by Tammy Bird
There were colors, and she was happy. Her eyes opened and then there was gray, Buxton gray, like the fog swirls of early morning in the winter. She willed herself to wake up. Light was breaking through the thin veil of gray.
Someone was breathing near her. Elizabeth felt it under her skin where fear lives. Steady, calculated, methodical breathing, in and out, like the room was exhaling, feeding the monster at the edges of her thought, the monster who was, in turn, inhaling the dank darkness of the space, consuming it as he would any food. She was in the belly of the room waiting to be exhaled to feed the monster. Would he swallow her whole or chew until her bones crunched between his teeth? She tried to acclimate, to withdraw into herself. Another starburst. It was no use. She willed her eyes to stay open and follow the light and sound.
“Hi, Elizabeth.”
Her insides tried to get out, through her throat, her nose, her intestines. He had a knife. In the dim light of the dank room, she could see the sharp blade rotating slowly, catching the light. Her arms felt heavy as she lifted them. Elizabeth then remembered why—she was chained. It slowly came back to her. She was painting, using all the colors of the rainbow, feeling free from the heaviness of her past, and then he was there. And there was darkness and this room and him.
“I’ve been waiting.”
Elizabeth heard his words, but they were melting together. She felt as if she was losing control. She tried to focus. She sat on a urine-stained mattress. Not just mine, she thought. Others, too. Did they die here? No blood stains, at least none that could be seen in the dimness of the little room. How many? My mom. Was she here? She swallowed, steadied her breathing, and looked at her captor. Her body shook; her skin rippled with little bumps of fear.
Get hold of yourself. She forced her mind to focus on the walls. Gray. So much gray. There were holes in the wall where chunks of concrete were missing. Had someone tried to chip away at the prison when their captor wasn’t around?
She licked her lips with a swollen tongue. She was being offered water. She didn’t take it. Elizabeth wished she could put the bottle to her chapped lips without worry, but she remembered the rim of a bottle against her bottom lip, fingers on each side of her nose, pinching, the water running down her chin, into her shirt, until she opened her mouth.
More disgusting filth oozed from his mouth.
“Why?” she asked. The confusion and drug-induced stupor caused a slight slur and drawl in her voice.
“Your mother, Elizabeth. Remember? That’s why you’re here.” His words didn’t make any sense. Elizabeth’s ears were ringing. She was only getting about every third sentence.
His smile made her want to puke. She needed to pee, and she wanted a drink. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, tears, and the stench of the room. She tried to focus on his words and not the way his lips turned up as he spoke.
He kept talking. His words picked and crawled their way across her skin causing the tiny blonde hairs on her arms to stand on end. Bits of light bounced off of the knife he twirled between his fingers while he rambled on. Her eyes shifted between the glints of light and the spot she chose on the concrete wall. Do not let him get to you. Do not let him get to you.
Elizabeth looked from the twirling knife to the space next to the man who killed her mother in cold blood, killed his aunt in cold blood, and who continued to kill in cold blood. A picnic basket. What the fuck? A picnic basket?
****
Katia and Zahra sat in Katia’s living room and talked about every man of the right age they could think of who lived in Buxton. Slightly before midnight, Katia noticed the weight of her eyelids. Shortly after that, she realized both she and Zahra were quiet. She blinked several times and stood. She touched Zahra’s arm softly. “Hey. Wake up. It’s after midnight. You better go.”
Zahra took a minute to respond. “I’m not leaving. I can sleep on the couch. You got a blanket?”
“Andrew’s gone. My father and brother are upstairs. Whoever did this horrible thing is probably in another state by now, at least if he knows what’s good for him. You don’t have to stay. I’m good.”
“Look. I’m tired. You’re tired. Andrew may come back. We don’t know where—”
“Fine.” Katia gave in. Zahra was right. They were both tired, and neither wanted to be alone. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Katia had no energy to argue. Besides, it felt good to have Zahra there. It also felt wrong to ask Zahra to sleep in bed with her when Elizabeth was so heavy on her mind. “You mind taking the spare room?”
