Twisted Tales of Mayhem: 2019 MMM Special Edition Anthology

by Sapphire Knight

  You place a kiss on the top of my head and whisper, “You’ll be safe, I’ll keep you safe.”

  And I believe you. When you gun the engine, the seat vibrates beneath me. Just like my future. Wife.

  We pull onto Sea Drive and the melodic chords of the sweetest song spills from a passing lowrider’s window. Each lyric touches my heart and I couldn’t agree more. It is like heaven, riding on the back of your bike.

  Part 2

  John Doe

  Chapter 1

  Today marks the one-year anniversary of the disappearance of Angelina Braga. Sister to famed mob boss Anthony Braga, she was just eighteen when she vanished. When asked for a quote her brother had this to say. ‘Missing? Not without permission, she’s not. My little sister’s too smart for that.’

  Police report no new leads. So far, all roads have led to dead ends. Except one. The victim was last seen on the back of a chrome Harley Roadster. If you have any information…

  That’s cheery. In search of something less macabre, I twist the radio knob. But it appears that on the well-traveled road between proposal and marriage? There is nothing but static. Bored, I find myself wondering about all kinds of things. Like why there aren’t a crop of wedding stores out here. Probably make a fortune, then I realize.

  The desert is the kind of place where bodies are measured to fit into hastily dug holes, not wedding attire. Use your noodle.

  Besides, graves are the opposite of the happy thoughts I should be having on the way to the altar. Once that thought crosses my mind however, it keeps bumping into things. Trying to make itself comfortable and the newscasters words reverberate in my mind.

  Last seen on the back of a motorcycle. How in the fuck has that not been found?

  Likely it was stolen and chopped for parts or melted down in a fiery crash, whichever way. There should be a metal carcass lying around to pick over.

  The thought feels like a goose walking over my grave and here’s another. What about the driver?

  An approaching tunnel yawns before me and I forget all about motorcycle rides that end in dead ends. Instead, I swipe a hand over my bleary eyes and focus on my own road ahead. The soft snores coming from the passenger seat remind me that I’m not alone. I’ve got responsibilities.

  We’re in the dark so long, the barren landscape outside begins to feel like Utopia. The only driving light in the cavernous tunnel is the sickly yellow arcs flickering from the cracked headlights and I’m praying the battery on this beat-up rental holds up.

  The exit becomes the only thing on my mind and before you know it. We’re out of the tunnel and into the night.

  Grateful, I stare at the constellations spilling down from Heaven like salt thrown over your shoulder to ward off bad luck.

  Reminds me of that old show. Shot in black and white, with a narrator who wore a slick suit and talked like he had lockjaw. What would he make of my current situation, I wonder? Cigarette in hand, probably something along the lines of… ‘Picture a lovesick marine. Owner of one unexpected leave, eager to get home and surprise his girl, only it’s the soldier who gets the shock of his life. He finds himself on the long road of second thoughts and hasty decisions. Next stop a quickie marriage.’

  Will it end in a quickie divorce?

  Almost as if it’s my thoughts playing on the radio, you stir in your sleep.

  Unsettled, I steal a glance at my responsibility. A pregnant woman buckled into the passenger seat. Brow furrowed, even in sleep. You still look beautiful to me.

  “Don’t worry, Stella. This kid’s going to have a mommy and a daddy,” I mutter under my breath.

  I just wish I had a better name to give than the one the nuns gave to me.

  Chapter 2

  Anonymous, a one size fits all name. John Doe.

  The recruiter had just about laughed me out of the office when my enlistment application landed on his desk. It wasn’t until he read the discomfort on my face that he knew who the real joke was on. Serious, he studied me over his reading glasses and asked me straight. “You an orphan?”

  “Yes, sir.” My answer was just as blunt.

  Flustered, he skimmed my papers again. “No kin at all? How about an aunt, maybe a cousin?” He asked.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t coax a relative out of me. Still, he felt the need to press. “A good-looking kid like you. There’s gotta be a girl. Someone you’re sweet on?”

  Stella. A ghost of a smile betrayed me.

