The Haunted

“Don’t give me that commie crap.”

“Do you want to know why we’re really on the hook for those pensions? Because the stock market went south, and brokerage firms pawned off toxic assets to pension fund managers, promising that they were good investments, and everyone got screwed. The pension funds lost their money due to fraud and deception, and now taxpayers are on the hook for it. That’s why those executives and Wall Street types are so rich. They just take the money and let everyone else fight over the crumbs.”

“Good point,” Julian whispered.

“And, of course,” Cole continued, “they want to eliminate retirement systems and Social Security and have everyone gamble their retirement money on the stock market—which is exactly what got us into this mess in the first place.”

Rick’s face was getting red with anger. Sensing trouble, Claire dispatched Julian to defuse the situation. “Your friend,” she said. “You take care of him.”

She watched with more than a little admiration as he did just that, walking between the two men and deftly changing the subject to a mash-up YouTube video he’d recently seen featuring John Wayne, a supermodel and a condom ad. Seconds later, all three of them were laughing.

But the mood of the party seemed to have shifted, and Claire was not quite sure why. She turned back toward the living room. The light, friendly tone that had dominated the gathering until now was gone, replaced by an edgier, more competitive vibe. Even the background music seemed darker, although she knew that Julian had not changed CDs.

Refilling her wineglass for the umpteenth time, Felicia, the bank teller, asked about the upstairs—perfunctorily, Claire thought—and, putting a smile on her face, Claire took her up to see the kids’ bedrooms and Julian’s office. An older man she didn’t know was standing in James’s room, staring intently at the boy’s bed in a way that made her feel very uncomfortable. She wanted to order him out of her son’s room and out of her house, but she forced herself to be polite and give the guy the benefit of the doubt, and she asked pointedly, “May I help you?”

“No,” he said in a voice that implied he was offended by her very presence. He turned and, without another word, walked past her and Felicia, out of the room, down the hall and down the stairs.

“What the hell … ?” Claire said.

Felicia shrugged noncommittally, and Claire quickly pointed to and identified each of the rooms before ushering the other woman back downstairs.

She searched for the man unsuccessfully in the hall, dining room and living room. The front door was wide-open, and she peered outside before closing it, seeing the back of the man’s jacket as he headed down the sidewalk. Who was he? she wondered. Was he one of their neighbors? Had he even been invited to the party or had he just crashed? She considered hurrying after him, confronting him, but he was already gone and it was night, and the idea of meeting up with him in the dark frightened her.

She closed the door, locking it so no one from outside could come in.

Claire looked for Julian, but he was nowhere to be found. In fact, much of the party had moved outside, to the backyard, and she walked through the kitchen and out the open door to the patio, hoping to find him somewhere in the crowd. Quite a few people were out here, but most of them were standing around silently or speaking desultorily in low, enervated voices. One man she didn’t recognize was sitting on the ground, head between his knees as though he were about to throw up, atop the bare mound of dirt where James had covered up his hole. In the garage, by contrast, the lights were on, and through the dirty window she saw a couple energetically dancing, though the music from the house was not audible out here. From the alley, she could hear the sound of someone rooting around in their garbage cans.

“Julian!” she called out, but there was no answer. None of the people in the backyard even bothered to look over at her.

Where was he?

Claire was about to walk over to the garage, just in case he was in there with the dancers, when a tap on the shoulder caused her to turn around.

It was Janet.

“Do you know what’s going on in there?” Janet motioned toward the kitchen doorway.

Claire was confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Come here,” her friend said, grabbing her hand. Janet led her back into the house and through the kitchen, stopping before the open doorway that led to the basement. From downstairs came a series of rough male grunts accompanied by a woman’s high-pitched cries.

“I don’t know who they are, but it’s been going on for a while,” Janet whispered. “That guy lasts,” she added. “I’m getting sore just listening to him.”

“That is not right,” Claire said angrily. “That’s where we store our stuff. The kids’ toys are down there.” The lights in the basement were off, but she turned them on with the wall switch, and, fists clenched, stomped down the steps.

It was Pam. And her husband, Joe.

Only they weren’t together.