In This Savage Garden

By R.C. Lemos

Baylor Ambrose was sixteen years old when his father died.

The police took him into custody before ruling the death a suicide.

Baylors now twenty-nine. He has a beautiful, if older, new wife, a daughter from one of her previous marriages, a great job and a child on the way. An ideal life.

But now Baylor is beginning to feel motivated to become the driving force in terminating those he feels are responsible for his fathers demise. Murder has, in fact, become quite commonplace in his life. How else do you write closure to an event so catastrophic that it altered your entire life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 1, 2002
• ISBN: 9781462831944

R.C. Lemos

R. C. Lemos was born, raised and lives today in the San Francisco Bay Area. He is a business owner as well as having been a freelance journalist for the past twenty years. A creative writing major from the University of California at Hayward, his first novel, Lonely Junctions, was published by Xlibris in 2000.

Book preview

1     

HE PARKED THE car against the curb and turned off the motor. He was a bit early but decided to wait. Poor Theresa. When his friend Celia had come over to tell him of her death, he had tried not to show his shock, but he was. Theresa had died of stomach cancer. While he had been aware it was terminal, he was still stunned at the death of this once vibrant woman. Theresa had never mentioned the disease to him. Not directly, anyway. She just assumed he knew, he supposed. He would see her on the street, stop to talk to her, and they would always skirt the subject of her illness. Except once. Mutual friends had told him she was not reacting well to the chemotherapy, and when he saw her that last time she expressed her decision about further treatments to him.

I have decided I hate being sick, she said. So I’m not having anymore treatments. She had adjusted the knit cap on her head that covered her nearly bald skull. "It makes me feel so sick. And not to know if it is making me any better? I don’t want this feeling anymore. So I will not allow them to do those things to me again.

I’m altering my diet and praying to God, she had said. That will work."

About six months later, she had died. Theresa had gotten real sick. She had given her beloved pets away in preparation for the end. She spent the last two months straightening her home and labeling her belongings. Then she contacted a cancer hospice to take care of her until the end.

Theresa had no family. Her father had died before she turned three. She was in her early forties when she came home from work one evening and found the body of her mother, dead in her garden. She had never married and had no children of her own. No brothers or sisters. Her father’s only brother lived back on the East Coast but, except for the yearly Christmas card, they had lost touch over twenty years ago. In fact, the last time they had spoken was when she contacted him by phone to tell him of her mother’s death. He had sent flowers. FTD.

Sam got out of the car, locked it, and began walking down the block to the mortuary. He could see a van in the front of the chapel and disabled people being removed from it and placed in their wheelchairs. Going to pay their last respects to Theresa.

He looked down as he continued to walk. Black shoes. He smiled. Theresa had always commented about the tennis shoes and white socks he always wore. When he had told her he was going to his 25th high school reunion, she had warned him to dump the tennies and get a pair of real shoes. When the reunion was over and he met up with her again, he told her what a rotten time he’d had. She looked at him and had asked why. He told her he had remet a lot of people he’d thought were assholes back then and he just thought they were older assholes now. Also he had seen several friends he had liked but who had changed radically, and not for the better. She replied that he should have realized that everyone grows up and changes, and while not all changes were what we’d think were for the better, as long as that person was happy or content with their lives who were we to say differently? She told him it was natural for people to grow and, in growing, grow apart. At that time he had only smiled at her. He never corrected Theresa, not even when he felt she was wrong.

Sam opened the front door to the mortuary and walked in. To either side of him were entranceways to rooms. Plaques on the wall by the doorways denoted the name of the remains in that room. Theresa was in the third room to his right. He signed the registry book and walked inside. Save for the eight or nine handicapped people and a couple others, the room was empty. He walked up the aisle and knelt in front of the wooden, closed casket. He folded his hands in prayer and closed his eyes. He tried to mentally remember what Theresa looked like. A couple of minutes later he rose and walked back toward the middle of the chapel, where he sat alone in one of the pews.

