Rites of Spring

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

The photo stayed on the wall in Cameron’s house for a whole week after the con men came over. It was about the only thing that went right. Three clients wanted to make changes to projects that were already halfway to completion without being willing to extend the project deadlines. Two other clients went far enough past due on their invoices that Cameron had to waste billable time calling them to remind them to pay, and another one neglected payments long enough that Cameron had to put another project for the same client aside and refuse to do more work until he got paid. The cable went out twice thanks to high winds, which knocked out Internet as well, and the electricity in the house got touchy too.

Cameron blamed the weather, at least for stuff around the house. April had always brought weird weather to New England. A person could be out in a tee shirt and shorts one day and need a snow blower the next, and any coastal town had to put up with heavy winds and the like. It just came with the territory. People paid extra for the privilege. He knew that the wiring in the house had all been replaced back in 2011, when Grandpa had really gone downhill, so he wasn’t worried about fires or anything like that. He could only blame the wind, and hope that the local power company got its act together soon.

His troublesome clients were another matter. He understood that some clients could get strapped for cash, and he was willing to cut some folks a little bit of slack. Getting screwed out of a paycheck was one of the risks of being a freelancer. He mitigated that risk with frugal living and had a good sized savings account, just in case, but he didn’t feel great about dipping into that account to bridge the pay gap. He knew that he’d get the money out of most of those clients eventually; he just hated having to take time that he could spend on billable work to make collection calls.

At the end of the week, Mrs. Shaladi came around to Cameron’s back door again. This time she brought her oldest son, Ali, with her, and Cameron’s heart sank. He liked Ali. Ali was a good kid, a great kid, and he would go far in life. The factor that made Cameron’s heart sink was the fact that Mrs. Shaladi only brought the ten year old over when she needed a translator, which meant that whatever had brought her to Cameron’s door was more complex than dropping off the rent or borrowing a cup of sugar.

“Hey, Mrs. Shaladi. Hey, Ali. How are things?” Cameron made himself smile for them.

Mrs. Shaladi’s smile had a strained quality as she gestured to her son. Ali replied for both of them. “We’re doing okay,” he said. His voice had only the slightest trace of an accent; before many more years passed no one would know that he hadn’t been born in south-eastern Massachusetts. “There’s a problem with the pipes, though. All of the water is running red.”

Cameron frowned. He could see why that little tidbit needed a translator. “It’s running red?” He grabbed the toolbox that lived next to the back door, stepping out onto the back deck.

“Yes.” Ali nodded, curly hair bobbing. He and his mother led the way over to their side of the duplex.

“When did this start?” Cameron shook his head. He hadn’t gotten any notices about anything going on from the water company but that didn’t mean that the water company wasn’t doing something to cause this. A water main could have broken farther up the line, causing something to leak into the lines. There were plenty of perfectly logical reasons that water could look red, or rusty.

Mrs. Shaladi let them into the house. “An hour ago,” Ali told him. “Come and see!” Ali led him over to the kitchen sink and ran the faucet for him.

Cameron had been expecting brown water, the kind that sometimes happened when things leaked into the pipes from work on the lines. What he saw looked more like what he’d get from a severed artery. Bright red liquid, smelling like rust and old pennies, flowed from the tap. Cameron had been around enough blood to know what he thought that stuff was, and his stomach turned.

The only thing was, blood didn’t run from faucets. Blood didn’t run from faucets, so that wasn’t what was happening here. It might look like blood. It might smell like blood. It might even be splashing into the sink like blood. It was not blood. It could only be water, because this was the real world and in the real world blood just didn’t flow from the faucets. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the foul liquid pouring into the Shaladis’ sink. “Is it doing this in every sink in the house?”

Mrs. Shaladi nodded, sweat breaking out across her cheeks. “Toilets too. And showers.”

Cameron went around and took pictures of all of the affected faucets before he looked up the number for the water department. The customer service representative he spoke with scoffed at his story until he offered to send pictures. When he sent the pictures, her boss called him back ten minutes later. “I’m very sorry you’re having this problem, sir,” the man told him. “It turns out that there is a main being worked on a little further up the system from you. It shouldn’t be causing a problem, but a couple of other houses have called to report brown water. It’s brown, nothing like what you’re experiencing where you are, but it’s the only explanation I can think of. All that I can say is that you should run the faucets—all of the faucets, sinks and tubs—for about an hour. If the water isn’t running clear by then, let us know, please. I’ll make sure your bill is adjusted accordingly.” He gave Cameron his direct line, which mollified Cameron at least a little bit, and they hung up.

Cameron left the faucets running on the Shaladis’ side of the duplex while he went to check on his own place. Sure enough, all of the faucets there were running red too. On the tenants’ side, he’d been able to smell the blood and it had turned his stomach. Over here, the stink of blood was overpowering. It sent him to his knees, retching into a trash can because he couldn’t face the bloodstained toilet.

