A Better Life, page 6
Curt rubbed his eyes. A headache was looming on his horizon, a motherfucker set to hurtle him into a world of hurt. Pete’s bullshit wasn’t helping.
“What are you saying, Pete? Spit it the fuck out, will you?”
Pete took a deep breath; whether feigning guilt or compassion, Curt couldn’t be sure. Whichever it was, the performance didn’t work. Pete was incapable of either. It made Curt think of the pod people from that old 50’s flick, Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
“Look,” Pete implored, “for all we know, the cops are hunting for us already. The fucking nanny could have panicked, bypassed the family and went straight to the law.”
“We wore masks.”
“So-fucking-what!?”
“They have no idea who we are, where we’re headed, or what we’re planning to do!”
Pete chuckled. “I’ve seen enough movies to know that if the pigs are involved in a ransom situation, you either end up staring through iron bars, with a dick up your ass for the rest of your life, or you spend your final moments bleeding out from a hundred bullets in a pool of your own blood. Fuck both those choices, Curt! Fuck ‘em both!”
Curt rubbed his eyes, gritted his teeth, tried hard to concentrate.
“We should just go,” Pete said quietly, controlling himself momentarily. “We can be over the border by daybreak. You and me, Curt. The two of us. We did our best, but we can’t handle this shit, man. You know it and I know it.”
Curt agreed.
They couldn’t handle this ‘shit’.
But there was no manhunt going on out there, amidst the cacti and the dust.
There was a girl, though…a fragile, innocent girl whose parents had somehow turned their back on her. He sensed their paternal betrayal in every molecule of his being.
The dull, incessant beat of the burgeoning headache thrummed behind Curt’s eyes. He tried to ignore it, to will it away.
“There’s no god damn manhunt going on, Pete. For God’s sake, think!”
“I’m telling you, there is!”
“There isn’t! We need to head back and think of another plan.”
“No fucking way.”
“What about Lisa, Pete? She’s the mother of your son. If you believe the law are onto us, are you just gonna leave her out there at that house, to wait for the authorities to catch up to her? Jesus Christ, she could be killed! At the very least, she’ll do serious time. That something you can live with, Pete?”
Pete lowered his chin to his chest, puffing out air. His movements were steadily morphing into those of a drunk, sluggish and exaggerated. “I think so, yeah. I think I can live with it. Better that shit than going back to prison…”
“What about Billy, huh? What about your son?”
“I never see the little shit these days, anyway. What the fuck do I care?”
Curt gripped the steering wheel tight. His knuckles turned white as he fought to maintain composure. “You’re a real piece of work, buddy, you know that?” he said, through gritted teeth.
Pete surprised him by giggling. It sounded hollow, bitter. “You just figuring that out, Curt? Not too quick off the mark, are you?”
“I’ve been good to you, Pete.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“All these years I’ve been the best friend I could be, for my sister’s sake and for the sake of that ‘little shit’, as you call him…Billy.”
“Fuck your sister! We’re looking at twenty to twenty-five years and you’re concerned about that dumb bitch!?”
Curt felt the leather of the steering wheel grind into his palms, burning. “I’m warning you, Pete…”
“In case you missed the fucking memo, you’re no longer my fucking boss. You don’t get to warn me about anything anymore, you got that…pal?” Pete sneered. He was slurring his words now, quickly deteriorating.
“We’re going back to the house, asshole. Even if we can’t get the ransom, we’re not leaving my family back there.”
“Why the fuck not!? Your sister is a lost cause, Curt, and in case you hadn’t noticed, without that ransom money poor little Jess will, well…”
Curt swallowed his fury and tried to focus on the road ahead as it rushed toward him.
Pete laid a hand on his shoulder in a disgusting gesture of camaraderie. Curt felt bile rise in his throat and recoiled at the other man’s touch. He could smell the stale beer on Pete’s breath as his one-time employee moved closer.
