Yesterday's Gone | Novel | October's Gone

by Platt, Sean

  “He’s not an alien. Stop calling him that.”

  “I know how to discipline a kid, Liz. My father was tough on me, and look how I turned out.”

  “Exactly. Look how you turned out.”

  Anderson took a long stride toward her. They were suddenly standing too close. She expected his fists. Both were clenched, and his jaw was flexing.

  But he took a breath and relaxed, able to rein it in despite the drink. “No matter what else you might think of me, sweetheart, ain’t no one ever gonna accuse me of being anything less than a man.”

  “You’re right, Anderson. Our boy needs help in becoming a man. But that’s not all he needs. And isn’t it possible that there’s a lot you don’t know about—”

  “Not like you have any room to talk, with all the things your daddy did to you,” Anderson sneered. “Would you rather I treat E.T. like your old man treated—”

  Liz slapped Anderson hard across his face.

  He blinked. He’d been rough with her plenty over the years, but Liz had never dared to strike back before.

  His bewilderment was passive until it suddenly wasn’t.

  His expression changed in a flash. Still surprised, but now active and manic. For a horrifying moment, neither of them seemed to have any idea where the next one would go.

  Then the moment broke.

  And Liz yelped as Anderson plowed his fist into her face.

  Then, having already crossed an uncrossable line, he went for broke and followed his shot to the face with a gut punch that sent her to the floor.

  “Quit your crying, and I’ll stop!”

  He was six kicks in, already losing steam and probably looking for a reason to quit. Liz made it easy by pretending to enjoy her coma. Once she went entirely silent, he kneeled down next to her.

  “I’m sorry that had to happen—”

  “I’m leaving you,” she sputtered.

  Anderson laughed and leaned in again. “Do it, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

  He drew a gun from his holster like a magic trick. Shoved the snub under her chin as she whimpered again. “I’ll kill Junior, and I’ll make you watch. Then it’ll be your turn.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Ha.” He barked. “Look who’s talking!”

  “I’ll—”

  “Call the cops?” Anderson finished for her, with yet another sneering guffaw. “My boss already knows about your little condition. He knows about your mama. And he knows about your dead daddy.”

  She stared at him.

  He smiled. “You think I ain’t covered all my bases? Think again, bitch.”

  Then he left her sobbing alone on the floor.

  It didn’t take her long to stop crying, but Liz barely slept. After staying on the floor for an hour or so, she went to the bathroom and might have pissed blood. She was too scared to turn on the light and see.

  She went back to the couch and lay there in agony. There was zero chance she would be joining Anderson in bed, but the odds weren’t promising that he’d leave her alone. She kept expecting him to stomp back into the living room and yell at her for making him lose his temper, for making him punch her in the face and the stomach, before kicking her while she was down.

  Anderson had crossed too many lines. And he had done it too many times. This was the last one. No matter what he said or did in the morning, she needed a plan to leave him.

  Liz would have called Colette already if she didn’t think Anderson would barge in the second she started to dial. Or grab her phone if she dared to try texting her friend.

  This was a mile too far. She already felt a frothing shame anticipating her many lies to come. Not only had she not inspected the toilet for blood, Liz had yet to see her face. But the swelling had given her a massive headache, and if her face looked anything like it felt, then her whole head was at least twice its usual size.

  Anderson never returned to the living room, but by the time she finally felt safe enough to maybe text Colette, it was both too late and too early to try. She fell into a rough semi-sleep somewhere between four and five, then was up at a quarter to six.

  She texted Colette before her eyes were fully open.

  Need to meet today. Just text me when and where.

  Sooner the better.

  I’m leaving him.

  She then deleted the thread, because Anderson.

  Liz was up for fifteen minutes before realizing he wasn’t home.

  She peeked in on Junior, saw him sleeping, then went to her room. The bed was slept-in but empty. She looked all through the house, not sure whether she wanted to find her husband or not.

  He came home ten minutes later, just as her coffee finished brewing. Entered the kitchen with his arms full of apologies: flowers, pastries, and a tray of what were surely gourmet coffees.

  “I got you a white chocolate and a pumpkin spice because I know how much you like them both.” Anderson gave her a smile, timid and guilty. He could barely look at her or meet the reminder of what he had done.

  Liz glanced at the coffeemaker just as what was probably the final drop dripped into the pot. “I made myself some. Thank you.”

  “But this coffee is special, and the buns are from—”

  “No, thanks.”

  “These roses are from—”

  “I don’t care where they’re from, Anderson.” She couldn’t look at him, either.

  “I need you to forgive me … please, Liz. I’ve never been sorrier in my whole life.”

  She shook her head, refusing to answer him.

  “You know I’d rather die a hundred times than ever hurt you or Junior!”

  “Hmm …” Liz pointed to the mottled blotch beneath her eye, which she finally saw after making the mistake of stealing a glance in the bathroom mirror shortly after waking up and texting Colette. “You sure have a funny way of showing it.”

