No Fury Like That

by Lisa de Nikolits

  She lights another cigarette from the remnants of her first. “One day, he says he’s got a present for me. And he gives me a jewellery box and it’s got this enormous diamond ring in it. Real diamonds. I asked him where he got it and he said he found it. He said he was out walking and there it was.

  “Now, stuff had been going missing from the old-age home, everybody knew about it, and I thought he had taken it from one of the old ladies. I admit it, I did. But I didn’t have any proof so I figured if I could get into Mr. Healey’s office, then maybe I could find a list or something of what was reported missing.

  “I waited for Mr. Healey to go home and I watched the nurses’ station outside his office. I knew where they kept the spare key. As soon as I could, I let myself in and I locked the door from the inside.

  “I started searching and I didn’t find a list but I found a huge load of heroin in the filing cabinet. Later, I found out it was about a thousand bricks.”

  Fat Tracey lets out a low whistle. “Man. That’s a lot.”

  “How much is it?” Samia asks.

  “A bundle is ten bags, there are five bundles in a brick and a bag is like the size of your little finger,” Fat Tracey explains.

  “What would a thousand bricks be worth?” I ask.

  “I guess around half a million to a million dollars,” Fat Tracey says. “Depends on what it’s cut with.”

  “Tracey, how do you know so much?” I ask.

  “That’s Fat Tracey to you,” she retorts, but I shake my head.

  “Fuck the fat,” I say. “You’re too damn gorgeous.” It’s true, and I am sick of her demeaning herself. It’s time to fight this battle and win.

  Tracey looks annoyed. “Why do you even care?”

  I get why she’s surprised. I come across as the most superficial person on the planet and for the most part, I am. But this kind of self-denigration is never okay.

  “Your fat does not define you,” I say. “We are more than the bodies we were born with. I had everything come my way because I turned out to be beautiful, but no one liked me and I was a bitch. I still am. All I am saying is that you’re Tracey to me.”

  I know there is a reason I feel this strongly about it. I try to pinpoint a memory, to probe it for clues but it drifts away. I stare at Tracey, resolute.

  “Well, okay. Whatever,” Tracey says. “Focus on Agnes, will you? Shit, Julia, you’re like a fucking magpie, distracted by the weirdest shit, try to stay on track here.”

  “I wish I still had the body I was born with,” Grace says. “Instead, I’m Frankenstein’s monster and that’s not easy to live with, I’ll tell you. But never mind that, what did you do?” she asks Agnes. “What did you do about the heroin?”

  “I took it. I grabbed a smelly old gym bag that he had there and I took it all.”

  “Motherfucker,” Tracey says. “You’ve got balls, girl.”

  “I went back to Auntie Miriam’s room,” Agnes continues, “and I stuffed as much as I could into that cushion that Auntie Miriam was holding when they were tearing up the place. I stashed about half of it.”

  “Did she know what is in it?” Grace asks and Agnes shakes her head.

  “No, she was asleep when I did it. I went home and I phoned Josh.”

  “Was home with your mom and stepdad?” Samia asks and Agnes shakes her head again.

  “I had this roommate who was oblivious to me, to life, to everything. She hardly spoke any English. Anyways, I called Josh and he came over and I showed him the stuff. He nearly had a hernia. He said he knew a guy who’d get us hooked up and we’d make a killing. Yeah, right.”

  She starts crying again and Beatrice, who finished her dessert and has thankfully wiped her chin, hands her a couple of napkins.

  Agnes blows her nose and wipes her face.

  “About a week later, it’s arranged for us to meet up with a guy in Niagara. There’s an abandoned hotel on the lakeshore with a parking lot and that’s where the deal was going to be made, at midnight. We were supposed to get half a million in cash and that’s just for the half of the stuff. I didn’t tell Josh about the rest that I left in Auntie Miriam’s cushion. I guess I wanted to make sure we got the money and then, if everything went okay, we could do another deal. Big mistake.

  “We get there and the place is pretty scary and we wait. We’re the first to arrive. Then this big SUV pulls up and guess who gets out? Mr. Fucking Healey. I nearly died. My heart was going so hard I thought it was going to blow a valve. I say to Josh, what the fuck, and I can see he’s as terrified as I am.