  Slapping his knee, he said, “I knew it! Lucky, I asked. You almost left money on the table boy!”

  Pointing to the blank beneficiary line, he continued. “Put your wife’s name down right there and we’ll get you squared away.”

  Despite his insistence, the pen in my hand didn’t move. Sure, I lived for that beautiful smile, but…wife?

  Talk about commitment. Tapping the pen against my lower lip, I’d asked, “Do girlfriends count?”

  “They should. But Uncle Sam only pays out death benefits to spouses, parents, and children. Unless you got a kid or two?” he asked, searching my face.

  “Sterile. Skateboard accident when I was ten,” I said.

  “Sorry to hear that. Everything else works though, right?” Full of commiseration, he said.

  With a shrug, I replied. “I don’t pee sitting down if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Then I’d say, the military is getting a rock bottom deal on you. But you’ve got two weeks. Take that girl of yours out. The one that puts that grin on your face and make it legal. Get a certificate back to me and we’ll get you a beneficiary yet.”

  He slapped my back and showed me the door.

  “See you soon.” I’d promised on the way out.

  Only problem was, Basic was two tours ago and I haven’t seen that recruiter since.

  Military leaves came and went, I never asked and you’re not the kind to pressure. Anytime marriage was brought up, it was me who was doing it. Surprised, you’d say. “Marriage? The last thing you need on your plate is extra helpings of worry for a wife back home.”

  In the cold light of day, your concern looked like apathy. A rejection, almost as bad as my parents giving me up. Sure you loved me, just not enough. Content in our current roles of boyfriend and girlfriend, we exchanged superficial letters filled with good cheer and went on with life.

  That was until your last letter. It was actually you more than me, that saved all those women and children. Because of what you didn’t say.

  Chapter 3

  I was still puzzling over your letter when word came down from the top. Without any warning, I was pulled off the bomb squad and given a new assignment. My job was simple. Keep an unofficial eye out.

  Incredulously, I’d asked. “Babysit a church?”

  “Think of it as keeping an eye on freedom of religion,” my commander had explained.

  The men in my platoon had looked on with jealousy.

  ‘Whose pecker did you suck to get that cushy assignment, Doe?’

  ‘Say a few Hail Mary’s for me.’

  ‘Don’t choke on the holy water, Doe.’

  Their barbs rang in my ears as I made the trek. Six clicks east of Bumfuck, smack dab in the middle of the Afghani desert sat one of the softest targets I’d ever seen. A white clapboard Christian church. Habited by a village of war widows and their children.

  And I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Two bombs had been recovered just last month.

  Officially, I was there to collect intel, nothing more. Walk the perimeter, a whole lot of business as usual. Total cake job alright. Kicking rocks is what it felt like. I’d gladly run point on the next ten bombs just to be back on the base. Hell, there’s probably a stack of letters waiting on me by now. Full of news about your day, how you’re feeling, what that bitch of a mother of yours has said about me lately. Because out here out in the boondocks? There’s no Pony Express. Hell, there’s not even a phone. What kind of place in the modern world has no goddamn services?
r />   Furiously, I jotted notes marking off trouble spots along the margins of the map.

  Those hidden areas that we can’t see, but the void of their existence eats at you just the same.

  Like that letter you sent me.

  I needed to hear, in your own words, why your last letter felt like it came out of a can.

  Dear John,

  Hope you are well.

  Be safe-Stella.

  Hardly worth the price of a stamp. Not a lot of space to read between the lines. I blamed the brutal sun baking the edges of my brain for the uncertainty I felt. You’ve always been faithful to a fault. True blue, I could set my watch by you. Anytime one of the other guys in the barracks received a ‘Fuck you’ letter from home, I’d listen to their story of woe. Smirking like a smug bastard, just knowing my girl was right where I left you. Patiently waiting back home for me. Faithful to a fault, but still that sentence loomed in my mind like a marque. It ate at me night and day.

  Hope you are well. Did your mom write it for you?

