Addition by Subtraction

By Yashna Jalan

Sometimes you just have to move on and leave the corpses behind.

That’s the logical thing to do. The smart thing to do. So we’re in another city. San Antonio. Maths professors are always in demand at universities. For some reason. Probably the pay. And it isn’t a glamorous profession. In maths, you get the feeling that something is reliable. Solid. The rules of how numbers work will not abandon you. People leave. People you love.

**************

Dr James Morgan groaned as he looked around the small flat. The entryway and living room were still crammed with boxes. Some were open, but an alarming majority were taped shut. They seemed to glare at him.

“Dad,” a voice yelled from one of the bedrooms.

James surveyed the walls and the floors. Clean. The eggshell-white walls and wood flooring created a sense of more space than there was. The large windows opened to reveal a clear view of the playground across the road. He could hear children screaming and yelling, clearly having a more enjoyable time than he was.

“Dad!”

James snapped out of his trance and dashed down the corridor. A young girl stood in one of the bedrooms, palms on her hips, peering into a box.

“Cassandra. Don’t yell. It's unsuitable for a young lady." James walked into the room, pushed his spectacles up against his nose, and looked at his daughter.

“Sorry, dad, but you weren’t answering. Anyway…I can’t find my table lamp. I'm sure I put it in this box.”

“I tossed it,” James said.

Cassandra looked up, frowning at her dad.

“It was old,” he explained.

“And it was mom's,” Cassandra said, steel in her voice.

“Nevertheless…”

“Dammit, dad! I needed that lamp,” Cassandra glared at her dad, but unlike the boxes, she didn’t do it in silence.

“Language!”

“English. Expletive.”

“Don’t be disrespectful, Cassandra. It isn’t…”

“Yeah. I know. Ladylike. Mom was ladylike, and would you believe where that got us?”

James had no choice but to agree with his daughter, even if he didn't like how she asserted a point more persuasively than he did. No thirteen-year-old girl should be capable of doing such a thing to her father. Cassandra had done this since the divorce. Since the problems with the police.

“I already got you a new one. It's in one of the living room boxes.”

“Which one?” Cassandra looked at him evenly. What she was thinking was difficult to decipher. James had little experience with girls Cassandra’s age; he dealt with those struggling through linear algebra and complex analysis. They were dedicated girls, women in fact, who never spoke back to him. James held out his arms and shrugged. The boxes were defeating him.

“"I'll order pizza, and you can go look for your lamp," James explained.

Cassandra felt a pang of remorse as she looked at her father. Police had questioned him extensively about a string of three murders. All of the victims, if you could identify them as that, were reputed child predators.  The experience had made him smaller, somehow. And he always looked tired.

“I’ll order it, dad. Go sit down. I’ll get you a beer”. Cassandra walked over to the fridge and skillfully popped the top off the beer, passing it to her father. Before placing an order for the pizza, she stroked his receding locks and kissed his cheek.

**************

“It’s addition by subtraction, dad,” Cassandra said. The meal had been eaten in silence, which weighed heavily on James. What had he done? He and his young daughter were now about to start over in Texas.

“Wha...huh?” James had become engrossed in a dark examination of his life.

"When a negative value is subtracted from a quantity, in reality a positive value is added. Perhaps it's a mathematical property you're not aware of, Dr. Morgan." Cassandra said, laughing.

James smiled. It was a rare occurrence, but Cassandra seemed to have that ability to make him feel better than he should.

“I’m vaguely aware of it. But I don’t see…”

"Mom's departure was like subtracting a negative from your life. You'll be happier without her."

James looked at his daughter mournfully.

“And what about you?”

Cassandra set her pizza slice aside and drank three big gulps of soda. James winced. If he did that, he'd have heartburn for a week.

“The additive identity property, dad. Mom made herself nothing in my life when she left us, so it’s like adding zero. Nothing changes.”

James had a sad expression on his face as he looked at his daughter. What had he done to his lovely, sweet, and slightly rebellious daughter? Here she was, assigning a value of zero to her mother. Despite abandonment and separation, it shouldn't be this way. No girl should grow up without their mother, but Cassandra had no choice.

The father and daughter kept unpacking boxes and settling into their new home.  He turned on the new Guns and Roses album and said, “Look what Uncle Jack packed for you”. 

“He’s on the highway to hell”, Cassandra hums while picking up the next box. James being the stuffy old man doesn't pay mind to her words and assumes it's simply a reference to the lyrics.

It was nearly midnight when they decided to call it a night. Rather, James decided to stop and Cassandra went along with it. James had a sense that Cassandra was catering to him when it should have been the other way around. She played Mozart for him. She stopped when he stopped. This made him feel no better about his value as a father.