  “Mr. Healey says ‘oh, it’s you, Joshua, I should have guessed. Who’s your girlfriend?’ Because no one at the home knew we were seeing each other and I had on a toque and it was dark and I had removed my piercings. And then Mr. Healey pulls out this gun and he says ‘give me back my fucking drugs or you’re dead.’

  “And I’ve got no fucking clue how we’re going to get out of this shit and it’s all my fault we’re there in the first place.

  “Mr. Healey tells Josh to take the drugs to him and I say no, he shouldn’t, but what else can he do? He takes the bag over and of course, Mr. Healey notices there’s a bunch missing.

  “And that’s when he shoots Josh in the foot.” Agnes is sobbing and it’s hard for her to talk. “He shot him in the fucking foot.”

  “Do you want to stop for a bit?” Grace asks and we look at her, incredulous at her suggestion. Stop? We need to know what happened next.

  Agnes shakes her head. “I need to finish. Josh is lying on the ground and he’s screaming and Mr. Healey’s shouting at him, ‘where’s my drugs, where’s my drugs?’ and Josh is saying he doesn’t know and I can’t tell them because they’ll kill Auntie Miriam.”

  She lets out a shuddering sigh. “I guess he figured Josh was the mastermind behind the whole thing because he didn’t pay me much mind up to then, not about asking me where the drugs were anyway. But he turns to me and he says ‘do you know?’ He says ‘don’t you lie to me, little girl,’ and I throw up and he waits and then he says ‘tell me, and don’t lie now.’ I shake my head, I say I don’t know, God help me, I don’t know. He asks Josh again and of course, Josh can’t tell him because he doesn’t know, but Mr. Healey just figures he is being a tough guy. So he shoots him in the knee. I’m terrified that Josh will tell him I was the one who found the drugs in the first place, because then of course, Mr. Healey will know that I have the missing stash.

  “But Josh is in so much pain he can’t talk, and he’s screaming so loud and Mr. Healey shouts at him to shut the fuck up, but Josh can’t even hear him.

  “Then Mr. Healey shoots Josh in the chest and in the head and the bullet goes right through his eyeball and out the other side.

  “And the only person left screaming is me and I hear Mr. Healey say ‘what a bunch of fucking baby amateurs’ and he turns the gun on me and he shoots me three times in the chest.

  “And then I woke up here.”

  None of us know what to say.

  “I loved him so much,” Agnes says crying. “Josh. I loved him so much and he was so beautiful and everything, and he was going to be a great musician and he’s dead, because of me. And Mr. Healey must have somehow figured out the connection between me and him because why else would they have done that to Auntie Miriam’s room?”

  “But your mother got them kicked out,” Beatrice says calmly. “I’m telling you, Auntie Miriam is fine.”

  “But I killed Josh,” Agnes says twisting her hands in her lap. “He’s dead because of me.”

  “He’s dead because he chose to sell the drugs,” Beatrice says. “It was dangerous for both of you. Neither of you had any idea what you were doing, but Josh knew it was dangerous, of course he did. The truth is that you died because you were young and stupid and that’s not your fault.”

  “That’s not a very n
ice thing to say,” Isabelle objects, glaring at Beatrice who shrugs.

  “It’s the truth,” she says. “Nice or not.” She gets up and walks away.

  “So gentle, so loving,” Tracey says watching her go. She pulls her chair around to where Agnes is sitting and puts her arms around her.

  “Listen, baby, it really wasn’t your fault, okay? My mum was a drug mule and trust me, it’s a risky game even for those who’ve been at it a long time.” She strokes Agnes’s hair, but Agnes cannot be consoled.

  A drug mule? I want to ask her more but it’s clearly not the right time.

  “She’s back,” Isabelle says watching Beatrice striding across the canteen floor.

  “Intrigua’s with her,” I said. “She’ll take care of Agnes.”

  “We’re taking you to the Rest Room,” Beatrice says, in what are for her, kind tones. “Come on, Agnes.”