“Not real,” he said, panting into the plastic bucket. “Not real.” This wasn’t really blood. This was just his brain, overreacting to a stimulus because he’d been through some stuff. Some parents gave their kids cars or savings accounts; Catherine had given her son a case of PTSD. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? The Shaladis had been through worse, undoubtedly, and none of them were freaking out and hallucinating the smell of blood. He forced himself to his feet, rinsed his mouth out with mouthwash and went back to check on the family next door. He had a job to do, and it wasn’t to have a breakdown in the bathroom.

The water in the Shaladi home ran clear after half an hour. There was no tapering off, no gradual shift to brown or pink and then to clear. The water just ran clear as though it had never had a problem. The basin was left immaculate. The tubs and toilets, too, stood pristine.

Cameron and Mrs. Shaladi exchanged glances. If Cameron hadn’t grabbed those photos, there would be no evidence that the problem had existed at all. “I’d let the water run for a little while longer,” he said, when he found his voice. “It’s probably fine, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ll head out in a little bit and get some bottled water for both of us, just for tonight.”

Mrs. Shaladi nodded, her light brown skin ashen. She didn’t say anything, but there wasn’t anything to say.

Fifteen minutes later, the water on both sides of the duplex was still running clear. Cameron decided that it was probably safe to turn off the taps and headed out to pick up water for them all, and some bleach as well. They might not be able to see any lingering evidence of contamination now, but all of them knew it had been there. Mrs. Shaladi could do what she wanted with the bleach, but Cameron was going to scrub everything that the water had touched.

His grocery run didn’t take long. He stepped out of the car, fully intent on unloading the cases of water, but something made him hesitate. He couldn’t quite figure out why he paused in his own driveway, the cool April breeze ruffling his black hair, but he’d learned a long time ago to listen to his instincts. Was he just being paranoid because of the weird plumbing problem? Or was it something deeper?

No, he was definitely picking up on something. It was April. Normally, the tweeting of birds and chattering of squirrels would drive him halfway up a wall, especially if he was in a mood like he was today. The neighbors had one of those little popcorn dogs that they’d never bothered to train, and the damn thing barked all day long. Right now, Cameron couldn’t hear anything but human noise. He heard cars, in the distance. He could hear a siren, even further away. The neighbor in the next building over tried to sing a Metallica song, and failed. That was it.

Cameron slid his tire iron out from under the seat. “Come out where I can see you, you f*****g coward,” he said, voice barely more than a growl. He wasn’t usually this aggressive, but he was sick and tired of being afraid.

Boots dragged across gravel as the rhododendron rustled. Jason Tighe, the surly visitor from last week, emerged. “What, you’re a tough guy now?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You thinking about using that crowbar on the boogeyman hiding under your bed or are you going to let the professionals in to do our goddamn jobs now?”

Cameron narrowed his eyes. “Get off my property, you stupid son of a bitch.”

Jason snickered, like Cameron had just blurted out the punchline of some hilarious inside joke. “Look, buddy. Me and Reid, we’re trying to help you out. It’s in your best interests to let us in now, before things get out of hand.”

Cameron adjusted his grip on the crowbar. “The only thing that’s ‘out of hand’ is you and your buddy, thinking that you have any kind of right to be here. Go. Away.”

“So you’re just okay living with a ghost in your house?” Jason stepped forward, a smirk fixed on his handsome face.

“The only ghost in my house is going to be you if you don’t get off my property.” Cameron ignored his urge to touch Jason’s smooth skin. It didn’t make sense for the situation, and it didn’t make sense for Jason at all.

“Oh, threats. Real smart.” Jason stepped in closer to Cameron. “What if I just walked myself right in there and took a look around? There ain’t a goddamn thing you could do to stop me.”

This close, Cameron could see Jason’s teeth. He tried not to get this close to people he wasn’t going to kiss. Under other circumstances, he wouldn’t have minded kissing Jason. He didn’t do that. Instead, he punched him as hard as he could, right in the jaw, while bringing his knee up into Jason’s crotch at the same time. He kept his other hand on the tire iron, just in case.

Jason grunted with the impact, bringing his hands up to defend his face. “You shouldn’t have done that, Tex,” he said, shaking his head. “Pissing off the guys who want to help you doesn’t seem smart.” His voice sounded weird, like he was having trouble forming the words, and Cameron knew that it had to be his imagination, but it looked like Jason might have gotten hairier in the past few seconds. “Maybe I should leave you to your bleeding faucets and your wonky electrical system. Or maybe I should tear your throat out right here and now.”

“You think you’ll be the first to try?” Cameron shifted his stance into something more defensive. “Come on. Go ahead. I’ll take my chances with you.”

Some little part of his brain, a tiny part that reminded him to do things like cut the power before working on the electrical system, reminded the rest of him the this might not be the best decision he’d ever made. Sure, Cameron had fought here and there. He could see that Jason was a fighter, and that was different. Jason was more than a fighter, too. He was a killer, Cameron could see it in his eyes, and he wouldn’t think twice about leaving Cameron’s body lying in the driveway.