The Whisper, page 31
Clarice wasn’t alarmed when Ben didn’t show up the next day. The morning after, his absence made her a little concerned, but not until the evening did she start to freak out.
When the investigation began, the police told her they couldn’t find his car anywhere around the Arlington Building, and there was nothing special about that. Ben could’ve taken the party to another place. He could’ve gone to see Luis, Morgan, or Glen. However, each one claimed they hadn’t seen him since they had left the event. Clarice spent the following week trying to persuade herself that Ben could have done this or that, unable to admit to herself that he was dead.
With every day of idle waiting, her fear was growing exponentially. Ben was gone because every bad thing that happened in the Arlington Building happened for a reason. She had learned that a long time ago
Clarice knew the basic concept of the drug trade, knew all the horsemen personally. She knew how much they hated their nickname. And of course she knew what kind of person Owen James Arlington was, which made her feel much worse when she was praying for Ben to come back.
Her face was constantly swollen from tears, but the only people who saw her face in the subsequent days were a couple of police officers coming to her house every now and then to tell her there were still no leads. By the end of the second week of Ben being missing, Clarice had grown to hate the police. She’d grown to hate everyone in the city who had the smallest speck of authority. They were all corrupted—her husband had taught her that as well. Those officers might’ve known where Ben was all along but never told her because that was what Owen Arlington would want.
After everything she had heard about the devil, she assumed he could have something to do with Ben’s sudden disappearance, but assuming was all she could do so far. Clarice would’ve kept on anguishing over all the possibilities if, one day, she hadn’t pulled herself together and decided to take the situation under her own control. Coincidentally or not, it happened when she was halfway through a bottle of bourbon.
Glen Harding always seemed to her to be the most relatable and honest of Ben’s coworkers, the easiest to approach. That was why he was her initial choice for interrogation.
Glen knew there was only one reason for her to show up at his door after midnight, but he acted as surprised and baffled as he could.
“Clarice, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
He wore a knitted sweater and some baggy pants, but a screech in his voice indicated an interrupted sleep.
Clarice held her head low, her brown-on-the-verge-of-black hair hanging over the high cheekbones and prominent chin. When she raised her head to meet his eyes, her face was impassive. They both knew how much it cost her to keep it impassive.
“Is everything okay? Are you kidding?” she said.
Glen went on faking naivety.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
“Let’s find out,” she said firmly enough for him to understand there was no way out of the following conversation.
Glen ushered Clarice to the living room, sat her down on the couch, and nestled into the chair next to her. There was a prolonged moment of silence as both were expecting one another to say something first.
“I’m so sorry for Ben,” Glen started.
They’d have to talk about it. He thought if he was the first to bring up the subject that it would set the necessary level of trust between them.
“Are you?” Clarice asked, her eyes cold as ice.
“Of course. Ben was my… He’s my…”
“Workmate,” Clarice prompted him. “Let’s keep it clear. He wasn’t your friend. He was a guy you had to interact with on a daily basis. What makes you think I give a shit about your condolences? It’s been less than three weeks since Ben went missing, and everybody’s already acting like he’s dead.”
Glen looked down, unable to bear her gaze as he stated, “You know the first three days are key in any investigation, right?”
He wanted her to be prepared for when she would learn the truth. And she would learn it sooner or later, but not from him.
“Who said that?” Clarice hissed through her teeth. “A bunch of cops who want to justify their incompetence?”
“It’s a common fact. I don’t want you to keep your hopes up. Otherwise, it may be too hurtful if…”
It was difficult not to feel guilty when Clarice Elliot was right in front of him, yet Glen couldn’t neglect the devil’s reliance. It was the basis of his whole life.
“It would be a horrible thing to say,” Clarice said, “but sometimes I wish I knew Ben was dead. It’s fucking torture living like this, waiting for him to come back, hoping he’s still somewhere out there.”
Her eyes glistened with tears. Glen didn’t know how he was supposed to react, but he thought taking her hand would be the right thing to do. That was what he did.
“The worst part is I’m not the only one waiting for him at home,” Clarice said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m pregnant,” she said and then smiled through her tears. “And I fucking hate children, but I always thought a baby would be a good way for me and Ben to consolidate our marriage. I didn’t have a chance to tell him, and now I can’t even be sure if he’ll ever find out. All I can do is keep waiting.” She began to tremble with sobs. “I’m so tired of waiting!”
Glen took a deep breath and placed himself on the couch next to her. He gave Clarice a gentle hug, which felt a little uncomfortable, given that he saw that person for the fourth or third time in his life. It made him more uncomfortable when she buried her face in his shoulder, her tears wetting the wool of his sweater.
Glen’s mouth was an inch above her ear as he held her. “Claire, I know it must be hard for you to get through this right now, but…why are you here?”
After several seconds of silence, Clarice slowly drew back, her hand on his shoulder.
