Fire Flies

by Marie Marini

  Starbucks coffee in hand, we headed out to her house in Pompano. Kris had a small 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom single-family house behind a barbeque joint on MLK, complete with chain link fence and a “mind the dog” sign. It didn’t look occupied. We approached cautiously, ready to run at first bark. No sign of dog poop or toys, it was looking like the sign was a decoy. The house looked relatively well-kept, the yard was tidy and neat. There was a one car garage on the side. No debris, trash or broken-down stuff like the neighbors to the right who were eyeballing us through the sheer curtain over their front door.

  John took the lead and banged on the door. No dog barking. I circled around the side of the house and peeped in the window. No sign of anyone home, but there were magazines and a coffee mug on the coffee table. I circled back around and had a look in the mailbox. There were a couple of things there that confirmed this was her house and she had been picking up the mail regularly. I asked John if we could try again tomorrow. She might be working today. He grumbled a bit and then said okay, but that was it. One more visit just because he likes getting out of the office and every time we go somewhere I buy him Starbucks.

  The next day we had the same result and the same neighbor eyeballing us, this time from a living room window. I decided to try to talk to them. The door opened to an angry black lady who immediately looked behind her and yelled at who I presumed was her son to get away from the window, advising him that we were police and questioning his IQ in her own loving way. She turned back to us. “What you want?” she barked. I let John do the talking.

  “Ma’am I am Detective Holbert, we are looking for your neighbor Kris. Have you seen her lately?” He flashed his ID quickly since we were out of our jurisdiction. If she had looked closely she would see that.

  “Nope!” She started to close the door.

  “Stop!” I jumped in. “Please Ma’am, we’re just concerned about her. No-one is in trouble here.” I had to think fast, she had suspicion and mistrust written all over her face. “I went to school with her brother and he can’t get in touch with her. I said I would try and help.”

  She hesitated for a moment then sighed. “Don’t think she live here no more. She come by maybe once, twice a week. Her truck ain’t been here overnight in ‘bout a month.” She stepped back inside the house. “That’s all I’m sayin’, she a good neighbor, don’t bother no one. Maybe she don’t wanna talk to no brotha. Some folks just wanna be left alone.”

  With that, she shut the door in our faces. Muffled by the door we could hear her yell, “What’s wrong with you? Don’t need to be peeping out no windows at folks. Bringing the damn Po- lice to my door!”

  We couldn’t hear the rest as we walked back to the car. At the last minute I ran back to the house, pulled one of John’s business cards from my pocket (I still didn’t have my own) and scribbled my name and cell number on the back. I shoved it into the mail box. I had to do something. I knew I wasn’t wrong about this.

  I had been taking care of Darren for about a month. He was losing some weight. He eats good, it’s just the more he eats the more he poops and that just kills my libido. He was getting bony, though, and that was killing my libido too. He was starting to look all scrawny like Sam used to be.

  I had been doing some research on spinal cord injury. No matter what you might read about Christopher Reeves, chances were Darren would never get better. These patients needed extensive physical therapy every day! I could only do so much on my own and I had an important job. Stem cell treatments were proving promising, but that couldn’t happen for my Darren. The more I learned the more questions I had. Could he feel pain in his legs? He got these twitches which I used to think meant he was getting some feeling back, but it turns out it was just muscle spasms. He still talks about being in excruciating pain. When you have a complete break in the spinal column you can’t feel pain or sensation. You can’t sense hot or cold. Your spinal cord contains all the nerves that send messages from your brain to your body and back again. When that connection is severed, you can’t feel anything. The more I researched, the more I found out about nerve pain. Your spine is just a huge electrical cable of nerves. When those nerves are severed, the nerve pain that results is beyond the reaches of morphine or any other opioid known to man. It was fascinating. Weird that he couldn’t feel me touch his knee, but he had this pain. I didn’t really understand it yet, but I was determined to learn about it.

