“Here I am baby girl!” Rusty shouted with a sinister smile. He aimed the barrel of the Glock down to the floor. His finger was still on the trigger. “Now, why you wanna treat me like this?”
Rae gasped, only this time it wasn’t from pleasure. Rae was terrified. She sliced her scissors at the air. “Go away! Back away! Now!”
Rusty nearly fell on the floor laughing. A hardy laugh bellowed from his belly. “Is that what you had planned for me? All this time I thought you were just waiting for me to break in and thwack me hard with a baseball bat or somethin’, and I get a pair of fuckin’ scissors? Kindergarten scissors?”
Rae’s snips remained daggering the space in front of her as the twisted ex-lover approached.
Who would’ve thought the redneck would’ve kept his feelings after all this time?
Rae woke up after the sunset gleamed over the horizon, passing over the city and the factories beyond the trees. She was sitting in the passenger seat of the pickup, wrapped in the blanket from Rusty’s toolbox. The truck reeked of sweat and a mixture of various alcohols, although she only remembered having the vodka. Rusty snored in the driver seat as Rae lay awake. Her head thumped. Hangovers weren’t something new to her, but this one was the worst she ever had. For many reasons.
The sounds of his deep snores and hungover dreams disgusted Rae in a way that made her ask herself the question that many people have asked themselves since the dawn of men and women relations: what did I do last night? The answer: Sex. Dirty, drunk, virginity-taking sex.
She wanted to cry over what she had done, waking up in some hick’s pickup truck, naked and wrapped in his smelly, semen-stained blanket. A whore. I’m a fucking whore-slut she thought to herself. Rae stopped her tears from letting loose. She didn’t want to be that girl that cried after a drunken one-night stand. That would give her the label of the crazy woman who would drive men away with her emotional baggage that she couldn’t carry. Although, if you’d ask her today, she would say she was crazy for even considering sleeping with this dirtbag.
Rae scrambled to put on her clothes and found her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. Her brother had called a million times. Her mother a billion. It was going to lead to a grounding, no doubt. Months. Years. Maybe even the rest of her life.
“Goodbye, Raeby baby,” Rusty had said, watching her walk toward her house. He was riding high, looking at that beautiful piece of ass he scored. Those jeans never looked better. “Call me, you got my number, right?”
Rae turned and gave a half-hearted smile. She waved, and he waved back as he rode off in his rusty wagon. Rusty’s rusty wagon, the place that would forever live in Rae’s mind as the spot she became a woman. She approached her front door which opened before she even stepped on the concrete walkway. Mrs. Cooper was standing in her robe, arms crossed. Dominic stood just behind her with a stern face.
They told her that they called the police and that she lost her phone and going-out privileges. All rightfully deserved. She had been a bad, bad girl. In more ways than one. And now, with the man who had given her her first night of making love, the man who took the life of his mother and brother, the man who never stopped loving Rae, was back to take her away, back to the life of trouble and hell that she wished she never gotten involved.
“Come here!” Rusty shouted with a psychotic look taking over his striking eyes.
Rae could scream no more.
***
Spinning. Spinning. Dizzy. Spinning. Sickness.
I’m gonna faint, Jon thought as he grabbed at the air, hoping to find something to lean on. I’m gonna faint and never wake up.
His bitten hand found the edge of the leather couch. The contact was painful but necessary. Jon was about to go down. He took heavy breaths, but the sickness would not subside as the odors emanated from the storage room. That piss and shit smell. Awful. Jon regretted taking off the paint mask. There was no time to search for it now, it was hard enough fetching the Remington. He held the grip in his good hand.
His shoulder still bled with no signs of clotting.
Ok, ok, ok. Here we go. We gotta go. Up, Jon. Up and out. This can’t get any worse, can it?
With a deep breath, Jon stood up from the couch and felt nausea renew itself in the pit of his stomach. His injuries begged him to fall, to keel over and let every fluid from inside of him let loose.
Please, you have to stop Rusty.
I know, I know. But how am I gonna shoot like this?
