Evil in Me, page 10
I spared a last look at Alice’s ghostly form floating deep down in that murky water and shuddered. Such a lonely place to end up, I thought as I fought back fresh tears.
I sighed and headed to my van, climbed up behind the wheel and drove out. I bounced along until I came to a small wooden bridge, then rolled down the window and tossed my tools into the muddy creek below. I’d be buying more, eventually, I always did. It was part of the excitement, contemplating how I would use each item as I selected them.
I tugged out a well-worn road map, trying to decide where I wanted to go. I could go anywhere. Why not? I was retired—had retired early at fifty-one years old. And no, it wasn’t because I’d made so much money as a photographer that it was coming out of my ears. The sad truth was, if it wasn’t for my wife’s teaching income, we would’ve been out on the street. The reason I was able to stop with the commercial photography, stop dealing with idiotic art directors, was on account of a bunch of money my wife inherited. How pathetic is that? Retiring on my wife’s dime. How emasculating. That money came in and we called it quits; I almost felt like I was stealing from her. In a way I guess I was. But she didn’t make much of a fuss. I think by then it was worth it to her to be rid of me, this weight around her neck. I would’ve certainly paid a fortune to get away from me.
Well, I didn’t feel pathetic at that moment. I felt good … happy as a clam in butter sauce. But most importantly, I felt alive.
“Where to?” I asked the map. My eyes drifted to Atlanta. “Bingo.”
* * *
Ruby’s eyes flittered open. She was in her bed, it was dark and the house was quiet, the faint glow of her nightlight casting long murky shadows across her room.
A creak came from her closet. The door was half-open and she stared into its darkness. She heard it then, breathing—someone or something was breathing.
A shadow stepped out, walking into the dim glow. It was a man; she knew him.
“Josh!” she gasped.
A glowing red eye opened in the center of Mr. Rosenfeld’s forehead. “You’re mine,” he whispered and smiled. His tongue slid out from between his teeth, the tip bulged and pulsed, then tore open as a black spider, covered in blood, clawed its way out.
The spider dropped to the floor and raced toward Ruby, leaping onto her bed and disappearing beneath the blanket.
Ruby tried to scream, but found no air in her lungs; tried to move, but couldn’t. She quivered as the spider edged up the side of her body, its prickly legs scratching along her thigh. It reached her hand and there came a sudden jab on her finger.
Ruby kicked the blankets away, sat up, clawing at the spider, her heart drumming in her ears as she fumbled for the lamp. She realized it wasn’t night at all, but morning, her room lit up in its soft glow.
She found no spider, no Mr. Rosenfeld with one glowing eye, just her messy room staring back at her.
A nightmare. That’s all. That is all.
This was nothing new for her; she’d had a long history of nightmares, and in this case it came as a relief. Only, only, there was a problem. She looked at her right hand.
The ring, it was still there.
Shit, what did I do? It was her mother’s voice she heard in reply. You know what you did. You stopped taking your medication.
Her hands began to tremble, not from the nightmare, no, it was the thought that maybe old Dr. Fatass Ferguson was right, that she truly was mentally ill, that she’d be condemned to take those shitty drugs her whole life. She’d tried to get off her meds a few years back and had experienced all kinds of weirdness—nightmares, confusion, temporary memory loss, hallucinations, and yes, sleepwalking. She looked at the ring again and knew this much was real—she had gone over to Mr. Rosenfeld’s and stolen his ring.
She cautiously touched the ring. It didn’t turn into a spider, no burning eye opened and glared at her.
“It’s just a ring,” she said and gave it a tug.
It didn’t come off.
She tried again, harder, twisting it back and forth, trying to wrench it off. “Ouch!” she cried as it clamped tighter around her finger. “What the fuck?”
She hopped up, headed into the small bathroom next to her room and rubbed soap on her finger and the ring. Still, it wouldn’t budge.
She heard Mr. Rosenfeld’s words like an echo in her head, You’re mine.
A chill rolled through her body. “No … nonsense.” She looked closer at the ring, trying to figure out why it was stuck. She tugged it and could feel the band tighten when she did.
