Sandman

by Tammy Bird

  “The picture of the corner of the workbench,” Katia said. “Your workbench.” Her words came out slowly. Her face contorted in what Richard thought to be something between anger and pain. “The purple shoe. We only found one at the crime scene.” The realization of what her father really was became apparent in her expression. “You have the other one. Marco has seen the other one, hasn’t he?”

  “Marco’s old enough, now,” Richard said with pride. “He’s ready to work with me.” Katia’s scream filled the dingy space. Marco covered his ears and quickly moved toward his father.

  Katia grabbed for her brother’s hand, leg, foot. She couldn’t get a good hold as he got farther from her. She screamed again and again.

  Marco kept his hands over his ears. He started to chant.

  “Slash. Fast. Slash. Fast.” Marco’s voice echoed.

  Katia screamed.

  Richard smiled. “No one can hear you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  What she thought was only the memory of her grandpa’s hand on her shoulder turned out to be a real hand, the hand of Zahra. “What the hell?” Paige screeched and turned abruptly, forgetting to stay quiet.

  “Sorry,” Zahra said. “I tried to let you know I was here without scaring you and without warning anyone else in the house. You looked right at me.”

  “Fuck,” Paige said. “I didn’t see you.” Paige motioned toward Frankie rather than waste any more words.

  “What’s he doing?” Zahra kept her voice barely above a whisper.

  Paige matched her tone. “Not sure. He found me at the Grainger fire. Alone. I figured I needed to see what was going on. How’d you know?”

  “What? That you’re here?” Zahra furrowed her brow. “I didn’t. I couldn’t stand it anymore when Katia didn’t answer. I told Dr. Webb I was going to take a quick break and swing by. The back door was open.”

  Paige’s eye caught a glimmer of light at Zahra’s side. Her gun was drawn. “Do you think you need that?” Paige was a pacifist. Guns made her nervous.

  “Fuck, yeah,” Zahra said. She held the gun tightly and rubbed it with the palm of her free hand.

  “Why in the world would you… Never mind. Do you think the pup knows something we don’t?”

  “Did you search the house?” Zahra’s voice was steady and low. Paige was glad she was here.

  “Yes. And no. We came straight down here, so we didn’t go upstairs, but there were no sounds. Nothing has happened since we came down here.” Paige stood at the bench. She ran her fingers around the edges to feel for irregularities. “Something about the bench. Frankie refuses to move.”

  Zahra tucked the gun into the holster and got down on hands and knees. “What’s down here, boy? What do you see? You smell something?” She looked up at Paige. “Too bad he can’t tell us. There’s nothing down here. It’s a bench. Just wood and nails.”

  They moved back into an upright position away from the workbench. “We can stare at it all day,” Zahra said. “It isn’t going to change anything. I say we try calling and texting again, then we take a look around the house. There has to be something here to tell us what the fuck is going on.”

  “Did you see the pictures when you came in?” Paige asked.

  “Yeah. Figured Katia was frustrated being alone and waiting for news. She was in the last text. Probably took a swipe at them. I would have.”

  Paige nodded slowly. “Probably, but what if—”

  “Don’t start, Paige,” Zahra interrupted. “I can’t. Katia’s fine. She just couldn’t wait any longer and headed out with Frankie and then he bolted. Now she’s looking for her brother and you.” Zahra looked over at Frankie, who was still under the workbench, a low growl in his throat.

  Zahra pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Shitty reception down here. Come on. At least come up to the kitchen. Let’s look at the photos again. Maybe we missed something.”

  “You go,” Paige said. “I’m going to take one more look.” She moved back toward Frankie, his tail thumping against the wood as she neared. “You want me to stay, don’t you, boy?” Paige sat on her bottom and looked at the underneath of the bench. Nothing. She searched the corners and the seams. She ran her fingers along each grain of wood, hoping something would stand out. Nothing. Paige tapped, rubbed, looked over everything several times.

  She was about to give up and join Zahra upstairs when something caught her eye. It was a hairline fracture in the wood, against the grain. It looked like two pieces of wood were linked together. She tapped the Flashlight icon on her phone and pointed the light on the crack. As she ran her finger across it, a piece of wood gave way and then popped back in place. She pushed again. This time, she held the wood and slid the finger of her other hand under the raised piece. She felt a button.

  Paige moved her mouth to yell for Zahra as the whole bench moved outward. A section of thick, dark concrete moved as well. Beyond it was a doorway. Beyond that, a dingy light. It took what felt like an eternity for her eyes to adjust. There were two figures. One moved quickly toward the other. Marco?

  Everything seemed to be happening at once. Sounds were everywhere. Paige couldn’t tell where one started or where another ended. It seemed like everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She tried to concentrate on the shadow that looked like Marco. He appeared unmoving except for his right hand, which tapped out a rhythm against his leg.

  There was more movement, another sound. Katia’s father moved in slow motion. Something shiny was by his side. He raised it until it pointed forward from his chest.

  “Marco,” Richard said. “We have to go. Come here, son.” Richard touched Marco’s fingers and pulled his hand away from his side.