“I know you two sweethearts are keeping the cards close to your chests as to what’s going on with her and I don’t much give a shit, to be honest.” Pete paused for a second. “It’s cancer, though, right? It’s always fucking cancer, man. That shit only ends one way without treatment, good buddy, and even then…”
“Don’t you fucking say it!” Curt warned.
“Say what? That she’s definitely gonna die without the money? It’s the truth, ain’t it? Might as well just leave her behind and take a load off, Curt.”
Whether it was the alcohol puppeteering Pete or another example of the man’s utter lack of empathy, it didn’t matter.
Curt’s world became a red haze. The road rushing toward him, a blood-red tsunami. He felt it bare down on him, eager to drown him in its fury.
The vicious drunken bastard was right.
Without the money, Jess wouldn’t survive the coming year.
A vision flashed before his eyes – Jess, laying in a hospital bed, her eyes swollen red with the expulsion of bitter tears, dull with the weariness of erosion, her will spent completely, her fight extinguished while all around her, doctors loom like terrible black angels over one already dead. Her life is leaking out right before his eyes, ebbing from her pale form as she gasps and sputters and breathing becomes a memory.
From all around him the sounds of the cold machines bleeping and whirring, drowning out the weakening murmurs of his poor, dying sweetheart. He screams at the doctors to do something…ANYTHING…while the only woman he’s ever loved, begins to fade before his very eyes; her inner light growing dimmer, dimmer, dimmer…
She tries to word something around bloodied lips, but can’t form the words. Her body rattles, her muscles, what’s left of them, tighten momentarily, then loosen. Her bowels release in a final moment of indignity. The room fills with the smell of fresh shit, but Curt only smells death. Her death, his death, the death of everything.
“Turn the fucking car around!” Pete growled. Suddenly, his hands were grasping for the steering wheel. Curt clawed at Pete’s fingers, loosening his grip.
“What the hell are you doing!?” Curt screamed, panic overriding his rage.
“Stop the fucking car!” Pete roared. The car veered wildly, left and right, swaying from one side of the dirt road to the next. Dust kicked up around the open window, near-blinding Curt as Pete lunged forward.
“Stop the fucking car!” Pete roared again.
Curt hit the brakes.
The whole crazy moment had lasted less than ten seconds, but it was too late. The van spun out of control and Curt’s world became one of madly spinning lights, screams and the deafening screech of tires. The van upturned, hurtling down a sharp ravine like a discarded toy. Metal squealed and bent, windows shattered, something in his arm snapped, followed by a white-hot, all-engulfing agony, that washed his senses away, filling his world with pain. Screaming, he watched helplessly as the side window rushed toward him in slow motion. He felt it connect with his face, felt the sickening crunch, but only briefly.
Then all was dark.
Curt fell deep into yet another ravine somewhere within his mind, while phantom cries of his dying wife followed.
11
Jess climbed the staircase slowly, using the old wooden bannister to balance herself as she moved up the steps. One by one, the stairs creaked and yawned beneath her weight, conjuring thoughts of old horror films – old dark houses, thunder storms and sealed, cobwebbed rooms that held deep dark secrets.
The upper landing was dark, lit only by the small strip of light emanating from the room where the girl resided.
She studied the light beneath the door as she ascended, taking solace in it. Still, the sense of the uncanny, that had gripped her since her previous visit to the girl, held tight.
The talk with Lisa, while rational and adult, obviously hadn’t done the trick. At least not fully. The shadows played tricks on her, forming patterns and shapes in the dark that chilled her to the bone. Why was it that when the mind birthed images from shadow, they were almost universally insidious?
Jess felt like a child, rising from the soft sanctuary of her bed late at night, braving the quiet and the murk as she slowly, carefully, made her way to the bathroom, with its warm, safe light and its thick oak door.
Only this time, it was the light that caused her pause. It was the secrets held behind the old oak door that raised her heartbeat and made her palms sweat.