  “You know how I get when I’m drunk. I didn’t even sleep I was so torn up about what happened.”

  “That’s why you shouldn’t be drinking. It’s why you promised me that you would stop. Several times now.” She shook her head. “And if you were so ‘torn up,’ then maybe you should have come out here and said you were sorry.”

  “I did. You were sleeping.”

  “I didn’t fall asleep until early this morning, which means you saw me and snuck out like a coward.”

  “I was trying to get you something special.”

  “How about not punching your wife in the face and stomach? That would be special.”

  “I’m sorry.” He stared at the floor.

  Liz watched Anderson feeling sorry for himself, hating everything about him. “I’m going to the store.”

  She walked past him, out of the kitchen and toward the front door.

  “What do you need at the store?” Anderson asked, trailing behind her.

  “I’m going to the store. You don’t need to know more than that.” She grabbed her purse, then added, “You don’t get to know more than that.”

  “Aren’t you gonna put some makeup on that bruise or something?” Anderson called out as she opened the door.

  She turned back. “Why? You don’t want the world to know what an asshole you are?”

  She was pushing his buttons, but Anderson’s engine was dry. He said nothing, so she left and closed the door. This time he didn’t follow.

  Colette had already texted her back. Hill of Beans on Bradshaw. I’m heading there in half an hour.

  Liz beat her by fifteen minutes and had already drained an entire pumpkin spice latte by the time she arrived. Anderson was right. She did want a special drink. Just not from him.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” Colette said after Liz had finished her story and a white chocolate mocha.

  “You’ve been warning me that something like this would happen for years.”

  “That doesn’t mean I wanted to see it. Yeah, I like to be right, but not this kinda right, girl.” Colette sipped her coffee. She was still only
a third into her first cup, despite Liz doing almost all of the talking so far. But she probably didn’t have a burned tongue.

  “Well, it finally happened. And now I have to do something about it. No more acting like a coward.”

  “You’re not a coward.”

  “I’m sort of a coward.” Liz laughed a little to keep herself from crying. “I’m just not really sure what to do next.”

  Colette looked at her. “You know what to do.”

  “Only in the abstract. I’m not sure how to leave, or what the right way to do it will be. I don’t think he’s actually going to kill me or anything. That was raging drunk talk. It’s not like—”

  “You don’t think raging drunk talk can turn into just plain raging?”

  “—he’s actually going to kill me.” Liz stopped, swallowed, and continued. “Point is, even if I were to report him, he’s a sheriff’s deputy. Nobody’s going to believe me.”

  “You’re assuming a lot.”

  “No, Colette. This is one of those times when you’re not listening to me. I’ve seen enough to make me nervous. Anderson knows everyone. All the deputies and all the judges. People love him. He’s all charm for everyone else. I’m the only one who gets to see what he’s really like. And he told me that he’s already told them everything about me and my mom. Dad, too. So he’s gonna paint me as the crazy one. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past him to punch himself in the face and take photos, saying I abused him.”

  They talked through one more coffee, this last one black like the kind Liz had expected to start her morning with, the two of them loosely strategizing her and Junior’s most immediate future.

  She had to be patient. If he anticipated a move, Anderson might easily outmaneuver her. Liz was better off playing a longer game and waiting for her moment.

  * * *

  Anderson was still all apologies when she got back home, but now a different breed. Almost like a puppy, slobbering, and eager to please. Junior had new shoes, which Liz had been saying he needed for a while, and Anderson kept insisting was more of a want that could surely wait a little longer.

  He must have hit the shoe store right when they opened because lunch was also prepared and waiting for Liz. Junior had already eaten. Mac and cheese, plus chicken fingers and fries.

  Once Junior was fully occupied in front of the TV watching Thomas & Friends, Anderson cornered her in the kitchen. In no way adversarial, and still very eager to please.

  “So, I’ve been thinking … a lot … and—”

  “Get to the point, Anderson.”

  “I’m just really, really sorry about last night … and this morning … and the last—”

  “You’ve said all this. A lot. Is there anything else?”

  “Well, yeah … I’ve been stressed, and you’re obviously stressed from doing all the heavy lifting around here all the time. And I know I should have acknowledged you more than I have … so maybe what we need is a vacation to—”

  “No, thank you, Anderson.” Unless he meant a vacation for her and Junior, away from his abusive ass.

  “I was thinking we could go back to the cabin from last summer.”

  She perked up immediately. “Why there?” Liz didn’t care. She just wanted him to keep talking while she formulated a plan.

  “We had fun there last summer. It would be a great place for me to spend some one-on-one time with Junior. I can go fishing with Junior. And since you don’t want Junior hunting, I’ll see if Rod wants to come up and go with me. It’ll be good for Junior. Good for all of us.”

  It’ll be good for all of us when you’re hunting, and Colette comes to take us away from you.

  Liz let enlightenment find her face. “You know what? That does sound good. You’re right, it’ll be just what we need.”

  They hugged. She felt comfort for all the wrong reasons. She would finally be leaving him and taking Junior, not that Anderson ever really wanted anything to do with his “alien” son.

