by Sandy DeLuca
“Why’d you leave?”
“I followed this guy there. A musician. Things were cool until he started getting lots of gigs in hot nightclubs. Then his eyes starting roving and I caught him with a couple groupies.”
“Tough luck.” Sammy passed her a joint. “But life goes on.”
“Yeah, and it teaches you lessons. It’s way too short to get hung up on any one thing—or person.” She passed the joint back, her face much too close to Sammy’s for my liking.
Voices rang in my head. I was still seeing things— bodies lying on the side of the road, hearses passing by, funereal flowers dripping with blood hung from windows, skulls peering from behind green leaves.
Sammy glanced at me. “Well, I love my little Julia here. She’s really the only girl for me.”
Star stopped talking, but the voices of the dead grew louder.
Sammy gave Star a couple of speeders. Somewhere in South Carolina she slipped off her dress.
“You know, there ain’t nothing wrong with a little free love now and then. Don’t the pills make you hot—make you want to do things you wouldn’t ordinarily?”
“Yeah, me and my Julia have gotten it on real heavy.” He ran his tongue across his lips. “I do love my Julia.”
She sighed. “Yeah, you told me a bunch of times. But ain’t nothing wrong with a little fun. I’m not trying to move in or nothing.”
Star looked at me then. She seemed so alive.
* * *
Her eyes are so blue, full of mischief and life. She’s found happiness in that clear blue surf, within canvas and brush-strokes. It’s all I can do for her, all I’ve done for the past twenty-one years.
“Are you happy now, Star? I’m so sorry—”
Her eyes sparkle with life, reflect the sun. The lights flicker. The room is dark and then bright again. Star’s eyes are lifeless now, glazed over with death.
The snow swirls and I hear the familiar sound of the old Impala cruising by, its driver nodding his head to an old rock song. The lights flicker again. Now Star lies crumpled in the sand, crimson pours from her hands, from the edges of the canvas and onto the floor.
“I just can’t bring you back, no matter what I do. I’m so sorry.”
CHAPTER 30
My canvases lean against the wall, years of work, days and nights spent trying to bring the dead back to life, of trying to exorcise the Devil and all his demons.
When I first dip my brush into the paint, my vision and goal is always the same: to paint flesh upon dried bones and to turn screaming mouths into smiles. But in the end, it’s always the same. The bodies of victims lie dead and crumpled at the feet of a madman. And their blood has stained my hands too. All I can paint is madness.
At times I paint the demise of all those Sammy and I touched in 1971. Other times I paint the demons that lived among us: veiled goddesses who hide pain and destruction within the folds of black gowns, or hideous creatures that leer at me from darkened corners. My madness has brought me recognition, a living and the means to indulge my habit. It has also brought a lethal price.
Star’s dead eyes stare at me, beg me to go back to that shabby hotel and reverse what happened to her in 1971.
I’m no sorceress, but the dead are not easily convinced.
* * *
Star gave Sammy money to rent a room. He chose a rundown motel where old men sipped beer outside the registration office. The subtle smells of stale cigarette smoke and sweat hung in the air. The sign out front was worn and splintered. The lone word MOTEL, painted in black, loomed ominous and bleak. The grass outside the office was dry and burnt from the sun and the middle-aged clerk behind the desk leered at Sammy in a desperate longing way.
He paid for the room then drove to the far end of the building. “I asked for a remote spot just in case you girls start screaming with pleasure.”
Star laughed and climbed out of the car. I could see her pubic hair through her nylon panties, and her nipples poked through her white bra, hard, brown and ready.
When we got inside Sammy turned the air-conditioner way up.
The room was basic, dim, and moderately clean. Maintenance workers must have planned to fix the leg on the table by the bed and forgotten about it because they had left scattered nails and a hammer by a nearby radio. The table was lopsided and the leg had been tossed over by the bathroom door.
“Julia, take a shower,” Sammy said, addressing me as if I were a child. “Your hair needs a good washing and the steam might put some color back in your cheeks.”
I nodded wearily. “Okay.”
The bathroom had only a shower stall, a small sink and a toilet. It stunk of piss and another foul odor that I could not identify. The tiles inside the stall were cracked and the wall was moldy. Two towels were hung on rack behind the door. There was a bar of soap on the sink along with a small vial of shampoo.
I stripped, laid one of the towels beneath my feet and turned on the water before I stepped inside. The hot water soothed me. The soap smelled strong and medicinal. I scrubbed myself from head to toe until my skin was red then repeated the process. I could hear Star and Sammy talking throughout, but couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying. At one point she began to giggle, and a faint odor of marijuana seeped into the bathroom.
I noticed a window in the bathroom, small and set high up on the wall, and more than once while showering, I visualized standing on the tub, squeezing through that window and running. But running was pointless. He’d only come after me, and besides, he had all my money. How far could I get with no bread? I convinced myself it was best to just play along until we got to Miami. I could wait until he crashed, then grab everything and split. Or would it matter even if I did run? Would I still be implicated in the murders?
I closed my eyes and saw my Aunt Lil sitting on her chair back home, her eyes red from crying.