“Some kind of trick, that’s all. Like maybe one of them Chinese finger traps.” She nodded. “There’s gotta be a way to get this thing off. I’m sure Josh knows.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Fuck, just gonna have to fess up to him, that’s all.”
And suddenly a thought came to her as though whispered in her ear, that perhaps this whole thing had been some kind of setup. That Mr. Rosenfeld wasn’t the bumbling old man he pretended to be, that he was … was what? Again, that strange sensation of someone whispering in her ear. “A demon. He’s a demon.”
Her alarm clock beeped, causing Ruby to jump. It was a quarter till ten in the morning. “Shit, gotta go!”
She looked at the ring again, decided whatever was going on, it’d have to wait, because this was her final day at the Y, the day Mrs. Wright was to give her her report.
She dashed back into her room, slipped on her jeans, sneakers, and cleanest dirty T-shirt. She looked around for her guitar, remembered she’d left it at Pam’s, then remembered she wouldn’t be needing it. No, because Mrs. Wright told her she was done teaching. Didn’t she? Ruby felt an odd heat flare up in her chest, like something feeding on her bitterness.
She gave the ring one more desperate twist, let out a cry, then gave up.
Ruby made it to the stairs, then stopped, returning to snatch a bag off her dresser. It was full of fun, funky guitar picks, a goodbye gift for her students, a little something to remember her by.
She hopped on her ten-speed, tossing the bag in the basket, and raced over to the Y, shocked by how hot it was, even this early in the day. It was mostly downhill and she made good time. She shoved her bike into the bike rack, not even bothering to lock it up, grabbed the bag of picks and darted inside.
She entered the lobby and ducked past the front desk, hoping to slip by Mrs. Wright’s office unseen.
“Ruby,” someone called. “Ruby. A word.”
Ruby turned to find Mrs. Wright standing in the door of her office. “Would you please come in here?”
Ruby sighed and followed the woman in.
“Push the door closed, would you?”
Ruby did, closing her eyes for a moment, enjoying the relief of the AC on her sweaty skin.
“Little late this morning. Aren’t you, shug?”
Ruby glanced at the clock, noting she was all of eight minutes late. “Yes, ma’am,” Ruby said, still a touch out of breath. “Sorry, I was—”
Mrs. Wright held up a finger. “No need to make excuses.”
Ruby felt a flair of anger, but nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Wright tapped the typewriter in front of her. “You know what this is?”
“My report?”
“It is.”
Ruby waited for more, some indication, some hint of what was on it, or in it, but Mrs. Wright’s face betrayed nothing.
“Well, are they gonna lock me up and throw away the key?” Ruby asked with a laugh, but the laugh came out forced, awkward, desperate. Again, Ruby waited for some sign from Mrs. Wright.
Mrs. Wright took her time replying. “We’ll have to see,” she said. “Going over my notes right now.”
Ruby waited another long moment, not sure what she was supposed to do. She held her tongue until she could bear it no longer. “Okay … well … be back in a bit, then.”
“Where’re you going?”
“Oh, just gonna give them kids a quick goodbye.”
Mrs. Wright’s face soured, then softened. She let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair. “Ruby … I’m sorry, really I am, but that’s not such a good idea.”
“Ma’am?”
“I feel it’s better if you don’t.”
“But … why?”
“Well … we had some parents express concern. Y’know, about some of the songs you’ve been playing for those kids.”
Ruby felt as though she’d been slapped.
“And frankly,” Mrs. Wright continued, “I feel the same. I’ve made no secret of that. I’ll just come right out and say it, since we’re both thinking it … you really haven’t been the best influence on them.”
Ruby’s hurt turned to anger. “But … have you heard them play? They’ve come so far. And I really feel they enjoyed learning from me. We had a lot of fun together.”
“Kids don’t always know what’s best for themselves. Do they? So, no, I’m sorry. I promised their parents I’d make sure you didn’t spend any more time with them.”
Ruby felt a presence surfacing from below the anger, intertwining somehow, as though feeding on it. The anger swelled, almost overcoming her. She blinked and set her hand on the desk to steady herself.