The room was very icy. Not just cold, but icy. An empty feeling swept across him. The family pew was empty. No sorrowful background music. No flowers. Few mourners. He did not understand. Theresa was a loner, but he himself had called several people who knew her and told them of her passing.

Tony had said he and his wife Hannah had ran into Theresa on the street about two months ago. He’d tell Hannah, but right now she was vacationing with her friend Joanne in Lake Tahoe. Gregg, an insurance salesman as well as a mutual friend, said he remembered Theresa as a nice lady, but he hadn’t insured her or seen her in over a dozen years. others vaguely remembered her, but their awareness came back when he had reminded them of her mother’s somewhat unusual death several years previously. How sad a life, to be remembered only because of another’s passing.

A woman went up to the podium and spoke of Theresa. Nothing about her specifically or anything that couldn’t have been applied to thousands of others. Her being God’s daughter. How God had called her back home to be with Him. Things like that. Then she began to recite the rosary, saying it almost like she was an actress in a stage play. His mind wandered during this, but it wasn’t on thoughts of Theresa.

He’d be fifty on his next birthday, yet he was still alone. It was as he had chosen to live his life. He never wanted the incumberment of a family around him. So when his relationships reached the point of commitment, he shied away. He kept all people at a distance. When they got too close and he hadn’t terminated the relationship, when he did it hurt too much. So he made sure no one got close. While he made friends easily, he never invited them into his inner circle of one. Nothing that involved him having to be with other people interested him, so he pushed them away before they started to get close.

After the woman finished he stood and, smiling to Celia as he passed her, he exited the room and the mortuary. He went back to his car, and drove to work. He parked in the rear and entered through the back. Gretchen was behind the counter. She looked at him.

How was the service? she asked.

Nice, I guess. Small. He looked around the empty aisles of his convience store. No customers yet? Gretchen shook her head.

only a couple high school punks trying to buy cigarettes. And Porter came in to see you. Porter had worked for him for about six months but left when questioned as to why the register kept coming up short on his shift, and why there were so many voided transactions during his hours. He preferred not to explain anything and had quit on the spot.

What did he want? Sam asked Gretchen.

Didn’t really say. Just to talk to you, I guess. Anyway, he asked me to tell you he would be coming in to see you soon.

Probably wanted to see what else he could steal. He went around to the front of the counter and began to rack some new candies. Kids will love these. Shaped like a Superhero. Six flavors. All taste like crap. Gretchen grinned.

I know, kids will eat anything. She paused. You never told me what happened with Porter.

"It’s just not something I felt too comfortable talking about. I knew he was having monetary problems, so I wasn’t really surprised. The cash register was always short. I asked him to explain what was happening. He didn’t. Wanted to quit instead. He did. Better for the both of us, I guess. Anyway, I didn’t accuse him of anything and besides, if he still worked here I wouldn’t have met you.

Celia is right. You do know all the right things to say. He

smiled.

I guess. He started to tear up the now empty carton the candies had been shipped in. You know, I didn’t know Theresa all that well. I mean, we only talked in the store when she came in and when we ran into each other on the street. I never thought about her at all unless she was right in front of me. But today was really a sad day for me. I can’t explain it. Maybe it was because there were so few people there. I don’t know.

You shouldn’t take that to mean people don’t care. They’re just busy, that’s all.

Busy? Oh, really? When my father died, there were over 300 people at his service, and he was a noted asshole.

I don’t know how to answer that, she said hesitantly.

Theresa was always a happy person. So vivacious. Alive. Carefree. I guess because she decided not to get married, she died alone. That’s not right. She was a cool person. I know I hope I’m not alone too much longer. Just can’t seem to meet someone, and I’m not getting any younger, you know.

How old was Theresa? 48.

Tell you what sweetie, if you aren’t married when you turn 48, I’ll marry you. He grinned.

48 was last year, deary.

