by Calinda B
I stride to my pottery store, intent on shattering my best work. May as well go out with a bang, I think, unlocking the door to the storefront.
A small pen light beam lights the corner. Mary sits huddled over her knees. “Oh, hey,” she says, in a sad, muffled little voice.
One of the glass panes in my front door is shattered. I picture her reaching in and unlocking the deadbolt from the inside. “Aw, what the hell?” I snap. I’m so done being nice and supportive. “You broke into my studio. That’s a B&E.”
“But Brody went…”
“He went nuts, got it. Not my problem. Out.” I point toward the door. “You’re fired. I can’t have employees break into my place, no matter what the reason.”
Her chin quivers and I almost soften.
Don’t do it. Don’t relent. Her troubles are hers and hers alone, not yours. “Out!” I repeat in a louder voice.
“Okay, I understand,” she says. She stands and drags her feet toward the front door. “I’ll work for free,” she says, meekly. “You don’t have to pay me a dime.”
I feel my resolve weaken, but before I say anything, I picture Lennon’s nephew and the betrayal he must feel from being left so many times. It cuts right though my niceness, sharpening my inner sword of anger. “No, sorry,” I say, kinder this time. “You have to go. You have to stand up for yourself. It’s not my job to fix you.”
“All right. Thanks for all you’ve done. I’ll learn how to face Brody and his girlfriend.” Her face twists into one of derision. “I hate her. I hate him. He’s always fawning over her, calling her sweet names like Tammy Sue-weet—her name’s Tammy Sue but he makes it sound like she’s Tammy Sweet, and it makes me want to barf.”
“So fucking get rid of them! Quit whining! You’re nothing but a victim, Mary. You have everything you need to change and grow. Go! Get out of here and make a change!”
She actually has the nerve to get on her knees and beg, like a fucking puppy.
I stab my finger toward the door. “Get. Out.”
“Please, Mercedes, I’ll do anything,” she pleads. “Give me a chance.”
“Get the fuck out that door before I do something I’ll regret.” I’m livid.
She scurries out the door like a mouse.
That stupid shiver thing winds its way through my body and I wish I could prevent it from ever happening again. I thought it meant something. Now I see it means I need my head checked, or I need a lobotomy to keep from spiraling into magical thinking about what a wonder I’ll be when I become a soul snatcher.
I slam the door behind her, deadbolt it, pull down the door shades, yank shut every curtain I’ve got and place the closed sign in the door. I want to scrawl Forever but can’t find a goddamned pen.
After rummaging for duct tape, I manage to tape the square pane now missing glass—not very secure, but at this point, I don’t care. I don’t even care when a shard of glass slices through my finger. In fact, I welcome the pain. I stalk through the studio, deadbolt the door leading to my home and prepare to shift, flying for distant lands.
When I enter the sky, I feel, once again, fearless and alive. I don’t care what fate befalls this fucking town. Surely there are other creeks, other places not subject to corrupt politicians and greedy developers.
A few of my fellow crows call from the trees where they rest.
Caw, caw. “Where ya going?”
Caw, caw, I answer. “Anywhere but here.”
Odin flies past me at one point, the ghostly image of a soul flying behind him like a flag.
I want to tell him to get fucked, same as I told Lennon, but I’ve got too much respect for him. Instead, I let out cold caw of greeting, and veer away, not wanting to converse. He’s too busy doing important things to care about me.
This nagging feeling haunts, me though, stirred by Odin’s presence. Well, shit, I can’t leave without bringing Elena’s killer to justice. Not after years of friendship. I decide to see if Bill made it to his home. Lord knows I’ve been past his house enough, driving by with Elena all moody and weepy, or else caught up in pie-eyed love for the asshole. Little did she know what kind of substance he was made of and what he could do.
Once I arrive at his house, I circle the perimeter, looking for an opening. As a wasp shifter, he might leave a window open, same as me. Sure enough, when I fly past the backyard, I see the basement window propped open. I hop to the sill and peer inside, only a dark room.