  Intrigua takes Agnes by the hand and she immediately relaxes, as if hypnotized. After they leave, we look around at one another. “I don’t think I ever want a Viewing,” I comment, and Samia agrees.

  “I don’t think they’re all as bad as that,” Tracey says. “Coffee tomorrow?”

  “I never know where to find you,” I say, panicked.

  “One of us will come and get you,” Tracey assures me. “Grace is fading. Grace, you’ve lasted longer than usual.”

  “The power of adrenalin is effective, even to us dead folk,” Grace says faintly and she smiles as she disappears.

  “We’re all going to get bounced soon. Who needs a watch when you’ve got Grace?” I hear Tracey joke and it’s the last thing I hear before I find myself lying in the darkness of the Rest Room, with the thick black curtains pulled around my bed. I guess Purgatory decided that I needed a break and for once, I’m in agreement.

  14. I RUN AWAY FOR A WHILE

  THE SIGN SAYS: God, being Love, is also Happiness. I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about God here? Although Purgatory does seem to change the rules without rhyme or reason. Agnes warned me about the inconsistency and she was right.

  I stand outside Cedar’s door for a bit, thinking. Then I knock.

  “Julia! Come on in.”

  I sidle in, still fearful that an obscenity will jump out of my mouth like a toad. I sit down and look at him.

  “Quite the day you had yesterday,” he says and I nod.

  “Anything you’d like to talk about?”

  I shake my head. “I … I think maybe I need a day off. I can’t do this today.”

  “Fair enough,” he says and he stands up. “I’ve got something you might like. Come with me.”

  I follow him down a different hallway to another door that looks exactly the same as all the others. He opens it and holds the door aside, so I can enter first. The room is plain and white and it’s empty except for a running machine exactly like the one I had at home. “Yeah,” I say, exhaling. “Good thinking.”

  Cedar points to a basket. “Clothes and running shoes are in there. You can change in here once I’m gone, no one will disturb you. And here,” he says “put these on.”

  He hands me a pair of sunglasses.

  “My future’s so bright?” I joke but when I put them on, I am immediately transported to another world. I am back on Earth, on a winding road that follows the pale caramel curves of a sandy beach, with breakers crashing and rolling off an ocean of aqua and teal. The sky above me is blue but it isn’t the weird flat cyan of Purgatory, no, this sky is cobalt and rich and deep and the clouds are real, they’re alive and bursting with energy. Seagulls cry and swoop for fish and behind me, mountains soar with majestic beauty.

  I can hardly speak. “Thank you, Cedar,” I finally manage and he grins.

  “My pleasure. And there’s music too, if you like. Just say whatever song you want, and it will play. See you later, alligator.” He leaves me alone with my heaven on Earth.

  I yank off my Versace dress and pull on the running clothes with a feeling akin to a craving. The shoes are exactly the same as mine, of course, and the running gear is also a mirror image of my Earth apparel.

  I do some stretches, then I hop on the treadmill and start jogging slowly to warm up. I am stiff from lying around and not doing much of anything in Purgatory but I quickly loosen up.

  I jog down the road, and I can smell the salt coming off the ocean. I smell the asphalt heating up beneath my feet, and the happy fragrance of suntan lotion hangs in the air along with French fries, evening bonfires, sea sand, and the burnt caramel of toasted marshmallows.

  Apart from the fragrances in the Makeup Room, Purgatory is without scent. The only aroma can be found in Tracey’s kitchen. The canteen is completely odourless despite the variety of dishes served. The hallways and rooms never carry the scent of cleaning products or furniture polish or anything at all, and I’ve yet to see a live flower.

  As if reading my mind, Earth obligingly coughs up the goods, and I run past bushes of sweet honey jasmine and daydreamy lilac, past trees with cherry and plum blossoms and the sweetness and purity nearly make me cry.

  “I’ve missed you so fucking much,” I tell the Earth. “I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t appreciate you properly when I was here. I miss the trees. I miss real grass. I miss mud. I miss dogs even although I hated the fuckers, and I miss the sound of kids playing although it annoyed the shit out of me back then. I miss seeing people playing baseball at night in the summer and walking on the boardwalk. I know that the only thing I was thinking about was myself and what I wanted to acquire next, and I hardly seemed to notice the beauty around me but I did notice it, I did.”

