The Gone Dead

by Chanelle Benz

  Some coffee, some pills, and she’ll be okay. She goes into the bathroom, takes her dirty clothes from the plastic bag, turns her dirty shirt inside out, and puts it on—it’s black so the blood doesn’t show. She scrapes what mud she can off of her jeans and shakes her caked shoes over the trash can. There’s not much to be done about her hair, since she can’t get the stitches wet.

  A taxi drives her to the dog park. She tips the driver extra to wait until she gets in her car. There it is, right in the middle of the scrubby grass. So ignoble of a spot on which to almost die with Rufus, the one living thing she was meant to take care of.

  She maps three different routes home and takes the most circuitous. When she’s satisfied that she’s not being followed, she stops at a white-fronted doughnut shop and gets a glazed doughnut and large black coffee so she won’t be lulled by the sunlit monotony of the road. She calls work and tells them that she was in an accident. That will buy her more time. Just a little more is all she needs, maybe all she can survive.

  Back in the car, she drives slow, letting the pickup trucks high on fat wheels overtake her. At Walmart, she keeps her sunglasses on and adds a baseball cap, but people still stare at her torn mouth, taped fingers, the bruises on her arms and neck. She drops off her prescription and waits in a fog. All that matters is that she can see straight.

  The road near the house is empty except for a few birds on a power line and the same rusted-out tractor at the edge of the field. Billie packs her suitcase and puts the gun in her pants, then she fills a box with a few books and her father’s manuscript and loads it into the trunk. For a few minutes she rests in the car, locking the doors and closing her eyes.

  The finger splint on her left hand rests on the top of the steering wheel. At least it wasn’t her right. It’s the ring finger that’s broken, bulging against her middle finger and fractured pinkie. She turns on the car and catches herself in the rearview mirror. Maybe she should wear an eye patch. The squeeze starts in her chest, pushing into her throat. But it’s not time to cry. It’s her move. Hopefully nobody will burn the house down.

  THE CAR IN MABEL’S DRIVEWAY IS THE SAME AS BEFORE. SHE PARKS and sticks the gun in the front of her pants, wincing as it nudges her cracked ribs. If she tucks it a little lower she can pull her shirt over the bulge. Outside, a heavy breeze promises thunder.

  Mabel answers the door on the second ring. Billie pushes up her sunglasses. “Hello.”

  Mabel says nothing at first, her mouth falling open a little. “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I’d drop by.”

  “I got nothing to say to you.”

  Billie’s hands are shaking but the anger is warm around her shoulders. “I just want you to tell them that it’s not over, that it has never been fucking over. Because I don’t want there to be secrets between us, Mabel. I want it all to come out.”

  Everything about Mabel is suspended: the tint of her glasses purpling in the light, the crease of her cheek running alongside her mouth, the layers of red stippled softness under the gold chain around her neck.

  “Don’t be a dumbass and go home, girl.”

  “This is my home now,” Billie says, walking back to the car.

  AT THE MOTEL, BILLIE TAKES A NAP, SLEEPING TOO LONG AND BADLY, waking often but unable to get up. They’ll be coming any minute now through the shabbily ornate lobby with one sad small aquarium behind the beige front desk. The motel could be anywhere with a dollar store on the left and the highway on the right and for this reason it almost feels safe.

  She pulls her sleeping bag over her legs and adds another pillow behind her back. There’s a bottle of gin and a paper cup of black motel coffee on the nightstand next to her, a bad combination, but she needs both. The liquor store didn’t carry tonic so she has to drink the gin straight. Not enough to get drunk but just enough to soften the fist in her stomach. At least she’s showered and in clean clothes, her only ones. The plan was to go to the Laundromat after the dog park, not to have a cut on her temple held together by three stitches. Or her blood in that shitty grass. That literally shitty grass.

  Her phone rings occasionally. Jude or her boss. Voices from that other life. Not this one of gin and blood and a dark room choked by the ghost of cigarettes.