I ease inside and flutter hop up the stairs to a closed door. Crap. I need to shift to maneuver and then I’ll be naked. Deciding to not let self-consciousness drive me, for once, I shift, turn the doorknob and let myself into the hall next to the kitchen. I cock my head for signs of life – a TV, breathing, anything. There it is. Gurgling gasps and wheezing come from the lighted room to the left.
I tiptoe to the doorway and peer inside. Sweet Jesus and Mother Mary, I’m about to lose my shit. Bill’s still alive, sprawled on the leather sofa. Skin hanging, skeletal remains poking through flesh, a cavern where once lay intestines, one eye left – somehow his lungs still inhale and exhale, and his heart pumps listlessly, spurting blood through what’s left of capillaries, arteries and veins. Small, rhythmical squirts of his life essence make colorful stains on the expensive beige suede supporting him.
I can’t help myself. I race to the toilet, lean over my knees and vomit. Crap. How I hate to throw up. Stepping back into the hallway, my gaze returns to the pile of morbid flesh sitting on the couch.
Bill stirs, like I disturbed him. The man can’t talk, no tongue, no lips, but he trains his one eye on me and his one good arm swirls around, gesturing like I should get a knife and finish him off.
Good plan, but I’ve got a better idea. I head toward the front door, fling it open wide and shift, briefly, into crow. I let out the caws of my life, heralding the biggest goddamned murder of crows I can summon. Murder we’re called, and murder we’re going to do. I don’t care if he’s a million wasps or this despicable pile of flesh, he’s going to die. Then I’m going to demand Odin take his soul straight to hell.
There must be a thousand pairs of wings fluttering through the sky in my direction. I shift back to human and step away from the door, saying, “In here. The feast is in here. Help yourself.”
As the crows enter the living room, fluttering and flapping over one another, Bill’s one good eye expresses alarm, fear, and then resignation. He lets his head fall back on the sofa in surrender.
My crow friends get busy and it’s a din of caws, throaty rattles, wings flapping, and squawking and fighting over bits of Bill Holloway. And I’m the commander, loving every minute.
“You missed a piece,” I say, ripping off a piece of Bill’s arm. I toss it into the fray. “Don’t forget this bit,” I say, pointing at a finger. “That eye looks succulent,” I say, indicating his eyeball. It’s dirty, disgusting business but I don’t seem to mind in the mood I’m in.
Hours tick by and the crows feast until the only thing that remains are Bill’s bones. Satisfied, I brush my hands together and herd everyone outside. As I stand in the doorway, a thousand sets of wings flapping past me, I say, “Thanks, friends. Thanks for being there when I needed you. Thanks for heeding the call.” Once every last crow has gone, I close the door and saunter inside, unsure what’s next.
The living room’s a mess. Bird crap, bloody bits, debris are everywhere. “I wonder what Rickman will think of this,” I mutter, adding a chuckle. “It will blow his mind,” I say, making my fingers mimic fireworks, adding an explosion noise. I scan the room, ready to depart, when my gaze snags on a yellow scarf in the corner, marked with the initials TS. TS, I think. Why is that familiar? This must be the scarf Bill retrieved from the trash bin outside of Geek Beans. TS. TS. A light bulb goes on in my head. “Tammy Sue! Mary just told me Brody’s girlfriend’s name is Tammy Sue!”
I sprint outside, and in a single leap, shift to crow. I’ve got to head to Mary’s and see what’s really going on.<
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On the way, the chill of evil strikes me. I look down to see a Mercedes Maybach speeding up the street. I know I’m no match for his evil. I’ll never stop him and his cronies from destroying my creek—I’ve seen it for myself—but at least I can mess him up a little. There was no future prediction that said I’d make it easy for them to win.
Letting out a war cry, I summon my troops once more. Caw, caw! “Let’s dive-bomb the windshield.”
A black blur of feathers and bodies circles his fucking car, fluttering in front of the window.
Octavius Devilshorn eyes widen in surprise, before he loses control and careens into a tree with an explosive crash.
Is he dead? Doubt it. Was it satisfying? Hell, yes.