“Not even slightly. I’m beat. Why in the world would I want to sleep with you?” Zahra bumped Katia’s shoulder as they ascended the stairs.
Katia grinned. The response made her like Zahra even more.
****
Zahra’s presence in the house calmed Katia enough for her to fall asleep and stay asleep through the night. It didn’t keep away the demons.
She awoke to thoughts of death. It crawled from her belly to her throat like a snake. Gina’s dead. Elizabeth’s missing. She swallowed the bile that made its way into her mouth and reached for her phone. The numbers read 7:30. Seven hours. She laid the phone back on the nightstand and closed her eyes. Seven hours felt like seven minutes.
Her head relaxed against the headboard. She drifted in and out of a light sleep for several minutes before bits of the night’s dreams returned. She forced her eyes open and pushed her body into a fully upright position against the pillows. The nightmare was important. She felt it, but she couldn’t hold on to all of the pieces.
Marco was there, as was her dad. And then they were gone, and she was driving an ambulance, watching the speedometer. One hundred. One hundred and five. One hundred and ten. One hundred and twenty. She watched beachfront views whiz by. She was searching for Gina and Elizabeth. In the dream, she knew they were both dead.
Elizabeth is not dead.
At one point, Marco was there again. The ambulance was racing toward him. She felt like she needed to lure Marco from the Sandman. Something was at the edge of her memory. Something important. She strained to see out the window of the ambulance, but it simply wouldn’t reveal itself.
Aggravated with her inability to reconstruct the night, Katia showered and dressed in a faded-gray T-shirt and black jeans and followed the smell of coffee toward the kitchen. What a strange week it was turning out to be. She was sore deep inside, the pain worse than any she experienced in the field. Katia thought about the reporters who waited outside of Marco’s therapy session and the helicopter that hovered over the beach the first day. She was the woman who intimately knew the daughter of the deceased, the Buxton native who may have connections with more than one of the mysterious victims. She simultaneously wanted to protect her brother and her hometown and to run from all of it.
When she reached the kitchen, she found Zahra pouring a cup of coffee from a red warming carafe.
“Morning,” Zahra said without looking away from the steaming brown liquid moving from carafe to cup.
“Never had coffee made for me at five thirty in the morning,” Katia said. “In my kitchen, by a knight in shining armor.” She tried to sound more okay than she felt.
“Good thing you added the, ‘in my kitchen,’ part.” Zahra presented the coffee mug to Katia.
Katia held it in one hand, and with the other, opened the refrigerator to retrieve the vanilla creamer. The mug was printed with blue lettering. “Look beyond the autism to see the incredible.” Katia turned toward the spot in front of the television where she knew her brother sat.
Zahra continued to talk.
The words weren’t important. Katia was just happy that she was there saying them.
“Want some?” Katia set her mug on the counter and popped the top on the creamer.
“Indeed.” Zahra held out a cup that read, “World’s Best Carpenter & Dad.”
“Great cup choice,” Katia said. She smiled at the woman who stood before
her in a gold-colored sundress and sandals. “I’m not sure how you would manage the tool belt.”
“What? Are you dogging my carpentry skills?”
Katia shrugged. “Maybe. Can’t say I would mind watching you climb a ladder or swing a hammer, though.” She picked up her mug and headed to the table.
Zahra followed. “Can’t say I would mind you watching, either. Hope I got the strength right. Figured between the shower and a strong cup of coffee, you might make it through the day.”
Katia wrapped her hands around the steaming cup and brought it to her face. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply before taking the first sip. “Here’s to making it through.” She released one hand and let it fall into her lap, tapped mugs with Zahra, and took another sip.
The women sat quietly for a few minutes on either side of the wooden table next to the picture window in Katia’s dining area. Both looked toward the beach. The view was as breathtaking as it was six days ago, but somehow Katia couldn’t see it through the fog of death that settled around her.
