“I know, I know,” he said as he stepped out of the kitchen and leaned against the entryway. “I messed up.”
Angela eyed him long enough for it to be uncomfortable and then smiled. She crossed the dining room slowly, not turning her head. Her eyes were focused as something worked its way through her mind. She came to a stop a few feet from him, leaning back against the dining room table. “You sure did,” she said. “You acted like a coward.” She didn’t say the words any different, but the last phrase cut hard at John. She was still smiling.
“I couldn’t do it,” he said. “It’s not like we’re talking about pulling a cow in the house and—”
“Yes, it is,” she said, her voice taking on a deeper note as she pushed off the table and took a long step toward him. “That’s exactly what it’s like. If you had to eat and the only thing that would satisfy you was some stupid cow…” Her smile widened. “…would you have a problem bringing it to the slaughter?”
John knew she was trapping him, but he fell right into it anyway.
“No,” he said.
“This is the same thing,” she insisted, then took another step toward him and placed her hand on his belt. “Your son needs to eat. We brought a cow in for the slaughter, and all you had to do was make the finishing cut.”
John pursed his lips. His head was a mess. Any time he could get away from Angela for an extended period, the weight of what was happening in his house came to the forefront. However, when she got hold of him, his strength didn’t stand a chance.
“I said I messed up,” he said. “When the moment came, I couldn’t do it.”
He shook his head, disgusted with himself. No matter what was going on in his life, he couldn’t stand to disappoint his wife. She’d had a powerful control over him for as long as he could remember. Angela abruptly turned away and walked back down the hall. John hesitated and then followed after her. She stopped in front of Alex’s door and held her ear against the wood. Like a mother cat, she slowly scratched at the door. She continued the act until a haunting mimic could be heard clearly from the other side.
“Do you want to tell him?” she asked without looking at John. “Do you want to tell your son he’s going to have to suffer because you were a coward?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Angela pulled her face away, kissed her hand, and held it up lovingly to the door. She walked toward her bedroom with a smile in place.
John sighed heavily as his shoulders slouched. “But, babe…” Angela didn’t respond. He was close to where she wanted him. A small push would put things back in the right direction. “Babe,” he said, calling after her as he stepped into their bedroom.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said. “He’s gone now.” She motioned out at the hall. John stood in the doorway defeated. She sat down on the bed and looked up at him. Her eyes shifted as if trying to think of some way to fix the problem. “What do you think we should do?” she asked. “It’s not like I enjoy letting the creep rub up against me.” She leaned back on the bed resting on her elbows; the edge of her shirt rode up far enough to prove she hadn’t put on anything underneath.
John looked on without bothering to hide what he was doing. The Jack Daniels in his system was beginning to have its way with his mind. He found it difficult to keep up with the importance of the conversation. All he knew was he didn’t want Angela mad at him. He thought back to the events following their bath together as he stumbled into the room. He edged closer to the bed, and her expression changed. She didn’t have to say it, but he knew at once that he wasn’t welcome to see anything else underneath the shirt.
“He was all over me,” she said and then frowned. “It’s not like I want another man to run his hands over my skin.”
John felt the comment stick in his head. “What do you want me to do?” he asked after a long pause.
Angela smiled again. She leaned back farther and dropped on her back. The edge of her shirt rose up above her waist. “I want you to fix the problem,” she said. “If it makes you feel better,” she paused, “I want you to bring your son another cow for the slaughter.”
John didn’t react. In his current state, it took a few seconds for the impact of what she was saying to hit him. When the reality hit, it showed through in his eyes. Angela’s smile never faded.
“What?” she asked. “Don’t you think you should be the provider?”
John shifted uncomfortably.
“If you want,” Angela stretched her arms across the bed, “I guess I could go offer myself up to another man again.”
John shook his head. He looked determined in his response. “I can do it,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
John nodded. “I said I can do it.”
Angela slid across the bed and sat up on her knees. She pulled the shirt off over her head and threw it on the floor. “It will have to be soon. Our son needs it.”
John nodded.
“All right then,” she said. “Why don’t you come over here? We can talk about where you’re going to go tomorrow.”
John took a step toward the bed and then stopped. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow,” she said. “Alex is not going to wait any longer.”
John took another step and then sat on the bed.
“Don’t be upset.” She slid her arms over his shoulders. “I’ll make everything okay.”
♦
Angela laid out a plan as if John couldn’t figure it out for himself. It was his turn to go on the hunt, and he had to produce. She made it clear that Alex couldn’t wait any longer. He awoke that morning to find Angela not in the bed. A quick search of the house came up empty. The truck was still in the driveway, and John thought perhaps she’d lost it and ran out the back door, never to return. It was a gentle hum; however, which revealed the truth.
He followed the tune until he was sure it was coming from Alex’s room. He knew his wife’s voice at once, but the idea that she’d gone inside alone was something he couldn’t fathom. He called to her from the door, but she wouldn’t answer. The courage to turn the knob on his son’s door took a while to pull together. John pushed the door with the strength of a child’s breath, but as he did, a lullaby called to him with an instantly stronger volume. An abominable tone was added in between the notes. John opened the door fully to take in his family in one sight.
