Body of Ash

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Body of Ash Page 24

by Bonnie Wheeler


  At one time, Angela held her head proud. She knew that she was worth acceptance, especially as Brian Jones’s wife. It had been so long since she felt that assured, since she was able to believe she was enough to keep him satisfied.

  As Angela thought of how far her marriage had fallen, Rachel slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. Tugging her closer, her daughter’s affection was almost too much to bear. “I want you to know, that I’m going to stand by you. If Dad wants to leave us for Katie’s mom, or if you decide you need more than what he gives you, I am going to stay with you. It doesn’t matter what our church family thinks or what the neighbors think.”

  On the car ride down, Sylvia was suggesting the same thing. Angela’s mother and her daughter both saw what she had been trying to avoid. Despite Brian’s demand for a promise that she stay with him, she had to face the truth. Her marriage had fallen apart and couldn’t be reconciled. Even if Brian broke things off with Marge, it wouldn’t be enough to heal all of the pain he had dealt her for so many years. Loving him had become too hard, the emotion had fallen away until all that was left was contempt. She wasn’t the same young woman that could only see his smile and believe his charm – part of Angela had faded with time.

  Leaning in, she allowed her daughter to comfort her. How was it that they had never sat down and really talked before? They could have strengthened one another all of these years instead of suffering alone. Things did need to change, even if doing so wasn’t easy.

  “Well,” Angela said, breathing life in with each word, “I’m thankful you’ll help me. I was thinking we could get a small place for just the two of us until you graduate. After that, I can relocate to wherever you want to go to school. But, you will help make the decisions, okay? It won’t be just me in charge.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Rachel replied, hugging tightly.

  After a while, Rachel stood. Brushing off the seat of her pants, she glanced towards the doorway. “I want to go and thank them for their help. If Colette hadn’t picked me up, who knows where I’d be. Do you want to come?”

  “I’ll be with you in just a minute. I should call your father and let him know you’re safe.”

  “Okay,” Rachel smiled. Pausing at the door, she glanced again at her mother, “I’m going to pray for him. I don’t think he realizes how messed up he is.” With that, the teen left to join the others.

  As Angela removed her phone from her purse, she wondered what she would say.

  I’m sorry, but I can’t stay as promised. Living this way is too painful. It’s time we separate.

  53

  BRIAN

  Friday 9:28 PM

  The pressure was indescribable, like a bomb detonated within his rib cage.

  My God, the bitch shot me…I can’t believe she shot me.

  Deep holes spilled blood down Brian’s chest. The burning was too much, he tried to scream, tried to beg for the heaviness to stop, but couldn’t. Straining to drag air into his lungs, Brian tried sitting up. His pulse beat wildly in his neck. It felt wrong, it was all wrong.

  I have to go. I have to get out of here.

  His legs were motionless, all feeling in them gone. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, or think. The squeezing continued, like knifes twisting and turning beneath the skin. Pain shot down his left arm, the weight on that side of his body crushing him to death.

  Hands were on him, pressing, pushing – making him burn. He tried forcing them away. They hurt, they were hurting him, he couldn’t stand it.

  Please stop....Make it stop...

  Voices swirled around his head – voices that turned to screams. He could have sworn it was his that he heard, mixed with the others. Straining to see, his vision was failing. It was white, all white, gone were the faces. Blood filled his mouth with each labored gasp. Metallic and thick, it gushed from his throat, his life force seeping out.

  “Are you washed in the blood…in the soul cleansing blood of the lamb…”Rachel sat on the swing, her little pigtails bobbing with the song. “Daddy,” she called, “Are you listening, Daddy?” He turns away from the woman bending over by the slide, tying a small boy’s shoe, to meet his daughter’s eyes. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “You sing just like Mommy.”

  Hacking again, the cords in his neck strained painfully taut. The air wouldn’t come, his left side constricting so much that his back and arm felt as though an army tank were rolling over him, flattening him into the ground.

  I’m going to die. God help me.

  The fluids kept coming. Out of his mouth, out of his chest…the pool would swallow him up. He needed to move, to stop the liquid from pulling him in, but couldn’t. His body convulsed, dragging him closer.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” Angie asked. “The water is so warm.” Standing on the beach, she clutched a towel around her. Her long hair was damp, clinging to her face as she smiled down at him. The Labor Day sun felt glorious, he hadn’t wanted to get up from the spot he had made for himself. From his lounge chair, he could watch all of the other sunbathers from behind his shades without being noticed. Young women in swimsuits ran up and down the beach, their bodies glistening with suntan oil. As lovely as they were, they didn’t compare to Angie. Even in her modest one piece suit, with her belly swollen and seven months pregnant with Rachel, he had never seen a woman so beautiful.

  It was a woman’s hand. He was sure of it, holding him, rocking him close. The needles that spread throughout his body were beginning to slow. Everything was slowing, his breath coming now in short, quick bursts. The coughing had stopped, the blood easing too. Concentrating on the rhythm, Brian thought of the hands, holding his chest, holding his hand.