Zahra broke the silence as Porky Pig proclaimed, “Th-th-th-that’s all, folks,” from the living room. “Haven’t seen your dad. Marco came down, made a bowl of cereal, and turned on the TV. I assume that’s ritual.”
“You assume right.” Katia’s voice sounded as tired as she felt. She sipped her coffee and stared at the waves lapping the beach. The peaceful scene gave no indication of the horror of the last week. The two sat quietly for several minutes as the Mighty Mouse theme song played in the other room. Zahra, the beach, and the cartoon character who came “to save the day,” mixed together to create a calm in Katia that until this moment she didn’t know she needed.
“I won’t ever be able to look at a dune again without wondering.” Zahra appeared to be talking to the beach and not to Katia.
Katia absentmindedly ran her finger back and forth across the slightly raised ribbon of colored puzzle pieces on the side of her cup. “Me, either.”
She pulled her gaze from the window and looked through to her little brother, empty cereal bowl by his side. “He has my workdays programmed in his head, like a little computer. And a clock. He has one of those built in, too. He’ll bring his bowl to the sink at precisely 6:10. He will brush his teeth, get dressed, and be at the door at 6:25.”
“Does he talk at all?” Zahra asked.
Katia forgot how little time they spent together before this started. “A bit. My name. Papi. Want.” Katia smiled. “You know, the important things.” She let her eyes wander from Marco’s cross-legged posture up to his rounded shoulders. His arms hugged his sides, closed off. The little finger on his right hand tapped methodically against his right knee, the tap in perfect time to the slight rocking motion of his head, neck, and shoulders.
She looked back at Zahra. “He’s still freaked about something. He isn’t right.”
“What can we do?”
“You know what? I appreciate you.” Katia meant it. She liked Zahra. A lot.
“I’ll take it.” Zahra laid her hand over Katia’s on the table. “And I mean it. I’m here to help. Not just through this shit, either.”
Katia changed position in her chair, moved her bottom lip in and out between her teeth. She wasn’t used to getting this close. She looked at their hands together. She didn’t pull away. She did change the subject. “My dad leaves super early. He likes to make rounds to his sites to make sure all are making progress. He was probably gone before you even turned over this morning.”
“How many sites?”
“Ten or more, I guess. His teams work their asses off in the off season. Try to get all of the repairs and shit done all up and down the island and build where there’s still room to build.”
“Not much left, is there? Room, I mean.”
Katia took another drink of coffee. “Not like when we were kids, for sure. But people still move houses out on a regular basis and have new ones put up in their place. Probably always will.”
Zahra looked where Marco sat rocking and tapping. “Is this about whatever brought you home yesterday?”
“I think so. He hasn’t been right since whatever happened at the school.” Katia gave Zahra the blogger’s version of what she came home to, about her dad being agitated because she wasn’t there when he got him home, about the doctor giving Marco a disposable camera in hopes it would calm him.
“Did he take photos?”
“Yeah. When we got home.”
“How about we go have them developed? You can surprise him with them this afternoon.”
“I need to talk to them at the school. See what spooked him. He loves it there. I don’t get it. My dad didn’t pry. Said he was leaving that to me.”
“He’s the parent.”
Katia could tell from the abrupt way that Zahra ended the thought she wished she hadn’t said it as soon as it came out of her mouth.
Katia raked her lower lip between her teeth again, using the nervous habit as a placeholder while she thought of what she wanted to say. Something told her it was okay. Zahra was safe. “I do wish he took more interest.” She paused. She had never said the next sentence out loud. “He has no interest in Marco, because Marco will never be able to inherit Papi’s business. He thinks that’s what sons do. Instead, Marco flaps and taps and watches cartoons now just like he did when he was younger. He understands. I know he does. He just can’t get it from in there to out here.” Katia stopped short of telling Zahra about their arguments over special equipment for Marco and over how each of them felt Marco should be raised.
“You’re a good sister.”