“Cass? I never asked you before, but…well…”

James stopped. He simply did not wish to know the answer. Being accused in three murders was already awful, but it would be even worse if his daughter believed he had something to do with them as well.

"I know you couldn't have done what the cops suspected you of, dad. Don't worry," Cassandra said as she chugged a Dr. Pepper and chomped on a bag of Cheetos. James had two thoughts at this moment: his daughter's choice of food was horrifying, and her demeanour matched her words. His only relief came from knowing that she really didn’t think he was the monster that the law enforcement authorities thought he was.

“I was the prime suspect, Cass. No getting around that,” James said. He bowed his head at the reminiscence of the same questions being asked by the cops, over and over. He gave the same answers, over and over. The experience left him questioning the things that life can throw at a man just trying to live a good life.

“Prime. Yes. Prime numbers have only two factors, both of which are unique. One and itself.”

James looked up at his daughter. She was done with her soda and chips and was looking for something else to eat. James presumed it would be similarly unfit for human consumption.

“Yes, Cassandra. Wonderful definition. I don’t see…”

“Two factors, dad. You were one. The other one is still out there. The real culprit.”

James sipped his coffee and looked at his daughter fondly. She was mature for her age, mentally as well as physically. The last part caused him some consternation. She had her first menstrual cycle three months ago, when all of the trouble started. He didn’t know how he was going to deal with all of this; he felt ill-equipped to talk to his daughter about feminine hygiene and…the other stuff. This thought triggered a rare outburst of anger towards Jessica, his ex-wife. She should be here, guiding and instructing her daughter as she grows into a woman. 

He regretted all the time he had missed. All those times where he dropped her off at Jack and Beatrice’s. At the time he thought it was for her own good to be around a family not as tainted as their own but looking back at her mood each and every time he picked her back up now made him doubt this decision of his. Maybe it was her seeing a perfect couple and then coming back to their broken home just dampened her mood. James couldn't exactly point out when the moments of silence overtook their moments of conversations to the point where there were only monosyllabic replies. She wanted to tell him something, but every time she would stop.  If only Jessica hadn’t left.

“You look at math differently than I do, Cassandra.”

Cassandra smiled at her dad. She had discovered a jar of salted peanuts and was currently working on reducing it by several grams. Another Dr. Pepper found its way down her throat. James envied his daughter's body’s acceptance of such vile food and drink. He used to be like that, so many years ago. Things change, however, and not all of those changes are physical. He had lost his faith in the essential goodness of man, the sanctity of marriage, and the belief that good will always triumph.

“Off to bed, old man. I need my beauty sleep, you know. Can’t start a new school looking like a hag,” Cassandra said. “Cassy, make sure you're on time. Uncle Jack is coming over for dinner tomorrow” James says while bending down to kiss her on the forehead. He stops midway and chooses to instead pat her on the back as she saunters off to bed, but not before grabbing an old copy of Thorn Bird to take up with her. James took this opportunity to drink another beer and feel guilty for something he didn’t want to do. It was becoming a tradition that would not be forgotten.

**************

It’s so easy to kill these monsters. One day, I stole a Taser from college. The college police are careless about discarding them on their desks and never lock their doors. When one of them went missing, it was never speculated to be me. Why would it be? Someone in my position is not considered a thief of such items.

The method. Simplicity itself, like most elegant things. Hit the guy with the Taser. Wrap him up in duct tape. Suffocate him with a bag over his face. The kind that leaves fingerprints you can't photograph. Done and done. They will not prey on someone else's daughter again. As someone I am very fond of once said, addition by subtraction.

**************

Officers discovered the man's body in his car on San Antonio's northeast side. He'd been taped up and suffocated with a heavy plastic bag. According to records, the victim was a registered child predator who had been in prison for fifteen years for abusing his niece. He had also been suspected in several other crimes of a similar nature, but not enough evidence had been found to convict him again.

“Can’t say I’m sorry to see this one go,” Officer Harrold said to his younger partner, Officer Smith. He chewed on his toothpick and stared at the puffy face, emotionless. Smith didn’t say anything.It was his first corpse, and it didn't go well with the burger and fries he just ate. They canvassed the neighborhood and asked questions. Except for one elderly man, no one saw anything. “Saw a kid get in the van with ‘im. Figured it was her dad. Or his. Couldn’t tell.” The elderly man smoked and drank beer while sitting on his couch. He seemed annoyed that the police were interfering with his midday routine.

“Can you describe the child, sir?” Smith asked this, opening his notebook.

“Yeah. A kid.”

The two police officers looked at each other. The older one smiled faintly.

“Anything else you could tell us about him or her? Approximate age? What he or she was wearing? Color of hair? Did he or she have a backpack?” Smith did as he had been taught at the police academy: ask specific questions.

“Sure. A young person with hair, clothes and a rucksack." The elderly man yelled at the cops. Harrold stood up, preparing to leave.

