[Gina Mazzio RN 01.0 - 03.0] Bone Set

by JJ Lamb

  A bus pulled up and stopped, the doors hissed open.

  “Lucky you. Saved by the bus.” She stood, but Arina remained seated. “Hey, aren’t you coming?”

  “You go ahead. I think I’m going to veg for a while. Maybe I’ll go shopping. Cheer myself up.”

  Rifka waved goodbye as she stepped into the bus. “See you later.”

  * * *

  The bus stop enclosure emptied two or three times while Arina sat there. It was good to be in the fresh air even if it was chilly and looked like rain again. She began to relax a bit, but still couldn’t decide what she was going to do with the rest of her day.

  Screw today. What am I going to do with the rest of my life?

  Her feet stopped aching and she was about to head for her empty apartment when a sleek, foreign-looking car pulled up to the curb. The passenger window slid down and the driver leaned over to look out at her.

  “Need a lift, nurse?”

  Arina studied the man. She’d seen him around the hospital – handsome, way too handsome.

  “Thanks, but I don’t ride with strangers.”

  He gave her a wide smile, looked at her with innocent, sea green eyes. “Hey, come on. I’ve seen you in L&D lots of times. Don’t you remember me?”

  “What if I do?” She unclipped her hair, ran a hand through it – it felt greasy. She stared at the man, the car, and wished again that she wasn’t wearing her grubby scrubs. It might have given her the confidence she needed if she had on a pretty dress. Worst of all, she knew her deodorant was definitely failing.

  “Then I’m not a stranger, am I?”

  Arina was excited by the direct way he looked at her. It wasn’t sexual, but it was probing. She wrapped her mind around the idea of getting into the sleek car and began to feel safe with the idea. Then she placed him: one of the drug detail men.

  Maybe it’s what I need. A real distraction instead of just hanging out, drinking wine, watching television, and waiting for Jorge.

  She did some mental gymnastics, decided what appealed to her most was the possibility of not having to spend the evening alone.

  He revved the engine. She gave him another glance, stood, smoothed her raincoat, and walked slowly to the car.

  The door swung open. She hesitated. Then the honk of an impatient driver made the decision for her. She slid in and for a moment was enveloped by the musky aroma of lush car leather.

  “Would you like to stop for a drink before I take you to where you’re going?” the drug rep said. “I’ve had a long day and I’ll bet yours wasn’t a piece of cake either.”

  “You’ll never know.” She belted herself in and hunkered down into the seat. She leaned back against the headrest, her eyes closed in pleasure.

  * * *

  The waiter had just brought each of them an espresso, then offered dessert.

  “Not for me,” Arina said. “I’m absolutely stuffed.”

  St. George noticed she continued to look around self-consciously as she had for most of the meal. He’d watched her try to hide her nurse’s scrubs under the raincoat that she kept draped around her shoulders. She was obviously worried that she was underdressed for the restaurant.

  He ordered chocolate-covered biscotti. She behaved as most women do, turning down a dessert they really wanted. He took a sip of the dark, heavily flavored coffee.

  “That was a great meal, wasn’t it?” he said, “Now aren’t you glad I talked you into dinner?” He reached across the table and lightly placed a hand on hers. She didn’t pull away.

  The waiter returned, set down a silver tray of three biscotti. She lightly touched one of the sweets, then picked it up and took a tiny bite.

  “You would order the one thing I can’t resist.”

  St. George looked into her eyes. He could tell that the bottle of wine they’d shared was having its effect on her; her lips were relaxed into a lop-sided droop, and she was having trouble keeping her eyelids open.

  He continued to fake-sip the same half glass he’d started with.

  What a waste, He regretted having ordered a 2006 Palacios Remondo Placet Rioja and bypassing the less expensive 2005 vintage. She’d downed the fine wine it like cheap Chianti.

  “What a wonderful evening,” he said, pouring the rest of the rich, full wine into her glass, slipping in a roofie at the same time.