  Cut off from you, is a whole ‘nother level of hell that I never want to visit again. Food had no taste, I couldn’t get rid of the goddamn thirst that clawed at my throat no matter how many canteens I drank. Unfulfilled, every breath I took lacked air. I was dying without you.

  Every step of the perimeter check felt like a step away from you.

  Overwhelmed and all consumed, all I wanted was to get back to you.

  Hell, I’d left you hanging in the wind too long. Unprotected, anything could happen to you. A bomb, an accident, no one was there to protect you.

  There’s nothing going on today. I look out at the barren wasteland and wish for a post office box. Dejected, I turned the corner. Sweet hymnal music wafts through the open window. Their voices flowed through me like it was you singing on the back porch. Remember the way just speaking the lyrics would make you choke up?

  I do.

  “Sing something for me, baby,” I whisper your way.

  But you’re not up to singing. It’s probably the baby that has you feeling drained, I hope to hell it ain’t me.

  Call me crazy, but I thought I’d already lost you.

  I cursed that evil place but stopped short of cursing everyone in it.

  Because sitting dead center, blocking the double door exit of the church was a brown paper postal package.

  Chapter 4

  Oh, the church can get mail, but I can’t even get two sentences. That’s some bullshit.

  If I’m truthful, that’s what I fucking thought before it hit me. Nothing’s been in or out of this place except me.

  I caught the tail ends of the preacher’s robes disappearing around the side of the church. The singing inside reached a crescendo. Faithful voices feeling the spirit…that could be you in there Stella!

  No time for safety, I didn’t bother checking for wires. Honestly, I didn’t think. Just acted like a lovesick fool.

  My sweaty hands left imprints on the greasy sides of the box. Heavy as rocks, there was no tic, only the smell of rotten eggs. Knowing I was short timing, I hopped the railing. Eyes on the fleeing preacher, I ran like hell with that bomb tucked under my arm like a football.

  I must have thrown it like one too. Witnesses say pieces of the preacher flew one hundred feet in the air.

  I knew a sign when I saw one. God was talking to me. Telling me my time was just about up. By the time I got back to the base and my commanding officer pinned the medal to my chest I was on borrowed time.

  With a smack to my shoulder, he said, “You’re going to go far, kid.”

  Only he didn’t know how far.

  Lucky, I had some emergency leave tucked away, ‘cause if I didn’t? I would’ve jumped the fucking wall and went AWOL just to get back to you. Striding past the long phone lines, I didn’t spare a glance to the men waiting two hours to call home. Instead I looked toward the wet behind the ears Private waiting on transport. Clutching his duffel like a stuffed animal, probably his first trip home. This is gonna be a piece of cake.

  Beneath the hastily printed IOU, I gladly scrawled John Doe. Whistling one of those hymns, I signed away two PRIMO weeks of holiday leave in December in exchange for his seat today.

  Keyed up, sleep evaded me the whole way home. What if I showed up and you wouldn’t even listen as to how I’ve changed? I’m no good with rejection.

  Drunk with lack of sleep I stumbled into the civilian airport, looking for your welcoming smile and I almost missed you.

  Head bowed, when you did look up. Your sad eyes belonged to some other lady. “I didn’t want you to see me in this condition, John.” You said.

  Then why the fuck didn’t you tell me?

  Amplified by the glow of dashboard lights, you look like a belly with arms. Someone foreign to me, that I haven’t had the chance to meet. Sensing my scrutiny, your face crumbles in your sleep.

  I don’t even know you.

  The wheels on my side bump the middle of the road reflectors. Blazing light fills the car. Full of terror, your eyes fly open. It both happens and is over in a second.

  Chapter 5

  A motorcycle is flying head-on at us. Cheating at a game of chicken, it’s almost upon us before I even know we’re playing. I’m blinded by an impossibly bright headlight.

  Bracing for impact, my hand flies to your chest. Holding you to the seat, I pull to the right with everything I’ve got. Despite a massive effort, there’s no way this crash isn’t going to happen. Anticipating the kiss of chrome, I cry out. “Please God help me!”