  Rachel must not have been more than five. As he stood in the corner of the gymnasium, her small fist clutched tightly to his. Kindergarten orientation was over and it was time for the meet and greet. She wanted so badly to join the other children, but struggled with shyness. Biting down on her lip with little white teeth, he could see her trying to find the courage to be brave. Bending down to her level, he gently tugged his hand free and gave her a kiss. As her little face looked up into his questioningly, he whispered, “It’s okay to go Rachel. I won’t leave you. I’ll be right here if you need me.” That was all it took. Without a second thought, she ran into the group and never looked back.

  The soft weeping sound was nice. It helped drown the ringing from his ears. Sirens, phones, his head, they were ringing – calling him, forcing him to gather each breath. But, he was tired, so very tired, he needed to rest.

  “Angie?” His voice was nothing but a rasp, “Tell Rachel, I love her. I love you both.” Wanting to say more, he strained but nothing was there. His lungs lacked enough air capacity to speak.

  Sinking into the blackness, Brian took one last breath and let go.

  54

  MARGE

  Friday 9:30 PM

  “Wake up you Bastard,” Marge begged, “You can’t just lay there.”

  Don’t do this to me.

  Bending over her lover, Marge attempted to hoist him up. Sliding her hands under Brian’s armpits, she tried to force him to sit. As his blood drenched her bare skin, all attempts to move him were impossible. A gurgling sound passed his lips, but other than that, nothing.

  “He’s hurt, Mom,” Katie shivered. Clearly distressed, Marge’s daughter kneeled on the other side of Brian. Pressing on his wounds, she tried to stop the bleeding. “I can’t feel his pulse. You have to call 911.”

  “Not yet,” Marge stammered, “I need to figure out what to do.”

  Wiping her hands on her thighs, she wished the effects of the booze and pills would wear off so she could think straight. Marge needed to sober up and make decisions. Wracking her brain, she knew there must be someone she could call; someone who would know what to do at a time like this. Her mind could produce nothing.

  He did this to me. He forced my hand.

  Glancing from Katie to Brian, Marge shook her head. His blood was
spilling to the floor, saturating the shag carpet. The police would take pictures of it. She knew from TV that they always did. After that, they would bring Brian to the morgue and look for more proof to hold against her. “It’s not my fault. I only wanted to scare him.”

  Straightening up, Marge peered around for a towel or a shirt, something she could wipe him off with. Seeing his dress shirt, she wadded the cotton into a ball and tried soaking up some of the blood that ran from his chest onto the floor. The crimson just smeared, leaving thick trails across his ashen skin.

  “Help me wash him up. Maybe he’ll be okay if we rinse out the bullet holes.”

  It won’t look so bad if he’s cleaned up. They won’t think it was on purpose.

  “No he won’t.” Katie pleaded. “You shot him in the chest. Look at all of this blood, he’s dying.” Leaning down to his chest, Katie pressed her ear to listen. After a moment of silence, a gasp escaped her lips, her face paling in horror.

  “I know that,” Marge insisted, manically trying to scrub the mess. Brian’s blood was drying on her, making her skin sticky. She wanted to wash it off. To scrub her skin and the carpets until not a single droplet could be seen. “I told you, it’s not my fault.”

  “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. We need help,” Katie contended. With each syllable, the girl’s tone grew higher with alarm.

  “Of course it does. Do you know what will happen to me if we call the police? They aren’t going to believe me. They’ll lock me up, Katie, please.”

  “It was an accident. We’ll tell them what happened, they’ll understand.”

  Looking down at Brian, Marge wanted to yell. Why did he do this? How could he have wanted to leave? How could he have wanted Daisy?

  All she needed was for tonight to be special. For the two of them to begin their new lives together. Marge was supposed to become his wife and move into Brian’s home. There were so many changes she was going to make: his house, a new car, the clothes she had put away. Marge was supposed to be welcomed into Canaan’s high society and finally get the respect she deserved. Now everything was ruined.

  Across the floor, on top of his pile of clothes, Brian’s cell phone buzzed. The damn thing had been ringing on and off for ten minutes straight. Frustrated, Marge grabbed it, ready to hit silence. Peering down on the screen, the caller display showed it was Angela.

  Even now that bitch has to interfere. She can’t leave well enough alone.

  Angela was always interloping. She was the one Brian wanted to go home to. It was her that deserved to get shot. Standing up, Marge kicked him as hard as she could in the ribs. Sprawled on his side, he didn’t respond. Brian’s body had grown completely limp, his skin taking on a bluish tone.

  “Your fucking wife is calling,” she spat. Throwing the phone at the floor, pieces of plastic went everywhere.

  “Stop it!” Katie screamed. “You’ve hurt him enough.”

  A throaty wail erupted from Marge’s chest. Bending over him, she pounded her fists into his shoulder, “Wake up, wake up! We’re supposed to be together.”

  Collapsing in despair, hopelessness flooded through her. She was so close to having everything, but now Brian was gone. As she lay there sobbing, Marge didn’t even notice Katie get up. Her daughter slipped into the bedroom, returning with a blanket, and tucked it around her mother. Katie’s voice was saying something as she strode to the kitchen, but Marge couldn’t hear.

