Evil in Me, page 8
He made it to his room and slammed the door. She tried to open it, but it was locked. “Give me that photo, Hugo! Now, goddamn it!”
“What photo?” he said.
“Hugo, open the door. Open the fucking door, you little shit! If you don’t open this fucking door right now, I’m gonna bash your fucking head in!”
“What’s going on?” came a booming voice.
Ruby jumped, found Eduardo at the top of the hall, glaring at her.
The door popped open and Hugo dashed out, ducking past Ruby. He leaped over to his father, hugging him around the waist. “Dad! Dad!” he screamed. “Keep her away from me!”
The door at the end of the hall opened. “What is all the commotion?” It was her mom, Martha, in her pj’s, squinting against the light. “Somebody better be dying, or there’s gonna be hell to pay.”
“She attacked me!” Hugo cried, pointing at Ruby. “Went downstairs to fetch a screwdriver and her door was open. Didn’t mean to look in. Swear! She saw me and just started screeching. Chased me up the stairs. Her eyes were all crazy.” He burst into tears. “I thought she was gonna hurt me, Dad. Really hurt me.”
“You fucking liar!” Ruby shouted. “The little perv took a photo of me!”
“Nuh-uh! Did not! She’s the one who’s lying.”
“Where’s that goddamn photo?” Ruby shouted, taking a step toward him. Hugo whimpered and ducked behind his dad.
“You better settle yourself down,” Eduardo said, stepping forward.
“Where is it, you little motherfucker?” Ruby screamed.
“Okay, okay, Ruby,” Martha said. “Enough with the language.” She looked at Ruby. “Where’s your shirt?”
Ruby couldn’t give a shit at this point.
“Maybe if she’d keep her door shut,” Eduardo said. “This sort of thing wouldn’t happen.”
“Ruby, why don’t you just keep your door shut.”
Ruby’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me, Mom?”
“Have you taken your pill today?”
Ruby recoiled as though slapped. “Mom … he took a picture of me getting undressed.” Ruby waited. “Are you really not gonna back me up on this?”
Her mom dropped her eyes, rubbed her forehead. “I just can’t deal with any of you right now. Need my sleep or I’m gonna be useless tonight. Ruby, please, just keep your door shut. Can you do that for me?”
Ruby felt the sting of tears. “Mom!”
Martha went back in her room and shut the door, leaving Ruby trembling in the hall.
“You listen to me,” Eduardo said in a low, harsh tone. “I know you got emotional problems, but coming after my boy, that’s a line you don’t wanna cross. Your probation is coming up this week, but that don’t get you off the hook. You touch Hugo, even look at him wrong, and I’ll call it in. Third strike and you’re out. You get my meaning? And in case you forgot, I’m in good with the boys down at the station. One phone call from me and you’ll be right back up on charges.”
Ruby knew this very well, because Eduardo brought it up every chance he got. Eduardo’s father just retired off the police force, and now his brother Carlos was a deputy. Eduardo would be there working right alongside him if not for his felony.
“You hear me?” Eduardo said.
Hugo was standing behind his dad and gave Ruby a nasty smile, then flicked his tongue, lewdly licking the air.
Ruby felt the rage closing in on her, blurring the edges of her vision, knew it for what it was. Let it go, Ruby. Let it go. He’s not worth it.
She began to shake, caught the small smirk in the corner of Eduardo’s mouth, could see that he was just hoping she’d lose it, would give him some excuse to call her in, to have her shipped off to the ward.
She clenched her hands into balls of rage, glared at Hugo.
No, Ruby thought. Don’t do it. Do not let them win. Slowly, she unfurled her fist and gave both of them the finger. “Fuck off!” she spat, pushing past and stomping back down the stairs.
* * *
Ruby entered her room and made damn well sure the door was shut: she slammed it, locked it, and then kicked it for good measure.
She grabbed her headphones and shoved them down over her head. There were at least a hundred albums and cassettes on her shelves. She grabbed the first Joy Division tape she could find and jammed it in the player—Joy Division being her go-to whenever she wanted to wallow in self-pity, and boy did she want to right now.
