The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction - July/August 2016

by Various

  "Hard to believe he's a cold-blooded killer, isn't it?"

  I didn't say anything to that.

  "Haven't seen you at the trial lately. Playing hard to get, huh?"

  "How can you stand to be in there every day? Maybe if you didn't have to be in there every day you wouldn't be the way you are."

  "Well, that's fair. It's pretty grim business."

  "When's it gonna be over?"

  "Don't know. A few more days before the jury gets it, I guess."

  "That long?"

  "Why don't you go on home?"

  "You trying to get rid of me?"

  "Looking out for you."

  "I don't need lookin' out for."

  "Suit yourself." He headed into the auditorium, then turned back and said, "If you change your mind, let me know and I'll give you a ride home."

  I didn't say nothing. I didn't want to go home, but I didn't want to go back in there, neither. I stayed put for a minute, as Three-Arm started warbling again, then left and grouched on the bench outside the drugstore.

  I was glad to be out of there. That reporter Mac was bugging me. He acted like he knew what was going on, but if he really knew what was going on, he wouldn't have to ask so many durned questions. Anyway, I'm not the indoors type. Main Street wasn't too busy. Most of the stores had pulled their shades for the day. Drugstore was still open, the lunch-counter part, anyway. They stayed open late during the summer to catch folks after they left the Princess.

  And after they spilled out of the Opera House, too.

  They came this way, looking like they belonged to something special. Maybe I shouldn't have run out. Then I could have belonged to something special, too. A bunch of them beelined for the lunch counter. The malt machine started whirring almost right away. I kept my eyes on my dirty boots. Should have changed them when I come into town, I guess. I tried to knock off a hunk of dried mud that was stuck to the bottom.

  "Can I buy you a soda pop?"

  I glanced up.

  Three-Arm was standing there on the sidewalk, looking at me like he had onstage. His kindness spilled out like gravy from a bowl. The after-hours sun hit the drugstore window and made his blue ribbon glow something pretty. His third arm was sort of resting at his side, all tuckered out from strumming the guitar.

  I couldn't even find a mumble inside me.

  "Didn't mean to embarrass you back there."

  I shook my head instead.

  "So can I get you a soda?"

  "Okay," I managed to push out.

  He went inside and my legs said run.

  But they didn't. I stayed put, my foot wrapped around the bench leg. I wasn't going to run. I wasn't going to be scared.

  He came back out and offered me the soda. Lovely orange bottle.

  I took it.

  "Thank you," I told him. It looked sweet and cold and tasted like summer.

  "Haven't seen you in court lately."

  "That's 'cause I haven't been there."

  "Why not?"

  "'Cause it's awful."

  "Can't argue with that. Wish I didn't have to sit in there all day, either."

  "Did you do it?"

  "You don't think I did. Otherwise you would have run away, all the way home. Otherwise you wouldn't be sitting here, with me, enjoying a soda pop."

  "I sit a lot of places."

  "I wish you were sitting in the jury box."

  "My ma almost did."

  "I wish she would have made it. The looks I've been getting from some of those jurors—"

  "Don't worry. I get those looks, too."

  "Your folks know you hang out at murder trials?"

  "My pa's dead."

  "Sorry."

  "It's okay. It wasn't yesterday."

  "That's tough, though. I mean, you already have your share of troubles."

  "It's not so bad. I get by."

  "Were you born without the arm?"

  "No. It got caught in some machinery. My fault. Wasn't paying attention. My mind was goin' fifteen places at once like it usually does." I sipped some pop. "So were you born with an extra arm?"

  "Yeah, born with it."

  "I guess you woulda had to. They probably didn't fix it on you later."

  Three-Arm moved forward a step or two, past the yellow and brown striped awning. Without looking back at me, he said, "Have you ever been anywhere? I mean, anywhere real?"

  "Took a field trip to the Cities when I was a little kid," I said. "Went to the mummy museum."