Your hands are so lovely, Cara Mia, capable of creating beauty, capable of destruction…
The steam swirled around me. Demon faces smiled at me through smoky tendrils, wrapped crooked fingers around my ankles and wrists, binding me to Sammy, to his lunacy.
As I stepped from the shower and dried myself off I decided it was best to just play along. This thing with Star was a diversion, just a cheap thrill on the way to Miami. We’d do our thing then move on.
I left the bathroom but hadn’t taken more than a step when I saw Star and Sammy on the bed. She had him in her mouth. Her underwear was gone and his fingers were deep inside her. As she pumped her body in rhythm with his movements, for a moment, she looked like Aunt Lil, wild hair tousled and eyes twinkling with a wicked glint.
An array of emotions hit me all at once. I felt guilt but excitement. Was I becoming like him?
“Come here, babe.” Sammy reached out and pulled my towel off. “You look better. Got some roses back in those cheeks.” His fingers kept moving. Star moaned. “Lay down next to me.”
He touched me, made me wet, and for a moment I drifted away to a place where an imaginary lover wanted only me, where there was no betrayal, just the two of us, together.
Star’s moans snapped me back to the motel room. Sammy ran his fingers through her hair and whispered, “Just a little more…that’s it.”
When he was satiated he jerked her head up and kissed her. I watched until he let her go and she turned to me, cupped my chin and kissed me full on the lips. Her fingers danced on my skin to places I’d touched in the darkness, places where another woman’s intimate knowledge could bring unique levels of pleasure.
I was a little girl again, deep in the thickets with a little friend I’d known since preschool. We explored each other’s bodies, innocent lips tasting flesh for the first time, smelling the scent of each other’s musk, swearing we’d never tell.
“Don’t it feel good, babe?” Sammy asked, his fingers still inside both of us.
Star became Aunt Lil again, whispered softly, “Nothing like a little free love.”
More moans f
illed the room, but this time they were my own. It was good.
Star let out a scream when she came.
Sammy perched me over her face and gently entered me from behind. It felt good, a release I needed after all the shit that had gone down. Star was right, nothing wrong with a little free love. This felt innocent compared to the way those Southern boys had done me. Just a diversion, I told myself as I climaxed, just a diversion.
I lay trembling and tingling from head to toe, finally relaxed, finally feeling some release. The guilt was gone.
When it was over we kissed each other repeatedly, laughing, stroking one another, enjoying the magic of our youth. We stayed that way for what seemed a long time, and for a while, all the darkness and madness receded, left me alone.
I closed my eyes. My little friend in the thickets stared back at me. She was smiling.
“See? Nothing hurt by sharing,” Star said.
I looked over at her. Her eyes twinkled.
Sammy ran his fingers across her body then reached over to the table. Even before I saw it, I knew he’d grabbed the hammer. “What was that you said back there about being hung up?”
“What?” At first she had a look of confusion, but it quickly turned to fear and her face went white. She tried to lift herself off the bed, but he forced her down, holding her there easily with one hand. “God, what—”
“He can’t hear you now, sweetie.”
Sammy motioned to his jeans, which he’d tossed to the foot of the bed earlier.
As if in a dream, I reached down and felt the pockets until I found what he wanted. I pulled out a knife, held it awkwardly. “Sammy, what—”
“Cut her.”
Star tried to scream but Sammy quickly covered her mouth. Her eyes pleaded with me.
“Just run the knife across her chest, make your first cut.” His eyes bore into me, and his voice became very still and eerily quiet. “Do it.”
My head began to spin and I could barely speak. “Sammy, I can’t, we don’t have to do this, I—”
“Do what I tell you, Julia, or I swear I’ll butcher your whole fucking family. I’ll turn that fucking car around and drive back up North and kill every last fucking one of them.”
The knife was cold in my hand. Sammy took my wrist, his grip oddly gentle as he guided me toward Star’s chest.
Her skin was so white, so smooth. She smelled of sex, sweat and fear.
“Just one cut, a small one,” Sammy said. “Or I’ll butcher them, Julia, I’ll make them suffer.”
Aunt Lil flashed before me, her face slashed and ruined. I saw my parents lying dead in my old living room and the tabby cats howling as they paced back and forth beside the bodies.
“Just one cut,” he said again.
I ran the knife over Star’s breasts, watched as blood trickled onto the sheets.
“Deeper,” he said as he pushed my hand.
I felt her skin resist against the pressure until the blade punctured her flesh, tearing deeper until it touched bone. A river of crimson ran from her chest to her pubic hair.
“Good girl.” Sammy kissed me quickly, grabbed hold of the hammer again then grinned as he scooped up a handful of nails from the table. “Now put your dress back on, turn up the radio, and go wait in the car.”
Star squirmed. Her blood drenched the sheets.
“Sammy, please, she didn’t do nothing—”
“Do as I say. Go.”
I’m sure she screamed when he nailed her to the wall, but all I heard was Mick Jagger’s voice. All I saw were blackbirds circling overhead.
* * *
I lean my new painting against the others, study it for a moment and sigh.