Ruby closed her eyes, moping along with Ian Curtis, finding a bit of solace commiserating the woes of being alive, then, somewhere in the background of the tune, she heard it, the chorus, not the one from the tune, but the one from the ring. A deep, almost rapturous chill crawled down her spine. She opened her eyes, blinking, goose bumps on her skin. She looked around like the eye might be in the room with her, lifted up the earphones, listening, but it was just her and the hiss of the tape.
“Geesh,” she said, and snatched up her sketchbook, wanting, needing something to focus on. She flipped past a few of her older drawings, mostly characters from books she’d loved. She found a blank page and began to sketch, randomly doodling, but now it was Mr. Rosenfeld she couldn’t get out of her mind. What had happened with that ring? And that book he was holding? Was he chanting a spell? More of his wacky Devil stuff? The harder she tried to remember, the more blurry her mind became. She rubbed her temple, trying to stay present. He’s just going senile, that’s all. People get weird when their minds start to go.
Again, she saw the sad look he’d given her when she was leaving. I’ll help you, Josh. We’ll get your stuff to Atlanta. Promise. Just … just as soon as my head feels better.
Joy Division came to an end. Ruby swapped out the tape and the rumble of mufflers filled Ruby’s headphones as the Cramps came growling up, Poison Ivy’s grinding guitar leading the pack.
Ruby had a glossy photo of Poison Ivy pinned to her wall. Ivy with her lip twisted into a snarl, like she didn’t give two shits. Ruby found her own lips snarling as she looked at it, wishing she had one ounce of what Ivy had.
Ruby set down her sketchbook and picked up her bass, a beat-up Vox Hawk with built-in fuzz that she’d scored from a thrift shop down on Rucker Boulevard. It looked like someone had used it to shovel gravel, but it played great. Ruby felt she did okay on guitar, but bass was where she shined. She positioned her fingers on the strings and started plucking along. She’d played this song a thousand times and it only took her a second to catch up, to find the groove, loving the feeling of the strings biting into her fingertips; it was one of the times she was grateful for having long boney fingers. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the fantasy of being onstage with her favorite band.
The song ended, Ruby hit rewind, was about to play it again, when her drawing caught her attention. She stared at the sketchbook, at her scribbles and doodles. She cocked her head and blinked—there was something there, in the lines. She set down her bass and took a closer look. The web of scribbles blurred briefly then came together.
She gasped.
The eye, pulsing like it was alive, stared back at her and the song, the one from the ring, came sneaking up on her, drifting softly around her like a lullaby. Her eyelids grew heavy as a wave of fatigue washed over her.
The sketchpad slipped from her hand.
Ruby lay down and a blissful smile spread across her face as she drifted away.
* * *
It’s me, Richard.
I sucked it in, this feeling, that overwhelming rush of elation. By the time fifty-two rolls around, you’ve learned to recognize the golden moments. To be present. To … ah, what’s the word? Savor. Yeah, that’s it. To savor them.
“That went well,” I said, glancing at the horrified face in my rearview mirror. “Don’t you think?”
The face belonged to Alice Brooks, the young woman from the library, my daughter for the night. I didn’t expect her to reply, she couldn’t, her mouth was taped. Plus, she seemed a bit groggy. I’d put her in a sleeper hold, a trick I learned in high school wrestling class, simply cutting off the blood supply to the brain for about thirty seconds. They’re only out for about a minute, but that was usually all I needed to get them in the van.
“I mean, luck was with me,” I continued. “But it usually is.”
I had followed her home to her first-floor apartment near campus, parked my van right out front, then waited for dark. There were plenty of bushes, so I snuck up and watched her watch TV for a while, making sure she was alone and such. When she got up and went into the bathroom, I came in through the front door. Just let myself in. It wasn’t even locked. When she came back out, I grabbed her. Winner, winner, turkey dinner.
