by Billie Dale
Paris corkscrews her lips; her already bugged-out eyes grow impossibly wider. It takes a moment for her rolling brain to comprehend what he told her. “But I helped. You said once I got Joey back on the juice, you’d make sure we were taken care of.” Her pissed-off half pout might work if she wasn’t hissy fitting over not being able to keep the love of my life screwed in the head.
“Money is in the other bag. We’re done.” On his heel, he spins back to me. “Time to go, my sweet.”
He grabs my elbow. “Wait. Let me say goodbye.” His lips pinch in a hard line, but he lets go. I help Hendrix sit up, trying not to stare at the large drenched crimson stain on his shirt, I wrap him in my arms, hoping to not hurt him. “Take Cash back to Joey. Tell him I love him with my every breath. Never give up on trying to find me, Brother. Until we meet again, I’ll forever be the girl who shared your very first womb. I love you, Hendrix Morrison Carmichael.” Tears pour down my cheeks contradicting the narrowed smile I force, reminding him of our running tease over us sharing space in Mom’s stomach.
His shaking hand reaches for mine, interlocking our little fingers. “Pinkie swear. I will do what you asked. On my life, his monster ass will not keep you.” A choked sob matches the glistening in his eyes. A single tear streaks down his cheek, turning the red splatter muddy. “I love you, Sis.”
Next, I crawl to Cash. Still on my knees I curl my body around him, trapping his arms at his sides. “Okay, buddy, you’re gonna go home with Hendrix. Soon you’ll be with your dad.”
“But I want you to come too, Elvis.” He doesn’t even try to hide his sadness. Heavy tears hang on every warbling word.
A lump in my throat garbles my voice. “Someday I’ll find you, Cash Holmes. Be sweet, live fully, and take care of your daddy for me. This isn’t the end of Elvis Preslee and Johnny Cash. To the moon and back, lil’ man.”
“T-t-to the m-m-moon and b-back,” he parrots, working his arms free to grip me with all the strength in his body.
I offer him a weak watery smile, fighting my sorrow to keep him calm as Creeden yanks me from the ground. I resist, he turns the gun on Hendrix, halting my fight. My natural instinct is to do whatever it takes to escape, but Pops told me to save Cash. This is the only way I know how. A desperate ugly cry steals the oxygen from my lungs. I won’t let it out. Can’t give Creeden the satisfaction of witnessing my desolation.
Paris ran back to the card table. She’s too busy digging for another bump to worry about what we’re doing.
I drag my feet but the space to the opening nears. From my periphery, I see a quick, silent large shadow slip in an alcove near a small branch off in the cave. Creeden’s phone blares text alerts, the plane motor roars, and the suckitude of the situation reels wild in my mind.
We stand, staring down at the cutting jagged rocks. A float plane circles, waiting for the signal. When I stood here earlier, the water was far below, unreachable. Now with the threat of a storm swirling in a black mass on the horizon, the tide brought the water level almost to the cave entrance. Two boats anchor at the base. One to the left and one to the right. My bare feet will never withstand the descent.
Creeden drops a pair of hiking boots, my hiking boots, at my feet. “Put those on. There is one path to the boat. It’s narrow, sharp, and requires precision.”
How did my life become this tragedy? A nobody Southern transplant who took off for the glitz and glamor. A lovesick self-sacrificing eighteen-year-old noob who grew up, kicked herself in the ass, and accepted what her heart knew for years. I found it, I held it… it was everything. Yet here I am, still the nobody makeup artist readying to become a physical prisoner to the man who’s jailed me mentally for years. This can’t be my life.
Boots rubbing on my bare feet, I take the space next to him, wondering how this will all work. He loops a climbing rope around my waist, lassoing me with cowboy efficiency before securing the tie to his waist with carabiners. As he’s second checking the rigging, I’m killing him with my best ‘what the hell is this shit’ snarling arched brow. Okay, it’s more of a wishing I could kill him evil eye.
“Don’t want you sacrificing yourself before I’ve had my fun,” he answers my unasked question.
