What if a metal detector could detect guilt and fear? The instrument then might just be able to expose the inner rage of a quiet maniac.
BODY:
The plumbing had been bad in our house for weeks and I was getting fed up. Dad said he was “taking care of it” but I was beginning to wonder what those words meant, since there had been no sign of a plumber and the sound the upstairs toilet made when it flushed was only getting worse. I was in the habit of holding the flush handle down and glaring at the water swirl down the bowl until everything had been flushed in an effort to make sure I didn’t walk away from any potential overflow situations. So I started to wonder when I kept hearing this sound about ten seconds after everything had gone down…it sounded like a churning of something, pipes maybe? But after the churning came a sort of rattle that faded to no real resolution.
Dad, Jack and I had been living in that house for almost two years to the day. Mom died a month and a half ago in a car accident. She was coming home from a trip she took with her lover that she didn’t think we all knew about. I think they went to Virginia Beach, a cheap vacation, naturally. People who cheat on their families don’t treat each other kindly or extravagantly. Their relationship is shallow and cheap, just like their lives. He had a family, too from what I understand. A daughter around my age. I wonder what she thinks of all of this.
He drove his ’99 VW Golf into a lake off I-95. Idiot. My mom probably had him distracted. His body was found by the police at the bottom of the lake and returned to his family for the funeral. Her body was never found. Dad still hasn’t given up the search effort. I think Jack and I have let go of the hope he still clings to.
But we were all trying to keep going I think. I guess “moving forward” is what people say. Aside from the plumbing problem of course, life was functioning routine. School, practice, cook dinner, homework. Mom had bequeathed to me the pressure of caring for two generations of men at age 15. Thanks, mom. Really.
So, it didn’t come as a shock to me that I was the one who was going to have to deal with the churning and grinding that Dad and Jack must just phase out if and when they ever hear it. I would have to call a plumber myself.
I got out the yellow pages and went for one of the more expensive guys. When I first found out that my mom was taking trips with this guy, what most appalled me was just the places he was taking her, first Dewey Beach and then Stanton. I mean, talk about the cheapest weekenders ever. When somebody you spend time with is always cheap, it teaches you that you only deserve what is cheap.
Will Berkeley: Plumber. I decided to call him. Our conversation consisted of this:
“Hello,” he answered.
“Hello, my name is Katie Henley and”
He cuts me off; “I know who you are” He coughs.
Weird, I think but then he resumes in a husky voice:
“Caller ID.” He hacks again. “What’s the problem, sweetie?”
This guy’s voice sounded like a trombone with a set of keys caught in the windpipe.
“Oh,” I stuttered, “Our toilets have been on the fritz for a couple of weeks now and I think something might be clogging the pipes, or caught in the pipes or”
“Ok, ok sweetie,” he interrupted again. “I can be there tomorrow at 10.”
“Ok, that’s not so good for me because I have school, does someone have to be here?” As soon as I asked, I answered it for myself. Just as quickly I deduced it would have to be me, since Jack would somehow screw it up and Dad’s work trumps my going to school. That is what’s paying for this curt, roughneck of a plumber to come here and fix our pipes. I answered before he could say anything: “Yes, I’ll be here.”
“Ok, sweetie. Wear a pretty necklace for me.”
And then he hung up.
What the hell? Why would he say something like that? I had no idea what to think of it, so I guess I just ignored it. In any event, somebody had to be here for him, I wasn’t about to leave that creep alone in our house. Wait, did I even give him my address? No, I didn’t. Should I call him back?
“Katie! American Idol’s on!” My dad yelled. My favorite show. Whatever I was just thinking about vanished.
The next day I slept in. I don’t know if my dad asked about it, but I assume Jack covered for me if he did. Besides, it was for all our benefit that I was missing school. I could no longer live with the imminent threat of sewage backup.
So, I waited and he showed up promptly at 10:00. He rang the bell and I opened the door. He stood there. He was a little bit stout and hunched at the back. He had salt and pepper hair and about an inch-long, scruffy beard. It was uneven with what looked like a Hershey’s kiss wrapper stuck in it on the left side. Gross. I’d guess he was about 40. He had a potbelly. He was only about ¼ inch shorter than me, but shorter, definitely. I could take him, if push came to shove.
He interrupted my inspection with: “Mornin’ sweetie, I’m Will.”
That voice took me again. There was an alarming depth in it, but it sounded like a car accident was happening inside his throat. Breaks screeching, metal scraping. I had forgotten about it overnight, but now it resonated in my mind.
“I’m here to fix your pipes,” he clarified.
I must have looked blank for what might have been a long time.
“Oh yes” I came back to.
I noticed he was leaning on something rod like. It stood upright, slightly behind him and I strained to discern what it was.
“Is that a metal detector?” I asked, slightly confused.
“Yes.”
“What’s that for?”
“It’s to search for hidden pipes around your house if I need to,” and then he walked inside.