  Burying her face into Brian’s bloody neck, she wept.

  55

  KATIE

  Friday 9:30 PM

  In the kitchen, Katie could barely breathe. Covered in sweat and Brian’s blood, her hands trembled as she dialed the phone. From the moment Brian tore open her blouse to when her mother shot off two rounds from the gun, everything occurred in slow motion. Although only minutes passed, it felt like she was thrust into a different world.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “Please send help. There has been a shooting,” Katie’s voice was barely a murmur. As she spoke, it sounded like it came from someone else. “I think my mom’s boyfriend is dead.”

  The voice on the phone wanted details. Asking her to verify her location and phone number, Katie did her best to speak slow and as coherently as possible. While answering the operator’s questions, a ripple spread just beneath her skin, shaking her body uncontrollably. Despite the sheen of perspiration coating her skin, never before had she felt so cold.

  So this is shock….

  Though the operator asked her to stay on the line, Katie hung up the phone. They had the address and a basic description. There was nothing else she could tell them. It would only be a matter of minutes before the police and paramedics arrived. She needed clothing and her mother did, too. Being exposed in front of Brian was horrible enough; she didn’t want the paramedics to get an eyeful.

  The night was about to get very long.

  After washing her hands the best she could, Katie slipped on a t-shirt and clean jeans. Rummaging through her mom’s closet, she settled on a plain robe. She hoped to preserve her mother’s dignity if possible. It seemed likely they would handcuff Marge considering the circumstances. No matter how she looked at it – her mother shot Brian right in her own living room. Not to mention the matter of the gun. Marge would have to explain where she got it. Having her towed out of the apartment in nothing but her underwear would be cruel.

  Why did you do this? Why couldn’t you have just let him go?

  Once back in the living room, Katie unlocked the front door in preparation for help. She didn’t know what to expect. Would they come in wielding guns and Billy clubs? Would they handcuff them both or just her mother?

  I need Dad.

  Marge was still huddled over Brian. Her long blond hair fanned out across his skin. The woman’s shoulders rose and fell as she wept.

  Crouching down, Katie patted her arm, trying to rouse her. “Come on Mom,” she encouraged, sniffing back her own tears. “The cops are coming. We need to get some clothes on you.”

  Marge pushed her away, “Leave me alone.” Popping her head up, she regarded Katie. Her mother’s expression was a mess. A combination of tears and Brian’s blood coated her skin and clung to her hair. “I asked you not to call them.”

  “I had to Mom,” Katie whispered. Setting the bathrobe on the floor next to her mother, she backed away.

  A quick assessment of Brian and Katie could see he was still unresponsive. His naked form lay prostrate on the floor. There was no longer any air whishing through the holes in his chest, nor were there shallow breaths passing his lips. Although his eyes were open, they didn’t appear fixed on anything.

  He’s really gone.

  “You know this wasn’t my fault,” Marge sniveled. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

  “I know,” Katie replied. “It will be okay.”

  You shouldn’t have brought home the gun.

  Searching the floor, Katie spotted the weapon. Knowing the police would inspect it, she left it where it was. Her fingerprints were all over it, Davey Shaw’s, too. It was ridiculous that she carried it around all night as part of her costume. That detail was bound to come out in police questioning.

  I should have tossed it in the river.

  “It’s more your fault than mine,” Marge alleged, “You had to color your hair and dress like a whore. It was no wonder you confused him. He thought you were someone else.”

  Katie whipped her head around at her mother. Marge sat there, draped across Brian with her breasts sagging and her hair plastered to her face. Her mother glared up at her, obviously irate.

  Swallowing back her hurt, Katie replied, “You don’t mean that.”

  “Oh, but I do,” she snapped back.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Katie said.

  Combing her fingers through her hair, she knew her mother wasn’t in her right mind. Yes she dyed it red and dressed in leather and high heels. It was Halloween and she was seventee
n. The night was meant for getting dressed up and having fun. Brian was responsible for his actions, not Katie. Just like her mother couldn’t cast blame for what she did either. Still, Marge’s words stung, their implications adding to the burden she already carried.

  “You could make this better,” Marge said, her tone softening. “You could tell them he was after you for dressing that way and you shot him in self-defense.”

  Walking across to the window, Katie peered out at the street. The sirens were in the distance, the familiar shrill carried at night. Help should be coming soon. Already neighbors were lining up out front. With cell phones in hand, they pointed up at the apartment’s windows, motioning with concerned expressions.

  They must have heard the gun shots.

  “You’re a minor. They wouldn’t even bring you to jail – just have us talk to a counselor and you could tell them you got the gun from a friend at school. You should protect me. I’m your mother.”

  Refusing to face her, Katie stared down at the sidewalk. Red and blue strobe lights approached – their glow lighting up the block. Marge continued talking – her voice still indistinct from copious amounts of alcohol. Even half naked and covered in blood, she concocted a story Katie knew the police would never buy.

 

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