“I can see your feelings are hurt,” Mrs. Wright added. “I’m sorry, but y’know, I did try to warn you.”
Ruby found no sympathy on Mrs. Wright’s face, only smug satisfaction.
Ruby’s eyes went to Mrs. Wright’s stapler—a large and heavy relic, made out of iron and steel. An impulse to pick it up and staple Mrs. Wright’s ugly, nasty, little mouth shut swam over Ruby.
Mrs. Wright gave Ruby a hard look. “Are you alright? You have been staying away from drugs? Right?”
Ruby’s anger twisted into something approaching pure hate. “I’m fine,” she snapped. “It’s just that I bought them a little something.” She held up the bag. “Some guitar picks. I don’t see…” Ruby checked the tone of her voice, trying hard to temper her mounting rage. “May I … may I please just pop in for a sec and pass ’em out?”
Mrs. Wright shook her head. “We just can’t have you stirring them up again. Why I’ve got Mrs. Baker in there with them now, and she said that thanks to you, all they wanna play is those ugly songs.”
Ruby blinked. Really, she thought, fighting not to grin, surprised at how such a little thing made her feel so good, like maybe she’d actually made a difference in those kids’ lives.
“It’s time to get their minds back on pretty things,” Mrs. Wright said, her eyes drifting to her own painting, the watercolor of calico corn in a wicker basket hanging behind her. She stood up and straightened the big blue ribbon. “People look at my painting here every day, and you know what they tell me? They say it makes them feel good. And you know what? That makes me feel good. Ruby, you’re a very talented lady, and I’m willing to bet if you set your sights on making something lovely like this, some sweet little songs, you’ll warm a lot of hearts one day.”
“How about after class, then?” Ruby asked.
“What?”
Ruby knew she should stop, should leave it alone, the woman was in the process of writing up her report after all, but this feeling, this other, it was as though it were pushing her. “Can I give them the picks after class?”
Mrs. Wright frowned.
“I’ll just hand them out as they’re leaving.”
Mrs. Wright appeared about to say something sharp, then sighed. “Tell you what … you give those picks to me and I’ll see to it that they get them after class. Let ’em know it was from you.” She held her hand out for the bag. “How about that?”
How about I slap that smug look off your face? Ruby thought, as the presence within her surged forward, driving the hatred before it. Ruby found her eyes on a tennis racket leaning near the door. All she could think of was how fantastic it would feel to smash it into Mrs. Wright’s face, over and over again. How the wire mesh would make hamburger meat out of the woman’s cheeks.
No, Ruby! Stop! What’s wrong with you? But she thought she knew, the doctor was right, that son of a bitch was right, she needed her stupid pills. Only … only what? Something was different. It felt like there was more. Yes, that was the best way to put it, more of something within her. And this more was feeding on her rage, driving it, amplifying it. Hold it together, she told herself, yet her eyes lingered on the tennis racket.
Ruby took a step toward the racket, an actual step, when Mr. Miller came into the lobby carrying two buckets.
“Ah, Mr. Miller,” Mrs. Wright said, standing up and walking out into the lobby. “Just the man we’re looking for.”
Ruby pulled her eyes from the racket and followed her out.
Mr. Miller was a thin man in paint-stained overalls. He looked to be pushing into his sixties, with skin tanned to leather by the hot Alabama sun. He set down the buckets, tugged off his faded Bama ball cap, and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“Miss Ruby, here,” Mrs. Wright said. “She’ll be helping you out today.”
“Well, now … that’s right nice of you, Mrs. Wright,” he said in his slow drawl. “And you too, Ruby. But … I don’t really need no help. Got it all under control.”
“That may be,” Mrs. Wright said. “But hard work is good for the soul, and we all know Ruby’s soul could use all the help it can get.” She winked at Ruby. “Isn’t that so, shug?”
Mr. Miller gave Ruby an apologetic look, but nodded and they all stood there for a long, awkward moment. Finally, Mrs. Wright held out her hand to Ruby.
Ruby looked at it confused.
“Sooner you hand me those guitar picks, the sooner I can finish up your report.”