I was a bit bewildered, but didn’t ask questions. Would he really have to search outside for pipes? I was beginning to find his behavior eerie and felt nervous to be alone with him. He went to the upstairs bathroom and started to work. I could hear him digging through his toolbox, but tried to zone it out. I sat down to watch TV.
The metal detector also seemed odd to me. It was very long and technical looking, with what looked like a computer at the top of it. The bottom of it looked like a spaceship. It looked like it could detect other things besides metal too, like fear.
This guy was giving me the creeps. I didn’t want him wandering around outside my house. It was a rainy day and I didn’t want to get wet. Would that thing work if it got wet? That thing looked like it would work in an ice storm. What was I going to do about this? This guy began to frighten me. Why had he asked me to wear a necklace last night? That was creepy, or maybe just weird plumber humor? I felt disoriented.
I got up to go see how things were going. He turned the corner of the staircase exactly as I reached the bottom of it and he stood staring down at me from the top. I stared back from the bottom. I felt threatened.
The next thing I knew it, he was coming down the stairs. I froze.
“I’m gonna have to go outside. The problem’s not up there. Something’s clogging it from outside,” he explained.
Oh, holy shit! My worst fear, realized. Why does he need to go outside?? I hadn’t anticipated this. But I didn’t know what to do, so I let him out. He had his metal detector strapped on his back. He left a smell of piss, rust and grime trailing behind him. His walk was so heavy. I could feel the floors reverberate with each one of his steps. God, I am going to die today I can feel it.
But I sat down and watched TV, anxious. There weren’t any pipes out there, were there? I know I didn’t see any. I went to the window and watched him. He was on that side. Why did he have to be on that side? He walked around the yard moving that metal detector like it was going to uncover something gruesome. Why? What? Did he find something? I had zoned out for a second.
He seemed to be bending over, there. Then, it seemed like he gave up on whatever he thought he found, because he stood back up and walked back around front.
A wave of relief came over me. I really wanted this guy to leave. I tried to relax. I went back to the TV. A minute, or maybe a few, passed. Then I heard some shuffling coming from the garage. I jumped from the couch and sprinted to the garage door. He was in there getting the shovel down from the hook!
“How did you get in here?” I snapped.
“I walked through the front door,” he replied as if questioning me. “I walked past you in the living room and told you I was going into the garage to get a shovel. You seemed pretty into your program and didn’t answer me.”
I stared at him, angrily. I didn’t hear him come in at all.
“You, uuh, seem kinda jumpy sweetie, is everything alright?”
What is with this redneck? Did that really happen? He started moving toward me with the shovel. I froze again. Why did that keep happening?
I closed my eyes as he approached, still unable to move, terrified of what was about to happen. Then that voice again;
“Um, excuse me sweetie.”
I didn’t realize it, but I was blocking the door that led back through the house. I opened my eyes and saw that he seemed to be chuckling.
“It’s ok sweetie, I’m not gonna kill ya,” he laughed.
Was I losing my mind? Why did he have to keep calling me “sweetie?” I stepped aside and let him through. He went back outside with the shovel. I sat down on the couch again, trying to calm down. He won’t find it; he’s just looking for the pipes.
I heard him start to dig.
I jumped from the couch again and bolted to the window. It was raining harder now, almost in sheets. He kept digging. The mud must be heavy because he had to remove the metal detector from the strap that kept it on his back. He dropped it beside him, next to the pile of mud and kept digging. He was flinging the mud so hard some of it was hitting the window. It startled me every time it did, even though I was watching his every move.
I don’t know what happened then. I just glared out of that window, frozen. Like a fish looking out of its bowl, only the outside of the bowl was where all the water was. The rain kept coming, but I was dry. I wanted to go outside and stop him, but nothing happened. He kept digging.
Digging and digging, it seemed like he would never stop. He saw something, finally and I knew what it was. I should have thought about the pipes.
Then he seemed to choke on something. He grabbed his chest, let out a yelp that I didn’t hear and tripped backward into the pile of mud. All of a sudden, the hole was in my plain sight. His stout frame had been blocking my view the whole time, until now.
And there she was, just where I had put her a month and a half ago. After I rammed that stupid Golf into the lake and dragged her back to my car. Her hair had gotten caught in two of the pipes that crossed in my side yard. So her face had been partially pulled under them and mangled into what now was just a mess of hair, mud, flesh, metal and human excrement that had leaked through and caused the backup.
The plumber regained his footing, saw what I had just seen, frantically looked around for me and then fled up the side yard, leaving his stupid, space-age metal detector next to the pile of mud and that putrid hole of filth. I heard the engine of his ’89 Bronco rev up and peel out.
And then I just looked at her, still causing me grief even after I buried her into the ground. I could still hear her begging me not to, even though she knew I had made up my mind. I could still see her struggling to free herself from the scarves I used to tie her up in (one of them she brought back for me as a souvenir from Stanton), kicking and screaming as I shoveled dirt onto her face. I could still smell the bile that festered after she projectile vomited dirt for about two minutes and then went limp. I stood looking out the window, frozen, watching the water and mud gradually covering her back up.
She deserved worse.