“You’d really think karma, or God, or whatever you believe in would want to trip me up. Right? But I swear, it’s like God is on my side. Or maybe the Devil? You think the Devil gives enough of a toot to help out? Makes you wonder though … doesn’t it?”
She stared at me, her eyes wide and full of tears. You could see nothing was making sense to her. I felt for her—why just a half hour ago she’d been sitting on her sofa watching Cheers, and now, here she was, tied up in the back seat of my van, heading to God only knew where.
“Not too much further, Alice,” I said.
She flinched when I spoke her name.
“I’ve sure missed you. You know that? Really looking forward to catching up on old times.”
She blinked as though not hearing me right.
“I’ve been a bit neglectful … as a father. I feel bad about it. I do. But I intend to make it up to you tonight.”
Her brow tightened and she shook her head. She seemed to really want to say something.
“No, don’t want to hear none of that. You might not be blood, but that doesn’t mean you’re not my daughter. No ma’am. Because despite all that, I still have the same feelings for you as one born of my own seed. Indeed. You’re special to me and I want to make sure you know it.”
I found the turnoff—an old dirt road I used to go fishing down. Nothing out there but swamp and more swamp. I pulled off the highway and headed into the woods, my headlights lighting up the marsh grass as we bounced along the rutted road. I took it slow, on account of the bumps, but even so a deep rut knocked my bag of tools over with a loud clank; a hammer, a saw, a hand drill, a pair of scissors, and a few other items spilled out onto the floorboard.
“Careful, there,” I said as fatherly as I could. “Watch out. Those tools are plenty sharp.”
She gave the tools a terrified look, as though just now seeing them, really seeing them.
“And in case you’re wondering, Alice, dear. No, your old man hasn’t taken up carpentry. They’re for my new hobby. Something I’ve been looking forward to sharing with you.”
I could hear her screaming then, even through the duct tape, her face turning bright red.
I couldn’t find the spot I was thinking of, but found another that seemed about as good. Not much more than a trail really, but it led me right up to the marsh. I cut the lights and turned off the engine.
I glanced back to find Alice slumped over. Figured she must’ve hyperventilated and passed out. That was okay, I didn’t mind waiting for her to come around. I was in no hurry.
I rolled down the window; listened to the bugs and the bullfrogs. From somewhere close came the bellow of a bull gator. There were lots of gators out here. Which was good, as gators were experts at getting rid of bodies.
A small whimper came from the back seat. I closed my eyes and sucked it in, that good feeling. Like I said, folks my age, they learn to savor the golden moments. And what I was about to do was going to be very bad … but so good.
* * *
The song carried Ruby over snowcapped mountains, down into a valley of lush grass, through towering trees and into a wide, open glade. All was golden and bright, a world that smelled of honey and nectar. It was heaven on earth, it was joy and true belonging, it was everything her soul ever wanted or needed. And there, at the heart of the glade, floated a simple gold ring, and upon the ring, an eye.
The song emanated from the ring, calling to her, sweetly singing her name. Ruby.
“Yes,” she replied, stepping forward.
Ruby.
She reached out with open arms, wanting only to be one with it.
Ruby.
She embraced it, closing her eyes as the song washed over her, into her, filling her with endless bliss.
Only, it didn’t.
Something was wrong.
She opened her eyes.
Where was she?
She blinked.
There was no ring.
No song.
She blinked again.
She was in her room, on her bed.
She sat up, the song still echoing in her ears, looked around her room, searching for the ring, hoping, needing, to find it.
She found no ring.
It was dark outside. She glanced at the clock—eleven p.m. She wondered why she was still in her clothes and shoes, why she’d left the lamp on. She spotted the scribbly sketch, saw the eye within, could never unsee it. Her head began to swim, the song whispering her name from somewhere far away—calling her.
“Alright,” she said, unsure if she was awake or still in the dream. “I’m coming.” She got up, opened her door, and headed over to the sliding glass door. It was a walk-out basement and she did just that, walking out into the night and strolling up the street.