“While this,” I flick my hand back and forth between us, “might be all fairy-tale happy in your deluded brain, I will NEVER accept you or willingly consent to your fun.” Once again on a roll with zero shits to give, I keep on. “Were you born a sick twisted fuck? Did Mommy not love you enough? Daddy beat your ass too hard? How does a loaded tech genius, with a bevy of babes who’d love to jump on his dick, end up in Crazy Creeden Land? I swear your cornbread is still raw in the center. Perhaps you need a moment of reflection? How bout you shove your head between your legs, snack on your balls for bit—‘cause let’s be honest—crazy is catching, so kill those potential offspring while you can, stick your head up your ass, and search for the right thing to do. You’re lock, stock, and barrel living in a T-Rex-size pile of shit…”
His hand against my cheek silences my hate driven conclusions. The force flings my head so hard I lose my balance, crashing to the floor.
“Preslee!” My name roars through the space, echoing off damp rocks. A figure charges out of the shadows, tackling Creeden to the ground.
∞∞∞
Joey
You think you know stealth. You do not. There is nothing quieter than three hulking ex-Navy SEALs. I swear I don’t think they breathe. Cohesive, as if one person, they situate me between them and we slink up an untraveled rock cliff. I lunged to protect Hendrix, but the three held me back, using the blast of gunfire to secure our hidden position. The minute we hunkered in place, I searched for my son. My first full glimpse of him was when Preslee hugged him to her chest. When she ordered her brother to tell me she loved me, she’d forsaken all hope of ever seeing me in person again. We decided mere hours ago to keep those words for the worst day.
She surrendered herself to save Cash. Here’s a tip. Creeden the fuckwad ain’t leaving here with either of my people.
Creeden’s cocksure movements falter as she holds her own. Her sass and wit rake his ass over the coals, but fear adheres to each word in the form of a voice crack or tremble. I saw the plane. She will not get on it. He’d already be dead if it weren’t for the angle of his body keeping us all out of range for a clear shot. Through a series of hand signals, I’m told to stand down and wait.
When he hits her all bets are off. I hear a series of hushed curses, but rage races through my veins so fast the roaring static takes over. Shoulders lowered, I barrel into him caging his arms to hinder his ability to fire his weapon.
Skinny bastard is stronger than I expected. He pulls some sort of MMA worthy block slash headbutt, knocking me loose enough to swing the butt of the gun at my head. Before it connects, Hendrix leaps on his back. The Glock rises, firing next to Hendrix’s ear. The bullet lands in the ceiling. Crumbling stone dislodges Hendrix, leaving him in a heap on the floor. In the melee the gun skittered across the floor, landing out of sight.
Creeden and I circle each other. In a frenzy of movement around us the men who came with me remove Cash first, shielding him until they're outside. Another grabs Paris, throwing her over his shoulder to stop her resisting. The third lugs Hendrix’s limp body the same way. He tried to help Preslee, but she ordered him to save her brother. My dance with Creeden swishes back and forth, his steps limited by his tether to Preslee. Her hands work the knotted cord at her waist but can’t untie it. Creeden bobs and weaves, inching closer to the cave opening with every step, dragging Preslee along behind him.
Before he breaches the entrance, I lurch a flying fist at his face. He uses it to grab me, twist my torso, and wrap his arm around my neck. With all my strength I thrash but his hold grows tighter, cutting off my oxygen. I can’t let him best me, but the edges of my vision darken. Jesus, how is he so strong?
I punch, driving my fist into any part of his flesh within reach. He jerks; Preslee falls. Ou
r eyes connect, passing a plan with nothing more than a series of blinks. I rear up, a hulk-ish roar ripping from my lungs, while she pulls the cord using the entire weight of her body. Creeden whiplashes back then forward, landing on his knees on the rocks. My fists fly, making mincemeat of his face. A final punch under his chin, he goes down sprawled spread-eagle on the floor.
“Joey!” Preslee runs, jumping in my arms with her legs around my waist. “I thought I’d be old, gray, and a bit nuts, before I ever saw you again.” Her lips work a circle around my face before landing on my mouth.
Wordlessly I hold her, soaking in her soft curves, plump lips, sweet scent hidden under layers of sweat and sea. Too many hours spent without her, scared of what he was doing. The all of her in one piece in my arms, mixed with Cash being safe, creates a muting emotional upheaval.
