by Rector, John
There’s no moon tonight, and all I see is the red tip of Tanya’s cigarette moving up and down between two dark shapes. I look up at the swirl of stars, bright and deep against the black sky, and I think about my brother. He must’ve hated me when I was younger, before he left for college.
Probably natural, I suppose.
I hear Megan yell, and Tanya yell back, but the wind covers the sound and I can’t tell what they’re saying. The red glow of Tanya’s cigarette moves toward me. When she gets closer, I ask what happened.
“I told her to go and sit by the water.” She turns and looks over her shoulder. “My Mom isn’t going to let me out of the house after this.” She puts the cigarette to her lips and her face glows red. “Oh well, might as well enjoy tonight, right?”
We stand there for a while, quiet, not looking at each other. My stomach hurts, my arms are weak, and my tongue feels too big behind my teeth. I take another drink and drop the empty bottle on the ground. “You want to sit in the car?” I say, not looking up.
Tanya drops her cigarette and crushes it with her foot. “Sure,” she says. “Why not.”
~
Tanya tastes like beer and strawberry lip-gloss. Her tongue stabs in and out of my mouth in quick circles, and I move my hand in slower circles over her stomach. I let my pinky finger slide under her pants and I feel the elastic top of her underwear. I move lower with each pass, hoping if I move slow enough she won’t notice, but she does, and eventually she grabs my hand and pulls it back.
I wait a few minutes before I try again.
This time my finger touches hair, and my heart practically explodes in my chest. She doesn’t stop me, and for a moment I’m unsure what to do next. I slide my hand down further, working slow, trying not to draw attention to my actions. My chest aches, and I realize I’m holding my breath.
Megan knocks at the window, and Tanya jumps up.
I pull back and breathe.
“It’s too dark out here,” Megan says. Her voice sounds flat through the glass. “I can’t see anything.”
Tanya rolls down the window and speaks slowly. “Go away.”
Megan folds her arms across her chest. “You can’t do this, Tanya. It’s dark out here, and I want to leave.”
“Then go.”
“Tanya!”
“I’m not stopping you.” She points in the direction of the road. “You want to go home? Go.”
They stare at each other, and for a moment neither of them says anything. I open another beer and take a long drink. I can still feel my heart pound against my ribs. Tanya starts to roll up her window.
“Tanya?” Megan says. Her voice sounds weaker now.
“What?
“You’re suppose to—”
“This is what we’re doing.” Tanya yells, and Megan takes a step back. “If you don’t like it, then walk home.”
Megan looks from the car to the road, then back. “Fine,” she says, turning away. “I will.” After a few steps she’s gone, lost in the darkness.
I take another drink.
“What a bitch,” Tanya says. “She’s going to tell my Mom all of this, watch.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t let her go.”
“Why? If she wants to walk home, let her.”
I hold the bottle out for her. “What if someone picks her up?”
“Who?” Tanya takes the beer and finishes it. “There’s no one out here. Let her walk for a while. She’ll come back when she gets tired.”
Something inside tells me this might be a bad idea, but then Tanya is on top of me, and I stop listening. I reach my hands behind her back and find the latch of her bra. It turns out to be more difficult than I expect, and after a while I swallow my pride and ask for help. Tanya giggles, ignores me, and leeches her teeth into my neck. Between the pain of her mouth and the security of the bra, I get frustrated. Finally, after pulling as hard as I can, the bra comes off. Tanya sits up fast, holding her arms across her chest. She looks surprised, and for a moment, in the light of the dashboard clock, I think I see a nipple.
“What’s wrong?”
“We should go find her,” Tanya says, pulling her shirt down. “What if someone picks her up?”
“No one will pick her up,” I say. “No one’s out here. We can get her later.” I pull her closer. “She’s probably sitting down the road a little ways, waiting for us. It’ll be fine.”
Tanya pushes away and sits up. “No, I’m serious. I think we should go get her.”
“Come on. It’s fine.”
“No,” she says, adjusting something under her shirt. “We need to find her.”
I try to think of something to say, a way to stall, but she looks upset, so I give in and start the car.
~
The windows are fogged, and as I pull out onto the road I wipe a spot clean with my sleeve.
Tanya leans forward and squints into the darkness. “I can’t see shit.”
I switch the one working headlight to bright, but it doesn’t help much.
Tanya shakes her head and opens her purse. “I’m going to kill that bitch when we find her,” she says, taking a cigarette and putting it to her lips. “Why is she so stupid?”