  “Yes, wonderful.” Her fingers softly caressed the stem of her wine glass.

  Chapter 19

  The rain started as they left the restaurant. St. George helped Arina into the Jag and she immediately curled into the leather seat. In the short time it took him to get settled and start the car, she was sound asleep.

  He drove around aimlessly for several minutes before heading for the butcher shop … and Father.

  As the engine purred to silence, he turned to look at the sleeping nurse. Her mouth was open, drool dribbling out, sliding down the side of her chin.

  He felt sad for her.

  Shouldn’t trust just any man, Arina.

  He took a deep breath; let it out slowly, slowly.

  Maybe Father is right: I am a wimp.

  From his teens, he’d been ready to run the moment Father expressed displeasure with him. A certain tone in Father’s voice, a specific glint in the eye would send him flying out the door. He’d learned to run fast, very fast because Father was quick and devious. Once he tried to stand his ground, tried to fight back, and lost two teeth from a jaw-crunching fist.

  Jacob St. George’s taunts – wimp, candy-ass, worthless asshole – assaulted him day-in, day-out. The epithet that hurt the most, though, was “son of a whore.” Denigrating Mother sent him into a deep depression that lasted for days.

  Eddie looked at Arina Diaz again, ran a finger down her neck, across and around her breasts.

  She didn’t move.

  Drugs made people so pliable, so easy to deal with. He’d learned that while supplementing a partial college scholarship with a small, but highly profitable marijuana operation.

  The sub-rosa notoriety of being the candy man, the man-with-the-cure, sat well on his shoulders, provided him with a sense of importance he hadn’t felt since Mother had left for parts unknown.

  He was still the man with the cures, the chemical fixes.

  St. George unbelted the nurse before he got out of the car. He looked around the secluded parking area, made sure no one was watching, and opened the passenger door. Arina slumped halfway out of the car before he could catch her and scoop her up in his arms. She was like a limp rag, a heavy limp rag.

  He tried to get her to stand, but had to half-drag, half-carry her into the shop. He hoisted her onto a long, stainless steel receiving table and began to wheeze.

  Even with his inhaler, it took a minute or two for his chest to open up. He put his head down, held onto the table, and waited for his heart to stop roaring in his ears.

  “Wha … who … .where,” Arina mumbled.

  Her voice was raspy, like dry rattling leaves. The aroma of stale wine oozed from her mouth, her skin and inundated the cold air. Bile crawled up his throat.

  She sputtered something unintelligible. St. George placed an ear against her lips, listened carefully. The guttural sounds still made no sense.

  Father appeared, limped up to Eddie and punched him on the shoulder, hard, viciously.

  “What are you listening for little man? Think the bitch is going to tell you something wonderful, like you’re a real man?”

  Eddie straightened and gazed into the dark, unblinking eyes of Father.

  “What do you see, little Eddie? If you’ve got something to say, say it!”

  The nurse interrupted with more mumbles.

  Eddie’s hands flew to cover his eyes; spikes of heat stabbed within his chest, hot rivers of sweat gushed from every pore.

  Arina’s long, red hair fell across her fluttering eyes as Jacob lashed out with a boning knife at the buttons on her raincoat, cut them away, and parted the belt with a single quick slash.


  He continued to use the knife to slice through her scrubs, bra, and lacy black panties. He tugged and pulled at the destroyed garments until they were free of her, then tossed them on the floor.

  He ran a finger down between her breasts, across her belly button, and stopped at the edge of her pubic hair.

  “God damn it, you moron! Can’t you tell a dye job from the real thing?” He ran his fingers through the curly black hair. “A fucking fake red head.”

  Eddie’s arms were covered in goose bumps, a huge wheeze burst from his throat. He clutched at his chest, couldn’t breathe. The trap door in his lungs sprang shut. He groped for the inhaler.

  As his eyes cleared, he watched Father snatch the nurse from the receiving table and carry her unsteadily across the room. Jacob’s legs trembled from the weight as he dumped her onto the large wood cutting block.