  Rufus is at the veterinary hospital. The bullet didn’t puncture any organs, but he lost a lot of blood. They said they had a dog once who was shot in the head and he was okay. Between the motel and the vet, money is tight.

  There is a knock. Billie climbs out of bed. There’s no time to clean up the back of the room where the counter is littered with toiletries and sink spattered with blood. She looks through the peephole and opens the door.

  Carlotta looks her up and down. “They sure got you good.”

  “Thanks for coming.” Billie steps back.

  Dr. Hurley follows Carlotta in, stopping to gaze upon her.

  “Didn’t she warn you?” Billie says.

  “I don’t know what I was imagining but it wasn’t to this extent.”

  “It’s all right,” Billie tells him, going back to sit on the bed.

  Dr. Hurley slumps in the heavy armchair by the window whose curtains are drawn tight against the sun. Carlotta sits at the desk by the TV, leaning down to open the minifridge, and taking two cans of flavored seltzer out of her purse. “You want one? I’m trying to quit soda.”

  Billie lifts the bottle of gin on her nightstand. “I’ve got this.”

  “Is it wise to be drinking?” Dr. Hurley asks.

  “No, but it helps.”

  “Aren’t you on painkillers?”

  “This is for my feelings. Don’t worry; I’m only on like triple ibuprofen or something.”

  “Have you spoken to the police?”

  Carlotta snorts. “They ain’t gonna do nothing for her if it’s their friends who did it.”

  “I talked to the police at the hospital, but Carlotta’s right that I don’t think I’ll hear much from them. Anyway, I already know who did it.”

  “You recognized your attackers?”

  “Not exactly but I can make an educated guess. So I should tell you that two days ago, I went and saw Mabel Roberts, Curtis Roberts’s sister, and asked her about him.” Billie waves his protests away. “I knew you’d want to call ahead, and I thought if I just appeared maybe she’d be surprised into letting something slip. Anyway, when I talked to her, she insisted that Curtis was dead. Then those two goons showed up the next day at the dog park. I guess subtlety is not the Roberts way. They didn’t take my wallet. They didn’t rape me. Who else would attack me in broad daylight when I’m with my dog? It was someone in that family.”

  “Did you tell all this to the police?”

  “I don’t know that Sheriff Oakes isn’t on their side. He knows them and he doesn’t know me. Besides, I can’t prove anything.”

  Carlotta is picking a piece of lint from her slacks. It descends onto the colorless motel carpet. “Dee don’t live here no more so he should be okay. They don’t know where he’s at. But we’ll have to tell him what’s up soon.”

  Billie takes a swig of gin. “Oh shit, I left Mr. Hopsen’s lawn mower outside. I hope nobody takes it.”

  Carlotta looks up. “How you know Jerry?”

  “I met him a couple weeks ago at a garage sale. I guess you must know him too.”

  “From back in the day.”

  “Billie, I don’t think that you should stay in town,” Dr. Hurley says. “This has all escalated to a simply astonishing level.”

  “They scared because she’s close to knowing the truth,” Carlotta says.

  “I’m scared too if indeed we are supposing these men to be relatives of Curtis Roberts. What will stop them from doing worse?”

  Carlotta crosses her legs and smooths her slacks down to her ankles. “All they have in this world is they anger. I’ve known white folks like them my whole life. But Cliff deserves justice. I don’t know how he got mixed up with Curtis Roberts but he must
have. Curtis was known to be rough on black folks, beating them up in jail. But that’s all I ever heard bad about him.”

  The gin is making her dizzy. Billie eases herself up to fill a glass of water at the sink, then sits back on the bed, scooting back and leaning against the headboard. “You don’t have to stay, Dr. Hurley. Or at least you don’t have to be involved in what comes next.”

  “Billie, if you would go back to Philadelphia, I would gladly do what’s necessary in terms of starting the process of seeking justice.”