“Thank you, sir. I don’t think we’ll need any more from you. Appreciate your time,” he said.

The old man saw them to the door, slamming it behind them and throwing the two locks. The message was clear: you won’t get anything out of me. This told Harrold a few things. The old man saw the killer. The old man won’t give the killer up. And, perhaps most importantly, the victim was known to the residents of the neighborhood, and they were glad to see him dead. Nobody was going to say anything to them. Nobody did. They were fortunate to receive a civil reaction from any of their neighbours.

“What the hell, Harrold?” Smith asked the question, irritation in his voice. Smith wished to elicit further details from the elderly man. “He won’t say anything else, Smith. Nobody here will. Let it go. A very bad person is dead, which is our good luck. Now we won’t have to find some little girl dead in the greenbelts around here. I figure it’s a nice deal for us.”

“So that’s that?”

Harrold gave his partner a look that wasn’t seen very often. It was a shut-the-hell-up-and-listen-to-your-partner look.

“Yeah. Fine,” Smith huffed. But he went along with it. Blue is thicker than blood and water is thicker than water.

Over the course of the year, three more deaths of this exact nature occurred. After being Tased, recognised child predators were discovered suffocated. The public suspected that a rogue policeman did this. The police denied it. Dr. Morgan was eventually questioned by Harrold and Smith after they discovered that he had been a suspect in similar deaths in eastern Washington.

The interview was surprisingly short and desultory, with Harrold doing all of the talking. Had he seen anything unusual? Noticed anyone suspicious? OK, sir, thanks for your time.

“He did it, Harrold. You know he did it,” Smith said, fuming at Harrold’s lack of concern.

“I don’t give a damn if he did it or not. Them ones in Washington, either. Far as I’m concerned, he’s done us a favour and I’d give the man a damn medal if I could.”

“Besides, I don’t think he did it,” Harrold continued. “He ain’t the type. A good man, but not one who engages in such behaviour.  Hell, he’s a fat math professor with skinny arms. Ain’t no way he could subdue these people.”

“He could hit ‘em with a Taser first,” Smith said. Harrold nodded in agreement.

“Sure. But then what?When he puts the plastic bag over a man's head, is he going to watch him die? Trust me, he doesn't have the stomach for it.  Whoever’s doin’ this wants to watch ‘em die.”

“We’re cops, Harrold. This ain’t right,” Smith argued.

Harrold stopped and turned to his partner, lips thin and tight, blue eyes as icy as a witch’s kiss.

“It’s justice. Bad men are dead. Because of it, San Antonio is a better place."

Smith unwillingly agreed.  It still didn't feel right, but it would in a couple of years when he'd seen more of the atrocities that man had inflicted on man.

The investigations into the deaths of the murdered child predators were never resolved, but they accumulated over time. No one seemed to mind.

**************

James and his daughter stood in another room filled with boxes, although the number and sizes of the boxes were considerably fewer and smaller than the last time this happened. James didn’t unpack anything, appropriately leaving the task to Cassandra.

“I think it’s a waste, Cassandra. An English degree at Rice University. You could have gone to Stanford. Or Berkley. Or…”

“I wanted to stay close to home, dad.”

James nodded, attempting not to let emotions well up in his eyes. His daughter truly adored him, and this was his sole source of solace in an otherwise unremarkable life. “You should get another backpack, Cass. This one is more thread than fabric," James explained. He held it up, taken aback by its weight.

Cassandra quickly took it from him and laid it in a corner far from her dad.

“You bought this for me, remember? Sixth grade. I love this old thing,” Cassandra said. She gave her father a smile before returning to her work of unpacking in the athletic dorm.

He saw her stack her books in alphabetical order, and smiled to himself.

Though he was reluctant to leave his daughter, the time had come. He would be alone now, and he didn’t know how he would face life without the sparkle and light that Cassandra brought to his life.

James walked away, wiping away tears and irritated by his runny nose. The three-hour drive to return to San Antonio would be desolate and feel interminable. Remembrances of things past flashed through his consciousness, all involving Cassandra. Time, remembered and lost, sent a dull sensation through his head.

Cassandra unpacked quickly and efficiently, munching on Cheetos and inhaling Dr. Peppers just as Jack had done. Her backpack reposed innocently in the corner where she had thrown it just as she was reposed innocently in the corner just as Jack had thrown her. It stared blankly at the ceiling, just as she had ….

She opened it after a few moments of silence and reflection to ensure she had everything she needed on a daily basis. It was all there. The duct tape, Taser, and hefty plastic bags were neatly stored. She would depopulate Houston in the same way she did San Antonio and eastern Washington. The thought made her smile. Addition by subtraction.

Her dad would be proud of her arithmetic skills, she thought while humming Highway to Hell.

By Yashna Jalan