  Father grunted with effort, crawled up onto the table, and lifted her legs up to and over his shoulders. He unzipped his fly and plunged into her, again and again.

  “Mommy!” she shouted. “Mommy!”

  Father stopped, stared at her unfocused eyes. Her arms reached out, pushed against his shoulders.

  “Mommmmmmmeee!” She used her small fists to pound against his face.

  Father squeezed her wrists together with one meaty hand, grabbed a knife with the other, and slashed across her neck. Blood sprayed into the air and splattered down into the sawdust.

  Chapter 20

  Gina slipped and slid across the steamy bathroom floor, poster-nude for a one-legged search-for-balance dance. Dripping wet, it was all she could do to keep from falling flat on her face. Disgusted, she reached for a bath towel and stretched it across her rear-end before sliding it up to her back and shoulders.

  “What a dork,” she muttered. “Almost all down and break my neck in my own stinking bathroom.”

  She ran a palm across the foggy mirror and stopped to stare at her reflection: Feathers of black hair lay flat against her forehead, bloodshot eyes stared with a “whaddayawant” kind of glare. To top it off, a huge zit was blossoming on her chin.

  “Ugh!”

  She shrugged on scuzzy flannel PJs and toed into the red rabbit slippers Harry had given her last Christmas; the little beady eyes rolled around in silly cartoon fashion before settling into a blank stare.

  After turning out all the lights, she padded around the apartment, listening to the silence. She tilted her head and isolated different street noises, heard the staccato ticking of her Regulator clock, paused as it chimed the quarter hour. She walked on across the deep-pile living room carpet that surrendered just whispers of sound.

  The hot shower warmth she’d gratefully absorbed was quickly disappearing; allowing an invasion of cold sweat. She hugged her flannels close to her to stifle chills that swam up from the base of her spine to the top of her head.

  Had it only been a little more than a week since her life had been turned topsy-turvy? She counted off eight days on her fingers.

  Eight days since that first invasive, ghoulish phone call.

  When she finally made it to her bed, she kicked off her slippers and gently touched the picture of Harry next to the telephone.

  Seven days of a broken engagement.

  “Dammit! I miss you, Harry Lucke.”

  She glanced at the clock as she crawled into the rumpled sheets, annoyed that she’d broken her promise to make the bed every day.

  She counted every gong as the clock chimed eleven.

  If she didn’t get some shut-eye soon, tomorrow she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything.

  But she wasn’t sleepy.

  “What else is new?” She snuggled down into the bedding, bringing her knees to her chest, closed her eyes, and tried to think of nothing. Her eyes popped open again when she heard the musical bong-bong-bong-bong.

  11:15.

  So it’s going to be that kind of night.

  Even fully awake, she was still startled when the telephone rang. On the third ring, she picked up.

  “Hi, Gina. It’s me.”

  Harry. Her gut reaction was to hang up. Instead, she lay back and stared into the night.

  “Please talk to me.”

  “It’s late, Harry. I’m not up to talking to you, or anyone else right now.”

  “You know we’ll have to figure out this mess sooner or later.”

  She bit her lip, refused to speak.

  “Gina, if you change your mind, call me. Anytime. Please?” There was a long pause. “At least think about it.”

  What she really needed was to stop thinking about it, or anything else.

  She hung up without saying ‘goodbye,’ stared into the darkness; it was like a solid wall – flat, unyielding. Nothing filtered through. Somewhere in the background she was aware of the clock rhythmically chiming off the time – 12; 12:15; 12:30.

  * * *

  Crooked, broken streets. Raw garbage slopped around her ankles, lashed at her face, left a thick smear of stinking, rotting flesh over her arms, her legs. The nothingness made her ears ring, blackness curled its tentacles around her, consumed her, squeezed away every breath. She tried to fight it, but the blackness held on, a powerful emptiness that was swallowing, swallowing her fingers, her arms, her shoulders, her head.