  Time marched on and I felt like we had missed out on dating. We really only had a few dates until he was dependent on me, so I wanted to have a date night. I wanted to dance with him! One night I brought home some rope and made this really cool rope harness that I could use to lift him out of bed, then I could swing him around and transfer the harness to the living room on this pulley system I designed and he could hang there with his feet almost touching the floor. It was genius! It took me all day to get the thing set up and working. I got Darren dressed up that night. I had to go buy him a nice new shirt and tie. I didn’t think to bring some of his clothes with me after I cleaned the apartment. DUMMY! He looked so handsome in his new sparkling white Calvin Klein dress shirt and dark blue tie with little white diamond pattern. I had bought the designer stuff because I knew how he liked fancy clothes. I took off his diaper and cleaned him up, leaving him naked from the waist down. Pants were too much trouble anyway. It was kind of funny to watch him dangle there from the ceiling and his penis dangle just under shirt tails, every now and then poking out to say hello. The ropes didn’t give so I was thinking maybe I could get some heavy duty bungee cords to give him a little more bounce in his step.

  After dinner, I lit some candles and played some old country love songs my daddy used to play for me. I was singing along and thinking about the first time Daddy came to my room when I was about 8 years old. We both cried when he pushed inside me. I told Darren I didn’t enjoy my private time with daddy, but it was just for us and I knew that was my womanly duty since mom was gone because of me. Daddy said he could never love another woman after Mommy. No one else could touch me like that, not even my brother Sam. Sam was only allowed to watch. Sam got mad at all the attention I was getting and hurt me later. My daddy just missed Mommy so much, that’s why he was sad all the time. If it hurt, I just needed to offer up my pain to Jesus. He died in horrible pain for me so it was the least I could do.

  We danced to Patsy Cline and Johnny Cash, then to Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson. I even saw him smile just a little. I knew I could make him stop feeling sorry for himself! He was having fun and so was I. I talked as we danced. At one point I asked him if he wanted a drink and I called him “Daddy.” It was just a slip of the tongue, I don’t think he noticed. All that talking and dancing wore me out. I went to the bedroom to put my shoes away and the bed just looked so inviting I climbed in and fell fast asleep.

  When I woke up a few hours later I realized Darren wasn’t beside me and I panicked for a minute until I realized he couldn’t exactly run away. I had left him hanging, literally hanging! I smiled as I walked into the living room. His legs were mottled purple. The harness had been digging into him for hours. I ran up to him feeling terrible for him, then I saw the pee and shit all over the floor. Fuck! Now I had to clean all this up at 3 o clock in the morning.

  I cleaned up Darren first so I wouldn’t get any more mess on the floor and put a diaper on him. I swung the harness away from the mess and unfastened the harness and let him drop to the floor. I know it was a bit harsh, but I was really tired. I sat him up against the couch and made him watch me clean up his mess. Growing up in Georgia our neighbors had a puppy and they would rub her face in her poo if she pooped in the house. I got some satisfaction from that, but it was short lived when I had to try to clean the shit out of his nostrils later.

  I tried to rub the circulation back into his legs, but his feet looked pretty far gone. I’ve seen loss of circulation before on the job and it looked like amputation would be the only
option. He didn’t use them anyway and couldn’t feel pain, except the nerve pain. I wasn’t sure if I could do it. But maybe.

  It was just a couple days later when she sat me on the couch and blindfolded me. I felt the shift of weight when she slid off the couch and sat on the floor at my feet. She had some stupid game show on tv turned up really loud. I heard the clicking of the lighter and presumed she had gone into the kitchen and fired up the gas burner. My brain just didn’t put two and two together. I should never have been able to hear that clicker if she was in the kitchen and the TV was on so loud.

  I smelled burning and tried to yell out to her. Good God, she was going to burn the place to the ground and I now had new horrific images of how I would die. It’s weird how I thought I had made up my mind that I wanted to die. Even the thought of burning to death in this shit-hole trailer would be a welcome release. Yet I still tried to warn her. It wasn’t until I saw the bandages the next day that I realized the burning meat had been me.