After thanking my friends again, I flap my wings hard and by the time I get to Mary’s I’m exhausted. I circle the house, heading from window to window, trying to find entrance. Oh, hell, just break her fucking window or knock the door down. I shift to my hybrid form in front of the back door and pound it with my fists. “Open up! Let me in!” Something stinks. Badly. Whimpers sound from inside.
I kick at the door with my bare foot. Hurts like a son of a bitch, but I kick and kick again, until the door breaks open. Inside, the smell is horrific. I know this smell. Smells like death to me.
I race around, trying to find the source. In the kitchen, his torso, legs and hands strapped to a chrome dinette chair, sits a young guy I’m guessing to be Brody. He’s muzzled by a rag, his eyes are wild, looking like two brown dots hovering in white rings, and he reeks of piss. His pants are off and the head of a young woman rests in his lap. No body. Just the head. This must be Tammy Sue. She’s poised over his…duct taped on his…mouth wide, on his…I can’t even say it, let alone comprehend it. The rest of her lays naked, curled in the corner, like she’s napping—without a head.
A horrified gagging sound leaves my lips. I peel the tape free, pick up a plastic cup from the counter and knock the head free, where it rolls, face up, staring at us with wide-eyed horror.
“Jesus Christ,” I say, working to untie Brody. “Jesus Fucking Christ. Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here. Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.” I seriously doubt if he’ll ever be all right again. In fact, I envision a suicide in his future and I wonder if it’s that time warp thing Mr. McMurphy mentioned, or simply my active imagination. “Let’s find the phone. We need to call this in. Where’s the phone, Brody?”
He sits mute, shaking his head back and forth, back and forth.
“Do you have a phone, Brody? I don’t have one.”
His eyes roam my figure, perhaps wondering if I’m a sex stalker, creeping into people’s homes.
“This?” I say, my hand sweeping up and down at my side. “No clothes. Long story. Do you have a phone?”
His eyes flick to his pants, which lay in a crumpled pile in the corner.
I rush over and dig through his pockets, finding his iPhone. I power it on. The battery icon is in the red zone, flashing warnings about how it’s almost as dead as Tammy Sue. “Yeah, I see that.” Still, I press 911.
When the operator answers, I start to babble about where I am and what happened when the blip of battery death rings out and the screen goes black. “Shit. Don’t worry, I’ll get help.” Ready to run outside, screaming and shrieking, I whirl around and come face to face with the muzzle of a gun – a rifle held by the shy, gawky, chubby fingers of Mary Weatherly.
“Going somewhere?” she says. “Or should I do the same thing I did to your bestie, Elena?”
“Look at you, all pretty and skinny and naked.” Mary scoffs. “Those two…” She points an accusing finger at Brody and the silent, staring head of his girlfriend. “Going at it like jungle monkeys all the time. ‘Oooh, Brody, it feels so good,’” she says in a singsong voice. “‘Give it to me, Brody.’ They got on my last good nerve.” Mary trains the rifle at my head. “Were you going to have a go at Brody, too? Suck his dick like she did all the time?”
I can’t even entertain that thought. “You killed Elena?” My eyes won’t stop blinking like a stupid person.
“Sure did. And boy, did I have fun.”
“You little bitch,” I say, and I lunge for her.
She fires the gun, but thank, God, it’s a wild shot, zinging past my ear, exploding into the back wall, deafening me.
Man, oh, man, I do not like to be fired at. That’s the second time this week. “Why on earth would you do that? What did she ever do to you?” I stick my fingers in my ears, trying to stop the ringing. It’s like a chorus of mad angels sings to me.
“She didn’t do anything. It’s what she stands for.” Mary cocks her head and peers through the rifle sight.
“And what’s that?” I ask, my gaze zipping toward Brody. I try to use my eyes to plead with him to slip away.
He’s shivering so hard I think he’s going to have a heart attack or knock his teeth loose.
“Don’t move.” Mary whirls to face Brody, aiming the gun at him, then pivots it in my direction. “Neither one of you moves or else you both get it in the head.”
I doubt if Brody has the nerve to move a muscle.
“Elena never did a thing to hurt you,” I say, scanning around for a weapon of my own.