  Just at the edge of Paige’s sight, a new movement. She turned. Katia. The woman strained against something that held her in place. Her voice was austere. “A knife.” She pulled harder against the restraints. “Marco. Get Marco.”

  Paige strained to understand the words, to sort through the sounds. She told her own body to react, but she was frozen. Not even her arm would raise to defend her face from harm.

  Richard pulled Marco tight against his chest. A glint of silver pushed against Marco’s neck.

  And then Frankie was there. He jumped past Paige and straight up toward Richard’s arm.

  Richard jerked. The knife came away and found Frankie.

  The dog yelped and fell to the ground. He got up and headed for Richard again.

  Paige willed with all her might for her legs to move.

  The sound of the chains clanked in her ears and mixed with Katia’s scream and Marco’s guttural noises.

  Then she heard a shot and the sound of her own scream.

  Richard slumped forward toward Katia. Blood streamed onto the floor.

  Paige looked to where the knife touched Marco’s tan skin. Marco. Marco stood still except for the fingers that tap, tap, tapped, and his mouth that formed two words over and over again: “Slash. Fast. Slash. Fast. Slash. Fast.” Paige turned away. She needed to see Katia.

  Katia stretched forward as far as she possibly could to reach Marco. The sound of her scream danced across the room to meet with his chant and with Paige’s scream.

  Paige stood motionless, still unsure of how to make her feet move.

  Zahra appeared, weapon in hand. She pulled Paige away from the crude opening and sat her down against the opposite wall before she stepped through to assess the situation in the concrete room.

  Richard Billings was alive. Her shot went through his leg. It was her only choice based on the way he held Marco. She kicked the knife away from his side and pointed her gun at his head. “You move, and I’ll kill you.”

  Richard didn’t move.

  Frankie was okay. His cut was superficial. He now sat between Richard and Katia.

  Katia’s restraints were hinged, double-lock steel. Zahra said to Richard, “Where are the keys for these?” When he didn’t answer, she moved h
er gun as if to strike him. “Where?”

  “In the workshop,” he muttered.

  Zahra would worry about that later. More pressing things needed taken care of right now.

  “Are you okay?” Her question was pointed at Katia, who stopped screaming and now sat perfectly still and stared at her father.

  Katia nodded. Her voice was wooden. “Get Marco out of here. Get him somewhere safe.” And she said to Marco in a more-normal tone, “Listen, Monkey Head. I need you to go with Zahra. You do exactly what she says, okay?”

  “Slash. Fast. Slash. Fast. Katia was bad. Slash. Fast.”

  Zahra looked toward Paige. “The police will be here soon. I dialed 911 as soon as I heard you scream. I threw the phone on the workbench.”

  Paige’s voice shook. “You are the police.”

  “Touché. You think you can take Marco up to watch cartoons and sit with him while I tend to Katia and Richard?”

  Paige stood and gave a wan smile. “I think I can do that.” She took Marco’s hand and led him through the opening and up the stairs.

  ****

  Zahra sat next to Katia on the stained mattress, her leg against Katia’s, the gun pointed once more at Richard’s head. “I’m going to wait with you. Help’s on the way.”

  In a delayed reaction, Katia’s entire body shook. Her teeth chattered when she tried to talk. “M-m-m-mar-m-marco.”

  “Marco’s fine. Paige is with him.”

  “He, I, he, he thought I was doing something to Marco,” Katia stuttered. “He said something about his aunt and him.” Katia’s words were broken, choked out of her mouth one at a time. “I don’t understand. He wanted Marco to kill me. He wanted to kill me.”

  For a quick moment, Zahra wrapped her whole body around Katia, her eyes never leaving Richard. “I know. I’m here.” She kept one arm around her and sat back at attention.

  “What am I going to do?” Katia’s gaze was on her father.

  Zahra looked in the same direction. Richard didn’t move. “We. What are we going to do? I am not going anywhere, Katia. When the other officers get here, they’ll take your dad away. You and Marco—and Paige and Frankie—will be evaluated. And then, we’ll start to rebuild. You and me. I’ve got you.”

  “I, I.” Katia laid her head against Zahra’s shoulder.

  “Shhh.” Zahra laid her head against Katia’s. The sirens were close. They were safe.

  Epilogue

  Katia watched as her brother chose a series of pictures to form a sentence on his new communication aid. Marco refused to use it for the first two weeks after their father was pulled from the small room under the dune. Paige and Dr. Abney were tolerant and persistent, though, and by week three he was quite adept at this new method of interaction.

  Katia hoped her brother’s short bursts of words would eventually turn into full sentences. There was so much about their father that he had locked inside, so much that she needed to know.

  She thought about her phone conversation with their father shortly after he was released from the hospital and taken to prison to await his trial.

  “You should have died, Papi.”

  “Come see me, Katia. I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Leave us alone, Papi. I can’t. Do you know what you’ve done to us?”

  “I’m going to be executed, Katia. I deserve to see my children.”

  She felt her body tense and her throat tighten. He didn’t care that reporters stood outside their home, that they followed her everywhere, that there were death threats in her email every day. There was even an online discussion board about them where people claimed she must have known and that Marco probably helped.