  Anticipating the kiss of chrome, I’m shocked when the silver machine passes by my window. So close, I could reach out and touch the raven-haired beauty on the back. As the car comes to a stop, I can still hear the woman’s tinkling laughter.

  Voice shaky, I say. “That was close.”

  Next to me, you’re on the edge of the seat. Wide eyed, you peer into the darkness of the desert, unfazed by the accident. By me, by anything.

  “You don’t even know how close do you?” I ask sadly.

  You turn to me but look past me. Petrified, you stare out my window in wide-eyed terror.

  Expecting to see a fist coming at me, my hand flies up to protect myself when I turn. But there’s no one there. We’re alone in the desert.

  “What the hell?” I whisper.

  “Maybe it’s the pregnancy that has you acting this way but all your fears are starting to rub off on me Stella.” I mutter and remove my foot from the brake.

  We coast to the road. Right blinker on, as I look to the left a strange sense of dejavu overtakes me. Weird, I’ve never been here before. Maybe it’s the near miss that has me feeling this way. “Stella, we’ve got to go back.”

  I almost expect a corny marine joke, but your silent when I turn back. Towards the way we just came.

  Chapter 6

  A quarter mile back, in a turnout shadowed by a wall of Mesa, a gleam of chrome winks like an S.O.S. I pull off the road and my headlights illuminate a woman.

  Back turned to us, she’s draped across a chrome Harley Roadster like an American flag.

  Steeling myself, I turn to you. “Stay here,” I say and unbuckle my seatbelt.

  “Don’t leave me.” You whimper and make it sound like I’m leaving you for good.

  Your head jerks toward the back window like someone’s coming. I look back too. There’s no one there.

  You’re really starting to freak me out. “Stay the fuck here, Stella. Lock the doors.” I say, too rough. But it’s for your own good. You’re in no condition for this nonsense.

  When I get out, I keep my eye on the woman. Gravel crunches like cereal beneath my boots. I’m not even trying to be quiet yet the woman hasn’t turned. Approaching on the woman’s six, my voice is overly loud when I ask. “Miss, are you okay?”

  No response. At 5:00, I see thigh-high boots crossed at the ankle. A flash of skin, the hem of a short dress. “Ma’am?” I ask again.

  At 4:00 I can just make o
ut her silhouette. Eyes closed, she looks like she’s praying. Is she sleeping? I hope like hell she doesn’t wake up and reach back for the shotgun sticking out of the saddlebag.

  At 3:00 I can hear humming. A haunting melody that reminds me of days long past.

  Still in profile, I’m mesmerized when her lips begin to move. Clear as a bell, she speaks.

  ‘“When we get to Vegas, I’ll buy you the biggest fucking rock,’ you said.

  Then I said. ‘That’s great, but I still get a jacket with my name on it right?””

  Animated, she giggles and I feel like I’m eavesdropping on a private conversation for one

  Abruptly, she sits up. Licking her lips, she adjusts her breasts and stares off into the darkness.

  Now I feel like a Peeping Tom. Reaching to get her attention, I’m practically yelling this. “Miss!”

  “Don’t fucking touch her,” a growl comes from right behind me. Scared shitless, I freeze. Like a fucking winter pond.

  No one was behind me a second ago. Where’d he come from?

  I turn to the driver. Six foot three at least, this guy could slam dunk me while taking a piss. Walking from behind the bushes, buttoning his fly. It looks like I’ve caught him doing just that.

  “Feeling better, Rafe?” the woman asks. Her voice sounds like wind chimes on a cold, wet night. Chilled, I no longer want to see her.

  “I’m good.” The man looks at his girl, then back at me. “Don’t touch her when she’s reminiscing. It’s her therapy.”

  I see fear in his heart when I look into his eyes.

  Confused, I shake my head. I would never. But even as I think it, my hand still hovers mere inches from the woman. What the?

  Before I can pull my hand back, she stands. Looking at the road, she says. “I’m done for now. We can do more reminiscing later. Besides, we’re out of beer. He might need some guidance though.” She points a thumb my way. “Looks a little lost if you ask me.”