“You can’t smoke in here, remember?”
Tanya lights the cigarette. “I thought you said she’d be waiting for us down the road. Do you think we missed her?”
“She’s around someplace.”
Tanya sits back and puts her feet on the dashboard. “I’m gonna kill her.”
I don’t say anything else, and we drive in silence. After a moment, Tanya leans forward. “Is that her?” She points and hits her hand against the windshield. The tip of the cigarette explodes against the glass and drops in her lap. “Shit,” she says, pushing herself up off the seat. “Shit, shit. Where did it go?”
“I told you not to smoke in here.” I look over and run my hand along the cushion. “Sit up more.”
“I can’t.” She moves to the side.
I see the red tip and pick it up. It burns my fingers, and I drop it again. “God damn it,” I say, and smack the seat.
Tanya is smiling.
“This isn’t funny,” I say. “This is my dad’s car. He’s going to kick my ass.”
“I’m sorry.” She’s laughing now. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean—”
The car jumps, and something hard passes under the tires.
Tanya drops back down, bracing herself against the door.
For a moment, everything seems to stop.
“What the fuck was that?” I say, pulling off the road.
Tanya stares at me, her eyes wide. “Oh, Christ.” She covers her mouth with her hands. “Oh, my God.”
I keep quiet and search my mirrors for movement. The road is dark and the taillights turn everything red and stretch long shadows out behind us.
“Do you think I should—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “Should I go check?”
Tanya doesn’t answer. She has her head in her hands, rocking back and forth, mumbling something I can’t quite hear.
I pull the door handle and the overhead light shines bright and yellow. “Should I go see?”
“It was a dog, right?” She looks up. Black make-up snakes down her cheeks. “Tell me it was just a dog.”
I don’t say anything.
The wind coming off the river is cold, and as I step out of the car I hear the rustling of the cottonwoods in the distance, the leaves shuffling nervously in the breeze.
I take a few steps, moving slowly.
Behind me, I hear the car door open, and I look back. Tanya leans out and shouts. “Megan?”
I keep walking.
Tanya’s door slams, and I hear her footsteps on the gravel. She moves fast, and as she passes me she’s crying.
I watch her disappear down the road, and I don’t follow her.
Above me, the sky is a pinwheel of stars. The sight makes me dizzy, and I slip to the ground and close my eyes. I can hear t
he echo of rushing water in the distance.
The sound covers me, and when the screaming starts, I barely notice.
The Walls Around Us
Morris knew the police wouldn’t come; all he had to do was look out the window. The storm started that afternoon, and within an hour the woods outside dissolved into a haze of white and were no longer visible from the house. The radio was reporting road closures all along the western slope and advising people to stay indoors. He knew, even before he dialed the number, what the police would say, and he was right. When he set the phone back on the cradle, he told Evelyn the news.
“Frankly, I’m amazed the lights are still on,” he said. “Or the phone.”
Evelyn stood in front of the tall, arched windows of the living room with her arms across her chest. She was tapping her fingers on her elbow and staring into the storm. “Did they say when?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” Morris said. “Maybe the day after. It all depends.”
Evelyn turned and looked at him. “I can’t stay here for two days.”
“I don’t believe we have a choice.”
She bit the insides of her cheeks and turned back to the window. It was getting dark out, but the snow had its own grayish glow that leaked into the room. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “Any of it.”
Morris came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She was shaking. “You holding up?”
Evelyn looked back and frowned. “Of course I am,” she said. “It’s not like that. Just a bit of a shock. Can’t blame me, can you?”
“I suppose not,” he said.
She’d been sober fifty-nine days. The shakes had been gone a while, but holding her now brought back memories of those nights in bed, the damp sheets, and the slick smell of her skin as they struggled to sleep.
“So, what are they going to do?” Evelyn said. She stepped forward and wormed away from him. “What did they say?
“They said if they’d been here this long, they’d be here tomorrow.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “They also said they’d probably need to consult a forensic anthropologist before removing them.”
“Great,” she shook her head. “What the hell are we supposed to do until then? Ignore it?”
“What else can we do?”
Evelyn walked to the couch and sat down. She leaned back and put her feet on a box marked ‘Kitchen.’ Morris heard the silverware shift inside. “I just can’t believe this,” she said, massaging the bridge of her nose. “I just can’t.”
