Fatal Intuition

by Makenzi Fisk

  Upstairs is a totally different story. Little crocheted doilies decorate everything and the TV is a million years old. I hope they have cable, but at this point I’ll take what I can get.

  The door to the garage is off the front room, and I click the opener. In a couple of minutes, the car is tucked inside with T still snoring in his seat. Whatever he took, he should take half as much next time.

  He wakes up an hour later and stumbles into the living room, where I’m watching an action flick on pay-per-view. I’ve drank three cans of beer and eaten so many potato chips I wanna barf.

  He pulls the curtains shut and sits beside me with his head in his hands.

  “Karma,” I tell him.

  “What?”

  “You spent all my money and got wasted without me. Karma bit your ass.”

  “You want some? Here.” He spills a handful of multicolored pills onto the coffee table. “The guy said they were Oxy but I’m not so sure about that.”

  “You’re not used to it. It’s been a while.” I pick up a blue one, put it down and choose the yellow one instead. “Which one did you take?”

  “It hits you faster and harder if you snort it.” He leans his head back. “Holy shit, I have a headache. Now I need one to get rid of the headache.” With the edge of a candy dish, he crushes a blue pill onto the glass top and rolls up a five dollar bill.

  I crack another beer and hold the pill in my hand. “Let’s do it together this time.”

  He flashes me a wicked grin and leans over the table. “Okay.”

  I pop it in my mouth the same time as he snorts the mound of dust up his nostril. His head reels back and that stupid grin spreads across his face. “Fuck, yeah.”

  Soon, he’s having a great time but I don’t feel a damn thing. He’s gone through all the cupboards in the kitchen, and told me a half a dozen times that he’s going to cook us a big steak dinner. There is no steak, but that’s not stopping him.

  I’m about to tell him to cut it out when it sneaks up on me. “T, anyone ever tell you you’re not bad looking?”

  He stares at me with glassy eyes, and the next thing I know we’re curled up on the sofa. The movie is over, and somehow my shirt has disappeared. T is sleeping with his head on my stomach, his hand cupped around my bare shoulder. My knife’s in my pocket but I can’t be bothered to slit his throat with it. Besides, this isn’t so bad.

  I want another one of those pills. Maybe this time I should snort it like T did. Beside the scattered pills, my attention snaps to a Smith and Wesson revolver.

  I bolt upright on the edge of the sofa. “T! Wake up.”

  His unfocused eyes crack open. “Hey, sugar. Let’s do it again.”

  “Scheisse! Cut that out.” I slap his ear and point to the gun. “Where did this come from?” As the words tumble from my mouth, scattered memories drift back to me. Us running around a field shooting at stuff. My muscles tense when I remember a swooping bird. I tried so hard to shoot that bastard, but he got away. I hate birds.

  “We found it in the cabinet last night, remember? After we danced.” He slides an arm around my waist.

  I push him away. “I did not fucking dance.” I’ve never danced in my life, probably not even as a toddler.

  “Yeah, well I danced for both of us and… and I think I made steak.” The kitchen is a mess, every pot and pan pulled onto the floor, and the contents of the freezer melting on the counter. I’m pretty sure T’s steak was a hallucination.

  “I like this gun.” I reach out to touch the cool metal.

  “It’s beautiful and dangerous. Like you.” He picks it up and points it at the TV. “Bang, bang,” he says without putting his finger on the trigger.

  “Is it loaded?”

  “Yeah. There are three bullets left from the box. I fired a couple and you wasted the rest on that crow.” He puts it back on the coffee table. “There’s no more ammo.”

  The rest of the puzzle slams together. I remember T driving out of the garage, and then running back in to close the door. I remember staring at the revolver in my lap the entire way. I remember the field outside town, the bottles and cans shattering, the stupid bird I tried to kill before T took the gun away.

  He answers as if he’s heard my thoughts. “I needed to save a couple of bullets so we can get more money.”

  “What happened to laying low until the heat dies down?”

  He looks away. “You really, really wanted to go shoot that gun.”

  Another slice of memory slides by, along with an intoxicating skitter up my spine. Me, pointing the revolver at T’s face until he agreed.