  * * *

  A high-pitched scream melded into the ringing of a telephone. Gina bolted to a sitting position, a hand flat against her beating chest. She struggled to disengage from the dream, fell across the bed and grabbed for the phone; her body shook uncontrollably.

  “Hel-hello.”

  Silence.

  “Harry, is that you again?”

  Pain stabbed through her head; her heart boomed in her ears.

  “Harry? Harry … talk to me.”

  Wheezing, heavy wheezing. A raspy, wavering voice stuttered something she couldn’t understand.

  Her spine tingled with fear. “Who is this? What do you want?”

  “Save me!” the voice whispered.

  Gina trembled, stared into the dark, didn’t answer.

  “Please! Save me!”

  She dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom, braced herself over the toilet, and heaved until there was nothing left but the clutch of spasms.

  “Ohmygod! Ohmygod!”

  She rose to the sink and splashed handful after handful of cold water onto her face, her neck, her shoulders until her PJs and the bathroom tiles were soaked. She fumbled for a towel, rubbed it hard across her face, threw it on the floor to mop up the splattered puddles. She took in long, deep breaths; the accelerated thrumming of her heart pounded in her ears.

  She flipped on the bathroom light. “I’m all right … all right.” She repeated the words mantra-like at her mirror image while rubbing hard at her arms, up and down their length.

  Why is this man plaguing me?

  Pepper Yee! She had to call the detective … immediately. If Yee didn’t do something this time, she would become the cop’s second skin. Something had to be done.

  Resolve settled her stomach. She flipped off the bathroom light and stepped into the hallway, hesitated, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the shadowy corridor.

  At first she thought it was dizziness – everything seemed to be moving. But like the black apparition in her dream, a billowing shadow separated from the wall.

  She rubbed hard at her eyes, inched back as the dark cloud morphed into two arms reaching out to grab her.

  She screamed, kicked.

  “Let me go! Let me go!”

  She was trapped, couldn’t move forward or back. Her head roared; she twisted, squirmed

  “Gina! Stop! It’s me, Harry!”

  When she finally recognized his voice, she went limp, began to sob.

  He buried his face in her hair. “Don’t … don’t be afraid.”

  She took a deep breath. “Harry! Oh, Harry He called again.”

  “At work?”

  “No, dammit. Here! Tonight!”

&
nbsp; “Did you call the police?”

  “I was on my way to do that when you scared the shit out of me.”

  He started walking her toward the living room. “Did he threaten you?”

  “No. I think he’s looking for help. I … I feel like such a fool freaking out like that. But it’s the second time he’s called here.”

  “Second time?”

  “I didn’t tell you about the first call because … because we were fighting.”

  Harry took her hand; she reluctantly allowed him to lead her to the sofa. They sat down together.

  He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her to him. “Maybe if we’d gotten married when we were supposed to–“

  Gina flung his arm off and jumped up. “I don’t believe you, Harry Lucke. A maniac is stalking me and all you can think of is marriage? You’re an idiot!”

  “You’re right.” He stood up to face her. “I am an idiot … an idiot for loving you, living with you, wanting to be with you forever. And you know what? That’s all I’ve been thinking about for more than a year.”

  “Face it, Harry. That may never happen.”

  Disappointment clouded his eyes, new lines etched their way across his forehead. And she saw stubbornness in the set of his jaw that told her nothing had really changed.

  Chapter 21

  “Shit, this is one real mother-fucker,” Paul Lucke shouted down to his brother as he struggled to steady a dolly carrying a strapped-on refrigerator. The weight of the load was starting to defeat him as he tried to muscle it up a makeshift ramp and into a U-Haul van. But the whole load was inching backwards and he was going to be squashed when it let go.

  “Damn it!” he yelled. “How about a little help?”

  Harry jumped up onto the ramp and leaned into the fridge. “You said you could handle it.”

  “Forget what I said. Just push!”

  “I warned you: keep this up and you’re going to create one big, raging hernia.”

  Harry and Paul grunted in unison, shoved harder, and finally coerced the hefty appliance onto the level platform of the van.