Evidence of Susan by Steve W. Jenkins

Steven W. Jenkins is an artisan who handcrafts split bamboo fly rods by trade. When time allows he pens short stories and novels of horror and speculative fiction. His first novel, Cold Hunger, has been self-published. Details about the book can be found at www.coldhungerbook.info. Steven requests that those kind enough to read his stories forward a brief and honest critique of his work to rodmaker@sopris.net.

"Mind if I join you?"

Kevin Drake raised startled blue eyes to the sunken face silhouetted in the weak glow of the overhead reading lamp and shrugged. "I guess not."

"Thanks," the odd man said, folding his lanky form down. He offered a hand sporting nicotine stained fingers. "It seems like I've been riding forever. The name is Danny Boudreaux. Yours?"

Kevin sank back into the interior wall of the Greyhound, cautiously accepting Boudreaux's hand. The skin was clammy and prune-like.

"Kevin," he replied.

"Where you heading?"

Kevin wiped the moisture from his right hand onto his jeans, then turned away and opened the window. "Grand Springs. How about yourself?"

"Same. Or maybe home."

Uncomfortable with the way the man's thin lips popped repeatedly in a fish-like motion, Kevin moved to the far corner of his seat. "Which is where?"

The redhead took a deep stuttering breath. "Crystal, I guess. But I'm not sure if I'll be welcome back there."

Kevin recognized the town's name as Boudreaux exhaled a breath that stank of alcohol and cigarettes. The town he mentioned was ten miles southwest of Grand Springs, at the end of Rural Route 313. A road Kevin and Susan had traveled earlier that summer.

"What do you mean?"

"I think people don't much like to be around me.

It was obvious why, Boudreaux smelled putrid over the wisp of a haunting fragrance. The crusted, black sweat suit that stuck to his wiry frame looked as if it hadn't seen the laundry for weeks and his demeanor was enough to make a rhino's skin crawl.

"I'm sorry to hear that. How long have you been on the road?"

"A long time. It seems like forever."

"I'm not crazy about traveling by bus myself," Kevin said. "Where you coming from?"

When Boudreaux answered Grand Springs, Kevin's eyes narrowed. The bus was a shuttle between Grand Springs and Denver. "Grand Springs, Colorado?" Kevin asked, nodding skeptically.

"Yeah. It's a long ride," Boudreaux answered. He shuffled his boat-sized boots under the seat, and then sniffed the fingers of his right hand. "I wonder if it will ever go away."

Kevin squirmed further back. "Wonder if what will go away?

Boudreaux sucked a wheezing breath, then lifted his pink, and wrinkled hands to Kevin's face. "This smell, Kevin, it's awful. Go ahead. Smell my fingers."

Kevin recoiled, grabbed the armrests and prepared to stand. "Sorry, I've got to use the rest room. Mind letting me out?"

Boudreaux didn't show any hint of obliging, just stared back with the eyes of a frozen mackerel under cellophane.

"Listen, buddy," Kevin said. "Just let me out."

The redhead's upper lip curled, exposing teeth the color of a stained, ceramic sink bowl. "You're just like the others."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I just want to go take a crap."

"You're running away, Kevin. You ain't comin' back."

"I will. I'll leave my bag here. Just let me out."

Boudreaux turned to the right, dragging his leather-clad feet into the aisle. "Go away then. I don't like people who don't like me."

Kevin stood. He scooted past the redhead and hurried to the back of the bus. Deciding it best to make his lie look as real as possible, he entered the closet-sized rest room. It smelled of Boudreaux's stench and a wisp of the mysterious fragrance. The overhead vent was open and several crushed cigarette butts floated in the toilet. The soap dispenser was nearly empty and dripping a thick, pink liquid into the stainless steel sink. Used paper towels spilled from the trash bin. Jesus, Kevin thought, it looks like the nut has been living in here. He wasn't lying about traveling all day. But from Grand Springs?

Kevin was anxious to be out of the rest room, and then considered what was waiting. He took a deep breath, sat on the commode and forced himself to remain as long as possible.

Ten minutes later, he returned to his seat. Boudreaux looked to be sleeping. Kevin reached over the redhead, snatched up his bag, and then backed three rows to a seat on the right side of the bus where the repulsive man remained in view and at a safe distance.

After the difficult ascent to the east entrance of Colorado's, Eisenhower Tunnel, the Greyhound's racing diesel slowed to a comfortable din. It rolled effortlessly through the bright, tiled dig under the Continental Divide. Assured by the continued snoring and occasional incoherent babbling from Boudreaux's direction, Kevin allowed himself to relax. The bus had left nearly half the distance to Grand Springs in its wake - half the distance to Susan.