  “No. I’ll not let you continue to hurt us, to hurt him.”

  She hung up on him. He didn’t call back. Some days she wanted him to call. As much as she hated the Sandman, she missed Papi.

  Katia turned her attention back to what was important.

  Paige sat next to Marco. She made faces at his word choices. He chose something else equally as silly. She made another face. He doubled over in a fit of teenage laughter.

  Mornings like this were becoming more regular as days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Four months, to be precise.

  Katia looked out the window. Instead of the sand and ocean, she saw the fence that was built to keep them safer from harm. “Not safe,” Zahra said after it was built. “Safer. You still have to be aware of your surroundings at all times.”

  Even on this chilly March morning, tourists crowded the sand outside the wooden barrier. Apparently, they hoped to get a glimpse of the daughter of one of the most horrific serial killers of all times.

  There would be a trial. She would have to testify. There would be peaks and lulls in the number of reporters and gawkers and threats. But every day, people withdrew a little more. Every day the townspeople stared a little less.

  Her one constant was Zahra. She listened to her now as she hummed an old Bruno Mars song in the kitchen. She didn’t talk much about what she and Dr. Webb found over the months that followed the discovery of Gina’s remains. She told Katia to let her know when she was ready. Katia wanted more facts. But not yet. Nothing else yet.

  Bruno Mars’s lyrics got closer as Katia looked at the crew assembled in her home.

  When Zahra wrapped her arms around Katia’s waist, the humming stopped. “Quite a motley crew you have here, my love.”

  Katia smiled a genuine, full-face grin. “Indeed, milady. A more unlikely crew you will rarely find.”

  Both women observed their friends who came together to celebrate Zahra’s birthday. In addition to Marco and Paige, there were Elliot and Mrs. Ellington who stood together outside the big, dining room window. Elliot tended to the burgers on the grill, and the older woman hung on to his every word. Elliot’s wife, Josephine, talked quietly with Bob in the living room. The two of them watched Elliot and Josephine’s daughters roll around on the floor with Frankie. The house was filled with what Katia could only describe as a cloud of laughter.

  Katia turned to briefly press her lips to Zahra’s. She looked again at the assembly. “I actually kind of wish Andrew was here.” Katia tilted her head back against Zahra’s shoulder until Zahra’s soft curls tickled her forehead.

  “Oh you do, do you?” Zahra said. “I thought he creeped you out.”

  “He did. Does. Did. Fuck. Whatever. He was a part of this. I just hate to think we ran him off without giving him a chance.”

  “We can only go forward.” Zahra pressed herself tightly against Katia’s back.

  Katia could feel the smile of this amazing woman, could feel the warm breath against her neck, as she let herself sink back into the comfortable contours of her soft body.

  Zahra sighed. “I always want you by my side,” she said.

  “I kind of like being by your front, actually.” Katia reached her arm up and back, cupped her partner’s head and pulled it down toward her own.

  Their lips touched. Zahra spoke softly. “Oh. There, too. And behind. And. And. And.”

  Katia looked back to Paige and Marco. The two were still lost in their world of jokes and laughter.

  Some days, Katia still saw horror and pain in his eyes. She wished she could wipe away the pain of knowing, of seeing. But only time could do that. Until then, they would live for days like today. Today, the sun was shining. Today, she was surrounded by friends. Today, love was winning. Today, that was enough.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Tammy Bird lives in Wendell, North Carolina with her wife and two cats. She is an educator by day and a writer by night. Her greatest passion is storytelling with a purpose. As such, the most important part of the writing process for her is the development of characters who represent the under-represented.

  Tammy’s work is rarely defined as sweet or cozy, and that is okay. She is not here for sweet or cozy. She is here for psychologically hard and gri
tty and real.

  You can connect with Tammy on Instagram @tammysbird or on Twitter @Tammy_Bird. You can also visit her website at https://tammybird.com.

  Additional Titles From Flashpoint Publications

  Our Happy Hours, LGBT Voices From the Gay Bars

  Story Collectors Lee Lynch and S. Renée Bess

  During the days and nights following the massacre at the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida, the world listened as various spokespersons attempted to explain to the general public exactly what the gay bar/club meant to LGBTQI people.

  The words “safe place,” “refuge,” “free to be ourselves” flew through the air.

  We queer writers grappled with the tragedy alongside our brothers and sisters. How could we express our feelings about the places where we could drop all pretense of conforming to the hetero-normative society’s rules? What words could we gather to let the rest of the world know the pain we felt upon losing so many beautiful strangers on a night in June and in a place that had been one of our havens?

  How and why does the gay bar intersect so many of our lives?

  The stories and poems living between the covers of this book attempt to answer those questions. Spend a few happy hours with us in our gay bars.

  **All profits will be donated to LGBTQI Youth Organizations**

  Gum for Gracie

  By Ona Marae

  In the summer of 1974, Bobbie Rossi's life is near perfect. She's twenty-eight, has a teaching position at a junior college, a new lesbian lover, and a family she adores. There is only one problem. Her twin sister and her nieces live on the other side of Kansas with a man who is abusive, a man who absolutely hates his wife's twin and will do anything to prove that hatred.