  "Someone wanted to put me in a museum once. In a jar. Tried to talk me into signing a paper that said they would get me after I was gone. I said no thanks, I'd rather have people remember me the way I am."

  I thought of Vishnu, and tried hard not to stare at number three.

  "I really want to travel," he said. "See the world. There's a big world out there, you know. I've seen a little of it, and I plan to see more."

  Didn't say it straight out, but he must have been sure of how the trial was going to end. Or maybe he was just wishing and hoping, like we all do. Sometimes that's all we can do, when the world's playing hide-and-seek with our dreams.

  "We have a lot in common, you and I," he said, and it didn't feel like he was changing the subject.

  "We're outsiders. Folks may act polite toward us but we'll never be one of them, not really. Part of them will always keep their distance. Their world is not ours."

  "Folks aren't so bad here," I said.

  "They never made fun of you? Called you names? Made you cry?"

  My face got warm. Was he a mind reader?

  "It's human nature," he continued. "Goes back to the darkest caveman days. Leave the sick and the lame behind so the tribe can survive. Just the way things are. Sometimes I want to throw my life aside and make a new start. Big world out there. Lives waiting to be lived."

  Right about then the cavemen and cavewomen who shunned folks like us came over and gushed about how wonderful Three-Arm's performance had been. While he was busy basking, I got up and got out of there. I was confused. I liked the things he said. They were true. I had thought them myself a thousand times before. Doggone it. I wasn't used to being around people so much, especially strangers.

  But he didn't feel like a stranger. Not at all.

  * * *

  WHEN I GOT HOME, Ma was in the kitchen, burning the midnight oil again. I told her not to put so much wood on the fire. She didn't look too hot, pale even in the heat of the flames, but there was something on or maybe in her mind.

  "The colors of the guilty, the tint of the sinners, are muddy and impure, aren't they?" she asked me.

  Wasn't sure if she was quizzin' me or if she had forgot. How could she forget something so important? "That's what you always told me, Ma."

  "Not seeing the colors too good these days, I guess."

  "The Three-Armed Man bought me a pop," I told her.

  "What color?"

  "Orange."

  "His colors…are changing."

  "He doesn't talk to me like I'm a poor crippled girl."

  "Do I even have those colors…"

  "He even brought me up onstage and sang a song to me."

  "Muddy and impure…"

  "I don't see how he could have killed those people. He looks so kind."

  Words came out of her, but I couldn't pick up on any that made sense.

  "He said he wants to see the world," I went on. "The world outside Beggar's Creek, can you imagine? Not just picture books, not just the Corn Palace, the real thing. And that there's lives out there just waiting to be lived."

  Ma suddenly looked at me, her eyes saying she had caught every bit of my ramble. She spoke in a clear voice that had a lot of hush in it: "They are the colors of death.…"

  * * *

  The next day Ma still looked sickly, but in a brittle little voice told me she needed a new paintbrush, a bigger one, and would I go into town to get her one. She wore them out like nobody's business. I didn't want to leave her alone, b
ut I said okey-dokey.

  Before I left I went around to the back of the barn. Vishnu was still there, but his colors looked off-kilter. The colors were all muddy. Maybe Ma didn't mix the paints right. Maybe I should ask Mr. Buckbee down at the hardware store about it.

  The hardware store made my heart glad. It smelled like the past, reminded me of the times before my accident, the days when Pa was still around. The store already had rakes and ghosts in the display window. Not a good sign for our chum Summertime.

  "Can I help you find something, Audrey?"

  "Need another paintbrush, Mr. Buckbee. Biggest one you got."

  "You folks sure do a lot of painting out there."

  "It's my ma. She's real fond of the arts."

  "What's she painting now?"

  "The back of the barn."

  "She's been working on it a long time."

  "It's a big job, especially the way she does it."

  "Anything else for you?"

  "Mr. Buckbee, can I ask you a question about paints?"

  "You sure can."

  "If the colors get all muddy-looking, is there a reason why that happens?"