  She looks at him. “Everything that’s happened needed to happen so that I can find Curtis Roberts. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Carlotta

  SHE DIDN’T SAY NOTHING TO THOSE TWO BACK AT THE MOTEL. IT MAY be that they need to get Dee to open up. Lord knows she’s been trying for years. But first she is gonna go see Jerry Hopsen.

  Ever since Billie mentioned his name, she’s had a bad feeling. What’s Jerry doing talking to Cliff’s child? Cliff and him hadn’t gotten along since the fifth grade. Only reason they ever talked was because Cliff was close to Sheila, who could have done better. Never knew why she picked stubby ole Jerry Hopsen. That’s what the girls said about him—that he had a chubby ole stubby dick. Carlotta ain’t even like to remember that in case she starts to picture it.

  As she pulls up to his house, he’s sitting out on his porch. When he realizes who it is, he waves. She hasn’t been here since Sheila died. She walks up the drive but doesn’t step up on the porch.

  “How you doing?” he says.

  “Just fine.” She puts up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “You?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “How’s the kids?”

  “Sandra’s real good. She started working a new job up in Grenada. Marcus is the same.”

  His voice changes whenever he mentions the boy. He never did understand that child. How can anybody be surprised when a boy watches his mother get eaten up by cancer and his best friend die out on the street that he might hurt and act hard, be angry. She always liked Marcus herself. Nothing like his daddy. Not secretive at all. Feels deep Sheila would say.

  “You seen Cliff’s child come back?”

  “Sure did. In fact, she came by the other day.”

  “She come looking for you?”

  “Naw. She came by to take a look at a yard sale I was having. You seen her?”

  “Dee brought her over.”

  “Don’t sound like something he would do.” He rubs his knuckles. Still wearing his wedding ring. “You know what happened to the girl? Other day I come by to get the lawn mower she borrowed and it seemed like she was long gone. She ain’t answer my calls either.”

  Carlotta steps into the shadow of the house. “She’s not trying to take your old lawn mower.”

  “I don’t know why she’s here when her family’s gone and there ain’t no jobs to be had.” He picks up the beer can sitting next to his chair. “No good is gonna come from her hanging around here.”

  “How you know?”

  “Ain’t rocket science.”

  “Maybe you right. I heard she got beat up by two white boys.”

  He looks down at his beer and sits back, saying quietly, “I ain’t heard nothing of that.”

  “You know anybody who would do that? And shoot her dog? You know anybody want to hurt Cliff’s daughter?”

  “All I know is that it’s a God-given shame.”

  “You know I been thinking back to the night Cliff died, how we were supposed to go out. But then he said he couldn’t meet because he had to meet you at Avalon.”

  “We done talked about this in the past. And he went on home just fine after that.” He’s acting a little loose, like he’s been drinking for a while.

  She gets up on the porch so she’s looking down at him. “Tell me again what y’all talked about.”

  “I don’t recollect what got said. It was about Sheila.”

  “That I can believe. And nobody was looking for Cliff that night? Was he worried about anybody?”

  “You’ve asked all this before and I’m telling you the same answer, no.”

  “Was he worried about some white men? I ain’t never asked you that before.”

  “Listen, whatever went down with Cliff had nothing to do with me.”

  “Well, now that’s interesting”—she nods—“interesting you would say it like that.”

  He looks up at her. “I’m saying I got no damn idea what did or did not happen to the man.”

  “I wonder what Sheila would say about you. About you sitting up there lying through your damn teeth.” She turns and walks down the steps.

  He stands. “Ey I told you, Carlotta, it’s got nothing to do with me.”

  She stops, looking back. “You right to worry about the girl. Because whatever happens to Billie is on you.”

  Lola

  LOLA IS SITTING ON THE BACK BUMPER OF HER CAR, CIGARETTE IN hand. The motel parking lot is so hot that nothing wants to move, not even her smoke. Billie comes down the balcony steps in running shorts and a hoodie pulled low, but it can’t hide her left eye slick and bruised.

  “There are four lights in this town and I hit every one. Sit down, gal.”