Ruby’s eyes cut back to the tennis racket, her hand twitching.
“Ruby? You sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah … just fine,” she said tersely and handed the bag over to Mrs. Wright.
“Come see me when y’all are done. I’ll have your report waiting.” She walked back into her air-conditioned office, closing the door behind her.
Mr. Miller shook his head and picked up the buckets. “Guess you might as well c’mon,” he said and headed out the door.
Ruby followed the man around to the side of the Y, where the dumpsters were parked and several large potholes stuffed with fresh gravel awaited them.
“Whew … just stupid hot today,” Mr. Miller said. “It’s sure been a devil of a summer. Can’t remember a hotter one. Good weather for swimming, but not for much else. Certainly not for laying no tar.”
He handed Ruby some gloves. “You gonna need these.” He tapped one of the buckets with COAL TAR SEALER written on the side. “Nasty stuff … sure don’t wanna be getting none of it on your skin.” He showed her his forearms; there were several awful-looking stains on them. “Ain’t no washing it off, neither. Just have to live with till it wears off. Takes near on forever.”
Ruby grimaced.
He handed her an old push broom, then popped the lid off one of the buckets. Ruby wrinkled her nose at the harsh smell.
“Now, you stay back, hear.” He carefully poured the coal tar on top of the gravel.
“Now take that broom of yours and just push the tar back and forth until it seeps all down into that gravel. You got it?”
Ruby nodded and got to work while he poured the tar on the remaining potholes.
“Sure sorry about all this,” Mr. Miller said. “I know you much rather be in there teaching those kids. Just so you know, weren’t my idea.”
“I know,” she said.
“Mrs. Wright … she can be a real hard-ass sometimes. Ain’t no denying that. But I do believe she means well for the most parts. It’s just them other parts she needs to work on.”
Ruby grunted, thinking it best not to say what she thought.
“But,” Mr. Miller continued. “I do believe in your case it’s a bit more than that. She’s gone and let her jealously get the better of her, that’s all.”
“Jealousy?”
“Sure, she don’t like the way them kids take to you. Not one bit. And not just them kids, mind you. Why, I was in there the other day and one of them mothers was asking after you.”
“Yeah, heard someone was complaining about me.”
“Complaining? No ma’am … that weren’t it at all. This lady was asking about hiring you to give her kid some private lessons. She was going on and on about how much her boy had learned in your class.”
“What?” Ruby could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Really?”
“Yup, should’ve seen the look on Mrs. Wright’s face.” Mr. Miller chuckled. “Like someone had peed in her tea.”
“What did Mrs. Wright say?”
“Don’t know if I should say.”
“Aww, c’mon. Can’t leave me hanging like that. Tell me!”
“Well … she told the woman it weren’t a good idea. That you were working through a lot of personal issues, that you were unstable and really shouldn’t be teaching kids unsupervised.”
The other, the presence, the hate, it was back and it hit Ruby like a wave. Bitch, Ruby thought. Fucking bitch!
“I’m sorry, Ruby. That Mrs. Wright, she’s a right sour old apple sometimes. But you just can’t be letting folks like that get under your skin.”
The song was back, only now it made no offer of blissful joy, but that of vengeance, a deep bass chant of doom.
Ruby began scrubbing the gravel harder and harder until she was jabbing into it like she was trying to kill it. The handle snapped, the broom flipping up, spattering a dash of the oil across her arm. “Fuck!” she cried, throwing the broken broom against the wall.
“Hey … hey, Ruby. It’s okay. Now. It’s okay.” Mr. Miller looked her over. “I think you need to get out of the sun for a bit. Why don’t you go on and have yourself a sit over under that tree. We got plenty more old brooms. I’ll go fetch another.”
Mr. Miller gave Ruby one more concerned look, then headed in. Ruby didn’t go into the shade, she went looking for a spigot to clean her arm.
She yanked off the big gloves and glared at the ring, again, wondering just what Mr. Rosenfeld had done to her. “You’re gonna fix this, Josh. One way or another.” And she heard it then, a voice in her head, an other, there was no doubt.
