this time. His heart couldn’t take another awkward moment.
“Come in.”
Even with the invitation, he opened the door slowly. “Hey, buddy.”
“Hey, Dad.” He didn’t look up from the computer. His fingers were flying over the keyboard.
“Listen, I know we were going to do some checking on that Web site together tonight, but something’s come up. I’ve got to go talk with Frank.”
Hunter’s hands stopped and he turned. “About what?”
“Just grown-up stuff.” Damien tried to read Hunter’s expression. It was probably disappointment. That was the default expression these days. “But tomorrow night, let’s sit down and we’ll see what we can find out about the Web site and—”
“I already did.” He turned the computer monitor to face Damien. “Whoever is doing this knows how to not get caught. Usually the IP information is easy to find, but it’s locked out. Everything is locked out. See?” He pointed to the screen.
Damien moved closer. “Yeah. Looks, um, complicated.”
“Whoever is doing this doesn’t want to be found; that’s for sure. There’s no contact information anywhere on the site. And digging deeper, there are rabbit trails everywhere, leading to nowhere.”
“Huh.” Damien paused. He realized before he went to talk to Frank, he probably should have a good idea of what Angela was talking about. But should he bring Hunter into this? “Can you pull up the Web site again? I want to see something.”
“Sure.” A few fast keystrokes and they were at the site.
“You been following this?”
Hunter shrugged. “When I can.”
“May I?” Damien said, gesturing to the chair. Hunter got up and Damien sat down. Using the mouse, he scrolled down, trying to read the various conversations. He found himself lingering on each one, wondering who said it, wondering about whom it was said. This was brutal and tantalizing, like a traffic accident you couldn’t keep your eyes off of. He scrolled down some more. Damien stopped, reading a snippet of a conversation that seemed like it could be about Frank.
Hunter leaned over his shoulder and read out loud.
“I know! I can’t believe it! He’s such a moron. No . . . no! I mean it. Don’t do anything . . . because, trust me, he’s a maniac. He’ll make your life miserable beyond comprehension. You’ll pack up and move to Alaska. . . . No, I’m not overreacting! Listen to me. Just shut up and lay low. I’ll handle this. Do not get involved.”
“Wow,” Hunter said.
Damien rolled the chair back and stood up. “I’ve got to go. I need to talk to Frank.”
“About this?”
“I can’t really discuss it right now.”
Hunter cast him a wounded look. “I’m not a baby, you know.”
Damien pressed his lips together and nodded. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not. There’s so much . . . It’s just that life is complicated, and it’s hard sometimes to explain why people do what they do . . . and why adults act like they do. That’s even harder to explain, but—”
“Dad. I know.”
Damien reached for Hunter’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I know you do, Son. Forgive your old man for being a buffoon sometimes.”
“I practice forgiveness every day.” Hunter smiled. “Now I guess you better go talk to Frank. If this is Angela,” he said, pitching a thumb toward the computer screen, “and she’s talking about Frank here, it can’t be good.”
Damien let out a laugh. “Okay, yes, obviously you’re following the situation. Better than I am, I think. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late. And make sure you hug your mom before you go to bed.”
Downstairs, Damien kissed Kay good-bye and headed over to Frank’s. He checked his watch. Normally Frank liked to go to bed early, but Damien figured he’d probably still be up. He shut off his lights as he pulled into the driveway. He should’ve called first, but Frank would’ve sensed something was off, because Frank was a cop and he could always smell bull.
Lights from the living room glowed. Everything else was dark, including his porch light. Among other things, Frank was a conserver of all things costly, and electricity was at the top of his list,. He’d been known to go through Damien’s house turning off lights.
Damien pulled his coat around him and climbed the steps of the porch, tapping lightly on Frank’s door. He tapped again, listening for movement. Maybe he was in the bathroom. Damien leaned to get a look into the small window by the door, but a lightweight panel revealed only vague shadows.
“Frank!” Damien knuckle-tapped the window. “Frank, hey! It’s Damien. You in there?”