She slides down my body, but I can’t let her go yet, our foreheads touch. “Can we please leave this cave now?” her words wisp against my lips.
“As you wish.” I peck her nose, stepping back to work the knotted rope around her waist. It’s a trace eight climbing binding, with the opposite end banded around Creeden. To free her, I need to unbind him first.
In a squat I work to unhook all the gear he used to tether her. Too interested in liberating her, I don’t pay enough attention. Creeden springs, wrapping the static rope around my neck, he tightens it into a choking noose.
My vertebrae crack, sending numbness down my spine as my lungs struggle for air. He stands, dragging me to where sun brightens the opening. I drive my fist up between his legs into his nuts, welcoming his howl of pain and the noose-releasing curl of his slumping body. My hands work fast to unhook the hangman’s hold from my neck. When I’m free, he looms over me. The man is certifiable. I landed a punch hard enough to end his hopes for future children. Any other man would puke up his guts, praying for death from the agony of a blown testicle, but not him. He’s a bit green around the gills, but his squirreling eyes still light with victory.
On my feet we again trade punches moving each other, inching steps closer to the cave entrance. I land a blow to his temple; he falls but this time he bounds up, brandishing a nature made, gray marble-ish shiv broken from a loose part of the cave. He stabs. I don’t react quick enough. The smooth granite cuts through my abdomen smooth as butter. Preslee screams. My eyes find her. She stands too close. A gun in her hand shakes.
She can’t shoot him.
She’s still bound to him.
Fire burns through my gut. The iron tang of blood pollutes the air, pouring soaking wetness down the front of my black pants. Flames lick from my belly button to my side. It happens too fast. My shouts of “No” fade in the discharge. A bright light, loud boom, and the smell of gunpowder. Crimson flowers across the front of Creeden’s shirt. Direct hit to the heart. He stumbles. The balls of his feet balance precariously on the cliff’s edge, our eyes meet. His lips tip in a winning smirk full of far too much cockiness. “I win,” he puffs through a gurgling exhale before stretching his arms wide and swan-diving off the ledge.
The short rope snaps tight. I reach to grab it. Preslee digs her heels but finds no purchase on the slick cave floor. She slides quicker than a breath. I can’t hold her. The cord rips through my flesh, shredding it like paper. Her screams echo as she’s dragged out of the cave free-falling to the rocks below.
“PRESLEE! NO!”
Forty-Nine
Joey
I watch the earth swallow what now belongs to it. A casket. A body. The whole town stands in a circle around where moments ago Reverend Judy Hall recalled all the goodness and light, omitting the stain of darkness which led us here. Tears stream down cheeks. Whispers carry about the unspeakable, unbelievable truth of a how the obsession of a wayward boy became the tragedy of a disturbed man.
I’m numb except for the itching burn of the twenty stitches in my gut, the cut-bandaged skin of my hands, and the bone-deep bruises ringing my neck. The elaborate carved mahogany settles into its final place of rest.
The loud sob of a mother losing her child swirls on the wind. Arm in arm, the residents of Seven Mile Forge walk away. Off to deliver food, words of condolence, and other ways to assuage their guilt for not seeing what lived in front of their eyes. Comfort for the family.
Next to me a pink cast wiggles and thin fingers tighten on my wrist. I stare lovingly down to the occupant of the wheelchair. Hot pink thickness wrapped up to the knee, with a matching neon green plaster stabilizer on the opposite arm to the elbow. A stitched gash along the hairline, busted lip, and many tiny cuts and bruises dot every inch of skin under the clothes.
“You didn’t have to be here.” I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in her peppermint scent.
Preslee’s shoulders curl forward on her lung-emptying exhale. “I needed to see it for myself.”
Yeah, I was a dick there, making you think we were burying the love of my life instead of the son of a bitch who landed her in the chair. Against doctor's wishes, she insisted on knowing he is gone. Her thrashing, screaming nightmares need for her to see his wasted soul settle in hell as nature eats his shell.