  As if it was meant for me, the gun feels good in my hand, almost as good as my knife. Suddenly I’m hungry. I tuck it into the back of my jeans and head for the garage. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Is there any money left?”

  T scoops the rest of the pills off the coffee table and meets me in the car. He pops a yellow one in his mouth, and hands a blue one to me. “For luck.”

  “Why not?” My head’s pounding and we’re out of beer. I drive with two tires up on the sidewalk until I get to the main road, and then pull to the middle. The alignment must be messed up.

  T stares at me silently when the car straddles the yellow line.

  I turn the steering wheel and somehow we’re riding the shoulder. “Just checking to see if you’re paying attention.” In a minute, I get the hang of it, and we make it to the highway. For some weird reason, I can’t seem to make the car go over thirty miles an hour. Vehicles swerve around and whiz past, honking.

  “It’s my turn to drive.” T prods my arm.

  I let the car roll to a stop. Goddamn, when did keeping the car on the road get so hard? We switch places, and he puts his foot on the gas. Everything is passing so quickly that I might barf, or am I hungry?

  “Get me food.” I double over and lay my head on my lap.

  “Up ahead.” He slows for a turnoff, and drives into a gas bar with a little restaurant attached. “Gimme the gun.”

  I don’t have the energy to protest when he yanks the revolver from the back of my pants. “Cheeseburger,” I groan.

  “Wait here.” He pumps gas into the tank, pulls the neck of his T-shirt up over his nose and goes inside.

  I’ve gotta pee so bad my teeth are floating. There is a washroom sign not ten feet from the car, so I kick my door open and stagger past the gas pumps. I exit a few minutes later, and T is in the middle of the lot screaming his head off.

  “Lily! Where are you?” He spins in a circle, revolver in one hand, takeout bag in the other. Dollar bills spill from his pocket, and his shirt has slipped down so it only covers his chin.

  It’s a scene right out of a movie, and I’d laugh if I wasn’t dizzy. “What the fuck are you doing, T?”

  He steers me to the car and shoves me inside, gets in the other side and tosses over the bag. Inside are two foil-wrapped burgers and a package of fries.

  “Where’s the beer?” It sure would be nice to have a beer with my burger.

  T rips open the bag and his neck turns red. “Two fries. I said two!” He gets out, and like an angry robot, stalks back inside. The pistol is in his hand before he reaches the door and he doesn’t bother to cover his face.

  I stuff fries into my mouth while I wait. If he’s going to drive like a madman when he gets back, I might not have another chance to eat.

  A siren wails in the distance, and I roll up my window as if that will keep them out. T returns with a six pack of beer and more fries. His mouth is stretched into a thin, hard line.

  “Let’s get you home, sugar.”

  I was right. He does drive like a madman. I’m flung from side to side, until finally he slows for our street and pulls into the garage. There are no sirens, and the street is as quiet as usual. Once again, we’re home free. T hops around to play the gentleman and open my door. No one has ever tried that before, but I let him get away with it because I’m stoned.

  “That was amazing!” H
e digs in his pocket, and dumps money and the rest of the pills onto the coffee table.

  The mountain of cash is impressive. To celebrate, we both pop one more pill into our mouths. I like the blue ones best but they make my tongue dry as sand, so I chase it down with a beer while I watch T spread out the pile of cash.

  “That’s not as much as it seems. It’s mostly ones and fives.” I’ve finished my fries and steam escapes when I unwrap the foil package to take a bite. It’s the best burger I’ve ever had.

  He spreads his arms wide. “Look at that. Nobody messes with T. I am a god.”

  “Are you gonna eat that cheeseburger, God?” I reach for it and he slaps my hand. My mother used to do that. I hated when she did. Before I know it, my blade is in my hand, and it’s pressed against his throat.

  He freezes, but his eyes flash excitement. “If you’re really that hungry, take it.” He puts his hand behind his back.

  “Ha, just kidding.” I lower the knife, and fake like I was messing around. Before I have it back in my pocket, his revolver is pressed to my skull. Unless he shot someone to get those burgers, there are still three bullets left.