Oh! Gretchen grabbed her sweater and threw it over her shoulders. I’ve gotta go. Told my mother I’d be over to see her as soon as you got back.

Thanks for opening the store for me, Gem.

I didn’t mind. Really. Anytime. He tried to give her a ten-dollar bill. She shook her head. I didn’t come in for money, you know. He went to one of the shelves and removed a pint of apricot brandy. He handed it to her.

Give this to your mom then.

Groovy! she took the bottle from his hand. I will. Thank you. She walked out the front door, got in her Mazda, and exited the parking lot. About twenty minutes later a young man in his early twenties came in.

Pack of Winston, he said. Box.

Sam got up off the stool. Sure, but I need to see an ID.

An ID? You gotta be kidding me. The man fumbled for his wallet, as Sam shook his head.

Law now says unless you look at least 27, I have to ask for an ID. You look to me about 23 or 24, so I have to see it. He handed Sam the driver’s license. After looking at the birthdate, Sam handed it back to him. That’s $3.27, he said, ringing up the sale. The guy gave him four ones and two pennies. After putting the money into the register, he handed him his change. Sorry for the inconvenience, but the state’s really cracking down on us little stores.

That’s okay. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I know California laws suck big time. It’s just stupid. I mean, 27? Come on, we all know kids are gonna smoke law or no law. Right? Sam shrugged his shoulders.

I suppose. Want a bag? He shook his head, taking the pack and putting it in his coat pocket.

No, thanks, but you got any matches? Sam took a book from under the counter and handed it to him. Thanks. You know this is a pretty nice little store. Kinda isolated, though. Ever been robbed?

No, thank God, Sam looked into his eyes as he answered.

You’re lucky. Unusual nowadays.

I guess. But we’re just a small family store. The neighbors look out for us. There’s a home for the partially disabled across the way and several of the residents asked us if we would start carrying bread and milk for them so they wouldn’t have to go so far to get them. We started doing it, primarily as a favor to them, and business really picked up. The neighbors started considering us a friend of the community, rather than a store that sold their kids bad things. We prospered from there. I guess they consider us more a part of their lives than just a store so they watch out for us. The man extended his hand to Sam.

My name’s Dalton. I just moved into the Towers down the street. The management told me to come here. You do have a nice rep. Sam grinned.

Hmm … nice rep? Must be doing something right. I do try to listen to our customers and stock what they want. I had put in a couple of video games and an iced drink machine a while back, and while they did well for us, the customers didn’t like coming in here when all the kids were shouting and running around. So I took the machines out.

You’re the owner then?

Guilty as charged.

I’m gonna bring Bevlyn in to meet you. Bevlyn’s my lady. She lives with me right now. Oh.

Do I detect disapproval in your voice?

No, no, not at all.

I just think it’s time for me to be settling down, and Bevlyn is in my life right now, so why not just give it a try?

Why not, indeed. Well, if it works for you. He looked at Dalton. If there is a special brand of something you want, just ask me. I can’t promise we’ll always carry it, but I’ll give it a shot. Dalton put a quarter into the plastic cup that held donations for Jerry’s Kids.

Nice meeting you … he said.Sam.

Sam. Yeah. See ya, Sam Dalton walked out the door and back to his car. Sam slid back onto the stool, and turned his attention toward the television screen, continuing to watch Oprah.

At 10 PM he closed and locked the front door. He Z’d out the register, counted the days take, put the money in an envelope in his pocket, set the alarm, and then left. He stopped at the grocery store, purchased his frozen dinner, and then went home. When he got to his apartment, he entered it, checked his answering machine for messages, then put the dinner in the microwave. After setting the timer on it, he walked over to the television, turned it on, and went and sat on the couch. He picked up his VCR remote, turned on the unit, and began to play back the tape that was in it from where he stopped it the night before. It was one of those television movies he liked, loosely based on fact, about how a woman could tell the police about murders that had been committed, yet she had never been involved in them. The tape began from where she had just been picked up on charges of a double homicide, but he knew that during the trial they would find her to be either clairvoyant or retarded, but with a special sense. She would be released, with the murderer still at large, and would triumph in the final scene, where the killer came after her, and she killed him. Still, Sam thought, this was better then most of the silly sitcom stuff today. When the microwave beeped, Sam got up, removed the dinner and took it, along with a utensil, back to the couch.

