Night Owl

I was locked and frozen in a hidden position behind a couple of bushes and trashcans in a local neighborhood in the middle of the night. I had not slept for a while, and it was all making things more clear. The spaces under my eyes were like a marker underlining something important. These eyes have seen what is going on.

If you ask me, I have always been a bit of a detective of sorts. I can analyze people from the moment they step into a room. When they do I can tell you, their relationship with their parents and what they subscribe to in life for meaning.

No one had been able to do that sort of thing to me, good old Robert. I was a kind of mystery even to myself. I had come out a little crooked, that’s how I liked to look at it. One of the people burdened with the responsibility of seeing things for how they really are and having to stand up for what is right.

Too smart for my own good, that’s what a lot of people have told me. I read a lot, that’s probably why, an expansive vocabulary that seems to confuse the people around me. Get used to it.

You see - I live in a small town. The kind of place where everyone knows each other, everyone keeps their gardens clean and neat and everything is pumpkin pie. But I knew that this was not the case. Not here, not anywhere. There’s a bad seed on every street corner, and the inner city, shows it on the surface. In big cities people are so crammed together that no one can hide anything from each other, and it is reflected in how they treat their surroundings. That’s why the city looks like shit. Garbage everywhere, rats, people killing each other, heads rolling down stairwells and criminals taking surveys, their knife is the pen and you are the paper.

In small towns like this one, all that human ugliness can hide behind the walls that are our bushes, the traditions that are, saying ‘hi’ to your neighbor, picking up dog shit and asking how the kids are doing. All that is just façade to hide the troubled, boiling, crazed personalities that are just waiting to burst out in all of its colors. I’m here when that happens.

Every detective needs a sidekick. The guy that needs the whole thing explained, the guy who has a love interest on the side, the guy who still has his faith in humanity intact. The guy who I protect from the true horrors and who often will fall over a clue by accident, which I then can take and use to bring us to the final murder suspect, whom I will explain everything to, and thoroughly impress.

My sidekick is Derrick. We go way back. Gone through thick and thin with that man, the only guy I trust. He once saved me from a gang of hoodlums at a local get together, where I may have had more than my share of “apple juice”. The other guys at that event probably had a problem with the likes of me and used my compromised state to beat me up. Even though I have no recollection of anything happening, I’m sure I gave them a time like they’ve never had before. Anyway Derrick was the one who brought me home. What a guy.

Some of the people around here have some kind of idea about me, which I don’t like to waste my time with. You don’t become successful without making a few enemies, but Derrick always had my back. He was crooked too.

This specific mission I was on at the moment had placed me here behind a couple of garbage bags.

Previously that day I had made a deal with Derrick. He was having some sort of trouble at home at the moment, poor guy, doesn’t catch a break. But he promised to give me a sign when his part in this mission was up and going.

On the other side of the street, a gentlemen by the name of Mr. Cornwall, was smoking a pipe, clearly waiting for something. Smoke was rising from the tobacco, swirling like a clock. Who just sits, smoking a pipe, staring into the night? Someone suspicious is my guess.

As I had suspected, he was not just sitting, he was waiting, and what he was waiting for, was about to arrive. A car arrived from further down the street and parked outside his house.

No sign from Derrick yet, he should be using the distraction of the car to his benefit, but I see no movement in the garden or anything. He has probably got it under control, typical Derrick; he knows exactly what he is doing.

A woman steps out of the car. She is not dressed for teatime if you asked me, and Mr. Cornwall jumps up from his seat as soon as he sees her. These two are trouble. He leads her inside and leaves a quiet neighborhood outside.

I get up from my hiding place, still no sign from my partner. He doesn’t usually take this long before coming in with his part in the plan, so instead I sneak over the asphalt, risking an exposure of my presence. Silently I place one foot in front of the other putting behind me the arrival’s car and at host’s lawn, placing myself back in the shadows under the walls of the house. Worst of all she took the husbands car to get here. This case just keeps digging deeper.

No sign of Derrick beside the house by the window to the basement where we had agreed for him to be. I go to the yard. Just as empty. Where could he be?

The sign that is supposed to give, telling me of his arrival, is the sound of an owl. He does a pretty convincing one. Once I even made my move on a mission too quickly because I heard a real one. But right now there are neither real nor fake owls to be heard. I take a quick lap around the house to make absolutely sure about him not being there and he isn’t.

I end up back by the basement window, where as opposed to before, there now shines a light from within. Maybe this is not a sign from Derrick but a sign from the Gods. If we had used this as our entry point, we would’ve been caught immediately. But of course my philosophy of these desperate creatures is confirmed again. They even know their filthy behavior is so wretched that they hide in their own basement. Little do they know that the basement is less hidden than the bedroom.

He has thrown her on a leather sofa, and is removing her clothing one piece at the time. Animals, is what they are. She is caressing his face laying back in satisfaction. She turns her face, and if she had only opened her eyes, maybe she would have caught a quick glimpse of my worn down, cynical face, with a phone in front photographing them from the window. I move out quick again. Snap a couple shots of the car in front of the house. I got what I needed to close this case. Still, there was no sign from my good old pal. What could be holding him up?

This was more his case than mine, but I’m sure that as soon as I show him the results he will be more than satisfied.