Morris sat on the floor across from her and turned on a small table lamp. He looked around the room. The house was bigger than anyplace he’d lived before, and he loved its high ceilings and arched doorways. In the city he’d take long walks through the historic district just to look at these types of homes. He was fascinated by the architecture and the eclectic influences of the original owners, who’d settled there after making fortunes in the mines. A few chose not to leave, and they built their homes in the mountains. These were rare, and he felt lucky to have found one.
They’d moved in that weekend, and most of the boxes were still stacked against the far wall. They were all labeled and would eventually be divided and moved, but that was later. The first priority had been the wine cellar.
Evelyn said it was symbolic and wanted it torn out before they moved in. Morris disagreed, but in the end they compromised and decided to do it before they unpacked. He suggested hiring someone, but Evelyn wouldn’t have it. “It only means something if you do it yourself,” she said. “You need to get on your hands and knees and sweat. That’s how you know you’re in control.”
Morris went along with this, but the cliché affirmations and motivational bullshit she’d brought back from her meetings was beginning to wear thin. He understood the logic in wanting the wine cellar gone, but he could’ve done without the ‘Rah-Rah’ talk. Still, on some level he hoped she’d change her mind and let him call a professional but when she arrived at the house with the demolition tools, that hope died.
Morris stood in the driveway and watched her unload the truck. The snow was beginning to fall, and he hugged his arms against his chest. “You’re serious about this,” he said, as she handed him a sledgehammer. He’d never held one before, and it was heavier than he’d imagined. “How do you know we won’t bring the house down on top of us?” He waggled the hammer in front of him. “A place this old, you can’t be sure.”
Evelyn closed the back of the truck. She didn’t look at him. “The wine racks were put up after the house was built,” she said. “The brick is different than the foundation.” She picked up a canvas tarp and took the sledgehammer from him. She walked to the front door, stopped, and looked back. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We won’t even touch the support walls.”
Morris stood outside and watched her disappear into the house. He wondered where she’d learned about bricks and foundations and walls. She’d never shown an interest in construction, or an understanding of its concepts, and it made him think of all the things he’d never know about his wife, all the secrets. He tried to push the thought out of his head but couldn’t, he knew it would always be there. Above him, the sky was gray and filled with flakes. They were falling faster, and the pine trees were already dusted white. Morris turned and moved toward the front door. He wanted a drink, badly.
~
Evelyn was leaning back on the couch with her eyes closed. She was squeezing one of the pillows against her chest and absently scraping her thumbnail along the fabric. Behind her, the cellar door was still partly open, and Morris stared into the shadow behind it.
“Nemo me impune lacessit,” he said.
Evelyn opened her eyes. “What?”
“It’s a line from something I read in college,” Morris said. He motioned to the cellar door. “This reminded me of it, that’s all.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“It was Edgar Allen Poe,” he continued. “About a guy who buries a man alive in his family’s vault under the city.”
She ignored him.
“It means ‘No one injures me with impunity.” He smiled. “Can you imagine? I bet I still have the book in one of these boxes.” He stood up and walked across the room.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Evelyn said. She didn’t open her eyes. “I’m really not interested.”
Morris stopped. “It’s a great story,” he said. “And, we can relate to it, that’s the best part.”
Evelyn opened her eyes and sat up. “Are you enjoying this?”
“Enjoying what?”
“This.” She raised her hands. “This whole night, our first night. Doesn’t it bother you?”
“It is what it is,” Morris said. “I’m making the best of it.”
Evelyn tossed the pillow aside and stood up. “It bothers me.” She walked to the coat rack by the front door, and searched the pockets of her jacket.
“You can’t tell me you’re not a little fascinated by it.”
“Fascinated?” She didn’t look up. “By a body?”
“It’s not really a body,” he said. “I mean, it was, sure, but not anymore.”
“It’s a body, Morris,” she said. “Bones. Same thing.”
Morris noticed the cigarettes on the floor by the couch. He reached for the pack and held it up. Evelyn walked back and took them.
“It’s like a museum,” he said. “History.”
Evelyn lit a cigarette and inhaled deep. “Not when it’s in my home.” She took an ashtray from the ‘Kitchen’ box and sat back on the couch.
They were quiet for a while, and Morris watched the smoke from her cigarette in the lamplight. “I wonder who it was,” he said.
Evelyn shook her head. “Christ, Morris, enough.”
“It’s our house. I’m curious.”
Evelyn looked down and brushed ashes off her lap. “Whoever he was, and whatever he did, I’m sure it was something shitty, and he got killed for it.” She sat forward and tapped her ci
garette on the edge of the tray. “I don’t see the mystery.”
“Why was he killed?”