Later, the film having ended, Sam picked up the empty food container, put it in the kitchen sink, and then went upstairs to bed. Once in bed, he put on his reading glasses and tried to concentrate on the book he was reading, a true crime novel about two teenage brothers who had killed their parents, yet were able to live in the same house for three years before anyone suspected something was amiss. But he couldn’t get involved in the story. Not tonight. So after ten minutes, he put the book back on the nightstand, took off his glasses, shut off the lamp, and lay there thinking about Theresa.

She had been just 48 years old. Old? That’s not old, he thought. That was a year younger than himself. He wondered if at night when she was alone in bed, she had ever felt a void in her life. Maybe she tried to satisfy herself before she slept. Or was she already content with what her daily existence had become? He put his hand under his underwear and tried to get satisfaction. When it didn’t come quickly, he got up, went to the bathroom, washed his hands, and took a sleeping pill. Then he went back to bed, and fell asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

The next day, at about 10 am, he was sliding the iron gates open across the storefront when Dalton came up.

Here, let me help you, Dalton said, sliding the gate all the way to the right.

Thanks. Sam unlocked the door, unset the alarm, and turned on the lights. He walked behind the counter.

What time do you open anyway? Dalton asked.

About ten am.

Don’t you miss the early morning paper and coffee crowd?

I work from ten to ten. That’s long enough of a day. If I miss $20.00 by not opening at seven … too bad.

So you work here alone?

Most of the time. I do have a real nice lady who comes in and works several hours a week. But primarily this is a one man operation. He wiped down the counter. So, what’ll it be?

Another pack of Winston. Sam handed him the pack. Need to see my ID again?

Sam shook his head. No longer necessary. So, you and Bevlyn all settled in?

Not quite. The apartment’s not as large as it seemed when you get all your stuff in there.

They never are. He handed the cigarette package to Dalton. $3.27. He handed Sam the money all in coin and in the correct amount. That’s neat, he said putting it into the register. And so early in the morning, too. Appreciate the exact change.

I didn’t wanna hit ya with a twenty. That’s the only thing that comes out of the ATM’s.

Sam smiled as he closed the drawer on the cash register.

Do you have any Dentyne? the young man asked Chuck as he entered the living room.

Chuck shook his head no. I’m going to the store after this show is over and I’ll pick you up some if you want. He was watching Days of Our Lives on television. You should have gotten a pack when you were out this morning, though.

Forgot. The guy picked up his jacket. I’m heading out again. I’ll see ya tomorrow maybe. He got to the door and looked back at Chuck, his hand positioned on the doorknob. I took the ten spot off your dresser, he said as he opened the door. Didn’t think you’d mind.

Whatever, Chuck sighed, though he seemed to be concentrating on the television program. After the door shut, he lay back on the couch and put his hands to his face. Why must it always be this way? Then he got up and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. He made the water hot, almost scalding, and he entered the tub and stood under it. Though the water was hot enough to burn his skin, he began to lather his body with the soap, as tears began to fall.

I guess I deserve this, he sniffed aloud. Then the tears flowed freely, as he lay back against the wall, the water now not hitting his body, but almost going directly down the drain. He was staring at the swirling water, which reminded him of that scene in PSYCHO, when he thought he heard a noise. He looked outside the opened bathroom door and saw another image in the bedroom mirror.