  The day after the burning incident, when I left really early for the drive to work, I left a window open to try to air out the trailer. It was a long shift, the only calls we had were bullshit calls. Obese people who fell out of bed and we had to get them back in. It was gross sometimes. Then there were the abdominal pain calls to the rehab facilities. When they’re detoxing they get super constipated and end up calling 911. They want us to give them something for the pain but we don’t. We just transport them to the hospital. We had a call one time when I was a rookie, it was an obese man having trouble breathing. Well, no shit you can’t breathe dumbass you have 60 pounds of fat sitting on your chest! Anyway as the rookie, I had to do the 12 lead EKG. His boobs were bigger than mine. We’re trained to use the back of your hand to lift the boob (man or woman) out the way, wipe down the skin and place the electrode. I swear when I went to wipe his underboob sweat I found an Oreo. A fucking cookie. I had to scoop the cookie up in the alcohol wipe and continue on like nothing happened. We laughed so hard back in the truck about that one. They called me cookie monster for a while, and I pretended to gag. Sometimes we would have fun in the station. It depended on the crew you were with. That night we weren’t busy so there was a lot of sitting around and I don’t do well with that.

  The hullaballoo about Darren being missing was starting to wane from the news stations. Every now and then there would be something but mostly it had died down. I loved watching the coverage. The Police had no idea. I was the only person who had the answers. I was sure his family had gone back to Seattle. I guess if I’d really thought about it I would have known he came from a wealthy family. That apartment wasn’t cheap or that car.

  I pulled up the picture of the apartment I had taken on my cell. The floor to ceiling windows overlooking the water was impressive. After a long shift of very few calls just thinking about things all night long, I started to get angry that he hadn’t told me. I could never relate to someone raised like that, with all that money. He wasn’t who I thought he was. He had been lying to me the whole time. When I got off work at seven in the morning, I was already in a stinky mood. I stopped by the house to pick up the things I needed. Before I could even get out of the car, my neighbor was coming towards me. She never bothered me, so I was suspicious. I didn’t know her name and I didn’t think she knew mine.

  “Kris, sorry to bother you but I had to tell you myself.” Apparently, she did know my name.

  “Uh huh.” I glared at her. Now here was someone else getting in my business.

  “These cops come round asking for ya. Somethin’ ‘bout yo brotha looking for ya. I never told them nothing, mind. Nothing to tell. Just thought I should tell ya. Alright then.”

  She was walking backwards towards her house, looked like she was ready to run for the hills. I guess I was glaring at her pretty hard. It would have been funny if I had been in a better mood.

  “K, thanks,” I mumbled and walked towards the mailbox. I grabbed my mail and headed inside before she could change her mind and want a little neighborly chat. Sam! My brother looking for me? What the hell was that all about? I sat on the couch with my coffee. Hands shaking, I went through the mail. Junk mostly, I almost didn’t see it in there among the circulars and ads, a little business card with the name scratched through and another name on the back with “Please call Jesus Rivera PBSO 561 983 4557 scribbled on it.” PBSO is Palm Beach Sherriff Office. If the cops are from Palm Beach, they must have connected me to Darren somehow.

  FUCK FUCK FUCK! How did they connect this? What the hell did Sam have to do with it? I wiped down every doorknob, every surface in that fucking apartment. I went through that place. I almost missed my Cinderella shoe laying against the wall in the bedroom where I dropped it. I had scooped it up and jammed it into my bag. There was nothing of me there. I threw his phone away in the intracoastal waterway. I even wiped down the fucking toothbrush! What else? What did I touch? The car? I didn’t think the car was a big deal. I could easily explain being in the car and I didn’t want anyone to see me cleaning it.

  I was trying not to panic. Sometimes when I panic, I shut down completely and find myself crawling into bed for days, not eating, not showering. I could NOT let that happen. Where was my Xanax, just a half a Xanax would help me focus, breathe! This used to happen to me in foster care before Tricia adopted me and changed my name. That’s why I got the Xanax in the first place. I used to have nightmares about Sam coming back for me. I took the pill with a shaky hand and stuffed the note into my pocket. I would have to call. They won’t go away and they’ll get more suspicious if I don’t call. It would be fine. So we dated a few times, yes, I’d been in his car but we broke up. I would tell them that I had never been in his apartment. It would work. It would have to. I could NOT lose my job over this man. FUCK! Men were not worth the trouble. They all lie and pretend to be something they aren’t. It was the best sex of my life but no, this was too much.