∞∞∞
Preslee
A week ago, I died. My bones shattered, my heart stopped, and the rocky cliff edge almost became my end. I shot him. One bullet straight to the chest, but evil holds on. With his last breath, he tried to drag me to hell with him. Thanks to a fast thinking man dressed in black, Creeden landed on a jagged grave, while I swung like a pendulum above the same fate. The tide swept out, feeding the storm building on the horizon, leaving the water level lower. Clouds hadn’t devoured the sun yet. After the darkness of the cave, the bright rays were blinding. Seth was on his way up to help Joey when Creeden drug me over with him. It all happened in a split second. One moment of quick reaction. Unlike the movies, nothing turned slow motion. I screamed. The world blurred. A blob whizzed past. My body crashed, bones snapping like twigs. I felt a lick of agony before my head collided with something solid. The world went dark.
I woke up with a tube shoved down my throat and the smell of antiseptic burning my nose. The minute I was stable a LifeLine flight flew me, Joey, and Hendrix back to the States or at least that’s what they tell me.
∞∞∞
Mom and Dad hover over me; worry lining their faces. A doctor arrives to remove my intubation and detail my injuries: concussion, broken arm, broken leg, fractured ribs, internal bleeding. My entire body is one big hurt. For thirty blissful minutes I can’t remember how I got here. Joey dressed in a hospital gown with a nurse hot on his tail, yelling for him to go back to his room, wheels next to my bed. He can’t touch me. His hands are thick white gauze mittens. They hover over my body simulating touch, while his eyes shutter with growing agony as he catalogues each exposed lump, knot, and stitch until our gazes met. A single fat tear streaks down his cheek as he scans my face. The suffering darkening his blues says my exterior is as bad as the interior.
He wheels closer, scoots to the edge of his chair, cringing as he hinges forward. For minutes he searched the right side of my body. I flip my arm, offering him the inside of my wrist, knowing he wants a spot he won’t hurt. He smiles, my soul yodels.
Yes, my soul yodelayheehoo’s then blows an alphorn. We are mountain people, after all.
The woodsy smell of his hair expands my heart as his lips touch me, anchoring me to the present and to him.
The nurse insists he return to his own bed. Reluctantly, he promises to not be gone long before allowing her to push him away.
Mom sobs at the corner of my bed. Dad stays stoic but the doctor in him paces to escape, to fix his daughter.
“How’s Hendrix?” The last I remember of my twin is him crumbled on the floor. My head says he’s still alive, but my heart burns with his hurting. Call it our wonder twin powers or ESP; he needs me. Unable to lie here while he suffers, I move to sit up.
Dad’s gentle hand on my shoulder keeps me in place. “Nona and Vivianne are wi
th him,” he hedges, withholding something big.
“Dad?” My tone demands answers with one simple word.
“The gunshot was a graze missing all vital organs. But he’s in a coma, honey. His doctors are keeping him under until the swelling on his brain goes down; if it goes down.”
Tubes and wires stretch, pulling but the actual agony of moving my body drowns it. Monitor sirens blare, Mom frets, Dad holds me in place. His voice begs for me to stay still. A doctor appears beside me, stabbing my arm. Fire fills my veins, my eyes fall closed.
You did good, girl. Pops kicks back in his recliner with the pipe Nona hated poised near his lip.
“Not good enough. Hendrix needs me,” I huff, plopping on the floor next to him.
Hmmm, he nods, He needs you healed and whole. Your brother’s gotta rough road coming.
“What do you mean? He’s gonna wake up? Right?” My words warble, hating my inability to read Pops’s face.
Been talkin’ to him. Damn thickheaded boy. He’ll be fine one day, but it’s a day far from today or tomorrow. When the time comes, remind him life is a series of chances, choices, and changes. Might not be how you thought, but nothing stays bad forever. Circle your wagons, Preslee Marie. Hendrix will need the canvas cover for a bit.
“Will you still be around, Pops?”
Seems so. Not sure on the mechanics of it all. I could help y’all or do the ghostly thing to irritate and haunt your grandmother.
I laugh, feeling the pull of alertness. His image fades. Heal, Preslee Girl. Get back your sass and strength. Kick your brother’s ass when the time comes. My lashes flutter as his words fade to hum.
I promise not to fight so long as I stay updated on Hendrix. Joey forces his own release, trading his hospital room for mine. He sleeps in a recliner in the corner while Mom and Dad switch between their children’s rooms.