Angela had managed to pin Alex against the wall with his bed. The boy’s grotesque hands lashed at his mother’s face, sensing her living flesh. John stood in silence, mortified by what he saw. Alex’s skin was pale, mixed with a light violet hue. All along his arms, patches of deep bruising centered on exposed wounds. Rips in the skin revealed gray and brown muscle underneath. Dried blood dotted his clothes with a large ringed stain around his neck.
The boy’s head turned toward his father as he hissed and bit at the air in his direction. His arms lashed wildly as he clawed at the bed pinning him below the waist. The guttural sounds emitting from him were horrifying, reminding John of a dying animal lying on the side of the road. John forced himself to look away, and he stepped back out into the hall.
He went to the kitchen and waited. He tried to make himself a cup of coffee but found he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking long enough to finish the task. He settled for standing at the sink and looking out the small window at the backyard. Sunlight crept across the wide grass as the sparkling dew evaporated.
It was another half hour before he heard Angela close Alex’s door. She was still humming to herself when she came into the kitchen looking for him. John stayed at the sink but turned to face her. He found her wide smile somehow frightening. He didn’t move when she kissed him and turned her attention to finishing the pot of coffee.
“I hope you slept well,” she said.
“Good enough, I guess.”
She put the paper filter in place and measured out the grounds. “You’re going to need the strength,” she said, then leaned past him and filled the
coffee pot with water. “You’ll be up late tonight.”
John didn’t respond. He watched her pour the water in the machine and then turn it on. She finally turned her attention on him when the small red light came on.
“Thought about where you might go?” she asked.
He didn’t want to admit it, but the truth was, he had thought about it. Angela didn’t give him a chance to respond.
“I was thinking you should head to Victorville,” she said.
“Victorville? That’s an hour away.”
“I know, but we can’t very well go to the same places. Don’t you think someone might notice if a lot of people start disappearing?” she asked. “It won’t take very long for someone to piece together that every time one of us shows up somewhere, our dates don’t come back.”
She had a point.
“How am I supposed to convince someone to drive all the way back here with me?” John asked.
Angela’s eyes narrowed for a moment. Her smile faded into a slight grin. “What’s a matter, you don’t think you still have what it takes to pull in the ladies?” she asked.
John felt a tug at his ego. “I didn’t say that,” he said. “I’ve got plenty of moves.”
Angela laughed aloud. “Okay, babe, I’m sure you’ve got moves.” She tried to stop laughing. “No one said you have to bring home a bikini model, but if you did,” she smiled again, “I’d be impressed.”
They waited in silence for the coffee to brew. Angela poured two cups and gave one to John. He took it, and then she slapped him on the hip playfully and started to walk away.
“Let’s go,” she said.
“Where?”
“I want to pick out an outfit for you. You need to get on the road.”
“It’s eight in the morning,” John said.
Angela stopped and put one hand on her hip. She spoke slowly as if explaining something to a child. “There’s no reason you can’t try and get a full blown drunk. They start early.” She headed back into the living room, but before John could catch up with her, she popped her head back into the kitchen to finish her thought. “And make sure you bring a hammer with you. There’s no reason the lucky girl will have to want to come home with you.”
10
Victorville was far enough away that John figured he might as well be traveling to the moon. He felt lucky that the highway was clear. Nearly every day an accident backed up traffic for miles. John didn’t like the long drive. It gave him too much time to think about what he was doing. Part of him wanted to do as Angela had instructed, but there was another part, hidden deep in the back of his mind, that wanted to drive right past the Victorville exit and not look back.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the small bag on the floorboard of the truck. The metal head of the hammer reflected the sunlight from the passenger side window. John felt it calling to him, begging him to look at it. He didn’t want to look. He knew what it was for, and for the moment, he didn’t want to decide if he’d be able to use it when the time came.
He turned on the radio and raised the volume as loud as it would go. The music blared from the crappy factory speakers, but the bass pounded against him like a tidal wave. The music was enough to distract him for the moment, although the constant wall of noise was painful to his ears. John kept the music up until he could see the sign he was looking for: Victorville 5 miles. He counted off the distance, watching his mileage, and then took the off ramp heading north.
It wasn’t long before he found himself in traffic. The street opened up to rows of shops, stores, and houses. The sidewalks were filled with people all going about their morning routines. John found a parking spot in front of a donut shop and killed the engine. He headed in and ordered a regular glazed doughnut and a cup of coffee. He paid for his order and then headed back outside and stood near the truck, placing his cup of coffee and doughnut on the hood. He unwrapped his breakfast and looked up one side of the street and down the other, noting two bars, one at either end of the main strip.
The bar farther up the street in the direction he’d ridden in town had its door open. John finished his doughnut and sipped on the coffee. He watched the bar for twenty minutes but never saw anyone come in or out. He tossed his coffee in the trash near the edge of the sidewalk and got back in the truck.