And it made Jess feel terrible.
She liked the child immensely, having warmed to the sweet-natured Emily right off the bat, but the things she’d said and the way she’d said them…
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
Something is wrong, Jess…with you.
God damn it…go in there and look after her.
A war seemed to be playing out inside of her. On one side, there was the caring, maternal and loving side that found the girl to be everything Jess had once hoped for in a child of her own. On the other side, a primal instinct; something ancient and devolved that feared, took pause and bristled.
A thought entered Jess’ head that terrified her more than a child’s demonic imaginings ever could. What if her mind was already deteriorating? What if the final stages had already begun and her rationale was already crumbling?
Jess closed her eyes and rubbed them, trying to shake off the growing exhaustion she felt, determined not to succumb to the irrational fear, surely a symptom of the churning concoction of deteriorating health and strength, physical and emotional.
Lisa was right. There was nothing off about the girl. She was simply a sweet, open-hearted child being put through a traumatic experience. Outwardly calm, but no doubt tore up inside at having been stolen from her safe, secure, insular world.
Jess opened her eyes again and watched the sliver of light pushing out from within the girl’s room.
Nothing to fear but fear itself, wasn’t that what they said?
Soft laughter came from within the room.
It was Emily.
“People are scared by the silliest things sometimes,” Emily sounded amused, entertained even, as she talked to herself.
A cold dread twisted around Jess’ heart, indefinable.
What’s she doing in there?
She’s a little kid, Jess. She’s keeping her mind busy.
Who’s she addressing?
An imaginary friend?
Someone else?
Get a hold on this shit, Jess, she’s talking to herself. She’s probably traumatized and taking solace in her imagination; it’s what kids do.
Go up there and open the god damn door.
Jess heard something else.
Something chitinous, inhuman, cold.
She froze halfway up the staircase, her whole body grew rigid, her eyes never leaving the sliver of light at the foot of the door.
Beneath the door, Jess saw movement.
Shadows, rushing past, one then another, then another, as whatever was inside the room with Emily moved across the floor.
And it moved fast.
Jess gasped, covering her mouth to mask the sound.
Inside the room, Emily giggled, delighted.
Jess stood rooted to the spot, two stairs from the upper landing. In her chest, her heart thundered.
She held her breath.
More sounds from within – a series of soft thumps, something heavy, landing on the carpet. It sounded like the scuttling of many legs.
“How could anyone be afraid of you?” Emily asked aloud.
Something was in the room…something other than little Emily.
Whatever it was, it was big. Big as a dog, at least.
Realization crashed into Jess. Shame followed, though there was no time to allow its needles to prick.
It had to be an animal of some sort!
It must have gotten in through the window.
“Shit!” Jess exclaimed.
The ice thawing in her veins, her body free from terror’s rigor mortis and fueled now by the need to protect the precious child, Jess tore up the remaining stairs two at a time.
Frantic, she reached for the key in the latch and turned it as, beneath the door, the shadows danced.
12
Lisa, sat alone by the kitchen table, smoking. She inhaled the nicotine deeply, savoring its acrid taste on her tongue. It had been two months since she’d lit up and tasted that sweet nectar. She’d couldn’t bring herself – even when the craving took hold – to try those ‘vaporizers’ or whatever the kids were calling them. For one thing, they looked dumb as all hell with those silly little lights popping on and off at the end, as though aflame. The hell with that. For another, she’d heard how dangerous they could be. She’d heard horror stories in the papers and from friends about the damn things blowing up in people’s faces, burning their eyes out.
She winced as she pictured it – a face, skin melting, eyes seared from the skull, bright teeth shining from black, charred lips.
No, to hell with that.
It wasn’t a whole lot more appealing a fate than lung cancer.
If she was going to quit, she’d damn well quit.
The end. Full stop. No half measures.
And she’d been doing well, too, up until tonight.
If that bastard, Pete, hadn’t left a packet sat right there in front of me on the table, she rued.