The night was alive with insects, their song mixing with that of the ring. She considered taking the shortcut through the woods, decided it wouldn’t be a good idea, because the ghosts were there, and she knew with certainty that they could also hear the song, that all the dead things could. She knew this because the song told her so.
“One more look. That’s all. Nothing more,” she promised herself, knowing the ring would never let her sleep otherwise.
Toads hopped out of her way as she passed beneath the streetlights. Arriving at Pam’s house, she hesitated a moment, knowing this wasn’t right, wasn’t okay, then headed to the trailer anyway.
She mounted the small porch and peeked in. The only light was from the TV. She could see Mr. Rosenfeld asleep, curled up beneath a blanket on the couch.
She should knock, should ask Josh if it was okay to come in, okay to see the ring again. Instead, she pulled the key from her pocket and let herself in. But it was alright, because this was all a dream and you could do whatever you wanted in a dream.
John Wayne was on the TV set; the sounds of a rowdy barfight covering Ruby as she crept over toward the end table.
Just a quick look and I’m out of here, she promised herself. No one will ever be the wiser.
She opened the drawer—the box, it wasn’t in there. She looked around at all the boxes, knew it could be anywhere. She felt a surge of panic, then heard the ring calling sweetly to her.
Ruby cocked her head this way, then that—the song, it was coming from the far end of the couch. She walked over and knelt down, lifting the skirt of the couch, and yes, of course, there it was.
She slid out the cigar box, just holding it for a moment, savoring its promise.
She opened it and the singing grew louder; she was sure it would wake the old man, but he didn’t stir.
She unfolded the velvet, revealing the bronze case. She picked it up, expecting its welcoming warmth, but it was cold to the touch. She started to open it then heard a voice, a familiar voice. No! it called, but it was hard to hear over the song. Again, NO! That was her voice, she was sure, but so far away. It was begging her to put the case down, leave it be, to run!
It’s okay, Ruby reminded herself. It’s just a dream, nothing can hurt you in a dream.
She opened it and there, the simple gold ring wrapped around the mummified finger. Only now, there was a coating on the ring—a red substance as though doused in candle wax.
Ruby frowned. She wanted, needed, to see the ring, see the promise of its ancient gold, the magical, mysterious eye. Slowly she raised a finger to it.
Again, her voice screaming from deep within. Get out! Run!
Ruby poked the ring.
Nothing happened, no magical eye to greet her this time. What’s wrong? she wondered, horrified at the thought that maybe Mr. Rosenfeld had killed it somehow. A flush of anger toward the old man washed through her.
She rubbed at the wax, but it resisted. She began scraping at it with her fingernail, cautiously at first, then vigorously. She was rewarded by a glint of gold. She continued scraping, revealing more and more of the ring. The song grew louder, clearer than ever before, and the ring grew warm to her touch, then hot.
Stop! her voice screamed at her.
Ruby only smiled, because the song was beautiful—honey and nectar, heaven on earth—and why should she be afraid of heaven on earth?
She scraped off the last chunk of wax, revealing the face of the ring, the eye.
This is such a lovely dream, she thought.
The ring changed, the band turning into spidery appendages, the etched eye protruding, coming to life. The eye slowly opened, fixed on her, its black pupil dilating to a thin slit. Ruby’s own voice disappeared; there was only the song and its blissful promise.
The spidery legs unfolded, letting go of the dead finger and crawling slowly, gently, up onto her trembling hand, then over to her middle finger. It seated itself and clamped down. The eye fell shut, the song faded, the eye slowly turned back into a ring.
John Wayne’s voice shouting, “Stampede!” came to Ruby, loud and clear.
She blinked, closed her eyes for a long moment, reopened them.
The ring was still there, but where was the honey and nectar, the endless bliss? She only smelled musty boxes and spices mixed with dirty socks and tuna casserole.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered, looking around the trailer, everything now in sharp focus. “This isn’t a dream.”
Mr. Rosenfeld mumbled something and tugged at his blanket.
Ruby looked at the ring, horrified, grabbing it and giving it a tug.