“Because we both know that if you work for Owen Arlington there’s a variety of bad things that can happen to you,” she said.
“I uh…” Glen stood up from the couch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Glen, please. I’ve heard enough about him to know what that person is.” Claire spoke with evident incredulity in her voice, as if Glen were a child trying to convince his mother that he wasn’t guilty of whatever she was accusing him of. “But you have personally seen him do things that conceived all those rumors.”
“It’s one thing calling him a monster and another saying that he has something to do with Ben’s disappearance.”
“So he does have something to do with it?”
“Clarice, stop!” Glen snapped.
Having looked at her tear-stained face again, he relented.
“You gotta stop,” he said in a lower voice. “You’re putting yourself at risk by saying this to me.”
“Why? Because you’re too loyal to your boss?”
“Because you can’t trust anyone.”
“I know. That’s exactly why I’m here. Those assholes from APD keep repeating the same shit, but how can I trust them if I know the whole city is in Arlington’s pocket?”
“How do you know you can trust me?”
Glen started pacing around the room.
“You’re different,” Clarice said. “You’re capable of compassion.”
She didn’t know Glen well enough to know what he was capable of, but she was willing to say whatever it took to get the truth out of him. If she had decided to pay a visit to Morgan or Luis first, she would’ve said the exact same thing.
You’re not like the others. You’re compassionate. You’re kind. You’re better than you think. Tell me the goddamn truth.
“What if you’re wrong about me?” Glen said.
Clarice dropped her head. “What more could I lose?”
She wiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand and stared at Glen for a while.
“I know Ben is not the easiest person to get along with,” Clarice said. “I know sometimes he can be a little...reckless, and that time when he punched that dealer...”
“Punched? He nearly killed him.”
Ben apparently hadn’t told his wife she was one of the subjects over which the confrontation had taken place.
“That means Arlington had a reason to…”
“To what?” Glen asked.
“To punish him.” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands.
Glen sat back on the couch, remembering to keep his distance. He went on without even looking at her.
“You have to understand something. Whatever you think, whatever you assume, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s a waste of your nerves.”
“I have the right to know what happened to my husband.”
She straightened up and forced Glen to look into her eyes. For a while there, they both felt as if their conversation continued without words. Clarice spoke with despair in her eyes. Glen spoke with excessive indifference on his face, behind which a sense of guilt was hiding.
“I’m begging you,” Clarice said as if to underscore her despair.
She put her head on his lap, sobbing, an act that made Glen burn with hatred. He knew what she was doing. Glen wasn’t a chunk of ice Clarice was intending to crack. He was the ice she was intending to melt. No matter how guilty he felt, he wouldn’t let it work. If it were that easy, Glen wouldn’t have kept his place by the devil for as long as he had.
“I don’t know what happened to Ben, Claire,” he said. “I wish I did.”
He was stroking her hair when all of a sudden her sobs stopped.
“Liar,” Clarice said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You do know what happened to him, you’re a… You’re a fucking coward,” she hissed as she raised her head from his lap. “You’re scared even to think of what Arlington would do to you if you showed him any sign of disloyalty.”
Although her abrupt change of attitude filled Glen with boiling rage, he made an effort to keep his voice steady.
“It’s called common sense. If Ben had it, who knows, maybe you wouldn’t be here tonight.”
“Fuck you!” Clarice cried. Her voice dropped the same second. “You know, I think you were right. I’m putting myself at risk by being here tonight, but you’re putting yourself at risk by having me over. What do you think Arlington would take it as?”
Glen squinted at her in confusion.
“Was that a threat?” he asked.
“Whatever you name it. All I’m saying is I wouldn’t need you to tell me anything to make him believe that you did.”
“If that’s the way you wanna play it, here’s what I have to tell you.” Glen cleared his throat. “You’re still in my house, and your chances of reaching the front door before I could wring your fragile, little neck are very, very small. And the chances of me actually doing that are increasing with every second because we both know it’s the surest way to keep someone’s mouth shut. Keep saying something like that, and you’ll learn that my compassion has limits.”
Clarice was looking at him with her lower lip trembling. Glen could clearly see a struggle between fear and anger on her face. Clarice was trying hard to balance those two feelings out, but eventually anger prevailed. Clarice took an abrupt swing of her hand. Glen caught it right before it could land on his cheek. Squeezed in his massive hand, her wrist looked like a thin tree branch. It would take nothing to break it. Clarice felt the firmness of his hand and the dead cold in his eyes.
Her anger was subsiding, giving way to fear. She was very apprehensive of his next move. Good. Glen truly, sincerely, wanted her to be afraid of him at that moment. They kept their eyes on each other until a doorbell broke in. It was almost one in the morning.
Glen looked at Clarice like she might have something to do with it but couldn’t find in her face anything other than intimidation. He let go of her hand and went to the kitchen. The window there looked out on the left side of the front porch, providing a good view of all unexpected visitors. The doorbell rang again when Glen was peeking through a narrow gap between the curtains. For some reason, a part of him had foreseen that Owen Arlington was there before he actually saw him. As if the devil were everywhere. As if he knew when he was talked about or thought of.