But that wasn’t fair. There was no one to blame but herself. She’d let the stress get to her and the more time that passed, the deeper she felt herself acquiesce to the pressure.
She’d done her best to keep Jess calm. She needed to stay as level as possible. Any outward worry that Lisa displayed would do her sister-in-law no damn good, and could only lead to more complications. Lisa was a true believer in the concept that a healthy mind lent itself to a healthy body, and this whole cursed venture was in no way conducive to a healthy mind.
So, she’d stayed calm, kept her cool, did everything she could to ease Jess’ fears regarding both the late return of Curt and Pete, and the supposedly strange, abnormal behavior of the child upstairs.
Jess had gone to check on the kid a few minutes ago, leaving Lisa alone to contemplate what she understood about the situation.
Images flashed before her mind.
Curt and Pete, held at gunpoint, ratted out by the nanny, pulled over by the roadside and dragged off to jail for ever more. Or dead, their heads blown off by trigger-happy law enforcement’s gunfire, bits and pieces of their brains scattered across some forgotten highway in the devil’s backyard.
And what of her? What if she was apprehended?
What would become of little Billy?
Another unwelcome movie flickered behind her eyelids.
Billy, scarred and traumatized by the incarceration of his mother, with nowhere to go. Fed through the production factory of the adoption system, taken in by outwardly kind and gentle adults, promised safety and shelter. All lies. Just a plaything for the twisted perversions of his keepers. Kept undernourished, filthy, his little body used to satiate every sick whim. Touched, probed, hurt…
The horrifying imagery seemed to spring from nowhere, fully formed. Such an extreme imagining - and one materialized from her own mind with no effort and no reasoning - shook her. The mind was a dark and terrible thing. The severity of Billy’s imagined fate rattled her to the core.
Lisa wiped away tears she barely knew were there and took another drag on the cigarette with increasingly shaking fingers.
She wondered how Billy was doing at that moment. Was he thinking of her? Excited for her to come back to him? To take him home and love him and tell him bedtime stories and tuck him in, nice and warm and kiss his forehead goodnight?
Exhaling smoke that rode on trembling breath, Lisa upturned her wrist and studied her watch, staring impotently as her heart beat in time with the ticking of the clock.
Goddammit, Curt…where are you…?
13
Curt awoke to searing heat. He wondered if he’d died and found his way to Hell.
The first thing he felt was a crushing pressure on his chest, squeezing the air mercilessly from his lungs. Blood flowed into his eyes as his vision swam in and out of focus. Amidst the dark red shapes, he could see the bright light of flame; the dancing fire fractured and distorted through the prism of the shattered windshield. There was the whirring of wheels turning and, to his right, the metallic screech of the passenger door being forced open.
He tried to form words with bloodied lips, hoping to alert Pete to his condition. The words wouldn’t come.
Fighting a rising panic, Curt struggled to make sense of his situation. He was upside down, held in place by the seatbelt. It coiled ever-tighter around his chest like a python around its prey, choking the life out of him, threatening to crush his ribs to splinters. Some may be broken already, but that was the least of his concerns. His vision was darkening, consciousness dimming in the agonizing grip of the safety belt.
Curt tried to move his right arm. Whatever meagre breath was left inside his body was expelled in a coughing, bloody, silent scream as pain seared his senses. Twisting his head around painfully, he looked at his arm and felt his horror grow tenfold.
The arm was twisted back on itself, just above the elbow. Blood spurted from the ragged flesh midway down his arm, welling around a jutting, splintered bone.
Crying now, he twisted his neck in the other direction, thankful that at least his spine somehow remained intact. His left arm - bruised near-black and hanging limp, seemed to be in far better shape than his right. He tried flexing his fingers, found that he could move them, then tried moving his whole arm, understanding that if he couldn’t undo the seatbelt, the very thing that was designed to protect him would choke the life from his helpless, trapped body.