Blackness surrounded him. The light of the flashlight only inched him closer to the stairs. He leaned again on the opposite end of the couch and gagged. Thunder BLARED and lightning flashed, sending its light down the stairs for a half-second. It beckoned him up to the horrors above. His knees buckled as if he was walking on stilts about to snap.
I’m coming. Rae. I’m so sorry.
***
The scissors had been a total failure. Rusty had no problem slapping them out of Rae’s hands, even though she had clutched them as hard as a mother holding onto her baby for dear life. Now they sat on a pile of socks.
Rusty’s hands were soaked in sweat as he smothered Rae’s face against the wall. He squeezed and squished her cheeks. The squeezing wasn’t harsh, but the contact sent chills through Rae’s body as she wept and tried to pry her head away. They were both on their knees on Rae’s bed. His body pinned hers hard.
“It’s so good to see you,” Rusty said with bad breath.
Rae closed her eyes, trying to push Rusty away with her mind but only found his sharp eyes staring back into hers when she looked again. Her hands were behind her back, against the wall. He was an inch away from her face. An odor all too familiar bellowed with his words. It was hot and harsh on his tongue. Could be vodka. Maybe whiskey. Perhaps both. He tried to kiss her lips, but she sucked her own into her mouth, under her teeth. She made a hmmm hmmm noise into his fingers as she flinched away.
“Rae, baby girl, it’s been such a rough time for me. You remember my grandpa? Member how I told you ‘bout him?”
Rae was in no mood for conversation.
“I guess you never got the pleasure. Not even my grammy or my old man got to see yer pretty face. I guess we never got serious, you and I. I wish we did. Oh, I sure wish we did.” He felt her black, wavy hair and ran his fingers through a curly strand. Rae shuttered.
“Either way, they’re all dead. You'll never get a chance to meet them now. Nope. First, my grammy died from stroke. Then, the demons got my dad and last night they killed my granpappy. He was all I had left back home in Huntington and they killed him. All he was tryin’ to do was level with those freaks. He had too much of a heart, my pappy. God rest his soul. It cost him his life and now I’m alone.” His eyes appeared to water, but Rae gave no ounce of sympathy. She looked away with swollen-shut eyes as Rusty continued his fascination with her hair.
“Except, I guess I’m not really alone anymore, am I? I got you now.” A tiny crack came from Rusty’s voice. “We got each other.” His fingers went over to her lips. He leaned his own lips in again into rejection. He pulled back, eyebrows curled like a sad puppy. “Won’t you forgive me? Won’t you give me another chance?”
Rae shook her head between his palms.
“Why not? Is it cuz what I did to yer mom? Yer older brother? I know, I know. I’m sorry, baby.”
Rae began to sob even though she thought she had cried her tear ducts dry. She sucked in air through trembling lips. Her throat felt heavy and mushy.
“Shhh. Shhhhh,” Rusty said and put his head beside hers against the wall. He whispered in her ear. “I had no choice, baby girl. She would’ve killed you eventually. It was just a matter of time. What else could you have done? Yer brother on the other hand, well, he attacked me. It was only self-defense.”
Those words struck Rae in her gut, reigniting the fire of rage she had felt in the basement moments ago. It shot through her chest and sent flaming anger up her throat. Her arms flung out from behind her back, shot u
pwards, and pushed into Rusty’s chest, sending him off the side of her bed with unexpected strength.
Rusty’s face read bewilderment and his head almost banged against the leg of the mirrored dresser’s chair. Thud. The Glock, which Rusty had holstered before climbing on the fluffy bed to pin Rae, bounced from the leather pouch and stopped short of where the scissors landed.
Rae leaped from the comforter with her hands extended out to snatch the gun. Her hands met steel. Then, Rusty’s hands met hers.
“Get off of it!” Rusty shouted and yanked on her wrists. She wasn’t letting up.
The two of them performed a tug of war with the weapon. Its barrel faced the closet door where pretty dresses, shirts, and pants hung. Various colors formed a rainbow collection of apparel in contrast to the littered floor of unwashed clothes.
Rusty pulled a mighty pull and Rae went right along with it, falling on top of him. They jerked and jived as Rae was now atop Rusty, just as she was on that night that she climbed in the bed of the truck. Disgusting. Only this time, she had a mission that was miles more important than getting her cherry popped.