“Doesn’t matter. She’s one of the pretty ones, like you. You all get any boy you want, twitching your rumps in their direction, batting your eyelashes, making googly eyes, while me? I get nothing. All I get is laughter. Jokes. Taunts.”
My heart goes out to her. She’s been bullied. But I didn’t do it, Elena didn’t do it, we shouldn’t have to pay for the crimes of others.
“Mary, haven’t I tried to help you get help? Haven’t I stood up for you?”
“Oh, yeah, you’ve been really nice,” she says, sarcasm flowing freely. “Meanwhile you snatched Lennon Lusk right from under my nose.”
You can have him, I think, but then I get sad. So he’s going to leave. We could have had a night of wild sex first. “Come on, Mary, put the gun down. People who’ve been bullied can get the help they need. No one should be bullied. I’ve been bullied before.”
“I don’t believe you. Not someone like you.”
Someone like me? Whatever wild ideas Mary has about me, whatever they might be, I’m baffled. She told me I’m “one of those pretty girls” like Elena. That’s the last thing I ever thought of myself.
I need to buy time. I need time to think of a plan. “So Bill Holloway must have helped you, huh?”
A maniacal laugh leaves her throat. “Bill! My cousin Bill. Do you know what kind of freak he is? His family turns into insects. Can you imagine? How sick is that? He’s next on my list of victims. Him and all his family. I’m going to wipe their shifter genes off the planet. No one should be able to turn into something they’re not. They’re unclean, unholy and need to be exterminated.” She waves the shotgun around, wildly.
“How’d you get him to help? What was in it for him?” My eyes continue their search for a weapon of any kind. Will that frying pan stop a bullet? It might bash her head in if I can get to it before she makes me dead.
“Oh, that was easy. He’s tried to protect his little secret for years. Knew he’d lose his job if the chief knew. I didn’t think I was strong enough to saw off her head.” She points the muzzle at Tammy Sue’s head, then swiftly swings it back to me when I start to inch toward the pan on the stove. “He helped. He panicked at the last minute. What a wimp. Told me he threw her clothes in the garbage at Geek Beans, thinking no one would find them.”
Sirens sound and the red and blue beacons of justice flash through the windows.
“What did you do?” Mary asks, her eyes wide. She jerks the shotgun back and forth between me and Brody.
“I didn’t do a thing, I…” Sensing her distraction, I rush at her, grab the rifle by the barrel, yank it out of her hands, and swing with all my might. The stock cracks against Mary’s skull and she slumps to the ground. She tries to rally, stumbling to her feet.<
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Her head must be as thick as clay, I think. I walloped her.
Policemen rush the house, guns locked and loaded, but I’ve already shifted, not wanting to be found bare assed.
“Goddamn, what the hell?” a policeman yells. “A head?”
“Bag it and tag it.”
“Get on the ground, get on the ground.”
My work here is done, I think, as I stretch my wings and take flight.
“I heard a gunshot, so I called the police,” a woman says below me. She’s dressed in a robe, and she stands on the front porch talking to another neighbor.
“I think someone’s dead in there. Have you smelled the stench coming from that house?” the neighbor answers.
“Do you think it was Mary?”
“She always struck me as an odd one, that girl.”
“But why Mary? She was such a quiet girl, keeping to herself,” says woman number one.
I soar into the sky, leaving it all behind.
As I head for parts unknown, Odin flies toward me.
A soul streams behind him.
Caw, caw, I cry. “Is it Elena’s soul?”
“Yes, you did it. You freed her. You did a great job, child.”
A lot of good it did me. I don’t want to stick around to hear anything else he has to say or already said in my future, so I veer left and flap my wings, hard.
Caw, caw. “Wait,” he calls. “We need to talk!”
Already had that conversation, I think, ducking into a canopy of trees to muffle hearing anything else. And I keep flying, letting my wings take me, as the crow flies, to my next destination, to my new life. I’ll miss Woodland Creek, but Lennon Lusk is right. I need to stretch my wings.
A month’s gone by and I find I can’t stay away. I have to go back and see what the destruction is at Nightmoon Creek.