In the feeble front porch light, Arlington looked older than his age, or maybe it was his ruffled look that added a few years. Owen looked like he’d hopped out of bed the second Clarice had mentioned his name. He had a wrinkled, plaid coat on that looked like the first bedcover he had grabbed to wrap around himself, his hair tousled.
The lights in the kitchen were off, but they still glowed in the living room. Glen quietly hurried out of the kitchen, approached Clarice, and leaned in so his face was a few inches away from hers.
“You might wanna find a way to fuck me over,” he said in a whisper. “But don’t forget you can’t do it without fucking yourself over. Do you think Arlington would let you be, knowing that you suspect him of being involved in whatever you think he’s involved in? You think he would leave you alive, knowing that you’re working your way through proving that?”
“What the fuck are you…”
Clarice maintained a casual tone, which Glen found too loud under the circumstances. He instantly put the palm of one hand on her mouth and the index finger of the other on his lips.
“He’s right there,” he went on whispering. “You’re free to do whatever you want, but think about the consequences.”
Glen grabbed Clarice by the hand and led her out of the living room to the hallway. He opened the hall closet, inviting her in.
“Quick. Now,” he whispered.
Clarice hesitated in front of the closet until Arlington began to press the doorbell with more insistence. She reluctantly climbed into the darkness, watching Glen close her inside. Glen snapped on the light switch, and yellow stripes of the hallway light fell upon her through the slats in the closet doors.
She could hear him open the front door now.
Glen: “Owen? What is it?”
A brief silence.
The devil: “We need to talk.”
Glen: “Talk…like right now?”
The devil: “I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Glen: “Yeah, but isn’t it a little late?”
The devil: “I’m sorry, it can’t wait any longer.”
Glen: “Um… Okay, come on in.”
Through the slats, Clarice could see the features of the devil’s face floating by as Glen was leading him to the living room. In that instant, she felt like breaking out of the closet and sinking her teeth into the motherfucker’s throat, but she knew Glen was right. She had to think about the consequences.
Clarice lost sight of Glen and Arlington. Only two low voices indicated their presence now.
The devil: “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”
Glen: “What?”
The devil: “I saw a Ford parked out front.”
Clarice held her breath. She pretty much expected Glen to start mumbling something incoherent.
Glen: “Oh, I got it for a test drive from Novak. You can really dig some good stuff out of his junk.”
Not a second of hesitation, Clarice thought. He’s not just a liar. He’s a good liar.
Although she didn’t know that, half of what Glen had said was true. You could dig some good stuff out of Novak’s junk. Ben Elliot had. He had gotten this car from Novak for almost nothing a year and a half ago, unregistered—that was the main reason he had needed it at the time. A little while later, the car had proved useless, and Ben had given it to his wife. The Ford was still in good shape, and Clarice was a very careful driver. Only once had she gotten in trouble over the registration plate that turned out to identify a non-existent owner. Ben had settled it quickly.
The devil: “Are you gonna keep it?”
Glen: “I don’t know. Chevy’s falling apart, so I’ll think about it.”
The devil: “A new one would be better, don’t you think?”
Glen: “New can’t beat cheap.”
A light chuckle.
The devil: “Right.”
Clarice caught herself thinking that he sounded too nice, too polite for the person dubbed the devil.
Glen: “What did you wanna talk about?”
A deep breath, followed by a prolonged silence.
Glen: “Jesus, Owen, what happened?”
The devil: “Glen, I want you to quit.”
Glen: “Quit? Quit like…what? Smoking? Driving above speed limits?”
The devil: “I want you to quit the business.”
Glen: “Did I do something wrong?”
The devil: “You did, but unfortunately it’s not something you can fix.”
Another prolonged silence.
Glen: “After so many years, you finally made up your mind. I wonder what she did to make you do this.”
The devil: “Reminded me of my duties as her husband. Jane’s right. I can’t keep saying how much she means to me and do nothing to live up to it. You’re the most reliable person I have, Glen, but I have to do this because I’m tired of wavering between my business and my personal life.”
Glen: “I think you simply decided you don’t need me anymore. Now that things are as stable as they could be, you think you can handle everything on your own. You haven’t heard of Whitney in years. APD no longer bugs you. Nobody will mess with you.”
The devil: “The truth is, out of everyone who works for me, you’re the one I truly need. It’s priceless to have someone who can handle any task you give them. I’m doing this because that’s the least I can do for her.”
Glen: “We had more than enough time to settle this.”
The devil: “Yet, it has never been settled, and the fact I had to wait for so long makes it worse for everyone.”
A heavy sigh.
Glen: “If I could go back in time and change everything, I would, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I really am. Is this not enough for you?”