The next day, Derrick wasn’t around either. So I had to sit alone and eat in the lunch break, trying to figure out what my next assignment would be. This case was over for me; the final steps were to be done by Derrick, the final confrontation.

This was also an unusual occurrence that he didn’t even text to tell me that he wouldn’t be coming in. I could barely wait to show him the photos from last night’s mission. The entire day came and went without hearing a word from him.

God better not have taken him down during this case. Maybe he was found out somehow, someone figured out that we were on the case? There’s no way. Who would that be? An unknown factor?

These kinds of jobs never go the way you want them to. There is always a surprise element, isn’t there? I had been doing this for years and I never seemed to see it coming.

When I got home that day, there was ice in the air. The tension in my house was like I had never felt it before. Usually that house and the people in it (my contradictions but they are family) are full of light and life.

When I got in I threw my bag in the hallway and went into the kitchen where my mother was standing by the phone with her back turned. She had prepared me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My favorite. With the ease of someone that had done it a thousand times before, I jumped on the kitchen stool and started munching down on that sandwich. She was usually more talkative than this, so I didn’t say anything; I just waited in anticipation of what she was going to do. That’s when I noticed her shoulders. They were quivering. I stopped eating my sandwich. I had never seen mom like this before but I had a terrible feeling that something was wrong.

She hung up the phone and turned around to see me. Her eyes were red and the tears painting her cheeks shiny. My eyes started welling up, just from seeing her this way. I had no idea.

“Hey bud.” She said.

“Hi mom.” I replied, my voice quaking under the pressure of tears and the burst of crying that was about to happen.

“You know how Derrick wasn’t in school today?”

“Yes?” I swallowed the last piece of peanut butter covered bread I had in my mouth.

“Something happened to him and he is not going to come back.”

“Is he dead?” I asked point blank. That seemed to surprise my mom and she broke down crying. She went over to me, took me in her arms and held me so close. My own feelings of sadness that had been brought on by mom were pushed down. Derrick wasn’t dead at all; there had been some kind of misunderstanding.

“Did you ever notice if he wasn’t feeling so well recently?” She asked it while still holding me. My eyes were open over her shoulders. I was getting pummeled with thoughts. What kind of question was that? There were so many implications. First of all, I wasn’t going to say this to her, she seemed pretty convinced, but Derrick obviously wasn’t dead.

This probably had something to do with the case. There was no doubt in my mind. He had been found out; somehow, he is usually so good at keeping everything on the low. Never telling anyone or letting anyone know about anything. Just me. This was going to be the big set-up against his mother and her infidelity, the case that would fix his home.

My mom took me out of her shoulder and looked at me. She saw the confused expression on my face rather than sadness or anger.

“I know how much you loved hanging out with Derrick. This has nothing to do with you. This is not you’re fault, okay?”

She was talking ludicrous.

“Did someone hurt him?”

“No, no, honey. Derrick hurt himself. But this is not anyone’s fault. Sometimes people are sick, okay?”

Derrick was a lone wolf by choice, and found a likeminded fellow in me. We lived that way because we wanted to. We were not sad we were different.

“It’s okay mom, these things happen.” I said and patted her on the back. She didn’t react like she was being comforted, but like I had said the worst thing I could have possibly said.

“Are you not sad?” She asked.

“Of course. But I have go now.”

“No, no, no, no, honey this is not one of you guys’ games. You know that right?” She asked and held onto my shoulders tight. Something was incredibly frustrating about this gesture and the things she was saying. I wanted to break out of this grip.

“I know. I will talk to you later.” I said, wrestled my way out and walked away from her. She was left behind in the same position, completely confused as to what to do or say.

“Robert?” She asked after me, but I was already gone.

The rest of that day I went around looking for clues. I went to Derricks house where his family was gathered. They were all grieving in the house. Some were outside, obviously trying to come to terms with whatever they thought had happened. Mr. Cornwall wasn’t there of course. Mr. and Mrs. Derrick were holding onto each other like they were hanging on the edge of a cliff. No Derrick.

Then I went to Mr. Cornwall’s house. He seemed to be in a similar distraught state of being, unable to sit still, even to smoke. I saw big red letters of guilt written all over these people. I wonder who had compromised him in his search for the truth in this case. Could his mother have taken care of him and then gone directly to Mr. Cornwall, last night? Could she be so heartless and that good of an actress?

They probably wouldn’t have taken his life if they found out what he was trying to do. He is probably kidnapped somewhere, and since all the subjects are still here, Derrick must be in the area as well. Maybe tied up in a basement, waiting for me to come save him. There was no doubt that I had to make my move here. I had to save my friend.

The entire day was spent running around, looking for clues. I could convince no one of course of my theories, so I stopped trying to at some point. People just had this look on their face every time I did. Then they would proceed sit down and try to explain things to me. So condescending.

I didn’t go home before dark. Something told me that going home would be a defeat in finding him. But I didn’t know where to start or where to end. All the people were in their home, giving me no opportunity to search for that missing boy.

When finally, at nightfall, I did approach my front door step again, my parents were there. They were waiting for me with worried looks on their faces. I was about to go to them when I heard the faint hoot of an owl, and I turned to look into the dark neighborhood immediately.