It was a few minutes after ten when Sam locked the door and left to go home. It had been a slow day, and the money he was taking showed it. He stopped off at the grocery store, selected his frozen dinner, and then went home. He placed the dinner in the microwave, and went into the living room. Picking up the remote control, he snapped on the television. He began to channel surf and was still trying to find something to watch, when the buzzer on the microwave went off. He put down the remote and went in to get his dinner out of it. He ate the meal over the sink, then threw the plate into the garbage. He looked at the clock. It was now past eleven. He had to go to bed. Had to get up early in the morning and go to the bank before opening the store.

I’ve got to get a life, he said as he climbed into bed. Maybe they have one on sale at Wal-Mart. He snapped off the lamp on the nightstand, laid down on his side, and fell fast asleep.

Chuck locked the inside bolt chain. The young man hadn’t come back, of course, even though he had snuck back in and took more money off of his dresser. But he hadn’t really expected him to return. Still, Chuck was still a little down about it. He turned out the lights in the living room and went into the bedroom. The signs of head imprints were still on the pillows and Chuck preferred it that way. It made him feel less of a total looser. Of course, the bed was still unmade also.

The next day, in the early afternoon, Chuck walked into Sam’s store.

Hey! said Sam, looking up from the television and grinning broadly. Chuck approached the counter. Haven’t seen you in almost a week. How are things?

Just great, thanks. Sam, you know that book you recommended to me last week?

The true crime one?

Yea. That was fantastic! I finished it last night. So, got anymore good ones like that?

Course I do. Let me point a couple out to you. He rose from the stool he was sitting on, walked around the counter and over to the paperback rack. Lots of the true crime stuff sucks, he said. So ya gotta be careful. Find a company that puts out good ones, then stick with them. He started turning the rack.

Please … nothing on O. J., Chuck stated. I’m still sick of that thing.

Makes two of us.

My father is a detective in L. A., but he didn’t work the O. J. case, thank God. Heard too much about it when it was going on, though. At least they can’t blame the old man for fucking it up.

How about this one? Sam pulled out a thick white book. It’s real intriguing stuff. Happened in the early 80’s in Seattle. The police knew who was doing the crimes, but continued to let it happen until they could get enough hard evidence on the guy. Then the mother tried to hire some hit man to get the people who put her son in jail. Crazy case, but good reading. Chuck took the book from Sam and flipped it open, looking at the photo section.

Looks good to me. And if it’s half as good as you say it is, I’m sure I’ll like it. I’ll take it. Sam went behind the counter and rang it up.

$6.95 plus tax. That comes to $7.52. He put the book into a small bag and gave it to Chuck after taking the money from him.

He placed the bills in the register and gave Chuck his change. You must do a lot of reading, he said. That last one was pretty thick.

I’m kinda on vacation right now.

Kinda on vacation? How is someone kinda on vacation?

He hates his job. Goes on hiatus, or a leave of absence, whatever you want to call it. And takes some time for himself.

Wish I could do that. Anyway, if you want to read a good series of novels, you might want to try TALES FROM THE CITY. It’s six volumes, and fiction, but great! Chuck smiled at him.

Read the first two already. The TV shows got me hooked. He turned to leave, but hesitated. Oh, I want a pack of Dentyne, too, I guess. He gave Sam two quarters and picked up a package of the gum and placed it in his pocket. Thanks. See ya. He walked out of the store and over to his car. Sam sat back down on the stool and went back to watching television. About an hour later, Celia rode into the store in her wheelchair.

Hi, Sam! she called out.

Hey, Celia. Sam turned on the stool to face her. How’s my girl today?

She wheeled up to the counter Oh, I’m okay, but I’ve been better.

What’s wrong?

Maude is leaving today. Maude was her caretaker.

Leaving? Why? You guys get along great!

I know. But Maude was sick and missed a lot of work, so the agency I use let her go.

Will someone else be there to help you?

Well, I’m okay until next weekend, but then I will be alone for two days. The thing is if I need help or fall out of my chair, I can’t even pull the emergency cord to have someone come help me. The owners disconnect it after 5pm on weekdays. They don’t want to pay anyone overtime.

Why don’t you complain to the manager?