She was a fetching concoction of garnet eyes, a soft complexion turned olive by the sun, and auburn hair that flowed to the middle of her back. They had dated through college and agreed to postpone marriage until each found permanent employment after graduation. Kevin was reluctant about the plan. Susan's sixty-six inches of fit beauty drew men like a fire invites shivering hands on a cold night. The fact that she was spending the summer in an affluent mountain valley where money, muscle and testosterone crowded the streets in Porsches didn't ease his mind. He hoped the engagement ring tucked in his bag would be enough for Susan to reconsider.

Kevin calculated that the red-eye shuttle would arrive around 4:30 Saturday morning. He would waste an hour on breakfast at the twenty-four hour bus stop across from the Caldwell County Sheriffs Office, and then walk to the small apartment Susan was renting while she completed a summer internship at a lavish hotel. They would spend the morning making love, and then drive her Nissan Sentra to the elegant Grand Springs Inn for lunch. It was the perfect location to present the ring and suggest that they give up the wait and get married in the fall.

Adrift in the promise he hoped dawn would bring, Kevin studied the muddy blackness outside the open window. The night had turned cold at the twelve-thousand-foot elevation. Content to be away from the strange redhead, he rested his face on the cool plane of glass and napped.

An hour later, a sandy pop sounded to his left. A tiny flash was followed by the acrid smell of burnt sulfur. Kevin awoke, stiffening as a handful of centipedes hatched in his gut. Boudreaux was sitting beside him. The pruned fingers of his right hand were fumbling a burning match beneath Kevin's chin, while those of his left danced under twitching nostrils. His words came in a throaty whisper. "You're not too friendly, Kevin. Why did you move?"

Kevin stiffened and backed away from the flame. The lit match glowed brightly, bathing Boudreaux's cadaverous face in flickering yellow light. "Well," Kevin stuttered. "I thought you were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you trying to get back to my seat."

Boudreaux wormed his fetid body deeper into the seat. He placed the nearly spent match into his mouth and exhaled a wisp of smoke. "Now that's a lie, Kevin. All you wanted was your bag and to be away from me."

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't asleep, Kevin. I was fooling you. I like to pretend. I was watching and listening the whole time."

Kevin retreated into the rigid security of the vinyl wall panel, licking his lower lip. "I can't believe you..."

"Fooled you?" Boudreaux interrupted, his mouth curling into a tobacco stained crescent. "I do it to everyone. That's just the way I am." He rotated a wormy finger lamely around the side of his head. "Like I said, people think I'm off. I can't stand them." His voice suddenly rose to a loud growl as he aimed a cold stare toward bus driver. "Especially the bossy ones who think they can tell you what to do. You know, Kevin, some people are just plain screwed!"

"Hey you!" the driver suddenly ordered from the front of the bus. "Knock it off, again! I'm fed up with your act. There are folks trying to sleep here and I won't put up with your yelling any more. Muzzle it or you're out on your butt. I'm serious this time."

Boudreaux hushed and sank back into his seat. Kevin's gaze instantly shifted to the driver then back to the slack form draped next to him. It appeared the redhead had fallen asleep again. A dry, nasal snore accompanied the slow up and down swell under his shirt. Kevin suddenly wanted to be closer to the bus driver who seemed familiar with Boudreaux's bizarre behavior. He braced his hands against the armrests and started to stand. Five clammy digits instantly encircled his wrist, pinching with a determined pressure that forced him back to his seat.

"Fooled you again, huh?" Boudreaux whispered in a gravely chortle. "Don't go anywhere now. Let's talk."

"About what?" Kevin stammered around the phantom centipedes that had clambered into his esophagus.

"Things that have been bothering me."

Kevin stared as Boudreaux continued in an eerie tone.

"Tell me, Kevin. Have you ever hurt anything?"

He nodded nervously. "I suppose so. Everybody does, sometime."

"What?"

"I hit a bird once, driving. I couldn't help it."

"No, Kevin!" Boudreaux barked beneath his breath. "Have you ever hurt anything just because it made you feel good?"

Kevin shook his head. "Hell no. Why?"

The redhead cupped raw hands around his mouth, inhaling his fingers deeply. "Well, I did. I do. I hurt things. That's the stink I can't get rid of. No matter how much I smoke and scratch, it doesn't cover it up."

Kevin was desperate to be rid of Boudreaux again. "I need to stand. Would you mind letting me out for awhile?"