  Billie sits, then jumps. “The car’s hot.” As she scans the parking lot, she trips on a pair of drugstore flip-flops too long for her feet.

  “You remember what those dudes look like?”

  Her eyes flicker to Lola. “Forever. Of what I could see of their faces. How can you sit on that?”

  “I am beyond heat. Do you always have this much drama in your life? Between you and Martha Stewart getting arrested the world is going to hell in a handbag.”

  This gets a smile out of Billie. “What happened to Martha Stewart?”

  “Bitch got caught. Insider trading.” Lola puts out her cigarette. “Look, I love Mississippi. And I will always love it. Nobody’s gonna take that away from me no matter how ignorant they act. But I wasn’t surprised. Now the dog did surprise me, but not what they did to you. The Robertses wanted to scare you.”

  “Well, they did a good job.”

  Lola picks her bottle of Coke up from between her sandals. “But you came here because that’s what God wanted.”

  “What if I don’t believe in God?”

  “You don’t?”

  “Well, I don’t not believe. Oh man, why does everything around here have to be so heavy?”

  “It’s the floods, all the times the river overflows. This is all was meant to be a flood plain. The Atchafalaya wants to swallow the Mississippi and the Mississippi wants to join it. So this place is all longing and water and ghosts. Those shoes are too big.”

  “It was the smallest size they had. You should meet Dr. Hurley. He talks about the Atchafalaya too.”

  Lola eyes her. “And you got blood on that hoodie.”

  “Oh shit.” Billie pushes back the hood and pulls at her collar. “Is my nose bleeding? This is the only one I have with me.”

  “Tip your head up. Don’t look like it. Maybe you should go on back to Philadelphia.”

  “Maybe I should be out there looking for them. Riding around with a baseball bat.”

  “That ain’t you.” Her cousin does not need to be going anywhere.

  “Maybe it is now.” Billie strips off the hoodie. “This is too hot anyway. I thought you said God wanted me here?”

  “I didn’t say for how long.” Lola can smell the liquor on Billie’s breath. “You talk to the police?”

  “At the hospital. I shouldn’t have bothered. I didn’t get the license plate.”

  “They might call you in to look at mug shots.” Lola offers her the Coke.

  “I doubt it.” Billie shakes her head.

  “What about the FBI?” Lola sets the Coke down on the asphalt between them.

  “I think the dog park is state property.”

  “I meant wouldn’t this qualify as a hate crime?”

  “They didn’t sa
y anything racist to me though.”

  “They ain’t need to—it was racially motivated.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Billie picks up the Coke. “The important thing is that I am almost certain Curtis Roberts is alive and guilty of something. I just have to find him.”

  And not get herself killed. “Don’t go back to his sister’s house. That woman ain’t gonna give you nothing but more trouble.”

  “No, I’m done with her for now. I’m thinking the next step is to go back to Mr. McGee. If he sees my face—”

  “He saw your daddy’s face and he didn’t do nothing good.” Lola opens her purse for another cigarette. “What about the son that likes you? He know anything?”

  Billie runs her thumb over the rise of her bottom lip. “I don’t know. We’re not that close.”

  “Quit messing with your mouth.”

  Billie’s hand drops. “If I die, you can have my car.”

  “You stupid.”

  “You can sell it. It’s gotta be worth something.”

  “Billie, stop it.”

  “For your debt.” Billie laughs.

  “I can stay here tonight if you want company.”

  “No, no, you better not. Get back to Memphis.”

  “Those fools don’t know you’re here.”

  Billie looks down at the bottle. “Shit, I think I finished your soda. Hey, what’s going on with your boyfriend?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, it’s over.” And that’s basically true now that she’s said it.

  “You broke up?”

  “I don’t think I need to—I can just tell him I’m busy.”

  “You don’t seem upset.”

  “I’ve been upset for months, but with all that’s been going on, I don’t know, I’d rather be alone if it’s not something real.”

  “You’re going to end up a bachelor like me.”

  “I don’t want none of that monk shit. I just don’t want to waste no more of my time.”