I can’t. We have no manager. They say that they are looking for one, but we haven’t had a manager now for over four months.

She smiled at him. But I’ll be okay. I’m going to try and find another agency though.

I know the city has something to do with Simmons Lodge. They probably don’t know what’s going on. Why don’t you let me write the city councilman for the area?

That’s okay. I don’t want to cause any trouble. They might want me to leave.

I don’t have to use your name you know. I can write a letter as a concerned business owner from this area. Just let me know if you want me to.

All right, I will. She smiled again at him. I saw you at Miss. Theresa’s service. It was nice. He nodded.

Nice and small. Her family didn’t even show up.

Well, she only had an uncle and he arranged everything by phone. Had her cremated. Don’t know where the ashes are. He’s selling her house, too!

He didn’t even come out? Celia shook her head.

No. I heard that he said he hadn’t seen her since way before her mother died, so he wasn’t coming out here to bury her. To me that was a terrible thing to not do. She adjusted herself in her chair. I have to leave now and go to the bank.

What do you need at the bank?

A roll of quarters to do my laundry. Sam went over to his safe and opened it.

I have an extra roll I can sell you, then you don’t have to go to the bank.

Good. But it’s okay if you don’t. He leaned over the counter and put the roll in her purse. Thanks.

Do you want me to put that on your bill? he asked. She smiled again.

Yeah. If you can. I’ll pay you on the fifth after I get my check.

No problem. You just take care of yourself. Celia turned the wheelchair around and motored to the door. Dalton was walking in. He held the door open for her as she wheeled out. That was nice, Sam said. What’ll it be today?

A liter of Hawaiian Punch, some maraschino cherries, whipped cream, Oreo cookies and Hershey’s chocolate syrup. Sam went from behind the counter and picked up the goods. He placed them in a bag as he rang the prices up on the register.

Looks like someone’s got cravings. Dalton smiled.

Bev’s pregnant.

First time?

Yep. Six months along. This move was hard on her.

Where’d you guys come from?

Not that far. About twenty miles. Just moved over here from Berkeley.

Went to school there.

Me, too. But I work out in this area now, and the commute was becoming a drag. So when I knocked Bev up and she quit her job, we decided to move over here. Sam took the twenty-dollar bill from him and, after putting it into the register, gave Dalton his change. Thanks.

Thank you.

Bev said to say hello to you.

Really? I don’t remember ever meeting her. Dalton looked quizzically at Sam.

She came in here shortly after we moved. Before I did, actually. Said you and she struck up quite a conversation.

Hmm. I don’t remember that, but then I do see a lot of people here.

And you are nice to all of them?

I try to be, but sometimes you just don’t want them to come back, you know?

Yea. I get that feeling at work, too. I have to deal with the public. I sell cars. He looked at Sam. I’m thinking of asking Bev to marry me. You know, with the baby coming and all.

Well, just because she’s pregnant is no reason to get married. He paused. Live here all your life?

Mostly. I graduated from Oakland Tech in ‘91.

That when you got into selling cars?

Yea. My dad’s friend got me a job there right after graduation. Been there almost eight years already.

Long time to stay at a first job.

Well, my first job out of school anyway.

What did you major in?

At Oakland Tech? Electronics, what else?

And now you sell cars.

I know. Go figure.

So, what high school did you go to?

One of the ones in Berkeley. The pager hanging from his beltloop went off. Without looking at it, he glanced at his watch. Damn. The lady calls. Told her I’d be right back, too. Well, I gotta go before she kills me. She wants her stuff! He picked the bag off the counter and walked to the door. I’ll talk at you later.

Bye. And thanks. Sam sat back down on the stool and looked at the television. A commercial for the new Tom Hanks film was on. Dalton, he thought, seemed somehow familiar to him. Yet he didn’t know why. The rest of the day went by quickly, and at about 7 PM Chuck walked in.

Hello, again, greeted Sam, as Chuck approached the counter. "You couldn’t possible have finished that book yet unless you’re a speed