Katia felt the heart palpitations that meant she was reaching anxiety-level high. She eased her hand out from under Zahra’s. “Getting the pictures developed sounds like a great idea. Marco can finish snapping this morning at school.”
Zahra stood and took their cups to the sink.
Katia stayed where she was. “I’m meeting Brent and Elliot for breakfast after I talk to the folks at the school.”
Zahra obviously got the hint. “Sounds like you might need to handle a few things alone. I should check in with Dr. Webb to see when they want us back in Greenville, and I have a friend at the college I need to catch up with. How about we meet up after?”
Katia heard disappointment in Zahra’s voice. She chose to ignore it. “Perfect. Say one?”
“Whenever is good. Just text. I’m off all day.” Zahra’s eyes moved to the clock above the sink. “Um. It’s 6:15.”
Katia tapped her phone to bring it to life. It also said 6:15. She looked at Zahra, her eyebrows moving in toward one another, her forehead creasing. She gazed at Marco sitting cross-legged, shoulders still rounded and little finger still tapping What the fuck? She looked again at her phone. 6:16.
“Marco?” She stood and moved toward him. When she was directly beside him, she knelt and touched his shoulder. The move would go one of two ways: Either he would turn to her and use his limited vocabulary to welcome her into his world, or he would start screeching, freaking out because she entered his world uninvited. The former would allow her to draw him out of whatever was happening. The latter would bring forth spitting, hitting, biting, or flapping. Maybe all of the above. She waited.
No change. Little finger, right hand, still tapping methodically against his right knee. The tap still in perfect time to the slight rocking motion of his head, neck, and shoulders.
“It’s time for school, Marco. Marco? We have to go.”
“No. no. no. Marco does not want it.”
“You don’t want to go to school?” She spoke in a low voice. “I’m going to talk to them. I want to know what happened.”
“No. No. No. You. Kaaaaa. Tiiiii. Aa. Here. Bad. Here. One-six-six-M-P-H. One-six-six-M-P-H.”
The wind speed of the hurricane, again. “What’s bad at the school, Marco? Why do we need to stay here?” Katia felt so useless and frustrated. She wanted desperately to help him. She
just didn’t know how.
The camera. Maybe it will at least put his mind on something else before we enter into a full-blown meltdown.
She turned her attention to Zahra but stayed in a kneeling position by Marco. “Zahra. See if there are any pictures left on the camera. It’s in the drawer of the computer desk. In here. In the corner.”
Zahra made her way to the desk. “There are two.” She picked one up. “Shit. None on this one.” She reached for the other one and flipped it over in her hand. “Jackpot.”
“Hey, Monkey Head. Want to tell me a story?”
Marco’s tapping slowed and then stopped. He reached for the camera.
“Go ahead. Snap away.”
Marco put his eye to the hole in the back of the camera, pointed the lens at Katia, and pushed the shutter release button. “Ka. Ti. A. Stay.”
“Yes. I’ll stay.”
Katia phoned the school to let them know Marco wouldn’t be in. She didn’t mention his meltdown. She wanted to talk to them in person. Fewer things were miscommunicated that way. Then she texted Elliot to see if he and Brent could come by the house instead of meeting for breakfast. Really want to hear latest station buzz, she typed when Elliot responded they could do it another day.
No buzz to tell. Men in blue are all out taking reports of every strange or suspicious incident that residents can remember. Some are contacting vacationers who stayed in the beach houses during times they are attaching to disappearances.
Anything stand out?
Nothing yet. Have you talked to Zahra? How goes the bone work?
She’s here. I’ll fill you in later. Nothing on bones.
“I’m so sorry. I know you have things to do,” she said to Zahra as she punched letters on her phone’s keyboard. “I can still meet you at one. I’ll just have Marco in tow. Looks like the guys aren’t coming here. Sounds like they both want to get home.”
“I’ll go in and check on the doc, meet with my friend. She teaches classes on profiling in the criminal justice program. Maybe I can find something to help.” Zahra moved back into the kitchen and picked up the coffee cups.