She rose her hand and landed a slap across Rusty’s right cheek. His grip on the Glock loosened, but what Rae thought would result in the gun slipping from his hands, resulted in the family murderer socking her right in the face. Knuckle to eye. Her head bounced back like a punching bag and her hands slipped from the steel. She grabbed her left eye, waiting for a white ball on a red and pink string to fall between her fingers.
***
Jon was proud that he made it to the steps without vomiting. He had tripped over both the duct-taped chair and the surprising location of the upstairs door. Somehow, the damn thing was kicked-in and sent flying off its hinges.
Still, he had a long way to go. The steps were going to be a bigger challenge than he thought. The dizziness hadn’t stopped, and when the waves of nausea hit, they hit rough. Good thing he had a free hand. He had ditched the flashlight once he could see the streaming light from the storming sky outside. Now, he used the Remington as a crutch. He leveraged himself up the stairs, placing his other hand on the wall.
The storm grew louder as he climbed with the speed of a snail.
***
Thunder ROARED overhead. The room shook. The dark house trembled.
“Fuckin’ bitch! Yer just like yer brother. Up to no good. Lookin’ for trouble,” Rusty said as he holstered his Glock. This time, he made sure to snap down the buckle behind the handle so that little back and forth wouldn’t play out again. “Baby girl, I don’t want to hurt you. You know that. It hurts me more than it hurts you, believe me!”
Rae’s eye was still intact, and the pain was only now coming into feeling as the shock of the blow was so out of left field. She hadn’t expected him to do that. But why not? He had killed her last two living family members without hesitation. All Rae could do now was wait for the final blow or shot. Whichever Rusty chose, he would get his way. A black eye was nothing.
“Let’s go. It’s time to get outta this hell house,” Rusty said. “I’m gonna take care of you. Back in Huntington, you and I are gonna start life anew. We’re gonna forgive one another for what we’ve done here today, alright? God will forgive, he always does.”
Rae cried out.
“No more pain. Just love. You and I, together. We’re gonna ride this out. C’mon! If yer good, I’ll letcha use my gun. Hell, we got a ton back at the house. You and me gonna be like Bonnie and Clyde, baby.” Rusty hunkered down and grabbed Rae’s arms. “Up we go, c’mon! Let’s take a ride in the Rustymobile!”
***
Jon had just made it to the top of the basement steps when he heard something that wasn’t thunder. Boots. Loud shoes. Clambering came from above. He could hear it through the ceiling. Voices. No, just one voice. A man’s voice. Rusty. Slapping. Someone hitting the wall with their hand. A picture fell and glass shattered. Jon covered his head, unaware that he wasn’t near the commotion. Not yet. He swayed on the step and dropped to his knees, peeking his head up and around where the door had been.
The morning gloom sent a blurry image of the living room into Jon’s eyes. A dark smudge sat on top of the couch. It was Jamie, the cat that had only good intentions. She sat like a statue with her eyes aimed at something that Jon couldn’t see but could hear coming down from the stairs in a struggle.
What do you see? What do you see you little bastard?
His heart raced, pumping blood both inside and outside of his body. Too much had seeped through the shirt. His face was as pale as a ghost. To say Jon was lightheaded was an understatement. Time was ticking. Life was ticking.
Jon pulled out the Remington from beside his legs on the steps below, positioned himself diagonally, and brought the rifle out and onto the carpet. Under the barrel, Jon placed his left forearm to prop the shot. He waited for the noisy tornado that was Rusty to come down and take the bullet. The sights were aimed between the front door and the side of the stairs. All he had to do was time it, look in the scope and pull. If Rae was dead, the least he could do was avenge her death.
A faint meow came from across the room.
Try not to hit the cat. He figured it was ok if he did anyway. Collateral damage.
After a flash of lightning and a rumbling roar of thunder that trembled the whole house, a tall figure with the blurred features of Rusty Mirch revealed itself from the staircase. Jon had almost gasped and choked on air when his finger came mere micro-inches from pulling the steel lever back. Rusty had Rae wrapped in his arms. A bullet could’ve as easily struck her as it would him.
