Peter asked, “Did your brother ever say anything about the Dark Time, or the end of the world, some kind of apocalypse?”
Sylvia’s hand went to the cross around her neck. “The Bible talks about the End Times, in Matthew and Revelation. Geoff used to like the story of the Rapture. But he left the church a long time ago, after our dad walked out on us. It was hard on Geoff, he was only fifteen. I thought the Gospel would help him, but he wouldn’t even step into our church, let alone sit and pray.”
“Your brother said something to me before he died. That he’d gotten some kind of message. It told him to kill Katelyn Thorsen. Does that mean anything to you?”
“The police asked the same question. I have no idea what he was talking about.”
“What about somebody called the Messenger? Did he ever mention that?”
Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “I don’t believe so. Although the Bible is filled with references to messengers. John the Baptist, angels, Christ himself. Anyone bringing the Word of God. Did he use that word, ‘messenger’?”
“It was someone else.” Peter took the cassette tape from his shirt pocket. “Do you know if Geoff had any of these?”
“Oh, sure.” She nodded at the garage apartment. “He had a whole bunch over there. He used to trade concert bootlegs with his friend Ollie.”
June said, “Would you mind if we took a look?”
25
Sylvia Reed needed some convincing. Her brother hadn’t allowed her into the place for months. After he died, when the detectives came, she’d stayed in the house. She hadn’t wanted to watch them pick through Geoff’s things. She knew she’d have to go up there eventually, but she wasn’t ready.
“I understand why you wouldn’t want to come with us,” June said. “But we’d really like to look. We won’t take anything, I promise.”
Sylvia narrowed her eyes. “Why are you asking all these questions, anyway? I told you everything I know about Geoff. Why do you need to see where he lived?”
“We just want to understand him better,” June said. “Seeing his apartment will help us with that. Maybe it will help you, too.”
Sylvia sighed. But she rose from her seat, took a set of keys from a drawer, and opened the back door. Outside, she led them across the yard to the garage. The rain fell steadily. The unmown grass bent under the weight of accumulated droplets.
As they climbed the sagging wooden steps to the second-floor apartment, the roar of another jet began to rise. Sylvia stopped at the landing with a hand on the rail, as if to steady herself against the noise. As the plane’s white belly flashed overhead, the engines were deafening. The light fixture over the door vibrated, flashing on and off. Peter hoped the house had been really cheap.
When the sound subsided, Sylvia tried keys from the ring one by one. “To be honest, I’m afraid of what the place will look like. The last six months, Geoff wouldn’t even let me come over to clean the bathroom.” She found a key that fit and turned it, then pushed the door open into the darkness and stepped aside to let them pass.
Peter went first, finding a switch on the wall and turning on the lights. It was a single room tucked under the eaves. Kitchenette on the left, one corner walled off for a tiny bathroom. In the alcove behind it, an unmade double mattress lay on the floor by a bookshelf. A sagging sectional sat against the far wall with the seat cushions set aside in a heap. On the right under the front window, an expensive gaming chair sat by a cheap folding table that held a giant computer monitor and a tangle of orphaned cables. A partial case of Monster Energy drink sat on the floor below.
There were no dishes in the sink. The trash can was empty. There was a faint smell, maybe dirty clothes, maybe body odor. But otherwise the room seemed pretty clean.
Sylvia peeked over June’s shoulder. “Huh. The police must have tidied up.”
Peter and June exchanged glances. The police never left a place neater than they found it. Maybe Geoff had known he wasn’t coming back. Maybe he’d been planning to kill himself all along and hadn’t wanted to leave a mess. Some suicides were thoughtful like that.
Sylvia walked in and turned on a few more lights. The walls had been patched repeatedly and without regard for appearances. Two ofthe four windows had bad seals and were fogged between the panes. The kitchen cabinets were shabby and the Formica countertop was peeling.
“I wish I could have made it nicer for him,” she said. “I couldn’t afford to. I can barely afford the house payments. It’s not like he paid rent.” She sighed. “The worst thing is, I really thought he was getting better. I thought I might get my life back. Now that he’s gone, part of me is relieved. It was so much work, taking care of my brother. The worry, the appointments. I couldn’t even date, not really. Then I catch myself and think, you’re a monster. Your brother was mentally ill and now he’s dead.”
Peter had plenty of friends from the service who were caring for partners wounded at war. The invisible wounds were often the most difficult to care for. “You’re not a monster, Sylvia. It’s hard taking care of someone else. Especially over the long haul.”
She swiped angrily at her eyes. “Tell me about it.”
June gave her a moment, then said, “Where did Geoff keep his cassette tapes?”
“With his books.” Sylvia walked into the alcove and stared at the shelves. “They’re gone.”
“How did he listen to them?”
“He had a cheap little player by the bed, but that’s gone, too.”
Peter said, “Did you ever listen to the tapes?”