  "Could be mixed wrong. Could be a bad batch of paint. Or the surface wasn't cleaned properly before the paint was applied. Any number of reasons."

  "Okay, thanks."

  "I'd be happy to take a look at the paint if you want to bring it in."

  "Okay, might do that."

  "Anything else I can get for you?"

  "No, I reckon that's it for today."

  "Help yourself to bubblegum."

  I stuck my hand into the big glass globe on the counter and took one. He grabbed a handful himself and dropped them into my bag.

  "Thanks a lot."

  "You take care of yourself now, Audrey."

  "Okay, bye."

  Outside, I ran into Mac again. Tracking me like a dog.

  "Can't keep you country girls down on the farm."

  "Just doin' errands."

  "Not going to stick around and watch the show?"

  "You mean at the Princess?"

  "I mean at the courthouse."

  "That's a horror show. I don't like horror shows."

  "What kind of shows do you like?"

  "I like space shows best."

  "And why would that be?"

  "'Cause they show you what could happen down the road." Ma did that, too, only she usually got it right.

  "I saw that space show at the Princess," Mac said. "What a stinker."

  "I was going to go look at the posters last night, but—"

  "You went to the Opera House instead."

  "Yeah."

  "Gotta tell you, Audrey, I thought it was going to be an open-and-shut case, but now I'm not so sure."

  "How do you mean?"

  "People seem to like Three-Arm. Shouldn't make a difference, but it does."

  "Do you really think he could go free?"

  "You saw it, didn't you? At the fairgrounds, in the theater. He's got a quiet charisma about him. People in these parts respond to that. Besides, the way his lawyer's questioning is going, he's making people think maybe it was the other fellow who killed the girl, then turned the gun on himself. Or maybe the gun went off during a struggle. Self-defense. Or maybe it was Three-Arm who tried to stop the killing. That the girl and the other guy were having a big row and Three-Arm walked in on it."

  "I wish it was over."

  "I'm sure you folks will be happy to be rid of us."

  "You ain't so bad."

  "I guess the circus always has to move on. Wouldn't be much fun if it never went away."

  "The town's going to feel lonely after everyone goes. People will start looking at me screwy again."

  "But in admiration, because…," Mac grinned and pretended he was holding a microphone. "'I'd give you my third, I give you my word—'"

  "Oh, be quiet, you."

  * * *

  When I got home, Ma was on the kitchen floor, not moving much, maybe not at all. She was in an awkward position, arms going one way, legs the other. I tried to wake her up but she wouldn't, so I drug her into the sitting room and rested her head on a black velvet Mount Rushmore pillow with golden tassels that my Aunt Dorothy brought back from South Dakota. I didn't know what else to do. Usually she came out of these spells before too long but I wasn't sure about this one. She looked different. Taken deeper. Maybe taken all the way.

  I dug through the bureau drawer and found a hand mirror, right alongside the Canasta deck. Held it up to her. Not to her mouth but above her head, to see if she had the Rainbow of Death. It happens when someone passes, can only be seen upon reflection. Like a firework that you can still see after it goes out. Looks like an oil sheen. Ma told me all about it when I was little. Studied the mirror carefully, but I wasn't sure. I thought I saw some colors, but by now the colors were in pretty much every part of her.

  I stowed the mirror in the drawer and didn't know what to do. Wished the phone was still working. Ma never wanted it fixed, said she didn't like to hear any voices in her head except the ones that were already there. I kept telling myself that it was just another one of her spells, but I wasn't sure. Pa was gone, and now I feared Ma was on her way to join him. I was scared.

  Decided to go fetch Doc Ochs. He had a world of knowledge inside him, a regular walking library. He had so many plaques on the walls he didn't need wallpaper.

  I got on my bike and raced into town.

  When I reached the corner by the drugstore, I tried to cut a sharp loop, daredevil-style, but didn't lean in far enough and ended up going way out into the street.

