Lunar Park - Bret Easton Ellis [123]
“Is this . . . Patrick?”
“We’re a lot of people.”
“So . . . what were you doing in our house the other night?” I asked casually. “What were you doing in my son’s room?”
“That night it wasn’t me, Bret. That night it was something else.”
“What . . . was it then?”
“Something that is not an ally to our cause.”
“Your cause? What cause? I don’t understand.”
“Did you read the manuscript, Bret?”
“Are any of you responsible for the boys?” I shut my eyes tightly.
“The boys?” I had interrupted his question with another question. The voice was on the verge of not behaving anymore.
“The missing boys. Are you—”
It was as if the voice hadn’t anticipated this question. It was as if the voice assumed I knew where the particular truth of that situation led. “No, Bret. Again, you’re looking in the wrong place on that one.”
“Where should I be looking?”
“Open your eyes. Stop groping for things that aren’t there.”
“Where are the boys?” I asked. “Do you know?”
“Ask your son. He knows.”
The fear curled into quick anger. “I don’t believe that.”
“This will be your downfall.”
The writer had left. The writer was scared and had run away and was now hiding somewhere, screaming.
“What do you mean by that? My downfall? Are you threatening me?”
“I see that a Detective Donald Kimball visited you,” the voice said airily. “Did he tell you about me?”
“What happened to Aimee Light?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Where is she?”
“In a better world than this one.”
“What did you do to her?”
“No, Bret. It’s what you did to her.”
“I didn’t do anything to her.”
“Well, a part of that is true: you didn’t save her.”
“What did you do to her?”
“I’d check the text of that dirty little book you wrote again.”
“I’m not involved with anything that happened to Aimee Light. I’m going to hang up.”
“Though of course I could make things happen.” The voice lowered itself, yet became clearer. “I could get you involved.”
Wounds kept opening.
“What do you mean? How could you do that?”
“Well, you were a mentor to her. She was the young and obliging student. Quite attractive, by the way.” The voice paused, and considered something. “Maybe Aimee Light wanted more from the big famous teacher she was doing her dissertation on.” The voice paused again. “Maybe you let her down in some way. Maybe there are even e-mails to back this up. Maybe Aimee Light left behind a trail that included a note or two. And let’s just say these notes hinted at the possibility she was expecting you to fulfill a promise. Let’s just say that maybe there was the possibility she was going to tell your very famous wife—”
“Who in the fuck is this?”
“—about the two of you.” The voice sighed, then spoke quickly. “Though when I asked about your ‘affair’ it seemed like she was saying that nothing had happened between the two of you. Of course I had taped her mouth shut and by that point she was losing so much blood, but it was pretty clear that the two of you had never fucked. Maybe you were angry at Aimee Light for not putting out. That’s another scenario we could pursue. The rejection was just too much for the writer who always got what he wanted and you snapped.” The voice paused. “I see you haven’t informed the authorities about your relationship with the deceased.”
“Because I’m not connected to anything crimin—”
“Oh, but you are.”
“How?” This was sending me out so much further than I had ever expected: a place beyond strength.
“You were seen outside her house by three witnesses the night her dismembered body was discovered in that very messy room at the Orsic Motel. Now, what were you doing there, Bret?”
“I have an alibi for—”
“Actually, you don’t.”
“There’s no way—”
“You mean the night you wandered around ‘your’ house making some realizations about the past? Everyone was asleep. You were all alone. No one saw you after you got back from Buckley until the next morning when Marta saw you racing to your office because of those attachments. That gives you a lot of time, Bret. By the way, did you like the video? It took