  She felt resolved until just before dinner. Thomas & Friends had ended, and Junior was no longer in the living room. She went to check on him before putting the water on to boil.

  Liz heard him while still a few feet outside his room, talking to someone.

  She peeked in without saying anything and saw that Junior was looking into the mirror, having a conversation with himself.

  She continued watching, keenly listening. The sounds were low but unmistakable.

  “You stupid idiot. You’re a fucking idiot. You need to grow up and stop being a pussy.”

  He took a breath and turned around.

  Again he looked and sounded too much like his father.

  With a smile that chilled her, his expression melted from adult to child smoothly enough to frighten her. Junior widened his eyes and said, “Hello, Mommy. I can’t wait to go on vacation. The trees will be happy when everyone’s gone.”

  What?

  But more importantly: “How did you know we’re going on vacation? Did your father tell you?”

  “No. I saw it in a dream. The cabin, right?”

  She nodded.

  He said, “It’s going to be the best vacation ever.”

  Junior had no idea how right he was.

  For sure, it would be their last one with Anderson.

  Fifteen

  October 18, 2011 …

  Liz opened her eyes and felt three things in unison:

  Loathing for allowing herself to fall asleep before Andy, thus losing out on her lone shot to investigate the shed. Relief that the explosive pain in her knee had finally receded. And a feeling of emptiness, like her son was out of the house, and she could finally breathe.

  Liz allowed herself to hope.

  She checked her phone to see if Colette had called or messaged. Still nothing. She wondered why Colette hadn’t come to the cabin anyway.

  Liz was worried about her.

  All the people are gone.

  She got out of bed and put a bit of weight on her knee. Bad, but nowhere near unbearable.

  She limped through the house, emptied her bladder, then limped through the house again. Still no sign of Andy.

  But Liz found what she had missed during her first two passes next to the coffee pot. A note from Andy on a matchbook-sized piece of paper, torn from a corner of his sketchbook.

  Went for supplies.

  But the note didn’t say how long he would be gone, or when he’d left, and Liz was already worrying over his return.

  Liz looked for the key in every room, every cupboard, and cabinet, every article of clothing, but she couldn’t find it anywhere. Andy must have taken the key with him.

  With a pounding heart, she went out to the shed anyway.

  She pressed her ear to the wood. She peered through the hole. She called out several times and kicked the door in frustration, even though she knew the gesture was fruitless.

  Her knee was starting to throb again, and perhaps even swell, plus she had been looking around the shed for too long. Behind my back, sang Anderson and his son, a chorus of two in her mind. She needed to leave, but as she turned to go, there was a sudden crash from inside.

  She froze.

  Swallowed.

  Turned back around.

  “Please … open the door.”

  A croaking voice from inside that had to be coming from Anderson.

  She clenched and unclenched her fists, then drew a deep breath and took a step toward the door. “Hello?”

  “Liz … is that you?”

  “Anderson?” She pressed her palms and ear to the wood.

  “Thank God, it’s you!” He sounded haggard, unsure of his own voice. “You have to get me out of here.”

  “I can’t. I don’t have the key.”

  “Then get it.” He had no anger in his growl. It was the vacant rumble of something starving. An empty, hopeless plea.

  “What happened to you? Why are you locked in the shed?”

  “Junior … Junior did this to me.”
<
br />   “How did he do this to you?” Liz asked in disbelief, not surprise.

  “He knocked me out and tied me up.”

  “How? He could barely lift that twenty-five-pound bag of soil two weeks ago.”

  “I don’t know. But you’ve gotta let me out of here.”

  “Why did he lock you up in there, Anderson? He must have had a reason.”

  “Who knows why he does anything? He just—”

  “Did you hurt him?”

  “Of course, I didn’t hurt him.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  “Let me out, Liz!” More emphatic, but still not angry.

  “How do I know you won’t hurt him once you get out of there?”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m not even mad. I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding. I’m just cold and hungry. You’re not really gonna let me starve in here, are you, Liz?”

  Even with the key, she couldn’t do what her husband was asking. Not without knowing what had happened. She had to know why Andy locked his father in the shed, then lied about it. Because he’s weird wasn’t a good enough reason. Anderson might be muting his rage, biding his time, waiting to explode once the door was finally open. She couldn’t remember if he’d brought his service pistol or not. If so, he probably had it with him. So wouldn’t he shoot the lock off or something?

  “Liz?”

  “I’m thinking …”

  She should probably do her thinking in the cabin.

  Andy could return at any moment, and Liz had no idea what might happen then, but it probably wouldn’t be good.

  Still, she couldn’t just leave her husband inside the shed, not now that she knew for sure he was locked inside. Unless Andy had been sneaking out to feed him, which was doubtful if for no other reason than there didn’t seem to be any food missing, Anderson hadn’t eaten for three days. And by the sound of his ragged voice, he probably hadn’t had any water, which meant he might be crawling towards death.