  The road veers into a forest and I run into the tangled undergrowth, with the sun struggling to shine through the twisted and knotted vines of the treetops. I brush at tiny cobwebs as I run, and the sound of breaking twigs and crunching loam crackles under my feet as I pick up even more speed and pound forward. I run for miles in that forest, through sunlit glades and back into the cool shade of the forest.

  The path curves and I find myself at the ocean once again, on a boardwalk this time, with the weathered old wood bouncing slightly beneath my feet and I run harder and faster than I have ever run, and I can hardly breathe. I stop pacing myself and I push until I think my lungs will burst. I finally have to stop and I throw myself down on the sandy beach. I lie there, looking at the sky, listening to the crashing waves, and the cries of the seagulls echo the loneliness I feel.

  I close my eyes and suddenly there is no longer sand under me but cushiony foam, and from the jumble of scents, I know that I am back in the Makeup Room.

  I lie on the sofa, not wanting to open my eyes. I never want to leave that ocean road and I want to be able to run in that forest forever.

  But all good things come to an end. The door opens and in walks Beatrice, with a Scrabble board under her arm.

  15. SCRABBLE AND MURDER

  “COME ON, CUPCAKE,” she announces brusquely. “This was your idea, so let’s have at her.”

  “Here?” I swear my voice squeaked.

  “Of course not. I’ve got no time for girly doodads. Follow me.”

  I am still in my running gear and, unbelievably, there is a dusting of beach sand under my T-shirt and on my joggers. I touch this miraculous substance and I want to show Beatrice but she walks away too quickly.

  She leads me to a room with white Formica coffee tables and large red leather armchairs.

  “Purgatory has a very rudimentary colour palette,” I comment. “Grass is green, clouds are white, sky is blue, and décor is red.”

  She shrugs, empties the letters into a bag and shakes it vigorously.

  “I would have thought red would be saved for Hell,” I say meditatively but she simply holds out the bag and won’t engage. I lean down and sniff the leather chair I am sitting on.

  “Why doesn’t Purgatory replicate
what Earth smells like?” I ask. “But no, there’s nothing.” I sit back, triumphant at pointing out this shortcoming, but Beatrice just shakes the bag again.

  “Closest to letter ‘a’ starts and you can keep the letter if you want to.”

  I get an “i,” my least favourite Scrabble letter, while Beatrice gets a “j.”

  I sigh, throw my letter back and let her choose hers. Goddamn it. I get three “i’s,” two “e’s,” a “g,” and an “f.” And it goes downhill from there.

  “I used to be good at this,” I wail, and Beatrice gives me a vicious smile.

  “Best of seven?” she asks and proceeds to whip my arse six to one.

  “At least I won one,” I say, trying to make myself feel marginally better. “Beatrice, I swear we’ve been were here longer than four hours. You don’t get bounced?”

  She shakes her head. “Not when you’ve been here as long as I have.”

  She lights up a cigarette and offers me the pack and I take one gratefully.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask.

  “Hard to say. Put it this way, I’ve seen hundreds of you newbies come and go. Course, it took me a while to get to admin, that didn’t happen overnight.”

  “How did you die?”

  “Miss Nosy Parker, at it again. Fine, if you must know, I got Alzheimer’s and the doctors wanted to put me in a home. Except for my sister, who died before me, I always lived alone, quite happily thank you very much. When the chips were down and I was going to lose my marbles, I decided to take my own life while I could still remember what a sunset in Hawaii looked like.”

  “How did you kill yourself?”

  “Jesus, you’re a morbid one. I gassed myself in the garage, sitting in my big Cadillac convertible, top up, needless to say. And I took my cat with me, if you must know. All for one and one for all. My house is still there, rotting away on Chuckery Hill Road. I didn’t leave a will. I thought it’d be fun to leave a mess since I lived such a neat and tidy life and where the hell did that get me? I visit the old shack when I get a Viewing now and then. Great little place it was, on the edge of a lake. You probably won’t believe me when I tell you the name of the lake.”