He nervously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he ran through possible scenarios. He imagined he would need to keep the truck close to the front door of the bar but also out of sight. There was no way for him to predict how he would get someone in the truck, but if his charm didn’t work, he knew he couldn’t show up at home empty-handed. More determined, he started the truck, backed out onto the main street and headed toward the bar.
The traffic had cleared which allowed him to creep along. He passed the entrance to the bar and saw a small dirt area on the side of the building between it and the next store. There was another truck parked in the furthest corner of the dirt lot, but there was plenty of room. John pulled in and parked his truck midway between the road and the other vehicle, turned off the engine, and waited. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and did his best to fix his hair. He even flashed a quick smile before pulling on the door handle and hopping out.
He could hear music before he turned the corner and located the bar’s entrance. The sign above the door read Johnny’s Place, and John thought it was appropriate. He stepped through a thick darkness cloaking the entry way and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. A cloud of smoke festered permanently along the ceiling. A large table close to the bathroom door at the rear of the bar held the culprits. Two men sat at the table huddled over tall glasses of beer, lines of smoke rising from an ashtray so filled with cigarette butts that it appeared impossible to fit another one in.
John counted eight patrons, not including the bartender. It was a small number but high for so early in the day. The giant man behind the bar smiled at John from under a poorly trimmed mustache that hid his upper lip. His sleeveless shirt and assortment of jailhouse tattoos spoke volumes about his background.
“What’ll you have?” he asked in a barking, smoker’s tone.
“Draft,” John said, pointing at the only arm on the beer dispenser. “And give me two shots of whiskey.”
The bartender smiled at the order. Apparently, he liked the type of guy who was willing to get wasted before noon. He brought back the shots and beer and stood back. John didn’t hesitate, tackling the whiskey first in quick secession, and then he took a long drink of his beer.
“Let’s do it again,” John said before his glass reached the bar.
He had six shots of whiskey in him within ten minutes and was working on his second beer. Satisfied with his level of liquid courage, he got comfortable on the barstool and settled in. The bartender went back to washing glasses, and John took in the remainder of the patrons. A quick scan of the room, using the wide mirror behind the bar, revealed two women among an assortment of men. One woman was sitting in between two men at a table across from the bar, which John quickly crossed off as a possibility, leaving him with the lone woman at the end of the bar. He’d seen her when he walked in but hoped he would have other choices. Her pudgy, round face was hovering over the rim of her glass, but her eyes were already on him. She smiled at him, and he instinctively tried to look away. He reminded himself that he didn’t have to be in a hurry and then hoped time would reveal another opportunity.
♦
Nancy was as annoying to listen to as she was to look at. John sat at the other end of the bar for four hours drinking before he gave in. Much to his dismay, no one came in, and as his vision blurred, he figured he would have to make do with what he had. From the moment he slid down the bar and asked to sit next to her, Nancy was all over him. Her grocery store perfume mixed with the smell of stale cigarettes made him want to throw up. To her credit, Nancy had a wonderful, sexy voice. John assumed this was what all those phone sex ladies really looked like on the other end o
f the line. He found that if he glanced in the opposite direction when she was talking to him, he could stand to be near her.
“You look like the type of man who would like to have a good cook at home,” she said.
It was the third time she’d said it, as much as John could keep track. He guessed from the look of her from the bar down, she’d been involved in cooking big meals most of her life. “I bet you can cook a lot,” he said, trying not to laugh. He was drunk and he knew it. He’d tried to pace himself an hour ago but soon realized he was too far-gone to do anything about it. “So what time does this place pick up?”
Nancy’s bulbous head pulled back from the rim of her glass and eyed him cautiously. “You looking for someone?” she asked.
John smiled and shook his head. “No, sweetie, I found somebody,” he said. “I want to know what time the party starts.” He was still holding on to the hope that he could find another woman. Nancy had tried to kiss him twice, and he couldn’t bring himself to go through with it.
“We can get the party started any time you want,” she said. She swiveled her hips on the bar stool and managed to catch one of John’s legs in between hers. She squeezed and her mouth parted, revealing the gapped toothed smile he was trying to avoid. “You know what I mean?”
John couldn’t respond. He was drunk, but he wasn’t that drunk. He didn’t want to lose Nancy, but at this point, that seemed impossible. He decided to give himself another few hours, and then he would have to settle for what he had.
♦
Nancy whispered in John’s ear, and the smell of beer and pretzels was overpowering. “Why don’t we get out of here?” she asked.
Another two hours passed and John’s luck was on the rise. He’d stopped drinking and could now at least see the entrance to the bar from across the room. There had been several new arrivals and as of half an hour ago, it included a small group of women who looked like they’d come from work.
“I have to take a leak,” he said. He had to unlatch himself from Nancy’s legs to get up, and his concern grew when she tried to get up with him. Worried she might follow him into the bathroom, he had to lay down the law. “Wait here, damn it, or I won’t be coming back.”
The Decaying World Saga Box Set [Prequel #1-#2 & Books #1-#2] Page 7