  “It appears we have a standoff.” I can’t remember what movie that was from, but that line seems to fit this situation. I nod at my knife pressed to the crotch of his jeans and his eyes follow.

  “Well-played, sugar.” He drops the gun on the carpet, and kisses me on the mouth.

  The blue pill is kicking in, and a warm sensation fills my belly. The knife falls from my fingers. I kiss him back and it’s not so bad.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Mikey? Where are you?” Allie opened the closet door, peered inside and closed it. She hurried to the living room where Erin’s nephew Jimmy was playing with his twin sisters. “Has anyone seen the baby in the last thirty seconds?”

  “We haven’t seen Li’l Z for hours.” Eleven-year-old Victoria winked at Sophie. On the floor between them, Wrong-Way Rachel was dressed in their dolls’ best finery. The cat, wearing a string of plastic beads and a pink tutu, slunk into a corner to groom herself.

  Jimmy put his hands on his hips and stepped away from a bundle of blankets. The bundle wiggled and a shiny black Chihuahua nose emerged. Doppler shook off the rest of the blanket to reveal the giggling curly haired toddler. Mikey grabbed his toes and rocked onto his back, tiny feet in the air.

  “There you are.” Allie picked him up and settled him on her hip. She shook a finger at the snickering girls. “You shouldn’t make me worry like that.”

  “Aw come on, Auntie Allie,” Victoria protested. “We try and try, but we can never fool you.”

  She smiled. “Don’t forget that I grew up in a foster home with tons of mischievous kids. Kids like you.”

  “It’s like you’re psychic or something.” Sophie giggled and both girls ran out of the room.

  “I’m not psychic.” Allie looked down at Jimmy, who still had his hands on his hips.

  “Of course not,” he said. “Psychics aren’t real. You just know stuff sometimes.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Can I take Doppler to the park?” The dog’s triangle ears perked up when Jimmy jingled his leash.

  Allie glanced at the clock. “Not by yourself, Jimmy. That park is pretty far. Ask the girls to go with you.”

  He put his hands in his pockets, eyes downcast. “They gang up on me sometimes. Why can’t Doppler be my bodyguard?”

  “Unfortunately, Doppler is just a little squirt. You can tell the girls I’ll take you all out for ice cream when you get back, but only if you get along.”

  “Okay.” The dog was more excited than Jimmy when they reached the porch step. After a hurried discussion with his sisters, they headed off.

  Allie stood in the doorway to watch the little boy and dog disappear down the road. Their laughs ringing in the air, the girls circled the pair on their matching bicycles.

  Allie’s laptop bleated with an urgency that sent her running to pick it up. She shifted the baby to her lap and squeezed into a chair at the kitchen table. When she clicked the incoming video call, her foster mom’s face appeared on-screen.

  “Hi mom.” The baby giggled at the picture, and swatted the screen. Allie nudged it out of reach.

  “Hi sweetie.” Judy’s gaze fixed on the baby. “What a cutie. Whose little one is this?” Her voice softened. “Oh, you’re so cute. Yes, you are! Look at all that curly hair.”

  “This is Gina and Chris’s baby, Mikey. Gina is working today and couldn’t get a sitter. He is such a busy little boy. I’m exhausted.”

  “Hi darlin’. You’re lookin’ beautiful today.” Her foster dad, a gentle man of few words, popped his head in to say hi and disappeared, probably headed out to tinker in the garage.

  “When is Erin finished her training?” Although she spoke to Allie, her mom still made googly eyes at the baby. “Wow, she’ll be a big shot FBI Special Agent, like on that TV show you used to watch. That must be so exciting.”

  “Soon, and then there’s graduation.” Allie tried to picture what Erin might be doing that very minute. Was she sitting in a classroom, driving at breakneck speeds, shooting her pistol, or doing something else?

  Usually she felt more of a connection but today there was some sort of interference, like white noise, or the sound of water running from a tap. It was an irritating background hiss that she couldn't ignore. “Mom, do you believe in ghosts?”

  “ Ghost ghosts? Like in horror movies? No. Are the nightmares back?”