He’ll call me again later. He’ll tempt me because he knows I’m weak.
I rub my hands together. Red paint stains my palms but I don’t wash them. It’s no use; the color never fades.
CHAPTER 31
Coffee tastes good now, strong and black. I toss a frozen pizza into the microwave and begin devouring it the moment it’s done. How long has it been since I last ate?
It’s morning, but I don’t care. My mother isn’t here to scold me about my odd eating habits. She can’t tell me to wash the dishes when I’m done. They’ve been piling up in the sink for days.
I’ll shower in a while and then saturate my body with expensive lotion. I’ll wear the black boots that have been sitting in the box since I bought them in October. I’ll wear the black winter coat trimmed with fake fur. I’m feeling better, prettier. Perhaps it’s time I give in to temptation.
I think of the recent painting I’ve made of Star.
She’s dead and I still cannot understand the reasoning behind her murder. I can see the nails piercing her hands, her eyes wide with terror when the knife cuts her. I hear the death rattle in her throat when Sammy slits it. I close my eyes and imagine Jesus taking her by the hand and leading her to Heaven, catching her blood with a holy grail.
He can’t save her and I can’t bring her back, make her pure. She was a sinner, after all. The church condemns women like her—like us—who give their bodies freely and indulge in sex and drugs. God doesn’t come for us. The Devil himself applauds as the blood drains out of us. He takes us, and all our pain, into the fires of Hell.
Do you believe in miracles?
Who grants them—God or the Devil?
* * *
Time became meaningless, and the days all blended and blurred one into the next. We could’ve been driving for days or years, I wouldn’t have known the difference. My mind had shut down. I was barely alive.
Sammy insisted on telling me what he had done to Star in great detail, saying it all so cool and matter-of-factly, as if explaining the plot of some movie he’d seen. I wanted to scream, but like everything else, it seemed completely pointless.
“You know I’d do the same to you if you ever tried to split, right? And I’d do the same to your family.” He tousled my hair playfully. “But love is deep, babe. And you’re chained to my side.”
And he was right. Emotional chains and unrelenting terror had made me Sammy’s prisoner. I had no confidence, didn’t believe I could pick up and go without him catching me, and without having hell to pay when he did. His threats frightened me because I knew now that he was capable of doing exactly what he said he would.
My mother had told me over and over again that I wasn’t that bright and that I’d always have to depend on others to help me in life. She said I was easily led and that one day I’d meet the wrong person and my life would be destroyed.
She had no idea how right she was.
I believed my parents had really disowned me for running off the way I did—that they’d never want me back. Right then and there Sammy was the only person I had in the world. Aunt Lil would welcome me home, forgive and understand anything, but she was far away—too far right then. I’d chosen Sammy, allowed him to choose me, and now, he was all I had. Funny thing was, I was all he had, too.
At one point Sammy pulled off his bloody shirt, removed the knife from his pocket and stashed it in the glove compartment. I’m exhausted,” he said. “You want to drive for a while?”
He gave me a quick lesson on how to drive a standard. After a few jolts and false starts we were barreling down the interstate.
I started thinking maybe I wasn’t so stupid, but those thoughts drifted away when Sammy made fun of me after I let a truck pass us on a one-lane highway.
“Don’t be such a stupid bitch. I swear, anybody in the world can put it over on you, girl.”
I held back the tears. I was worthless. I’d never make it. Never. And now I was trapped with a madman. Yet as crazy as it was, I was still infected by him, and still felt I was better off with Sammy than by myself.
* * *
The voice on the phone comforts me. It knows how lonely I am and it makes me feel alive once more. I want to hold him again and listen to his tales of being on the road, of all that time without me.
I
tap the toe of my boot on the floor as his voice lures me deeper into temptation.
“Later,” I say. “I need to get to the hospital.”
Silence. The dial tone screams in my ear.
But he’s never gone forever. He’ll call again.
There’s always tomorrow.
CHAPTER 32
My mother is sleeping. Her body is relaxed. All the tension has left her face and the deep crevices around her mouth and eyes have all but vanished.
The room is silent. No doctors or nurses visit. They only glide by the door occasionally, peer in with red tinged eyes, leaving the vague smell of sulfur behind.
There’s another bouquet of roses in a vase by her bed. A card lies beside them. There is no signature. The handwriting is familiar, similar to mine, but I didn’t send them. I have no idea who sent them or the previous bouquet.
My mother stirs, opens her eyes. “I dreamed there were dishes piled in the sink,” she says groggily. “The rug hasn’t been vacuumed since I’ve been gone. How long have you been here?”
“Too long. I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right. I’ll go now.”
She closes her eyes, drifts back to sleep.
I leave before she wakes again.
* * *
After we’d driven another hundred miles or so Sammy started talking to me, telling me things I didn’t know about him—scary things. Maybe they were the reasons why he did what he did; his motivation for murder.
More than once I’d thought about turning off the road, stopping the car and running, but he’d catch me, drag me back and most likely kill me. So I let him talk and tried my best to piece together the roots of his madness.