“C’mon!” Rusty shouted. The ringing had subsided again, and Jon was all ears. “It’ll all be better if you just relax. Just relax!” He jerked her body left, yanked it right. Her arms flailed and clutched at nothing. She squirmed.
With the trigger left unpulled on Jon’s rifle, Rusty walked through the living room and threw open the front door, bringing in the sound of the storm. Heavy bullets of rain clapped on concrete. Thunder. The blur of them leaving the residence without noticing the bleeding gunman on the carpet.
Jon’s heart couldn’t rest. He pulled his legs from the basement steps and began to crawl on the carpet. First, he moved as if he were paralyzed from the waist down, dragging his legs as if they were two logs of skin dangling from his behind. He looked like a handicapped person thrown from their wheelchair. Then, after he heard Rae scream, he found his feet. He moved up to all fours.
The cat provided no input as Jon approached the front door.
Rusty shouted at the girl. “C’mon, let’s go! Don’t fight me or I’ll make it two black eyes! You hear me? Get in!”
Jon was now outside of the house, on the concrete path that led to the driveway. He pressed forward and dropped onto the spongy grass that covered his front in muddy browns and greens to go with the red on his back. He felt the razor rain send daggers into his shoulder wound. His head and body trembled as if he were having a seizure.
Ba-ding. Whizz. Ba-dong. Grass flew up in Jon’s face. Mud and water splashed around him in big gooey gobs that weren’t from the sky, but from the bullets of Rusty’s Glock. Jon had been seen by the hillbilly bastard. Rusty saw him crawling like a cripple across the Cooper’s front lawn with his father’s hunting rifle, shaking with spasms.
“Jon!” Rae screamed, but her voice was overtaken by the thunder and the whizzing bullets. “Jon!”
“For fuck’s sake!” Rusty cursed.
You have to get her, Jon. Please.
He’s going to take her away.
Jon pulled up the Remington again and used the same method he had used a second ago with his forearm as the tripod beneath the barrel. Rain dropped and spilled across the rifle, trickling wetness to the trigger. He slid up further, getting his eye, if you could even it call it that anymore, to the scope. Droplets splattered the sights and Jon used his good hand to turn the dial to bring some focus to the blurs.
Whizz. Ba-ding. Ba-dong.
>
“Jon!” Rae shrieked.
Jon’s eyes came into focus. Clear, they were clear. Only instead of the two smudges coming into the form of Rae and Rusty, a deer stood in the crosshair of the scope.
Chapter FIFTY-SIX
The Storm Passes
The buck wasn’t standing in the cul-de-sac. Instead, it stood frozen in the cold November morning as flakes fell around him. Staring. Jon could see the breath steam from its nose and mouth. He blinked. Again, and again. Blinking. The deer remained. Jon retreated his head back from the scope and his eyes told the story of years past. He couldn’t control his movements. He could only watch as a spectator inside himself.
“Go on, son. Pull,” Big Jon whispered in Jon’s ear.
He couldn’t hear his father as the thumping of his heart pounded in his ears. There were no thoughts, just a twenty-one-year-old trapped inside of a twelve-year-old version of himself and a young buck staring at one another, eyes locked. Motionless. Both were statues sitting in the freezing November morning.
“If you’re gonna do it, you gotta do it now,” Big Jon said.
Jon pulled the trigger.
A thunderous BANG sliced the silence of the snow. The buck’s head snapped back, and a flutter of fur popped with a flash of red. It swung around before collapsing to the ground. All of this happened in slow motion. Jon’s heart seemed to stop at the sight of it. Big Jon put a hand on his back and patted. His father’s words faded in.
“Son! You did it! You got him, son!”
“I did. . . I uhh…I did, didn’t I? Holy shit.”
Big Jon laughed a hearty laugh that sent cold breaths out beneath his snowflake-littered mustache. “You did, you most certainly did! Holy shit is right!”
Jon couldn’t believe it. The anticipation. The buildup. It was all worth it. To pull the trigger and send the bullet flying in an accurate headshot for the first time out was a feeling he would never experience again. His father was just as excited as he was.
When the Sky Goes Dark Page 29