  “Not nightmares.” More like disturbing daydreams. Daydreams that turned her thoughts to Lily. Malevolent energy followed in the girl’s wake, gleefully enveloping her. Lily’s energy had wafted through Ciara’s house in Winnipeg when they’d discovered the break-in.

  The girl was gone but her words still echoed from the walls. ‘I killed my mother’. Allie swallowed but her throat still felt dry. A Budweiser would quench this awful thirst.

  Allie shook her head as if to expel the thought. Alcoholic beverages wreaked havoc on her intuition. That’s the last thing she wanted. An iced green tea was more her style. What were they talking about? She’d asked about ghosts. “No. I don’t believe in ghosts either, that’s silly.”

  She looked up to her mom’s furrowed brows. “But they’re on your mind.”

  Allie plucked at the letter T on the keyboard. Something about that letter felt wrong. “There’s something I still can’t understand. When Lily stabbed me…”

  Judy winced as if struck and shot a look to the baby, who discarded his toy and reached for the computer. Allie’s mom hadn’t been able or willing to say Lily’s name since the stabbing. Maybe it was like saying the name of the devil for fear you’d invoke his presence. Allie chose her next words more carefully.

  “Right after that, I told the girl that her mother had sent me. I have no idea why I said that. I’ve never even met her mom. In fact, she may not even be alive. That brings me back to the question of…”

  “Ghosts.” Allie’s mom leaned in toward the camera. “Sweetheart, listen to me. You have a gift, intuition, whatever you want to call it. I don’t know how it works any more than you do, but I do know that it helps you out, and it allows you to help others. What happened after you said those words to that girl ?”

  “She stopped hurting me, and she stopped fighting with Erin.”

  “Have you finally answered your own question?”

  As if all the air in her lungs was stale and needed to be replaced, Allie heaved a great sigh. That’s all it was. A helpful little tip to get the situation under control. The only ghosts were in her imagination.

  “Sweetie?”

  Allie heard her mother’s voice echo, as if through a long tunnel.

  “Are you getting one of your headaches?” Her mom’s face pinched with worry. “I thought you didn’t get those any more. Not since, well, since that thing we talked about.”

  “It’s not the same, but I do feel a bit weird.” Lightheaded, Allie press
ed her fingers to her forehead. Too late, she remembered her bandaged palm and dropped her hand into her lap. She hadn’t wanted to discuss the lighter incident. Besides, the burn was nearly healed.

  “What happened to your hand? Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Nah, nothing to worry about.”

  Her mom eyed her shrewdly. “I suppose you’ll tell me what you want to. Let me say this. Please take care of yourself, especially if you are taking care of little ones, and talk to Erin about whatever is going on. No secrets.”

  “I promise.” But when would there be time?

  The children burst through the door in a flurry of shouting, the girls following Jimmy and the dog. “I scream. You scream. We all scream for ice cream!”

  Her mother burst out laughing. “That brings back memories.”

  Allie grinned and the baby clapped. “It sounds like our house about twenty years ago, doesn’t it? I agreed to take Erin’s sister’s kids because she’s been having a rough time with her chemo therapy. The poor woman needed a rest.”

  “That’s my Allie. You were always great with children, whether or not you admitted it.”

  The kids entered the kitchen as one, Jimmy leaning on Allie’s chair, and the twins peeping over her shoulders. The baby squealed with delight at all the excitement.

  “Who are these beautiful children?” Allie’s mom had certainly heard enough about these particular kids to be able to identify each one by name.

  “I’m Sophie and this is—”

  “I can say my own name!” The second twin bumped the first with her shoulder. “I’m Victoria, and I’m turning—”

  “We’re turning twelve in six months.” Sophie bumped her back. “We dressed up Wrong-Way Rachel, and renamed her Princess Lollipop.”

  “Oh my, the poor disabled cat.” Judy shot Allie a look as if to say, “And you allowed this?”

  “Don’t worry, mom. Rachel only has three paws but she doesn’t consider herself disabled. She loves every minute of dress-up time with these two. She’d make herself scarce if she didn’t enjoy it as much as they do.”