  Never saw Sammy's Septic truck. Think he was taking a left from Elm. In a panic I tried to grab the other handlebar with my missing hand. I smelled him right before he hit me. Just a sideswipe. Knocked me down good, though. I didn't know what world I was in. A world of hurt. I had been there before.

  Then I felt myself cradled in a pair of arms, while another arm untangled the bike from my legs.

  Three-Arm carried me to a shady spot beneath the drugstore canopy, set me down gently.

  Folks had gathered around, but he wouldn't let them near me.

  "I'm okay," I told him. "Just a bump." I touched my knee. It felt wet. "I have to go get the doctor—for my ma."

  "He needs to look at you first."

  "But my ma…," I said woozily.

  I heard him tell the bystanders to hurry and get Doc Ochs. Then he leaned in and began talking softly, steadily to me.

  "Wanna sleep," I told him.

  "Listen, Audrey, you need to stay awake until the doctor gets here."

  "Well, I'll try."

  "You're going to be okay, and then we'll go see about your ma."

  "Have to get back to her—"

  "Before long I'll have to get going, too."

  "Going…gone?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "Mac says…what was that he said again? Oh yeah, that the town is on your side."

  "Folks around here have been civil to me, and I appreciate that. Guess I'm something different to look at for a change. Seeing the same people, the same buildings, the same trees, the same fly in the window at the cafe, gets old after a while. Like the town is frozen in time. Then I come along. Maybe I'm showing them some new possibilities. It's about their lives, not mine. They don't even know me. Maybe the third arm is inside us all, waiting to get out."

  Hard to picture myself with three arms when two was still a dream.

  "But when they get into that courtroom, there's a different kind of look in their eyes. The kind of look that shouts trouble. Audrey, I have to tell you something important. I have to tell it to you now because there might not be another chance. Are you listening to me, Audrey?"

  "Sleepy.…"

  "Over in Greentown, I got in with the wrong crowd. That's the only kind of crowd that ever wanted me around. See, she…she pretended she liked me. I was gullible. I wanted to believe. So when we were together for the first time, i
n her bed…well, we weren't as alone as I thought we were. I should have run out of there, but I didn't. When I saw his camera, I just lost my mind." His third hand started fluttering like a bird.

  "Strangled one while shooting the other," I hazily recited.

  "After I killed them, I realized that I could write my own story. For once, I could control what people thought about me. My parents tried to hide my third when I was a kid, worked fine in the winter, but in the summer, those long, haunted summers.… So I'd rather have the story they tell about me be a classic one, a love triangle, not a freak-show tragedy. This one time, my story can be like everyone else's."

  The fog thinned for a moment. "But if you told the judge why you did it, maybe he'd let you go."

  "Wouldn't matter. They never threatened me, those two. Just wanted to make a buck off me, selling pictures to the magazines you won't find in the drugstore. I couldn't let myself be humiliated anymore, that's all."

  "But you have to at least try to explain it to them."

  "No, the only way out now is to run. Get out of town and get out of town fast. Get out of town and don't look back." His third hand touched mine. "Come with me, Audrey. We belong together. I knew it the first time I saw you, a one-armed girl standing by the side of the road. Like you had always been standing there, waiting for your future. We'll hop a train and go west. Don't stop until we see the ocean blue. Leave behind all these people who don't understand us."

  "Are you Vishnu?" I asked him.

  "Fish who?"

  "Vishnu, the Many-Armed One. A Hindu God. They say that when the Many-Armed One shows up, it's a sign that the world is gonna end."

  "The world's not going to end, Audrey, it's going to begin. There's lives out there just waiting to be lived."

  Right exactly then Doc Ochs pulled up to the curb in his black sedan.

  Three-Arm leaned close and whispered, "I'll come for you at dawn."

  Doc got out, medical bag in hand.

  "Wait for me."

  * * *

  Doc checked me out, poked and prodded and fussed, then got me on my feet and said I was a lucky girl. I told him about Ma. As we drove away, I watched Three-Arm out the back window, just like the first time he saw me.