Silence.
Damien reached in his pocket for his cell phone only to find lint. In his rush to leave the house he must’ve forgotten it on the counter.
“Frank!” Damien pounded the door. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on the couch. His fist hit the door again, but this time the door popped open slightly. It was unlocked?
Slowly Damien pushed the door wider, looking for any signs of movement. “Frank, it’s Damien. You here?”
The television was on, flickering through sports highlights on ESPN. Damien stepped in. His heart thumped erratically. It just seemed like something wasn’t right, and that was what Frank always talked about . . . the gut instinct of a cop. He could drive the streets and sense when something was going wrong.
Damien swallowed, stepping lightly on the well-vacuumed carpet. He glanced back and forth, gauging whether danger was indeed nearby. Was Frank’s truck in the garage? He should check that. But the garage door was accessible only through the kitchen, which was at the back of the house.
Damien stepped closer to the basement door. It was open, which wasn’t unusual. But the lights were out, and it was pitch-black down there. “Frank?”
Nothing.
Should he go down and check anyway? or check around ground level first? Damien looked toward the hallway. No light came from that part of the house, not even a night-light. What if he’d had a heart attack?
Damien began flipping on any lights he could find. He headed to the back of the house, throwing open doors, calling Frank’s name. Within seconds he’d flipped on every light in the back of the house and explored every room and closet, but there was no sign of Frank.
He should check the basement, but first he decided to check the garage, see if Frank’s truck was here. There was certainly a chance that he’d left the front door unlocked accidentally. A slim chance but a chance.
Damien hurried down the hall and around the corner—
“Ahhh!” Damien clutched his chest.
Frank stood there, gun drawn, looking aggressive. When he saw Damien, his hands dropped to his side, but his expression was hard. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you!” Damien said. “Where have you been?”
“Why are you in my house?”
Damien drew in a deep breath, trying to slow his heart. “I knocked on your door and it swung open.”
Frank turned and observed his door for a moment. “You didn’t call.”
“I had something I needed to talk to you about, and I thought I’d just come over.”
“You never come over without calling first.”
Exactly, Damien thought. Already Frank sensed something was askew. Damien sat on the couch and turned to look at Frank, who still stood by the open door. Frank slowly shut it, and Damien observed him studying the
“Where have you been that you forgot to lock your door?”
“I just left in a hurry,” Frank said, walking into the living room. He sat down in his recliner. “Quick errand. I ran up to the QT for a two liter of Coke.”
It was a strange moment, an invisible glint against the air that held hesitation and caution and awkwardness. Damien stared at Frank’s hands because he was not holding a bottle of Coke, and nowhere nearby was a bottle of Coke.
Frank blinked. Once. Then said, “They were out, so I came home.”
“Ah.” Damien smiled, but it was uneasy.
Frank suddenly grinned as he got up and strolled toward the kitchen. “You want something? I got a cold pizza in here.”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks. Kay cooked tonight.”
Frank disappeared for a few moments. Sounds of silverware and plates rattled into the living room.
Damien eased himself to the edge of the couch. This didn’t seem like the kind of conversation one should have sitting casually with feet swung up on the coffee table.
Frank returned with a plate full of pizza. “So what’s so important that you had to come all the way over here to talk to me?” His tone was playful, but there was something in his eyes. Scrutiny.
It made Damien look at the carpet. “It’s just that . . .”
Frank paused, midchew. “What?”
“Angela came by tonight. At my house. To talk to me.” Damien finally looked up. “About you.”
Frank sighed, slapping the pizza back onto his plate. “Let me guess. She’s enraged about the missing person report.”
“To say the least.”
“She already complained at the station. It was a mistake,” Frank said. “An honest mistake. That’s all.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“Thanks. It’s good to know someone doesn’t think I’m a raging lunatic.”
“I didn’t say that,” Damien said. “I mean, you could push her over the edge. You know? She might do something crazy, like sue you.”
“Whatever. Angela would never sue me.” Frank crammed more pizza into his mouth.