Boudreaux shook his head.

Kevin exhaled his insects as Boudreaux inched his spattered boots aside, leaving room for him to pass.

He had just entered the aisle when Boudreaux stood and grabbed his shoulder. The close proximity of the redhead's pruned hand spanked his olfactory memory. Cigarettes and Char...

"It's too bad, Kevin." Boudreaux whispered in his ear through clenched teeth. "Nothing good in this world lasts more than a couple seconds. Maybe minutes."

Kevin shucked the slimy grasp and turned back. Boudreaux's free hand was busy working inside of his sweat pants.

"What in the hell do you want from me you freak? You put Freddy Kruger to shame."

Boudreaux's expression molded into a lunatic's glare. He pulled his left hand from his pants and sniffed his fingers. "Nothing. Just forget we ever met."

Kevin shuddered as he watched the man turn and shuffle into the rest room. He returned to his seat, picked up his bag and started forward past an elderly couple leaning against each other in adjoining seats, and a woman cuddling a sleeping child. A reflected sign announcing the Grand Springs and Crystal exit rushed past outside of the window.

A tired voice sounded from the front of the bus. "Grand Springs coming up.

"What's with this freak back here?" Kevin asked the driver, his left hand clutching the pole beside him for stability.

"Hell if I know. I guess the guy's been riding this shuttle since yesterday. Harvey says he got on before noon. God knows, I'd like to get rid of him, but there's nothing I can do. He has the money to pay for a ticket. As long as he does, he rides. That's company policy"

"So, he really has been on here that long?"

"Yep. The guy locks himself in the can every time the bus stops, then pays cash for a ticket once it's rolling again." The driver glanced in the rear view mirror. "It looks like he's in there again. I'd bet I won't see him until I've pointed this thing back toward Denver, then he'll show up with cash in hand."

A minute later the Greyhound pulled into the Grand Springs' station with a hiss of air brakes, followed by the mechanical clunk of the door opening. Kevin waited for the handful of passengers to unload.

Boudreaux remained locked in the restroom. A cigarette dangled from his lips, as he repeatedly flipped the gore-caked utility knife in the palm of his right hand. Susan's engagement ring dangled loosely around his pinky.

"Good luck with that character." Kevin said, motioning to the rear of the bus with his head as he started toward the door.

"Thanks, kid. You know as bad as the guy smells I'd swear he's wearing perfume. Same stuff my daughter drowns herself with before a date."

Kevin's brow knit while he nodded and stepped out onto the curb. A pleasing blonde was waiting to board - five foot six, close to his own age. She smiled, and then passed in front of him, leaving the familiar fragrance lilting in her wake.

"Charade," he whispered. "That's what it was."

The door clanked shut, followed by the tired diesel groan that powered the bus back to the highway toward Denver. Kevin waited for the milky cloud of exhaust to disappear, then glanced across the street to the Caldwell County Sheriff's Office.

Parked inside a fenced lot was Susan's yellow Sentra. The glowing interior light profiled someone inside. He hurried across the dark street.

A deputy clutching a handful of plastic, zip-lock bags emerged from the car when Kevin arrived at the fence.

"Excuse me, Officer," Kevin asked. "Could you tell me what that car is doing parked here?"

"Yes," the officer replied, turning toward Kevin. "It's been impounded it for evidence."

"Evidence, for what?"

"It's part of an official crime investigation. I can't tell you much more than that."

The centipedes swarmed back with vengeance; Kevin tried to swallow the wad of tickling dread in his throat. "What happened?"

"No one's sure yet. We found the car about three hours ago down toward Crystal, on Rural Route 313." The deputy held up the bundle. "This will help us determine the suspect."

Suspect. The word struck Kevin with the power of a heavy sledgehammer.

"He used this evidence to try to clean up after himself."

"Clean up what?" Kevin asked.

The deputy started toward him. The contents of the bags were visible in the dim light of the overhead street lamp - dozens of wadded, white tissues stained scarlet. "Again, this is an ongoing investigation. I can't comment."

Kevin reeled, sickened by the familiar odor that suddenly wafted from the open car and approaching deputy. Stunned eyes focused on the empty crystal atomizer encased in one of the clear plastic bags.

My God, he thought, that's the bottle of perfume I gave Susan for graduation.

"I know you have your regulations, Sir," Kevin begged. "But is there any chance you might let me know where the owner of the car is?"

The deputy sighed and then nodded toward a small, gray building down the block. "I assume she's still in the morgue, until they finish the autopsy."

© 2009 by Steve W. Jenkins