  All the way to Bean City I had to really focus on the traffic. Xanax relaxes me just a bit too much sometimes. I was so tired when I got there and so mad at all the trouble Darren was causing me, I left him on the commode and climbed into bed alone. I must have slept for a couple of hours.

  Darren was whining and complaining when I got up. “I’m hungry,” “Can you get me off this seat?” He was turning into such a baby. The sex wasn’t enough to make it worth the hassle any more. He had offered me money to call 911 when the accident happened but I didn’t think he actually had that kind of money. He’d offered money a few more times since to let him go. Idiot. As if I’m holding him prisoner. I’m TAKING CARE OF HIM! I really don’t understand why he doesn’t get that. I have done so much for him, spent so much of MY money. Now I find out he has a lot more money than I’ll ever have. No wonder he doesn’t appreciate all the things I’ve done, all the money I’ve spent.

  He is a spoiled little rich kid. Just like those little bitches in middle school who would make fun of me. They would laugh at my K-mart sneakers while they ran around in Nike and Adidas. They pulled at my hair because it wasn’t cut in a hair salon. I got mad at Darren just thinking about it all. I undid the straps on the chair and let him slide on to the floor. Let’s see if he could feel pain in his knees. I went to the car and came back with my power drill. Darren whimpered like the baby he was.

  “Shut the fuck up you pussy! You can’t feel it. I don’t want to hear you whine. You should have told me! Men are such fucking liars!”

  I got my drill and attached the 3/8th inch steel bit. I held his leg with one hand while I drilled into his knee. He tried to lift his arms and hit me. It would have been funny if I’d been in the mood to laugh.

  “Really? Really now Darren? After all I’ve done, I should fucking hurt you. I should drill into your collarbone, it’s about the only place you have left where you feel pain.” I screamed at him, then suddenly stopped. I had a better idea. This would be interesting and I could really learn something that cou
ld help me at work.

  I left him there and grabbed my phone. I ordered a massage table on-line it would be at the house in two days. I sighed and went back to Darren, I cleaned him up got him dressed and started making dinner. I left the screw in his kneecap to remind him that he shouldn’t lie.

  I felt so much better after I ate. I was making plans. I always felt so much more in control when I had a plan. I went out onto the back patio and called this Rivera guy who left me the note in my mailbox. He didn’t pick up, so I left a message feigning ignorance that I had no idea why he needs to talk to me and gave him my cell number. Enough for one night, I was exhausted. Darren was begging me to kill him. He had only said that once, the night I left him in the living room in his harness. I knew he would die eventually, but I wasn’t ready to let him go.

  I really did love him and I know he loved me too. Every couple has a fight once in a while.

  The next morning around eight, I woke to my cell phone ringing. I never kept it in the bedroom so I had to drag my ass into the living room to get the call. If work was calling me for overtime, I wasn’t going in. My life was too crazy right now. It wasn’t work. It was Detective Rivera.

  I closed the bedroom door and went outside to take the call. Of course, it was about him! It was always about him. I told the cop that I had dated Darren a couple of times, but it wasn’t working out and we stopped seeing each other. Two dates, no big deal. Detective Rivera asked a lot of questions. I pretty much stuck to the truth, can’t get caught in a lie that way. We went out to dinner a couple of times, he picked me up at my place. No, never been to his place. Where did we go? What did we eat? Really Detective? It was fine. I could stick to the truth and there was no risk of being caught in a lie. He said that he spoke to my neighbor and she said I don’t come by the house much anymore so he wondered if Darren and I had eloped or something. He was laughing, but asking the question anyway. I laughed too and said no, we really didn’t have that spark. I told him I was very private, and the neighbor just never saw me when I was at home. I told him that she was nosy, so I would often sneak around back sometimes so I didn’t have to talk to her. He seemed to accept that.